In a sprint to rival the original marathon run, my husband and I weaved our way through the busy streets of central Athens in the sticky Saturday evening air. We slid over the smooth stones, trying to work out whether to go left or right when we reached the base of the rock housing the Acropolis. It was 8:50 p.m., and we had tickets for the opera starting at 9 p.m at the Odeon of Herodus Atticus, a 5,000-seater amphitheatrer carved into the stone on the Acropolis site.
We chose left and paid for it having to dodge tourists while we ran for a full three-quarters of the rock circumference. We finally reached the entrance at 9:10 p.m., convinced the doors would be closed and we would not be allowed in.
The luck of the Greek Gods smiled on us and the friendly stewards quickly pointed us in. We took our seats with our family members who were anxiously waiting. We were hotter than Hades after our run, and it took the whole first act for us to cool down and to properly take in the majestic view.
A classic setting for a classic opera, then a treacherous trip home
Seated high in the amphitheater, we were nearly eye level with the stunning stone arches that serve as a backdrop to the floodlit stage. To the side, lights twinkled on a distant hill. Tuning up in the pit was a nearly 60-piece orchestra, and the majesty of this two millennia old amphitheatre came into play. Originally used for Greek tragedies in a time when stories were performed more easily than written, we were about to witness “La Traviata,” Giuseppe Verdi’s revered Italian opera.
The conductor made his entrance to applause and the dramatics commenced. Resplendent costumes, ballet and singing that effortlessly reached the upper rings of the cavernous space enthralled us for the next three hours. Subtitles on the sides of the stage in English and Greek meant that we followed the story, every emotion that Violetta went through, from bursting joy to deepest despair.
The stone acoustics did their job, offering all from a clear simple violin solo to a full cacophony of sound.
The end of the evening arrived, past midnight, and our journey home took on the character of a Herculean challenge when our metro line stopped running. We dashed across crowded streets to a bus stop, only to find the last bus full of weary workers making their way home. We squeezed our way on, but alas, it was not meant to be. The Greek Gods were testing us – after more workers forced their way onto the already overcrowded bus, there were shouts, what seemed to be an altercation and a window shattered.
We abandoned the bus and our group of seven, including my 74-year-old mother, tried to hail down a taxi to take us to our cars that we had left at an outer city metro stop.
The Greek Gods were surely laughing now as the yellow taxis zoomed by and none stopped.
Rescued
A rescue was proffered, however, by a staff member in a donut shop, while observing our plight, offered to order a taxi on her app for us. Reunited with our car, we thought our troubles for the night were over – but no, those devilish Greek Gods had one last game to play.
Our magic bank card, which we had waved to pass through countless motorway tolls this trip – failed to have the desired effect this time. Horns were honking behind us as we scrabbled around to collect enough change to pay in cash. My brother and family a few cars behind had their own challenge when a person in front decided to ram the barrier and they had to back up to another lane ….
The final hurdle passed, we made our way to our villa in the hills ready to sleep around 2 a.m .– after our epic night in Athens.
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Read more about Athens here in Dispatches’ archives.
Rachel Arts
Rachel Arts originally is from the UK but relocated to Eindhoven in 2019 with her husband. Rachel is an entrepreneur. Her business, Talentstorm, draws on her 20-plus years in corporate learning to help develop individuals and organisations. Rachel writes about her start-up life at rachelsround-up.com.
