he Acropolis might as well be a sauna. As I ascend its dusty slopes, scaling hunks of pinkish marble, the thick humidity sends a trickle of sweat from the nape of my neck to my lower back. Slipping off my sunhat to dab at my temples, I’m irked – I can usually hack the heat. Why do I feel like a swooning Jane Austen heroine?
It’s a relief when my septuagenarian guide, Eleni, confirms that this is stifling weather, even for Athens – especially for Athens in October. “I can’t remember when it was this humid,” she says, escorting me to a shady step to talk me through the temples in their Golden Age heyday. And Eleni should know – she’s been guiding here for 40 years.
Mid-October, Athens is still a summery 30 degrees – heaven by a hotel pool, but a little more than I’d bargained for as I planned long mornings weaving around the city’s ancient wonders.
