Greece | Athens | Areopagus | Apostle Paul

From the Summit Of The Acropolis I descended the slope through the Beulé Gate, built into a wall around the Acropolis apparently dating to the 280s B.C. This is the way most visitors access the Acropolis. I had entered via the less used Southern Gate.

The Beulé Gate (click on photos for enlargements)

Just below here a low saddle leads west to a 377-foot hill known as the Areopagus. In very ancient times a council of nobles used to meet here to discuss affairs of state. Courts also held sessions here. In the 480s B.C., after the rise of democracy the nobles began to meet elsewhere, but murder and treason trials were held here for several more centuries. As I was climbing to the top of Areopagus I caught the distinctive smell of marijuana smoke. Arriving at the top, I encountered three Greek teenagers smoking a spliff which would have made Snoop Dogg proud.



The Areopagus is perhaps best known as the site where the Apostle Paul, he of Road to Damascus fame, gave one of his famous sermons. Before coming to Athens I had been in Paphos, on Cyprus Island, where I had seen Paul’s Pillar, the stone pillar which according to legend he had been tied to while being whipped by locals who took exception to his attempts to spread the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. After leaving Cyprus Paul traveled on to what is now Turkey and Greece, eventually ending up here in Athens. The episode is recounted in the New Testament, Acts 17:

Now while Paul was [in] Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. Some of the Epicurean and Stoic Philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, “What does this babbler wish to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities”—because he was preaching of Jesus and the resurrection. And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this n new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new. So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, “To the unknown god.” What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for “‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, “‘For we are indeed his offspring.’ Being then God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” Now when they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked. But others said, “We will hear you again about this. So Paul went out from their midst. But some men joined him and believed, among whom also were Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them.

The Agora, or Marketplace, as seen from the Areopagus Hill. It is now a park littered with archeological ruins. The Agora is where Paul started haranguing the locals, including Stoics, when he first arrived in Athens.  

 Areopagus Hill to the left. The plaque in the stone wall  to the right has the text of Paul’s harangue on the summit.

Detail of the plaque. It repeats the text of Paul’ philippic quoted above from Acts.

Greek teenagers smoking pot on the very spot where Paul once pontificated. The ancient chthonic Gods of Greece are on the rise!

Greece | Athens | Areopagus | Apostle Paul

From the Summit Of The Acropolis I descended the slope through the Beulé Gate, built into a wall around the Acropolis apparently dating to the 280s B.C. This is the way most visitors access the Acropolis. I had entered via the less used Southern Gate.

The Beulé Gate (click on photos for enlargements)

Just below here a low saddle leads west to a 377-foot hill known as the Areopagus. In very ancient times a council of nobles used to meet here to discuss affairs of state. Courts also held sessions here. In the 480s B.C., after the rise of democracy the nobles began to meet elsewhere, but murder and treason trials were held here for several more centuries. As I was climbing to the top of Areopagus I caught the distinctive smell of marijuana smoke. Arriving at the top, I encountered three Greek teenagers smoking a spliff which would have made Snoop Dogg proud.

The Areopagus is perhaps best known as the site where the Apostle Paul, he of Road to Damascus fame, gave one of his famous sermons. Before coming to Athens I had been in Paphos, on Cyprus Island, where I had seen Paul’s Pillar, the stone pillar which according to legend he had been tied to while being whipped by locals who took exception to his attempts to spread the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. After leaving Cyprus Paul traveled on to what is now Turkey and Greece, eventually ending up here in Athens. The episode is recounted in the New Testament, Acts 17:

Now while Paul was [in] Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. Some of the Epicurean and Stoic Philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, “What does this babbler wish to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities”—because he was preaching of Jesus and the resurrection. And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this n new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new. So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, “To the unknown god.” What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for “‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, “‘For we are indeed his offspring.’ Being then God’s offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.” Now when they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked. But others said, “We will hear you again about this. So Paul went out from their midst. But some men joined him and believed, among whom also were Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them.

The Agora, or Marketplace, as seen from the Areopagus Hill. It is now a park littered with archeological ruins. The Agora is where Paul started haranguing the locals, including Stoics, when he first arrived in Athens.  

 Areopagus Hill to the left. The plaque in the stone wall  to the right has the text of Paul’s harangue on the summit.

Detail of the plaque. It repeats the text of Paul’ philippic quoted above from Acts.

Greek teenagers smoking pot on the very spot where Paul once pontificated. The ancient chthonic Gods of Greece are on the rise!

Cyprus | Paphos | Moon | Aphrodite

Carnival begins in Venice on Jan. 27 but people start celebrating early. When I saw the first people in masks in Campo St. Bartholomew I hurried back to my hotel room and booked the next flight to Athens via Istanbul. Took the 7:32 am water bus to the airport the next morning. The Visa Flap with Turkey is over. All they did was raise the prices. Before an electronic visa was $20; now they are $70. I had a five hour layover in Istanbul so I took the Metro downtown to change money. The exchange rates in Venice are nothing short of larcenous. On Divan Yolu in Istanbul there are at least a dozen currency exchanges all competing against one another. Asking at half a dozen places the best offer I got for $1000 was 810 Euros. This was very close to the official exchange rate on the internet. The best offer I had in Venice was 750 Euros for $1000. And in Venice you have to present your passport and fill out a form which even asks for your address in the States. Like I have an address in the States! On Divan Yolu, of course, no one asks to see anything but your money.



