As the taxi turned from the sea, I saw the major part of Athens had been built in a basin reminding me  of Los Angeles. From the shorelines to the foot of the far mountains, millions of five-story apartment blocks inundated the landscape in a flood of cement and antennas. And not one sky-scrapper! Difficult to believe in a capital city there would be no skyscrapers. Just row after row of flat, ugly houses, a suburban nightmare that made Los Angeles look like the city of angels. Mind you, when I booked this trip, I thought I'd end up somewhere in the far east where people lived in tents, rode donkeys and used lanterns to light their way. So, I should have been thankful.

​

Within minutes, I discovered smog wasn't something exclusive to Southern California. A bilious blanket of yellow/brown exhaust hung over the megalopolis like a cloud of dust kicked up by a desert sandstorm. And there was a peculiar smell to the air. Something I couldn't quite put my finger odor I had never detected back home on the West Coast; heavier and oilier, somehow, but just as pungent.

Without warning, a large hill appeared about a mile up in front of us looking like a cyst on Athena's ass. I couldn't believe it. Right in the middle of a sea of flat buildings, a clump of earth and rock crowned with a conglomeration of white ruins jutted up out of the cement surroundings.

At first, I mistook the ruins to be the city hall, a state library, or a stylized Hilton. The biggest building was roofless intimating the city had run out of funds and weren't able to finish the grand project. But what stumped me more was how the Athenians could have agreed to leave such an eyesore right in the center of the city? To make matters less comprehensible, the wreckage looked like it had been sitting up on the hill a long time. Why hadn't anyone cleared away the rubble? What an blight.

As we got closer to the sight, I looked up, and realized the structures were actual ruins. ancient ruins. Not the beginnings of a new museum or courthouse, but leftovers from a century old civilization. Old tumbled down blocks of stone, time-worn steps and rocky pathways, huge, broken columns; all lying helter-skelter

on the summit of a mound of rock. I figured Greece had real financial problems if they didn't even have enough money to clear away the remains of debris that had been lying around for thousands of years.

Needless to say, this was my first encounter with the world-famous Acropolis, and I had no idea what it was. All I saw were so many ruins set on top of a rock-like protrusion. As I approached this “world wonder,” my first thought was how inept the city planner had been. Hadn't he had the foresight to see the population of the city might explode someday and make this “ode to an ancient time,” superfluous? Well, maybe not superfluous, but out of place. Even Walt Disney had the prudence to put Disneyland outside the city and not in the very middle. What a waste of valuable space. This antediluvian “theme park” sat on acreage that must have been worth millions. Wouldn't it have been lucrative to move the antiquated attraction out of the center and into the suburbs and, in its stead, erect a few sets of skyscrapers? The uninterrupted view of the ocean would've been stupendous... and profitable. But who was I to judge a decision made by the ancients?

The mount raced by and disappeared in a haze of smog. I wondered why the trip to the bus station was taking so long. I guessed I hadn't been so far off base thinking the driver out to make some extra money by taking a more indirect route. I hoped I'd have enough cash to pay him when we reached our destination.

Oh, oh! I hadn't taken the time to change money at the airport. Whatever. I relaxed assured everyone on the face of the earth would be more than happy to have a few American dollars in their pocket. At least they were more desirable than... what were they called again? “Dramas?” No. Something more masculine. Oh, yeah! Dragma! No... Drackma. That was it. Or close enough.