The lovely ladies holding up the portico of the Acropolis’s Erechtheum are to be encased in a see-through, climate-controlled, hands-off, plastic covering which will be filled with an inert gas that refuses to combine with other elements. Thus, the saga of the methodical and sometimes fanciful proposals for the protection of Acropolis monuments and statuary continues.
It all began when a UNESCO report announced to the world that the outer layers of the marble statues were being ravished by Atmospheric Pollution and that the alluring female figures on the Erechtheum were in danger of being reduced to Twiggys. This shocking revelation spawned a rash of proposals and aroused the Minister of Culture and other authorities who gallantly came to the rescue with a new proposition.
Indeed, at the moment the beleaguered damsels in distress are being swathed in plaster and one by one taken down, carried off, and delivered into the hands of experts in such delicate matters who will tenderly coax them back to health. Once restored, the maidens will be carefully laid in storage until such times as a shield is ready to protect them from further violation on the Acropolis. It is known that another winter spent with the irascible North Wind breathing down upon them and Jack Frost penetrating their deepest recesses would have been their undoing. Some reports claim in fact that the Minister of Culture plans the erection of a building in which to establish the ladies in a house of their own. But exactly where or when is not known.
The return of the lovely maidens to the Acropolis, where they can be enjoyed by all their admirers, is, needless to say, breathlessly awaited. Meanwhile we can relax in the confident knowledge that they will come to no harm so long as they are under the protection of the Minister of Culture. A classical scholar, he is known to be an active supporter of the preservation of our most ancient traditions.
Hocus Pocus at the Olympiad
SOMEWHAT concerned about the fate of our little Olympian Flame which was about to be dealt a cultural jolt propelling it to Canada in a matter of seconds by means of the latest technology, we attended a press conference given by Canadian officials on July 8 at the Hilton Hotel. We were comforted to learn that the Flame’s space-age journey would be preceded and followed by ancient ritual. The Flame would be lit by the rays of the sun and, what is more, travel from Olympia to Athens and from Ottawa to Montreal on torches fueled with olive oil (sic). Officials and television cameramen would be permitted to witness the dress rehearsal of the lighting of the Flame, but orthodox pagan tradition would be adhered to: observers would be discreetly excluded from the actual sacred rites at which the High Priestess (actress Maria Moscholiou) and attendant priestesses would light the Flame at Hera’s Temple in Ancient Olympia. The secret ceremony completed, the priestesses would proceed to the ancient stadium and hand the torch to the first of five hundred and twenty runners who would relay it to Athens where its ‘energy’ would be flashed by satellite across the Atlantic to deliver a coded signal in Canada, where our Flame would rematerialize.
We were rather uneasy about all of this from the start particularly since we couldn’t understand it. But when Peter Luff, the gentleman responsible for this phenomenon, translated the process into layman’s terms by comparing it to what happens when you dial a telephone number, we panicked. We don’t know what happens when you dial a telephone in Canada but we certainly know what happens here in Greece: if you make it all the way to the last digit without getting a busy signal, you get a wrong number or find yourself hooked up to a crossed line and another irate citizen cursing you and telling you to hang up. Our fears mounted as Mr. Luff elaborated on the process by explaining that the coded message received in Canada would trigger a laser beam which would ‘reconstitute’ the Flame. In this country we still regard frozen fish, let alone reconstituted foods and beverages, with a suspicious eye.
We expressed our doubts to one Canadian official. He loftily replied that it was a metaphysical question in the realm of whether or not God exists. Furthermore, he informed us, the entire issue is academic because in the ‘old days’ (up until the last Olympiad four years ago), the Flame was unceremoniously snuffed out on the flight to the host city since no responsible airline would have a flame on board one of its planes. We meekly asked if there were any danger of the Flame blowing out along the route or the laser beam not rising to. the occasion. He assured us there would be a lighter in every pocket and no hitches were anticipated.
The following week we watched the ‘dress rehearsal’ on television, noting the sober countenances of the Orthodox clergy, who were among the attendant officials, as they observed Hera’s priestesses going about their business. A few days later we made our way to the Stadium, built for the first modern Olympic Games held here in Athens in 1896, to witness the Flame’s take-off. A row of former host nations’ flags greeted us, and inside the Stadium an urn, which looked like an oversized bird bath, was waiting to be lit; this would remain lit during the Games. What appeared to be a makeshift telephone booth stood nearby. This was the altar where the Laser Beam Mystery would take place. President Tsatsos and Prime Minister Karamanlis were already in their places of honour.
Finally the climactic moment arrived. The last of the Greek runners entered the Stadium carrying the Flame, rose to the dais in front of the altar, and held his torch triumphantly aloft. The Greek, Canadian and Olympic flags were raised, and the Canadian and Olympic anthems were played by a band. Suddenly the band was silent but the conductor continued to conduct energetically as the players puffed away at their mute instruments. The sound of a phantom band and choir performing the Greek National Anthem eerily came forth from the public address system. In a few minutes the disembodied voice of President Tsatsos delivering his Olympian address floated towards us as the President himself sat back in his seat calmly chatting with the Prime Minister!
