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 A
friend with a baby asked me if Athens was
stroller-friendly, a term now obsolete in
America with stores, sidewalks and buildings
of its towns and cities totally accessible to
baby carriages and the physically impaired. It
didn't take long for me to answer, that saying
Athens was not stroller-friendly would be
giving a false impression, as if Athens is
merely unconscious or unaware that people have
children and a popular way to transport them
is by stroller. Because to anyone who has
tried to get around the city pushing a small
child it would seem that Athens is not
indifferent or unaware, but is actually in a
state of war with them. Perhaps Athens is
merely the innocent bystander and the war is
between the automobile and the pedestrian, of
which the woman pushing a stroller is at a
serious disadvantage due to its lack of
agility and flexibility. But a war it is, and
I, being the type who loves a challenge set
out for battle. I believe that a battle can be
won in this war, with enough intestinal
fortitude, a trustworthy co-pilot (My wife
Andrea), a child willing to take the risk (my
daughter Amarandi, heavily sedated with
ice-cream), and superior machinery, in this
case our MacLaren B-63 stroller: a standard
lightweight design that I would put up against
any of the heavier, slicker European models.
It is a rugged route that will take us from
the shadow of the Acropolis to the flatlands
of Kypseli, and back.
After a
hearty breakfast of double Greek coffees we
set out from the Hotel Adams in the heart of
the Plaka. We don't foresee much difficulty in
the first leg of our journey since most of it
will be on pedestrian streets, but on
Kydatheneon we are nearly run over by a
speeding motorcycle. Luckily there is a cop at
a nearby cafe who absentmindedly blows his
whistle at the offender, then continues with
his conversation and coffee.
"I guess
we won't have to worry about him again", I
tell my co-pilot Andrea, but she seems
unconvinced.
We
continue up Kydatheneon easily sidestepping
several delivery trucks, a BMW and a Mercedes.
Apparently these pedestrian streets are off
limits to only certain cars, perhaps those
costing under ten million drachma. We easily
cross Nikis and head towards Amalias where we
find one of the dreaded confused pedestrian
crossings which even those without strollers
fear. These are unsynchronized lights that
only let you get as far as the median before
stranding you there for five minutes between
eight lanes of cars racing by in both
directions at eighty kilometers per hour.
Adding to the difficulty is the width of the
median which can accommodate the stroller, or
myself though not both. I must decide whether
I will stand in the street and risk certain
death, or have the front wheels of the
stroller in the street which would merely
endanger my daughter from the knees down. I
compromise and stand next to the stroller
though should any of the vehicles veer into
the median I am in a poor position of response
and we will both be killed leaving only Andrea
to react quickly enough to save herself and
tell our tale, upon finishing the journey of
course. But after what seems like an eternity
we are rewarded by seeing the little walking
man in the traffic signal turn green, and a
minute later traffic actually stops and we can
proceed.
The
National gardens are as safe a place to have a
stroller as any in the world though our
progress is frequently stalled by packs of
ducks who cross the pathways wherever they
please. It's the one setback we had not
counted on and we are forced to change our
plans and exit the park on Vassilias Sophias
rather then Irodou Attikou to make up for the
time these creatures have caused us to
lose.
As we walk
down Vassilias Sophias, we marvel at the brand
new metal barriers that have been erected to
keep automobiles from parking or driving on
the sidewalk. We are impressed at this giant
step in Greek traffic control until we realize
that the spaces between each barricade are
large enough for a car to get through, though
they may still impede large trucks.
On
Panipistimiou Street the traffic lights are working
to perfection but there is a policeman
directing and nobody is sure what to do, most
of all the pedestrians who are all trying to
get his attention. He finally notices the
large crowd and lets us pass. I urge my crew
to stay in the middle of this crowd since
stragglers and old people are frequently
separated from the pack and run over.
Across
from the University there is a small traffic
jam on one of the side streets. No problem for
the twenty or so motorcycles who deftly avoid
it by driving down the sidewalk, scattering
pedestrians and leaving us shaken in their
wake.
