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Our purpose in braving a visit to Omonia Square was to see the National Archaeological Museum. Thankfully, we were not once disturbed by burglars, robbers on motocycles, or any felons of whom travelers to Omonia Square are customarily in dread. Cars streamed by with their tires crunching on the hot roads and swirls of dust fanned up in their wake. The pedestrians, though not many in number, had an air of bustling which only happens in places that have seen a lot of crowds and history. The angular buildings casting shadows over the incongruously cool sidewalks were nondescript, as though they had been built to accomodate those crowds in haste. My friend remarked with a knowing smile that it was very much like China.

I must admit that I know no more about art than to take a passing fancy to pretty things, even though the potential for something more serious had perhaps existed a long time ago. An expert would be able to tell you how unparalleled the museum’s collection is. My only thought of appreciation was that the sophistication of the work was astounding, especially considering it all dated back to several centuries B.C. Take, for example, this glass from an ancient shipwreck. I would not have been surprised to see it in a contemporary living room.
An eroded statue of Odysseus from the same shipwreck:
And this tombstone — you have only to look at the mourners’ faces to be overcome by their grief.
A tombstone honoring a young warrior:

Here’s a collection of Athenian weapons of war looking rather the worse for wear, and other better preserved bronze pieces:

We were most pleasantly surprised by these cave paintings:
There are of course countless warriors and gods in the museum which my blog does not have the capacity to enumerate. I would be satisfied if this post inspires in you a wish to see them for yourself.

The New Acropolis Museum was spectacular as well. We saw five of the six original Karyatids (the sixth being in the British Museum in London), which were undergoing laser cleaning, and some more fantastic sculptures. I remember in particular a fragment of a lion and the bull it was tearing apart. The size of the lion’s haunches was beyond belief. On the third floor, the walls were all glass and showed Athens laid out beneath the rising moon.

While we are on the subject of pretty things, I may as well throw in three photos of Greek dolls we saw in souvenir shops.
P.S. I am conscious that when I read too many books set in the early 20th Century, I start writing in pompous, stilted language like I did in this post. Sorry, I can’t help it. I’ve been reading Sebastian Faulks’ The Girl at the Lion D’or, Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair, Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, and The 39 Steps. I’m planning to read The Man Who Was Thursday next.