My family and I were in Athens last December, a short vacation in Greece on my wife and son's way back to Taipei. I had  work to finish, so I'd have to go back to Albania for another two months before I could follow.  Our plan was to be based in Athens, but to travel around the mainland a bit. (Too cold for the islands!) It would be a time to take it easy, to relax together before a necessary separation.

Then  the economic protests broke out, a 15-year-old boy was shot dead, and the media quickly labeled what followed as riots. On television, it really did look bad: overturned cars, burning buildings, rumours that the airport would be closed. Our friends and family fearfully asked us if we were going to go through with the trip.

I checked with some connections in the country and was told not to worry.  TV distorts things, they said; the violence was actually confined to a small part of the city. For most people, life went on normally. And so we didn't change our plans.

And so it was. We took in the sights--the Acropolis, the museums, the Temple of Zeus, took an overnight trip to Delphi. Just what wanted. The day after we returned from Delphi, we struggled through the Christmas crowds, bought a few gifts for friends, took our son for a carousel ride, enjoyed ice cream... an idyllic day on vacation.

The we noticed some broken windows, a fire-gutted car,  a couple of burned-out shops, and we found ourselves before the government buildings, across a wide street from a large crowd of protesters. The vibe was clearly happy, a surprise considering recent events. We walked across the avenue and wandered around a bit, taking in the people,  the posters, the banners, the music. People doted on our infinitely dotable boy. Not so different from  the  demonstrations I'd been part of back home. Then it hit me--we really were hearing the Rolling Stones' "Street Fightin' Man." Then it was Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues." The organizers were getting the crowd mobilized into a column, ready to march down the avenue to where a line of riot police with hemlets and shields had now assembled. And what was the signal to march? "Give me an F!" the loudspeaker blared. F! the crowd yelled back. "Give me a U!" U! Give me a C!" C!. "Give me a K!" It was Country Joe and the Fish, speaking from 40 years ago at Woodstock, and the "Fish Cheer," leading into their anti-war "Feel Like I'm Fixin' to Die Rag."

What should this tell me? That there's nothing new under the sun, or at least for the past 40 years? That there's a serious shortage of good Greek rock & roll? That America, depite McDonald's, General Electric, and George Bush, remains, against all odds, a subversive inspiration to the world? That Socrates and Aeschylus used up the Athenian supply of creativity for the next 2400 years?

As the marchers moved off, among the signs proclaiming, in English(!),  Down with Globalization and No Police State, I saw one that read Insurrection: Yes We Can.