"This is
insane", screams Andrea through the din, and I
can see that she is starting to crack. It
could be time for a break though all the cafe
tables are dangerously close to the street.
"We've got to push on", I tell her.
We decide
to take Akadamias Street towards Omonia Square and
possibly increase our chances of survival. We
begin to notice that at every traffic signal,
the first to race through the changing lights
are twenty or thirty motorcycles that have
squeezed their way through the automobiles and buses to the
front. We see them at every light and we are
curious. Are they the same motorcycles or is
this the accepted style of driving?
On
Akadamias we discover that the sidewalks are
too narrow for our stroller and on-coming
pedestrian traffic to share, but people are
more then willing to squeeze against the
buildings and allow us to walk by. The
Athenians are generally good-natured when it
comes to children and are more willing to let
us pass then they would be if I was pushing a
shopping cart full of groceries. They smile at
Amarandi and step aside. I tell myself that I
need to get a realistic child-sized mannequin
to use for downtown trips when Amarandi grows
up.
We cut
through Green Park after spending twenty
minutes trying to cross Alexandras Street,
with another woman who had somehow gotten her
stroller wedged between a car parked on the
sidewalk and a traffic signal pole. As we look
back from the safety of the park she is still
trying to disengage herself while trying to
dodge the cars that are cutting the corner
closely to save time. There are very few
vehicles on the paths through the gardens and
we feel a sense of security. We stop for
frappes while Amarandi plays on a coin
operated car ride, pretending she is running
down people with strollers.
As we
enter Kypseli we discover that we cannot
cross the street because cars are bumper to
bumper as far as the eye can see. When we find
an opening on one side there's none on the
other. We decide to walk in the street where
our chances of being run over are only
slightly worse then on the sidewalk.
On Odos
Kypseli we are almost run down by three
motorcycles who have made an illegal u-turn
into the bus-only lane. We are frustrated by
the terrain which is rough and un-even. A
four-wheel-drive stroller might be more suited
for the broken pavement and shifting
geological strata.
At this
point we take a break and have lunch with
Andrea's two aunts who remember Athens the way
it used to be with dirt streets and sand piled
high on the sidewalks for the construction of
apartment buildings. We long for the good old
days and cannot focus on our meal knowing that
the hardest part of our journey is yet to
come.
We begin
walking back down 28th of October street
towards Omonia Square. We notice that many of the
cars illegally parked have tickets on them,
given out by uniformed meter-maids, a giant
step for Athens. We finally catch up with one
and marvel at her style of ticketing. Three
copies are made. One for the offending auto,
one for her and the record keepers at the
newly formed Ministry of Illegal Parking, and
one copy to crumble up in a ball and leave on
the sidewalk by every car. More work for the
Dept of Sidewalk Litter at the Ministry of
Government Waste.
Amarandi
is taking a nap but as we walk over a small
section of tiled sidewalk she is rattled awake
just as we pass a pile of rubbish waiting to
be picked up . There is barely room to pass
and in the pile is a stroller that looks like
it has been run over and mangled by a tank. My
daughter looks worried and Andrea begins
petitioning that we give up this journey and
take the bus back. I stand fast. There will be
no surrendering as long as I am in
command.
As we are
crossing Panepistimiou Street we are hit head
on by a tidal wave of pedestrians coming from
the opposite direction. We momentarily lose
sight of one another and I know from
experience that we have about twenty seconds
before the lights change and traffic will be
roaring over this very spot where we now stand
in confusion. I still have control of the
stroller but Andrea has been swept away with
the crowd back to the other side of the
street. I have a decision to make. I can turn
back and wait with Andrea for the light to
change again, a proposition that does not sit
well with me because this particular light is
notorious for favoring vehicle traffic. I see
Andrea motioning me to continue on. She will
try to catch up with us. "Don't worry about
me", she shouts above the din of autos revving
their engines waiting for the light to change.
