After Four Years, Tens of Millions of Dollars, and Tons of Paint, Athens Cries Out, ‘Let the Games Begin’
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ATHENS, Greece – Marc Levinsky stood atop the Acropolis yesterday and surveyed the vista – the higgledy-piggledy white cubes that make up the streets of Athens, the vivid azure blue of the Aegean Sea. “It’s just amazing,” he said.
That scores of construction workers were also among the ruins, making drilling noises straight out of a dentist’s office, seemed to be of little consequence to the 31-year-old actuary from Metuchen, N.J., who’s here to take in the Olympic Games with his wife.
Nor, for that matter, did he mind the surfeit of gardeners underfoot, frantically shoveling holes in the ground and filling them with little potted trees. “There’s no way they’ll grow,” he laughed. “It’s too hot.”
Athens insists it’s ready for the Olympics, but with the torch-lighting set for Friday, the city’s to-do list is still remarkably long. Some roads remain unpaved and many of the trees that were supposed to be decent-sized have yet to be planted.
That said, hotels and athletic facilities that weren’t finished a couple of weeks ago are up and running. All the facilities for the 31 sports are in working order and the streets and metro stations are as polished as a Jessica Simpson fingernail. The race to get ready has been a show of last-minute heroism that gives hope to procrastinators across the world.
The city has pulled through, and everybody from the mayor to the taxi drivers seems to be breathing a sigh of relief. It’s cost Greece $7.2 billion to achieve this – and some estimate that the costs could hit the $10 billion mark by the time the Games are over.
Much of the credit belongs to Gianna Angelopoulos-Dasalaki, the glamorous lawyer who led the Olympic Bid Committee eight years ago and who was persuaded to come back from London and head the Olympic Organizing Committee in 2000.
Since her arrival, organizers have shifted their focus from paltry concerns, such as who fills which post and the meaning of different titles, to more practical things like girding the city for an onslaught of 150,000 tourists and 22,000 journalists.
Athens was chosen in 1997 to honor the country’s historic ties to the Olympic Games. The ancient games ran between here between 776 before common era and common era 385 and the first modern games were held here in 1896. This year the shot put competition will be held at Olympia, and the Marathon will finish at the old stadium.
A stroll down any major street finds “Welcome Home” flags billowing from buildings and ancient statues whose heads have been sweetly crowned with garlands. The billboards for which the city is famous have been taken down and in their place are large signs promoting the Olympics.
Little brown kiosks with the words “City of Athens – May I help you?” painted on them abound, as do young volunteers standing on the streets in their rainbow-colored polo shirts, waiting to give directions to confused passersby. Apart from the loud engines of cars, the streets of Athens are fairly subdued. Those wandering around the city streets tend to be cameramen, tourists, officials – and, on occasion, a Greek or two.
The real action must be in the Olympic Village, where the athletes are tucked away, practicing during the day and dining and trading pins with each other at night.
In the center of the city, the once empty Syntagma Square is filled with cafes and – of course – volunteers. Oddly enough, the Olympic planners put a Times Square-worthy neon Greek flag with Olympics rings just across the street from the Grande Bretagne Hotel, which is arguably the city’s most elegant. But the crowds have yet to appear.
“It feels a little numb,” said Yianni Kakoulas, a 35-year-old psychologist who is about to flee to the Greek Is lands. “I was expecting more energy. It feels flat.”
On a recent night, the popular Plaka district felt emptied-out. None of the restaurants was more than half-full, and all of the diners were wearing official necklaces indicating that they were Olympics-affiliated. Still, the restaurant workers seemed cheerful, kissing the hands of prospective diners and laying the tables with sport themed paper tablecloths.
And ticket sales are picking up, with 90,000 sold on Wednesday: As of that evening 2.7 million of the 5.3 million tickets had been sold.
Nobody’s expecting things to go entirely smoothly. Numerous glitches have arisen: the spreading doping scandal, public outrage over the Olympic mascots that look like furry science beakers supported by flat yellow feet, and animal-rights activists’ concern that the city is neutering stray dogs.
And then there’s security. With a guard to athlete ratio of 5:1, the measures in force here are greater than at any past Games. The $1.2 billion security plan involves no fewer than 50,000 Greek troops, four mobile command centers, 157 fighter jets, 52 helicopters, 51 warships, and one great big blimp coasting around the sky.
The measures are comforting. On Tuesday night a performance by a troupe of white knee-high boot-wearing Cretan singers was followed by a flashy cocktail party. As the party wound down, a cluster of the male musicians marched toward the door, singing songs and telling every young woman that passed, “We’re singing this for you.” The burly security guards manning the main door moved aside, trying their hardest to control their