I was going to stroll around the Sultanahmet area for awhile, but it was raining and a chill wind was blowing off the Sea of Marmara. I was wearing only a Mongolian cashmere sweater and no hat. So I took the Metro back to the airport and spent the rest of the layover in the Turkish Airlines Business Lounge, which as business lounges go is quite luxurious. Unlimited baklava! Actually I am flying economy, since on Turkish Airlines you can buy an exit row seat and the extra space was all I needed. But I am a Turkish Airlines Miles and Smiles Elite Gold Card holder so I get to use the Business Lounge even when flying economy. This is just one of the perks. Also priority check-in, priority boarding, and in Istanbul a special express lane through immigration, which is really handy. I have flown over 200,000 miles on Turkish Airlines the last four years, which is how I got the Gold Card. Those round-trip Ulaanbaatar-Istanbul miles—the equivalent of half-way around the world—add up fast.



Arrived in Athens around 9:00 pm local time. My portmanteau came out first on the luggage carousel—another Gold Card perk!—and I caught the Metro downtown.  Back once again at my Favorite Hotel literally in the shadow of the Acropolis. This place is a bit of a mystery. I would proffer that it was the best location of any hotel in Athens. The back entrance to the Acropolis is only a couple hundred feet away. A few hundred feet in the opposite direction is a square lined with restaurants. Monastery Square, a big shopping hub, is only a ten minute walk away. But this hotel always seems to have rooms. Admittedly the place is a bit down at the heels and the rooms are tiny. Couples might find them a bit cramped, unless they intend to spend their entire stay in bed, but for misanthropes like myself there is no problem. And the bathroom is even tinier; it also serves as a shower. There is a shower drain in the floor. But the luggage platform and the dresser have gorgeous white marble tops that many people would die for. I like to think it is the same marble they used for the Parthenon.



Next morning I took the Metro back out to the airport and caught the flight to Cyprus. In Larnaka flowers are in bloom, there are oranges and lemons on the trees, and the famous pink flamingos are back in the lake by the side of the road from the airport. I stopped by my Armenian tailor to have new shirts made. He has my measurements on file but he took them again to see if there were any changes. It turns out my waistline is four inches less than three years ago. And I have been consciously eating more in an attempt to keep my weight up to fighting trim. To no avail, it appears. It is a constant struggle to keep body and soul together. 

The following morning I took the bus to Paphos, at the western end of Cyprus Island. Paphos is, of course, the birthplace of Aphrodite. While in Paphos I hope to celebrate the Super Blue Full Blood Moon happening on January 31. Fasten your seat belts, people, it’s going to be a wild ride!

My hotel in Paphos

Cyprus | Paphos | Moon | Aphrodite

Carnival begins in Venice on Jan. 27 but people start celebrating early. When I saw the first people in masks in Campo St. Bartholomew I hurried back to my hotel room and booked the next flight to Athens via Istanbul. Took the 7:32 am water bus to the airport the next morning. The Visa Flap with Turkey is over. All they did was raise the prices. Before an electronic visa was $20; now they are $70. I had a five hour layover in Istanbul so I took the Metro downtown to change money. The exchange rates in Venice are nothing short of larcenous. On Divan Yolu in Istanbul there are at least a dozen currency exchanges all competing against one another. Asking at half a dozen places the best offer I got for $1000 was 810 Euros. This was very close to the official exchange rate on the internet. The best offer I had in Venice was 750 Euros for $1000. And in Venice you have to present your passport and fill out a form which even asks for your address in the States. Like I have an address in the States! On Divan Yolu, of course, no one asks to see anything but your money.

I was going to stroll around the Sultanahmet area for awhile, but it was raining and a chill wind was blowing off the Sea of Marmara. I was wearing only a Mongolian cashmere sweater and no hat. So I took the Metro back to the airport and spent the rest of the layover in the Turkish Airlines Business Lounge, which as business lounges go is quite luxurious. Unlimited baklava! Actually I am flying economy, since on Turkish Airlines you can buy an exit row seat and the extra space was all I needed. But I am a Turkish Airlines Miles and Smiles Elite Gold Card holder so I get to use the Business Lounge even when flying economy. This is just one of the perks. Also priority check-in, priority boarding, and in Istanbul a special express lane through immigration, which is really handy. I have flown over 200,000 miles on Turkish Airlines the last four years, which is how I got the Gold Card. Those round-trip Ulaanbaatar-Istanbul miles—the equivalent of half-way around the world—add up fast.

Arrived in Athens around 9:00 pm local time. My portmanteau came out first on the luggage carousel—another Gold Card perk!—and I caught the Metro downtown.  Back once again at my Favorite Hotel literally in the shadow of the Acropolis. This place is a bit of a mystery. I would proffer that it was the best location of any hotel in Athens. The back entrance to the Acropolis is only a couple hundred feet away. A few hundred feet in the opposite direction is a square lined with restaurants. Monastery Square, a big shopping hub, is only a ten minute walk away. But this hotel always seems to have rooms. Admittedly the place is a bit down at the heels and the rooms are tiny. Couples might find them a bit cramped, unless they intend to spend their entire stay in bed, but for misanthropes like myself there is no problem. And the bathroom is even tinier; it also serves as a shower. There is a shower drain in the floor. But the luggage platform and the dresser have gorgeous white marble tops that many people would die for. I like to think it is the same marble they used for the Parthenon.

Next morning I took the Metro back out to the airport and caught the flight to Cyprus. In Larnaka flowers are in bloom, there are oranges and lemons on the trees, and the famous pink flamingos are back in the lake by the side of the road from the airport. I stopped by my Armenian tailor to have new shirts made. He has my measurements on file but he took them again to see if there were any changes. It turns out my waistline is four inches less than three years ago. And I have been consciously eating more in an attempt to keep my weight up to fighting trim. To no avail, it appears. It is a constant struggle to keep body and soul together. 

