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October 15, 2008

Athens has been my home for more than three decades and yet it never ceases to surprise me. Even a stroll in a neighborhood I think I know well always stands my expectations on end. And I know there’s a lot more to it than antiquities, traffic jams, sidewalk cafes, museums and souvenir shops. How much more unpredictable might it seem to you, the visitor. Although you might not believe your eyes, all the photos below were taken in Athens.

You come to make a pilgrimage the Acropolis and at its foot you find a Cycladic village (1), with whitewashed houses, tiny flower-filled courtyards and straggly lanes going nowhere . . . until you spy a handwritten sign pointing to the Sacred Rock (2). 

You’ve been told that Athens lacks greenery and yet the Byzantine church dome below the village can scarcely be seen through the foliage (3).

Gods and goddesses still abound – on rooftops and sidewalks – at least as statues, like this terracotta Athena who guards a handsome neoclassical door (with only token help from the sleeping hound) (4).

And mythical allusions appear in many a taverna name: The sign here reads Sisyphus and you will have to climb some steep stairs to get to it, but at least you won’t be pushing a boulder at the same time (5).

This is Plaka, where anything is possible. Walk into a shoeshop and you may find a glass floor spanning ancient ceramic drainpipes. Enter the so-called Roman Agora or Forum, where Athenians shopped and traded until the 19th century, and you’ll confront a Turkish mosque, a multi-seated Roman lavatory and the legendary Tower of the Winds, which was also a water clock. Suddenly the trill of a solitary flute subdues all other sounds – for which I can provide no photo as proof.

This is one of the city’s most colorful districts, a mosaic of historical relics and contemporary kefi – the Greek equivalent of joie de vivre or zest for life. It doesn’t fit the stereotype of a pristine collection of monuments, but it is definitely more fun. The Parthenon inspires us as an example of what humankind is capable of, Plaka reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously — as in this piece of street art from a wall near the Roman Agora (6).

Sometimes you have to visit a place because of the person that is associated with it.   The Maglio of Breganze is such a place.   A maglio is a mechanical hammer used to temper hot  iron into different shapes, invented to save the human wear and tear caused by pounding on an anvil. 
 
Bruno Tamiello’s father had a shop, just like his ancestors before him, and Bruno has lovingly restored it and  brings history alive at this remarkable place.   As you walk through the wooden double doors, you are plunged into a world  of semi-darkness.  The walls are lined with old farm tools, all of which were forged by Bruno’s kin.  Tamiello’s blue eyes light up as he explains what it was like to be a boy at his father’s side, entranced by the open flame, never tiring of watching his father at work on the hot iron.
 
When Bruno yells:  “Via l’acqua”, loosely translated as “Pull out the stops” something amazing happens:  he pulls on a long wooden handle  and with a loud whoosh , water starts to flow through a canal, moving  water wheels both in and outside the building.  These in turn move a series of a half dozen long pulleys, used for operating a lathe and generating energy.  (imagine Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory..).  “ Now, stand back”, says Bruno, “we are working with really hot iron here-” as he moves to the open flame pulling out an iron rod that is red hot on one end. 
After cooling the shovel , Bruno goes to the next station, the grinding stone.  He uses a special stone found only in this area, and particularly adapted to this job.  When shovels started to become mass produced, Tamiello’s business faltered.  One trick of the trade he used to convince customers his shovels were superior was by clanging them against an anvil.  The mass produced shovels made a dull clang, while Tamiello’s rang like a bell.

Yet, modern technology was no match for slow craftsmanship, and the shop closed its doors in 1978.   Bruno  couldn’t bear to see the place deteriorate, so he began the long  task of restoration, doing much of the work himself, and the maglio was officially designated as a museum in  2001.
 
The shop is located in Breganze, just 20 minutes from Bassano del Grappa.  Bruno accepts groups
7 days a week, as long as you make a reservation.