Od Atine do Rija / From Athens to Rio

*Please, scroll down for english version

„Čudno je to“, reče mi Maja dok smo izlazile iz voza. „Sve nekako imam utisak da će se Platon pojaviti svakog momenta iza ćoška i poželeti mi dobrodošlicu.“ Smejem se toj njenoj izjavi. Mislim da sam tako nešto čula od svih onih koji su se razočarani vratili iz ovog grada. Jer Atina je moderan grad koji, iako se diči svojom prošlošću, ipak nosi i teret vremena. Atina više nije ono što je bila ni pre tri godine.

Ja ipak, stojeći na prašnjavoj železničkoj stanici Larisa znam, do srži svog bića da sam stigla u slavnu prestonicu starog kontinenta i obuzima me blaga jeza.

Stanovnici su ti koji čine ovaj grad posebnim. Mi sedeći sa čašom, do pola napunjenom čuvenim vinom sa ostrva Samos, slušamo o svim nedoumicama, dilemama i karakterima Atinjana. Više puta sam slušala da su savršeno svesni svoje slavne prošlosti i time odlučno odbijaju neslavnu sadašnjost. Ja želim da utonem u taj haos i nalet njihovih reči koje su svuda. Mi se probijamo kroz taj lavirint uskih ulica, potpuno prekrivenih grafitima. Zidovi se nižu, potpuno okupani  šarenolikim natpisima i crtežima. Kažu da su grafiti osvanuli početkom ekonomske krize koja je probudila bunt kod mladih i slobodu govora. Pa nije li ovaj grad prestonica demokratije? Akropolj se okupan svetlošću ponosno uzdiže u noći i podseća me na to.

To more ispisanih reči se meša sa glasovima, tonovima i plesom na svakom koraku. Buzuki, salsa, rok, elektro tonovi, sve to odzvanja u moru nepreglednih zgrada i balkona koji se spajaju jedan u drugi. Nas mami afrički bubanj u jednu usku ulicu gde desetine mladih pleše svom slobodom ovog sveta. Taj odraz slobode se ispoljava u svakom njihovom pokretu. Ja opčinjena posmatram taj fantastičan ples slobode, taj miks svih boja kože koji me tera da ovaj grad zavolim zauvek. Gledam taj ples slobode i razmišljam kako se nedaleko, u luci Pireus gasi taj isti san o slobodi, gde se na stotine i stotine njih vraća nazad, ka turskim obalama.

Čekamo dnevnu svetlost da dozvolimo tom brdu belog kamena da nas proguta. Stepenište nas dovodi tik iznad Odeona Heroda Antičkog i tada ugledam Atinu u celokupnoj veličini, što me gotovo dovodi do suza. Svi natpisi i more zgrada stapaju se u nepregledno belilo, srođeno sa ovim antičkim svetilištem. Krećemo se ka Atininom hramu i posmatram lica tih statua koja su i dalje tako jasna. Partenon nas dočekuje. Ti ogromni dorski stubovi nas podsećaju na to koliko smo mali naspram sveta, naspram prošlosti, naspram veličine ovog grada.

Na 42 kilometra odavde se nalazi Maratonsko polje. Ja razmišljam o tome da ću za samo dve nedelje trčati polovinu te razdaljine. Razmišljam o svojoj spremnosti i ponosu što sam deo toga, što zajedno sa milionima čuvam tu tradiciju.

Pred očima mi se pojavljuju skulpure bacača diska, bacača koplja… U Olimpijskoj godini, nalazim se u kolevci Olimpijskih igara. U toj istoj kolevci su se ponovo rodile moderne Olimpijske igre, aprila 1896. godine. Igre su se ponovo vratile kući leta 2004. godine. Od tada, Olimpijska vatra ponovo luta svetom i ove godine će najvećim plamenom, po prvi put zasijati u Južnoj Americi. Slavim tu pomisao, pogledom na ostatke Zevsovog hrama u dnu. Obuzima me uzbuđenje, šansom koju sam dobila da budem deo toga, pomišlju na taj daleki kontinent gde Olimpijska vatra trenutno putuje. Gde ćemo mi putovati uskoro. U tom istom uzbuđenju trčim ka Dionisovom teatru. Čitam ta imena uklesana u belom kamenu. Pokušavam da zamislim ta lica koja su imala privilegiju da sede u prvom redu teatra. Zamišljam atmosferu na sceni i u gledalištu. Zamišljam te glasove u sada večnoj tišini ovog mesta.