The following morning I took the bus to Paphos, at the western end of Cyprus Island. Paphos is, of course, the birthplace of Aphrodite. While in Paphos I hope to celebrate the Super Blue Full Blood Moon happening on January 31. Fasten your seat belts, people, it’s going to be a wild ride!

My hotel in Paphos

Italy | Venice | We Crociferi

From Kastraki I took the train to Athens, where I once again stayed at my Favorite Hotel in the city. I could not resist climbing the Hill of the Muses again for another view of the Acropolis and the Parthenon.

The Acropolis, topped by the Parthenon (click on photos for enlargements)

The Parthenon. Unfortunately it always seems to be under repair.

The Acropolis at night, from the balcony of my hotel. The Parthenon is not visible from this angle.

Then took an early morning flight to Istanbul. Would have loved to stop for some mutton kebabs at the take-out place next to my Favorite Hotel in Istanbul, but of course I cannot enter Turkey because of the recent Visa Snafu. So I caught a connecting flight to Venice. The plane left Ataturk Airport in Istanbul at 5:36 p.m. It was dark at ground level when we took off, but we emerged from the low, heavy cloud cover just in time to see the sun sinking halfway below the horizon, now banded with fiery reddish-orange light that gradually faded into a dome of deep cobalt blue. For the next hour or so we chased the sun westward. Several times it reappeared above the horizon only to sink again. We finally lost the race with the sun and arrived at the predictably named Marco Polo Airport in total darkness at 5:50 local time, for a flight of two hours and fourteen minutes. There is no line at Immigration and my portmanteau is the second piece of luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt.



Marco Polo Airport has undergone major remodeling since I was here last. A fifteen minute walk on a new sky-bridge ends at the dock where water-buses now leave for the island of Murano and Venice itself.  From the water-bus it is impossible to make out anything in the dark and the fog. After about thirty minutes the lights of Murano Island water-bus stop appear out of the gloom. A half dozen people get off and we continue on another fifteen minutes to the  Fondamente Nuove stop on the north side of Venice itself. I am the only person getting off. Most passengers are continuing on to the hotels around St. Mark’s Square, on the south side of Venice, which offer more convenient access the city’s more famous sights. During the day numerous water buses to the airport, outlying islands, and other parts of Venice itself all converge here, and the walkway, lined with ticket vendors and attendant kiosks selling selling water, snacks, and souvenirs is usually bustling with transients. Now the Fondamente Nuove is eerily quiet. I look up and down the 800-yard long fog-shrouded walkway and do not see a single person; it appears as if the city is  deserted. 

I veer off Fondamente Nuove onto Salizzada dei Specchieri (street of the looking-glass makers), which is also suspiciously, forbiddingly empty. After a hundred yards or the eight massive  Corinthian columns that make the facade of the Church of the Gesuiti (Jesuits) rear up out of the gloom on my left. Above the entablature carried by the columns statues of the twelve apostles and assorted angels appear out of the fog. I get the discombobulating feeling that they are gazing down in judgment at the lone wanderer on the street below. Not that I am the first to be put off by these statues. W. D. Howells (1837–1920), erstwhile editor of the “Atlantic Monthly” and author of Venetian Life (1866), observed that “the sight of those theatrical angels, with their shameless, unfinished backs, flying off the top of the rococo façade of the church of the Jesuits, has always been a spectacle to fill me with despondency and foreboding.” A later observer, James Lees-Milne, in his Venetian Evenings, noted: “To my mind these statues look more like lost souls about to throw themselves in despair to the bottomless pit, only prevented from doing so by the rusted iron bands which tie their loose limbs together and keep them in.” By now a surprisingly chilly and uncomfortably damp wind is gusting through the street, adding to my discomfiture. The tee-shirt and Mongolian cashmere sweater I had donned that morning in Athens are clearly inadequate.

The Salizzada dei Specchieri opens out into the Campo dei Gesuiti, a long narrow square likewise empty. On the left side of the square, abutting the Church of the Gesuiti, stands an immense white-walled five story building that was once a Jesuit monastery. It has been transformed into both living quarters for students and a hotel for the public. Veering off the square and through a portal I emerge into a huge courtyard lined by a colonnaded passageway. In the courtyard and passageway are huddled groups of people, presumably students, the first humans I have seen since arriving at the Fondamente Nuove. Lady Gaga booms from the sound system of a cafe off to the side, accompanied by a buzz of conversation and laughter. I am back among the living. 

The receptionist assigns me to a room on the fifth floor. You have to use your key card to use the elevator. After passing through three unmarked doors and wandering down several long corridors I finally locate my room in an isolated cul-de-sac. I cannot help but wonder if I have been purposely exiled to this out of way corner of the huge building, away from the younger and more livelier residents. If so, this suites me fine. The last thing I need is some noisy college students next door. According its website the We Crociferi has shared dormitory-style rooms, private rooms with bath, studio rooms, and small apartments complete with kitchens. It is not clear how many of these units it hosts, but the entire facility has 255 beds, all of them singles. The website is quick to point out that these single beds cannot be joined together. Perhaps this is a residual holdover from its days as a Jesuit monastery, and now an attempt to maintain some degree of propriety among the college students who stay here. Some on-line reviews, apparently from adult couples, grouse about the lack of any double beds in the rooms. Why these people find such a problem with a single bed is beyond me. If they want to couple they can do so on a single bed. I have done it more times than I can count. Then they can retire to separate single beds. Or they can just remain in the single bed, which may result in even greater intimacy, since you simply cannot roll over to your own side of the bed after coupling is completed. In any case, my room has three single beds, only one of which I will be using. As far as I know I will not be doing any coupling in Venice.

