Acropolis crazy

Any place that, despite being packed with thousands of annoying tourists, can manage to steal your undivided attention for several hours is something special. The Acropolis is one of these places. Somehow we found it easy to ignore the throngs of people scrambling around on the rocks, falling on the rocks, taking identical pictures, and following tour guides eagerly, bored, and/or zombie-like. For me, the constant flow of visitors snapping photos only added to the the hill's timelessness. Our presence was but a fleeting moment in its history. The temples still manage to assert themselves, crumbling and tilting as they may be – even the scaffolding and bracing and reconstruction do not detract much from their elegance.



Of course like everyone else we took dozens of photos that do no justice to the place. I am no artist; I'm not really sure why I take photos at all. It's a ritual I haven't really figured out just yet. I can't imagine myself stopping, though, even recognizing how shallow an endeavor it can be. 

My high school photo teacher once allowed one of my friends to develop photographs she'd taken of a magazine cover for her final project; I was annoyed and perplexed by this. I think he may understand something I still do not, really. In any case, at least, when I am 83 and losing my memory, I will know I saw the Parthenon once.