The Canadian representative soon stepped forward with his unlit torch. It was to be ignited by the Sacred Flame held by the Greek runner. The torches met but the Canadian’s wouldn’t light. A hastily executed swap salvaged the historic moment, however, and a blazing torch was soon in the hands of a Greek-Canadian girl who quickly disappeared into the booth with it and unceremoniously dispatched the Flame to Canada.
We decided not to stay for the folk dancing and festivities that followed and rushed home to our television set to see what was happening in Canada. We anxiously scanned the faces of the Canadian announcers for signs of crisis over in Ottawa, but everything looked normal as the Flame steadily burned in its Canadian bird bath in front of the Parliament Buildings. Our worst fears that an outraged Greek Molecule, upon discovering that it had been ‘reconstituted’ in Ottawa, would go on a rampage, or that the laser beam would go off its course and decapitate the capitol of Canada, were put to rest. We relaxed and called our correspondent in Montreal for an eye-witness account but we were impatiently reminded that the Flame was still in Ottawa and that it would not complete the last lap of its leg-propelled trip until the next day.
The Other End of the Beam
FROM our correspondent in Montreal: The Games begin officially on July 17 at 3:00 p.m. Montreal time (10:00 p.m. Athens time) amidst considerable controversy. Apart from the withdrawal of Taiwan, twenty-two African states, Iraq and Sri Lanka (Ceylon) immediately before the opening, the Montrealers themselves have felt quite strongly that the more than one billion dollars spent on the Games would have been better devoted to social services and education. Nevertheless, the crowds are enthusiastic as they make their way to the opening ceremony, arriving by bus or the underground Metro, the latter now extended to the Olympic site. The Metro is crowded, but we are not jostled and enjoy the trip on the bright, efficient and almost-silent, rubber-tired trains which deposit us at the site entrance.
Ticket sharks are in evidence, selling their goods for sums rumoured to be as high as one hundred dollars. (The top official price for tickets was forty dollars.) We ascend a ramp to the stadium where hosts and hostesses in stand-out yellow outfits are directing the crowds.
The stadium, partially enclosed by a transparent roof with the playing field open to the sky, is enormous, seating seventy thousand people without seeming to be crowded. It is not only beautiful but well-planned, with clearly marked sections and aisles. The colours within the stadium are vivid, from the garb of the audience to that of the personnel decked out in the Olympic colours (six in all, at least one of which represents a national colour of each participating nation).
An orchestra entertains as the crowds arrive but beats a hasty retreat when the ceremony begins. Eleven hundred Canadian girls in gym outfits appear carrying multi-coloured banners and leading the way for the World Youth Orchestra. A trumpet fanfare announces the arrival of the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and her other realms and territories — and titular head of Canada. She is dressed in hot pink and stands out, according to a teenager nearby, ‘rather like a piece of bubble gum’, but her demeanour and behaviour are majestic.
The national teams enter, led by the Greek contingent; it looks disconcertingly like an Athens College detachment that has wandered away from a March 25th parade. The remaining countries follow in French alphabetical order, which begins with Germany (Allemagne), and upgrades the United States to Έ’ (Etats Unis), except for the host country’s team which enters last.
The teams vary in size from the immense U.S. and U.S.S.R. contingents to the Fiji Island’s single competitor. The Saudi Arabians are in full tribal dress, the French in Dior outfits. The Americans look casually tacky and breach protocol by snapping photographs of the Queen as they march past. The Israelis wear black ribbons in memory of members of their 1972 team ambushed in Munich. The Lebanese carry a banner which reads ‘Peace, Unity and Equality’. The Canadians, of course, are loudly cheered. Ethnic groups in the audience proclaim their presences with loud cheers and vigorous flag waving as their teams pass. Assembled in the arena with their flags flying, the athletes are an arousing sight, enough to move even the most cynical heart.
The Queen declares the Games open and twelve athletes (representing Canada’s ten provinces and its two territories) enter with the Olympic Flame. A chorus of forty voices sings the Olympic Anthem written by Spyros Samaras. The chorus valiantly sings in Greek but no one seems to notice. We feel mildly wounded, but nonetheless proud.
The commemorative flag, which traditionally remains with the host country until the next Games, has been brought from Germany by the Mayor of Munich. He ascends the roster with the Mayor of Montreal. Folk dancers from Munich perform a polka, the flag is transferred, a Canadian troupe dances St. Lawrence Folk Airs, and then both groups join in a Canadian-German, folk-dance potpourri.
A three-gun salute is sounded. At the last shot eighty Picasso-like doves, unaware that they are ‘carrying the message of friendship to the people of the world’, are released. They circle three times and fly off. Two runners, a boy and a girl, move forward holding the torch and ascend the platform. They salute the four corners of the world with the Flame and light the urn in the middle of the stadium as the crowd applauds.
A gymnastic ballet is performed with brilliant streamers in national colours, a fantastic audio-visual display with overtones of a 1930s spectacular. We lament the fact that it will be lost on Greek audiences sitting before their black and white sets. The athletes dispense with decorum and formalities and busy themselves photographing the various spectacles and each other. The male members of the Italian team are unabashedly in hot pursuit of attractive females on other teams.
The national anthem is played and the Queen departs. The teams follow, marching in a disorderly fashion, and the Kenyans, to everyone’s delight, file out dancing.