Room decor is minimalist; gray concrete floors with no carpets or rugs, and whitewashed brick walls. In keeping with its function as student quarters a built-in formica topped desk extends the entire length of the front wall. Study lamps on flex-arms light the desk area, there are no less than eight—eight!—electrical outlets, and the overhead lights are more than adequate. Actually this functional work space, often so sadly lacking in even much more expensive hotels, is the real reason I am staying at the We Crociferi.  As a bonus my room, although isolated, looks directly down on the Campo dei Gesuiti  and has a great view out over the roof tops of Venice, with the dome-topped 182-foot campanile, or bell tower, of the church of Madonna dell’Orto soaring up off in the distance.

The We Crociferi on the right, in daylight

One of three courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Arcade at the We Cruciferi

The Church of the Gesuiti, to the left of the We Crociferi. The angels on the facade are less dread-inspiring in the daylight

182-foot campanile, or bell tower, of the church of Madonna dell’Orto visible over the rooftops of Venice

Italy | Venice | We Crociferi

From Kastraki I took the train to Athens, where I once again stayed at my Favorite Hotel in the city. I could not resist climbing the Hill of the Muses again for another view of the Acropolis and the Parthenon.

The Acropolis, topped by the Parthenon (click on photos for enlargements)

The Parthenon. Unfortunately it always seems to be under repair.

The Acropolis at night, from the balcony of my hotel. The Parthenon is not visible from this angle.

Then took an early morning flight to Istanbul. Would have loved to stop for some mutton kebabs at the take-out place next to my Favorite Hotel in Istanbul, but of course I cannot enter Turkey because of the recent Visa Snafu. So I caught a connecting flight to Venice. The plane left Ataturk Airport in Istanbul at 5:36 p.m. It was dark at ground level when we took off, but we emerged from the low, heavy cloud cover just in time to see the sun sinking halfway below the horizon, now banded with fiery reddish-orange light that gradually faded into a dome of deep cobalt blue. For the next hour or so we chased the sun westward. Several times it reappeared above the horizon only to sink again. We finally lost the race with the sun and arrived at the predictably named Marco Polo Airport in total darkness at 5:50 local time, for a flight of two hours and fourteen minutes. There is no line at Immigration and my portmanteau is the second piece of luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt.

Marco Polo Airport has undergone major remodeling since I was here last. A fifteen minute walk on a new sky-bridge ends at the dock where water-buses now leave for the island of Murano and Venice itself.  From the water-bus it is impossible to make out anything in the dark and the fog. After about thirty minutes the lights of Murano Island water-bus stop appear out of the gloom. A half dozen people get off and we continue on another fifteen minutes to the  Fondamente Nuove stop on the north side of Venice itself. I am the only person getting off. Most passengers are continuing on to the hotels around St. Mark’s Square, on the south side of Venice, which offer more convenient access the city’s more famous sights. During the day numerous water buses to the airport, outlying islands, and other parts of Venice itself all converge here, and the walkway, lined with ticket vendors and attendant kiosks selling selling water, snacks, and souvenirs is usually bustling with transients. Now the Fondamente Nuove is eerily quiet. I look up and down the 800-yard long fog-shrouded walkway and do not see a single person; it appears as if the city is  deserted. 

I veer off Fondamente Nuove onto Salizzada dei Specchieri (street of the looking-glass makers), which is also suspiciously, forbiddingly empty. After a hundred yards or the eight massive  Corinthian columns that make the facade of the Church of the Gesuiti (Jesuits) rear up out of the gloom on my left. Above the entablature carried by the columns statues of the twelve apostles and assorted angels appear out of the fog. I get the discombobulating feeling that they are gazing down in judgment at the lone wanderer on the street below. Not that I am the first to be put off by these statues. W. D. Howells (1837–1920), erstwhile editor of the “Atlantic Monthly” and author of Venetian Life (1866), observed that “the sight of those theatrical angels, with their shameless, unfinished backs, flying off the top of the rococo façade of the church of the Jesuits, has always been a spectacle to fill me with despondency and foreboding.” A later observer, James Lees-Milne, in his Venetian Evenings, noted: “To my mind these statues look more like lost souls about to throw themselves in despair to the bottomless pit, only prevented from doing so by the rusted iron bands which tie their loose limbs together and keep them in.” By now a surprisingly chilly and uncomfortably damp wind is gusting through the street, adding to my discomfiture. The tee-shirt and Mongolian cashmere sweater I had donned that morning in Athens are clearly inadequate.

The Salizzada dei Specchieri opens out into the Campo dei Gesuiti, a long narrow square likewise empty. On the left side of the square, abutting the Church of the Gesuiti, stands an immense white-walled five story building that was once a Jesuit monastery. It has been transformed into both living quarters for students and a hotel for the public. Veering off the square and through a portal I emerge into a huge courtyard lined by a colonnaded passageway. In the courtyard and passageway are huddled groups of people, presumably students, the first humans I have seen since arriving at the Fondamente Nuove. Lady Gaga booms from the sound system of a cafe off to the side, accompanied by a buzz of conversation and laughter. I am back among the living. 