Svetlo se ponovo gasi i dok se krećemo iznova ka ulicama gde će nas ponovo progutati buka, borba i ples ovog fantastičnog grada, ja govorim „Atino, vratiću se“. Vratiću se nakon povratka sa onog dalekog kontinenta gde će ove godine Olimpijski plamen zasijati u punom sjaju.

Nećemo te izneveriti.

Autor teksta: Ivana Banković 

“It is so strange,” Maja said to me while we were coming out of the train. “I have the impression that Plato will appear at any moment around the corner and welcome us.” I laugh about that statement. I think that I’ve already heard something similar from all those who have returned disappointed from this town. Because Athens is a modern city which, apart from the pride of its past, still carries the burden of this time. Athens is no longer what it was just three years ago.

I still, standing on the dusty Larissa railway station, know, to the core of my being that I have just arrived in the glorious capital of the old continent and that makes me shiver.

The residents are the ones who make this place special. While sitting with a glass, half-filled with famous wine from the island of Samos, we are listening about all dilemmas, troubles, and characters of Athenians. I have been listening many times about their perfect awareness of their own glorious past in order to resolutely refuse the infamous present. I want to dive into that chaos and rush of their words. We make our way through the labyrinth of narrow streets, covered in graffiti. The walls are completely bathed in colorful descriptions and drawings. They say that graffiti appeared at the beginning of the economic crisis that has awakened rebellion in young people and freedom of speech. Well, isn’t this city the capital of democracy? Acropolis, bathed in light and proudly perched at night reminds me of it.

This spread of written words, mixed with the voices, tones, and dance is everywhere. Bouzouki, salsa, rock, electro sounds, all echoing in the sea of impenetrable buildings and balconies that merge into one another. African drum attracts us to the narrow street where dozens of young people are dancing with all the freedom in this world. The reflection of that freedom manifests in every movement. I am obsessively watching this fantastic dance of freedom, this mix of all skin colors that makes me fall in love with this city forever. I’m watching this dance of freedom and thinking how not far away, in the port of Piraeus that same dream of freedom is just extinguishing, while hundreds and hundreds of them are going back to the Turkish shores.

We are waiting for a daylight to allow this hill of white stone to swallow us. The staircase leads just above the Ancient Odeum of Herodes Atticus from where I can see the Athens in its full size, which almost brings me to tears. All inscriptions and buildings blend in the endless bleach, inoculated with this ancient shrine. We are moving towards the temple of Athena and watch the faces of those statues that are still so clear. Parthenon is waiting. These huge Doric columns remind us of how much we are small compared to the world, to the past, to the size of the city.

Marathon is just 42 kilometers from there. I am going to run half of this distance in just two weeks. I’m thinking about this willingness and pride to be a part of that, to keep this tradition with millions of people.

The sculptures of javelin and discus throwers appear in front of my eyes. In the Olympic year, I’m in the cradle of the Olympic Games. In the same cradle where the modern Olympic Games were reborn in April 1896. Games returned back home in 2004. Since then, the Olympic fire has been wandering the world and this year, for the first time, the highest flame will shine in South America. I praise the idea, overlooking the remains of the temple of Zeus in the bottom. I’m getting a thrill, I’ve got a chance to be part of it, the thought on that distant continent where the Olympic fire is currently traveling. Where shall we travel soon. That excitement keeps me running toward Dionysus theater. I read the names carved in white stone. I try to imagine all those who had the privilege of sitting in the front row of the theater. I imagine the atmosphere on the stage and in the audience. I imagine those voices now in the eternal silence of this place.

The light goes out again as we move towards the streets where noise, voices, and dance are going to swallow us again.  I promise to myself, “Athens, I’ll be back. I’ll be back after returning from that distant continent where in this year, the Olympic flame is going to shine in all its glory.

We will not let you down.”

Author: Ivana Banković