Her last words are lost as the motorcycles and
cars take off sending the last remaining
pedestrian street crossers leaping for their
lives. I lose visual contact with her. Though
it worries me that we may not see each other
again for awhile I know that I have a mission
and must push on. It's what Andrea would have
wanted.
But
without her navigational skills the going is
much rougher. Pieces of missing and uneven
pavement take me by surprise. I fasten
Amarandi's safety belt just to be sure that she
is not bounced out of the stroller. We are
approaching the Athens market. Should she fall
out here she might be lost forever among the
thousands of feet that wander past the stalls
buying meat, fish and vegetables.
It's worse
then we expected. Not only do we have to deal
with the cars and trucks as we are jostled off
the pavement onto Athinas Street, but the
crowds in the market are oblivious to the
stroller, their eyes fastened on the produce,
looking for bargains. All Amarandi can see is
a sea of legs. She's packed in like a pepper
in a can of spicy Portuguese Sardines. I don't
know how much longer I can hold on to the
handles. One of my wrists is badly strained,
laying useless at my side. I am pushing
one-handed but mostly we are being swept along
by the current of humanity. The Mclaren B-63
is groaning from the pressure and it's only a
matter of time before the rivets begin popping
like metal projectiles from a pellet-gun,
perhaps seriously injuring innocent
bystanders. We have got to get out of this
crowd. But the melted ice from the fish stalls
has coated the street and I'm having trouble
getting traction, the strollers wheels are
spinning madly and the tread of my Airwalks
are rendered useless by the scaly fish water.
I know that if we don't get out of here and up
to the pedestrian street of Eoulou there is no
way we will make it back to the Plaka by ouzo
hour. Suddenly I see an opening in the crowd
and like a fullback breaking through the
defensive lines to daylight I am free. I stand
on Evripidou Street and catch my breath among
the canned and dried good stores. I check
Amarandi's pulse. She's OK. Just a slight case
of traumatic shock. Nothing a little more
ice-cream won't cure.
As I am
planning the remainder of our course Andrea
bursts from the crowd like an olive pit, spit
from the lips of a Cyclops. She picks herself
up off the pavement. She's shaken and bruised
but no permanent damage as far as I can see.
We take a break at a bench on Aeolou street,
watching the Athenian housewives walk in and
out of stores, some of them with children in
strollers. We realize that apart from the
wrecked one in the rubbish and the woman stuck
between the pole and the car on Alexandras Avenue,
these are the first strollers we have seen.
Apparently there are places in Athens that
strollers are an acceptable mode of
transportation and places where they aren't.
These pedestrian areas are perfect and because
they lead right into Monastiraki and the Plaka
we know that the rest of our journey will be
easy. The trip was much like white-water
rafting on the Colorado. We had just passed
through the last major rapids and all we
needed to do was lazily paddle our way back to
the Plaka to our favorite place for ouzo and
meze.
As we
cross the pointlessly bumpy stones in the
square in front of the main cathedral we are
all smiling to ourselves thinking about our
journey. Not many families have tried to do
what we had done and fewer had succeeded.
Though we know there will be no medals and no
parades we realize there is no way to
underestimate the importance of our
accomplishment. We had proven that it could be
done. Others would come later with corporate
sponsors and special equipment and they would
be the ones to reap the financial rewards and
the fame. But it would be us who they would
acknowledge as having been the pioneers of
this dangerous land route to Kypseli and back
by stroller.
And they
can keep the riches and fame because I think I
can speak for myself and the whole crew of the
McLaren B-63 when I say it's not the money. We
did it so others might follow. So that one day
all of Athens will be safe for stroller
pushing pedestrians. To know that we have
brought that day a little closer is reward
enough for us.
From
Matt Barrett and the crew of the McLaren
B-63
Read Matt's Book: Spearfishing in Skatahori
For more about traveling with children in Greece see Traveling with Children in Greece
For more about traveling with adults see Greece4Kids.com
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