The receptionist assigns me to a room on the fifth floor. You have to use your key card to use the elevator. After passing through three unmarked doors and wandering down several long corridors I finally locate my room in an isolated cul-de-sac. I cannot help but wonder if I have been purposely exiled to this out of way corner of the huge building, away from the younger and more livelier residents. If so, this suites me fine. The last thing I need is some noisy college students next door. According its website the We Crociferi has shared dormitory-style rooms, private rooms with bath, studio rooms, and small apartments complete with kitchens. It is not clear how many of these units it hosts, but the entire facility has 255 beds, all of them singles. The website is quick to point out that these single beds cannot be joined together. Perhaps this is a residual holdover from its days as a Jesuit monastery, and now an attempt to maintain some degree of propriety among the college students who stay here. Some on-line reviews, apparently from adult couples, grouse about the lack of any double beds in the rooms. Why these people find such a problem with a single bed is beyond me. If they want to couple they can do so on a single bed. I have done it more times than I can count. Then they can retire to separate single beds. Or they can just remain in the single bed, which may result in even greater intimacy, since you simply cannot roll over to your own side of the bed after coupling is completed. In any case, my room has three single beds, only one of which I will be using. As far as I know I will not be doing any coupling in Venice.

Room decor is minimalist; gray concrete floors with no carpets or rugs, and whitewashed brick walls. In keeping with its function as student quarters a built-in formica topped desk extends the entire length of the front wall. Study lamps on flex-arms light the desk area, there are no less than eight—eight!—electrical outlets, and the overhead lights are more than adequate. Actually this functional work space, often so sadly lacking in even much more expensive hotels, is the real reason I am staying at the We Crociferi.  As a bonus my room, although isolated, looks directly down on the Campo dei Gesuiti  and has a great view out over the roof tops of Venice, with the dome-topped 182-foot campanile, or bell tower, of the church of Madonna dell’Orto soaring up off in the distance.

The We Crociferi on the right, in daylight

One of three courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Courtyard at the We Crociferi

Arcade at the We Cruciferi

The Church of the Gesuiti, to the left of the We Crociferi. The angels on the facade are less dread-inspiring in the daylight

182-foot campanile, or bell tower, of the church of Madonna dell’Orto visible over the rooftops of Venice

Greece | Athens | Mouseion Hill | Hill of the Muses

Wandered up 485-foot Mouseion Hill for a panoramic view of the Acropolis. The hill got its name from the 6th-century BC poet and seer Musaios, who was supposedly buried on its summit. Because of its association with Musaios, reputed to be the son of the legendary minstrel Orpheus, it is also known as the Hill of the Muses. Part way up I passed by the Prison of Socrates, where, according to legend, the great philosopher was confined before he was forced to the drink the Hemlock.

 Prison of Socrates (click on photos for enlargements)

Socrates was an enigmatic character, to say the least. He was born not far from Athens in 469 B.C., the son of stonemason who aspired to be a sculptor. His mother was a midwife. Socrates too may have worked for awhile as a stonemason before finding his true calling as a free-lance philosopher and teacher. With thick lips, bulging eyes, and a pot-belly, he was a notoriously unattractive figure. He seldom bathed or washed his clothes and went barefooted most of the time. His wife, the shrewish Xanthippe, henpecked him unmercifully. He apparently managed to father three sons with her, all of whom turned out to be dolts, but his main interpersonal relationships seemed to be with young men. It is unclear if he served solely as an intellectual mentor to the young men who flocked around him to hear his teachings or if he also had sexual relationships with at least some of them. In Athens at the time it would certainly not have been unusual for a married man like Socrates to have young male lovers. Many married men, we are led to believe, preferred the company of young men or boys and only coupled with their wives for purposes of procreation. When they just wanted to get their rocks off they preferred other males. In any case, Socrates had ample opportunities to meet young admirers. One of his students, Xenophon, who had became smitten with Socrates at a young age, wrote that:

Socrates was always in the public eye. Early in the morning he used to make his way to the covered walkways and open-air gymnasia, and when the marketplace became busy he was there in full view; and he always spent the rest of the day where he expected to find the most company. He talked most of the time and anyone who liked was able to listen.

In this way Socrates acquired a large following, especially among the aristocratic young of the city who were thrilled by his charismatic personality and provocative teachings.His influence on the young and the ideas he was putting into their heads eventually aroused the suspicions of some important people. Finally a politician by the name of Meletus had the philosopher arrested. The charges read:

This indictment and affidavit is sworn by Meletus, the son of Meletus of Pitthos, against Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus of Alopece: Socrates is guilty of refusing to recognize the gods recognized by the state, and of introducing other new divinities. He is also guilty of corrupting the youth. The penalty demanded is death.

At that time trials took place at some public forum, probably in the open air, in front of a very large jury. Important trials had a jury of 1,501 citizens; even private suits were heard by juries of from 201 to 401 members. The jury cast its ballots in secret and fifty percent of the votes plus one were needed for a conviction. We do not know the exact size of Socrates’s jury, but he was found guilty by a majority of sixty votes. At that time both the prosecution and the defense could suggest a punishment and the same jury that decided the case could choice which one they preferred. The prosecution demanded death. Socrates, rather cheekily, first suggested that the proper punishment for his supposed offensives would be a government pension for the rest of his life, since he was, in his own opinion at least, a benefit to society. Then, acting on the advice of Plato and other close friends, he suggested a fine of 3000 drachmas. The jury was not amused by his insouciance; more voted for the death penalty than had voted for his conviction.



The sentence may have been carried out here at the prison where he was supposedly held prior to the trial. Other sources suggest he died in another prison in the ancient Agora. In any case, in the presence of several close friends and disciples (Plato, who was ill at the time, did not attend) Socrates downed the concoction of poison hemlock. The bystanders broke down in tears. One of those present, his disciples Phaedo, left an account of Socrates’ reaction:

“Really, my friends, what kind of behavior is this? Why, that was my main reason for sending away the women, to prevent this sort of commotion; because I am told that one should make one’s end in a peaceful frame of mind. Calm down and try to be brave.”

Phaedo goes on:

This made us feel ashamed, and we controlled our tears. Socrates walked about, and soon, saying that his legs were heavy, lay down on his back—that was what the prison warden recommended. The man (he was the same one who had administered the poison) kept his hand on Socrates, and after a little while inspected his feet and legs; then pinched his foot hard and asked if he felt it. Socrates said no. Then he did the same to his legs; and moving gradually upwards in this way let us see that he was becoming inert and numb. Presently he touched him again and said that when it reached the heart, Socrates would be gone. The numbness was spreading about as far as his groin when Socrates uncovered his face—for he had covered it up—a nd said (these were his last words): “Crito, we ought to sacrifice a cock to Asclepius. Make sure it’s done. Don’t forget.” “No, it shall be done,” said Crito. “Are you sure that there is nothing else?” Socrates made no reply to this question, but after a little while he stirred; and when the man uncovered him, his eyes were fixed. When Crito saw this, he closed the mouth and eyes. Such was the end of our comrade, who was, we may fairly say, of all those whom we knew in our time, the bravest and also the wisest and most upright man.

The citizens of Athens eventually had a change of heart. Meletus, who had brought charges against Socrates, was eventually tried and executed for his role in this sorry affair. Another of his accusers, Anytus, was exiled to a backwater port on the Black Sea, where he was eventually stoned to death by an angry mob. Meanwhile, a statue of Socrates by the famous sculptor Lysippus was erected in Athens. And of course, it is Socrates that we are still talking about today, 2500 years later.

Continuing on up the trail to the summit of Mouseion Hill, thoughts of Socrates still reverberating through my mind, it occurred to me that there are a few modern philosophers who might benefit from some time behind bars in Socrates’s Prison; for example, the incorrigible  Post-Modern Neo-Nihilist and irrepressible popinjay David Weinberger. At least Weinberger, famous in college for his Dionysian revelries and unbridled bacchanalias and infamous as a shamelessly slavish sycophant of the insufferable German doofus and dingbat Marty “I Invented Being and Time and If You Don’t Like It Bite Me!” Heidegger, would have time while behind bars to rethink his rebarbative theory that Everything Is Miscellaneous. Socrates was forced to drink the Hemlock, but Weinberger continues to walk the streets of America a free man. Did I mention that Weinberger is also a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth foe of the otherwise beloved Dewey Decimal System and a perennial front runner on Bucknell University’s list of Worst Dressed Alumni?

View of the Acropolis and the Parthenon from part way up Mouseion Hill 

 View of the Acropolis and the Parthenon from near the summit Mouseion Hill

As mentioned Mouseion Hill is also known as the Hill of the Muses. For centuries poets and song-writers, including Van Morrison and Bob Dylan, have come here to perform and seek inspiration. Also see One Irish Rover.

Van Morrison and Bob Dylan on the Hill of the Muses (not my photo)

 The trail continue on to the ruins of the mausoleum and monument of Gaius Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappos 65–116 AD), a well-known prince of the Kingdom of Commagene, on the summit of the hill. It is not clear, but the monument may stand on the older grave of Musaios.

 See Commagene on the map (in pink)

Although born in Commagene, Philopappos spent much of his life Athens and was well-known as a benefactor of the city. He was a boon companion of the Roman Emperor Trajan and Trajan`s successor as emperor Hadrian. After he died in 116 his sister Julia Balbilla and prominent citizens of Athens erected this monument in his honor on the summit of Mouseion Hill.

Ruins of the mausoleum and monument to Gaius Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappos

Greece | Athens | Mouseion Hill | Hill of the Muses

Wandered up 485-foot Mouseion Hill for a panoramic view of the Acropolis. The hill got its name from the 6th-century BC poet and seer Musaios, who was supposedly buried on its summit. Because of its association with Musaios, reputed to be the son of the legendary minstrel Orpheus, it is also known as the Hill of the Muses. Part way up I passed by the Prison of Socrates, where, according to legend, the great philosopher was confined before he was forced to the drink the Hemlock.

 Prison of Socrates (click on photos for enlargements)

Socrates was an enigmatic character, to say the least. He was born not far from Athens in 469 B.C., the son of stonemason who aspired to be a sculptor. His mother was a midwife. Socrates too may have worked for awhile as a stonemason before finding his true calling as a free-lance philosopher and teacher. With thick lips, bulging eyes, and a pot-belly, he was a notoriously unattractive figure. He seldom bathed or washed his clothes and went barefooted most of the time. His wife, the shrewish Xanthippe, henpecked him unmercifully. He apparently managed to father three sons with her, all of whom turned out to be dolts, but his main interpersonal relationships seemed to be with young men. It is unclear if he served solely as an intellectual mentor to the young men who flocked around him to hear his teachings or if he also had sexual relationships with at least some of them. In Athens at the time it would certainly not have been unusual for a married man like Socrates to have young male lovers. Many married men, we are led to believe, preferred the company of young men or boys and only coupled with their wives for purposes of procreation. When they just wanted to get their rocks off they preferred other males. In any case, Socrates had ample opportunities to meet young admirers. One of his students, Xenophon, who had became smitten with Socrates at a young age, wrote that:

Socrates was always in the public eye. Early in the morning he used to make his way to the covered walkways and open-air gymnasia, and when the marketplace became busy he was there in full view; and he always spent the rest of the day where he expected to find the most company. He talked most of the time and anyone who liked was able to listen.

In this way Socrates acquired a large following, especially among the aristocratic young of the city who were thrilled by his charismatic personality and provocative teachings.His influence on the young and the ideas he was putting into their heads eventually aroused the suspicions of some important people. Finally a politician by the name of Meletus had the philosopher arrested. The charges read:

This indictment and affidavit is sworn by Meletus, the son of Meletus of Pitthos, against Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus of Alopece: Socrates is guilty of refusing to recognize the gods recognized by the state, and of introducing other new divinities. He is also guilty of corrupting the youth. The penalty demanded is death.

At that time trials took place at some public forum, probably in the open air, in front of a very large jury. Important trials had a jury of 1,501 citizens; even private suits were heard by juries of from 201 to 401 members. The jury cast its ballots in secret and fifty percent of the votes plus one were needed for a conviction. We do not know the exact size of Socrates’s jury, but he was found guilty by a majority of sixty votes. At that time both the prosecution and the defense could suggest a punishment and the same jury that decided the case could choice which one they preferred. The prosecution demanded death. Socrates, rather cheekily, first suggested that the proper punishment for his supposed offensives would be a government pension for the rest of his life, since he was, in his own opinion at least, a benefit to society. Then, acting on the advice of Plato and other close friends, he suggested a fine of 3000 drachmas. The jury was not amused by his insouciance; more voted for the death penalty than had voted for his conviction.

The sentence may have been carried out here at the prison where he was supposedly held prior to the trial. Other sources suggest he died in another prison in the ancient Agora. In any case, in the presence of several close friends and disciples (Plato, who was ill at the time, did not attend) Socrates downed the concoction of poison hemlock. The bystanders broke down in tears. One of those present, his disciples Phaedo, left an account of Socrates’ reaction:

“Really, my friends, what kind of behavior is this? Why, that was my main reason for sending away the women, to prevent this sort of commotion; because I am told that one should make one’s end in a peaceful frame of mind. Calm down and try to be brave.”

Phaedo goes on:

This made us feel ashamed, and we controlled our tears. Socrates walked about, and soon, saying that his legs were heavy, lay down on his back—that was what the prison warden recommended. The man (he was the same one who had administered the poison) kept his hand on Socrates, and after a little while inspected his feet and legs; then pinched his foot hard and asked if he felt it. Socrates said no. Then he did the same to his legs; and moving gradually upwards in this way let us see that he was becoming inert and numb. Presently he touched him again and said that when it reached the heart, Socrates would be gone. The numbness was spreading about as far as his groin when Socrates uncovered his face—for he had covered it up—a nd said (these were his last words): “Crito, we ought to sacrifice a cock to Asclepius. Make sure it’s done. Don’t forget.” “No, it shall be done,” said Crito. “Are you sure that there is nothing else?” Socrates made no reply to this question, but after a little while he stirred; and when the man uncovered him, his eyes were fixed. When Crito saw this, he closed the mouth and eyes. Such was the end of our comrade, who was, we may fairly say, of all those whom we knew in our time, the bravest and also the wisest and most upright man.

The citizens of Athens eventually had a change of heart. Meletus, who had brought charges against Socrates, was eventually tried and executed for his role in this sorry affair. Another of his accusers, Anytus, was exiled to a backwater port on the Black Sea, where he was eventually stoned to death by an angry mob. Meanwhile, a statue of Socrates by the famous sculptor Lysippus was erected in Athens. And of course, it is Socrates that we are still talking about today, 2500 years later.

Continuing on up the trail to the summit of Mouseion Hill, thoughts of Socrates still reverberating through my mind, it occurred to me that there are a few modern philosophers who might benefit from some time behind bars in Socrates’s Prison; for example, the incorrigible  Post-Modern Neo-Nihilist and irrepressible popinjay David Weinberger. At least Weinberger, famous in college for his Dionysian revelries and unbridled bacchanalias and infamous as a shamelessly slavish sycophant of the insufferable German doofus and dingbat Marty “I Invented Being and Time and If You Don’t Like It Bite Me!” Heidegger, would have time while behind bars to rethink his rebarbative theory that Everything Is Miscellaneous. Socrates was forced to drink the Hemlock, but Weinberger continues to walk the streets of America a free man. Did I mention that Weinberger is also a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth foe of the otherwise beloved Dewey Decimal System and a perennial front runner on Bucknell University’s list of Worst Dressed Alumni?

View of the Acropolis and the Parthenon from part way up Mouseion Hill 

 View of the Acropolis and the Parthenon from near the summit Mouseion Hill

As mentioned Mouseion Hill is also known as the Hill of the Muses. For centuries poets and song-writers, including Van Morrison and Bob Dylan, have come here to perform and seek inspiration. Also see One Irish Rover.

Van Morrison and Bob Dylan on the Hill of the Muses (not my photo)

 The trail continue on to the ruins of the mausoleum and monument of Gaius Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappos 65–116 AD), a well-known prince of the Kingdom of Commagene, on the summit of the hill. It is not clear, but the monument may stand on the older grave of Musaios.

 See Commagene on the map (in pink)

Although born in Commagene, Philopappos spent much of his life Athens and was well-known as a benefactor of the city. He was a boon companion of the Roman Emperor Trajan and Trajan`s successor as emperor Hadrian. After he died in 116 his sister Julia Balbilla and prominent citizens of Athens erected this monument in his honor on the summit of Mouseion Hill.

Ruins of the mausoleum and monument to Gaius Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappos

Greece | Athens | Acropolis | Parthenon

I have been through the Athens airport eight or ten times but had never gone downtown. Deciding that it was time to finally see the birthplace of Occidental civilization I booked a room literally in the shadow of the Acropolis, the huge hill in the middle of the city topped by the Parthenon. Unfortunately I picked a bad day to arrive. The train service from the airport to downtown was on strike and I was forced to take a taxi, which immediately set me back 38 Euros plus 2 for the freeway toll.  Welcome to Greece. This was quite a bit more than my hotel room. At least the taxis were working, When I visited the Greek Island of Crete a year earlier all public transport was on strike and I was forced to hitchhike from the airport to town. Fortunately I was picked up was a charming young woman and her two friends who went out of their way to drop my off right in front of my hotel and also gave me an informative introduction to Crete. 

My hotel, with a balcony view of the Acropolis, is located right next door to the site of the old Capuchin Monastery. Established in 1669, it hosted numerous illustrious guests, including the England poet and world-class cad Lord Byron. Oddly enough, on my First Visit To Venice I stayed a few doors from the hotel where Lord Byron first stayed when he arrived in Venice for the first time. This reminded me that the term paper  I wrote on Lord Byron`s epic poem Don Juan earned me the first “A” I had ever gotten on a college essay. Anyhow, the monastery was destroyed in 1824 during the Greek war for independence from the Ottoman Empire. The site is marked, however, by The Monument of Lysicrates, built in 334 B.C. Apparently Lysicrates was a patron of the arts who paid a poet, flute player, and actors to appear in a contest for the best dramatic production in an early version of “Greeks Got Talent.” His group of performers won, so he was required to built a monument to Dionysus to honor them. The monument was later incorporating into grounds of the Capuchin Monastery. The monastery was destroyed, but the Monument of Lysicrates remains to this day, 2351 years after it was built.

View of the street from the balcony of my hotel (click on photos for enlargements)

View of the Acropolis from the balcony of my hotel

The Monument of Lysicrates, built in 334 B.C.

After throwing my portmanteau in my room I headed straight for the Acropolis. The southern entrance was only a couple of hundred years from my hotel. I was prepared to pay the rather stiff tariff of €20 but was informed that admittance today was free. I did not bother to ask why but I assumed this was because it was Sunday. Entering the grounds I began to steep trudge to the summit, 511 feet about sea level. The southern hillside is heaped with ruins of ancient structures, most of them signposted, but in my haste to see the Parthenon I hurried by most of them. I did stop to gaze at the rebuilt Odeon (theatre) of Herodes Atticus. The theater was built by the Athenian business tycoon Herodes Atticus in 161 A.D. in memory of his wife Aspasia Annia Regila and originally seated about 5000 people. It was heavily damaged by the Neruli, a Germanic people from northern Europe who trashed Athens in 267 A.D., and lay in ruins for centuries. Not until the 1950s was the theater restored. One of the first big acts to appear in the refurbished theatre was the opera singer Maria Callas, main squeeze, along with Jacqueline Kennedy, of shipping tycoon Aristotle Onasis. Others who have performed here include Placido Domingo, Frank Sinatra, Dianna Ross,  Elton John (!) Jethro Tull (!!), and Liza Minelli (!!!).

Odeon of Herodes Atticus. To think, Liza Minelli once strode this stage.

Another view of the Odeon of Herodes Atticus. Definitely an Elton John venue.

Entrance to the Odeon of Herodes Atticus

Just above the theatre is the Propylia, the monumental gate opening onto
the summit of the Acropolis. The summit area covers about seven acres.
Directly ahead looms the Parthenon, built in honor of the of Goddess
Athena, for whom Athens is named.  The construction of the Parthenon and
other structures on the Acropolis were overseen by the great Athenian
general Pericles. The famous sculptor Phidias, according to some
sources, was in charge of building the Parthenon itself, and he employed
the renowned architects Callicrates, Mnesikles, and Iktinos to come up
with the actual plans. The first stone of the Parthenon was laid on 28
July 447 B.C. and it was completed nine years later in 438 B.C. I must
admit the structure is much larger than the impression I had gotten from
photos. It measure 228 by 101 and  originally had forty-six outer
columns, each thirty-four feet high.

 The Parthenon

The Parthenon has had a checkered history. Athens later became part of
the East Roman (Byzantine) Empire and under Constantine the Great
(272-337 A.D.), founder of Constantinople (Istanbul), the city was
Christianized. The Acropolis became a center of Christian worship and
the Parthenon was eventually converted into a Byzantine church. In 1204,
during the Fourth Crusade,  Franks and Venetians led by the Venetian Doge Enrico Dandalo captured Constantinople and Athens also came under
their control. Under Frankish rule the Parthenon was turned into a
Catholic cathedral. In 1453 Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks and
after Athens became part of the Ottoman Empire the Parthenon was
eventually converted into a mosque. Then in 1687 the Venetians tried to
oust the Ottomans from Athens. The Parthenon was subjected to artillery
fire and heavily damaged when munitions stockpiled within the building
exploded. From 1800 to 1803 the notorious Englishman Thomas “Marbles”
Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin, ransacked the ruins and carted off many of
the surviving sculptures to England, where they eventually ended up in
the British Museum. To so-called Elgin Marbles remain there today,
although there has been concerted efforts by the Greek government,
spearheaded by legendary Greek bombshell Melina Mercouri, to get them
back. Not until the late twentieth century were serious efforts made to
restore the Parthenon to its former glory, and the work is still
continuing, as can be seen from the unsightly construction cranes on
site.

The Parthenon

The Parthenon

View of Athens from the Acropolis. Mount Lycabettus, which I intend to ascend, can be seen in the middle.

View of Athens from the Acropolis