For the first decade of the 19th century, the be-wigged Thomas Bruce, the 7th Earl of Elgin – a.k.a. Lord Elgin – in addition to carrying out his duties as the British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire – kept himself entertained during his deployment in Athens by prying off the ancient marble friezes that decorated the Parthenon, slicing the mighty stones into slabs as thin as crumpets, and then carrying them back to jolly old England, where he ultimately sold them to the British Museum for a paltry £35,000. Needless to say, the Greeks have been wanting for them back for ages. And the Brits have refused to return them just as long.

Well, wake up you Brits! Because with the opening of the fab new Acropolis Museum this year, all of the bogus arguments for keeping the Parthenon frieze in London have been deflated. What a showplace! (Seriously, the Greeks haven’t come up with anything to be this proud of since the invention of stuffed grape leaves.)  While the elegant galleries can be crowded (admission is one thin euro!), the stroll through the museum never seems rushed, and the meander (note Greek-derived word choice) through the high-ceilinged galleries takes just long enough to absorb — in a serene way — the many layers of Hellenic art and archaeology from the archaic age to the golden age.  Designers of failed museum structures take note: focus on the art, the air around it, and the way it is lit, and the people will come. (Museé d’Orsay, anyone?)

Above all, the museum does a fine job of conveying the history of the beleaguered Parthenon, which, over the course of its long life, has been a temple to Athena, a church, a mosque and one of the world’s biggest pieces of tourist bait. (It’s even been a backdrop to one supremely cheesy,  lite music pianist.) Inside the penthouse gallery, a digital recreation recounts this storied life, showing early Christians on scaffolding hacking away at the heads of ‘heathen’ gods with sledgehammers. There are also explosions, implosions, and the construction of a mosque and minaret within the hilltop ruins. (Talk about adaptive re-use!). But the greatest venom is saved for the nasty Lord Elgin, who is described as having “violently removed” the friezes.

The Bernard Tschumi-designed museum has evaporated, with a gazillion-dollar gesture, all of the rationalization by the Brits about why London, not Athens, is the right place for the friezes. The splendid new palace to art has climate control to shield the contents from Athens’ famous smog, as well as state-of-the-art everything. It’s got context in the nearby placement of the many centuries-worth of Greek art that culminated in the Age of Pericles, and most of all it’s got LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION.  Not to overlook the fact that the friezes were the victims of a cultural rape; it’s nice to reverse such situations.  And to those who cry, “Scary precedent!” we say that we don’t think St. Mark’s Basilica will have to return the four bronze horses to Constantinople anytime soon.  Let’s take it case by case, shall we?

Unfortunately, we were limited on the picture taking. (Photography was prohibited indoors – not that it entirely stopped us.) But, here’s a small taste on what was the ancient – and will hopefully be the future – home of the Parthenon marbles. In these galleries, the spirit of Melina Mercouri, the “hostess” with a heart o’ gold in Never on Sunday,  lives on.  As Greek Minster of Culture in the ’80s and early ’90s, she fought for the return of those rocks until the day she died.

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The facade: Reflecting the Parthenon on the hilltop.

Another view of the reflection.

Wherever you dig in Athens, you can’t help hitting some pesky old ruins, like these ‘new’ ones from the 2nd to 7th centuries A.D.

Strolling over the glass pavement, which reveals more ruins underneath.

The penthouse Parthenon frieze gallery. Missing pieces glare out as stark white plaster reproductions.

Sensuous braided ponytails on the caryatids from the Porch of the Maidens, seen up-close-and-personal for the first time in centuries…

…have become a major branding tool in the museum shop.

Also of note: the shop’s DIY archeology tool kits.

Our favorite gift store item, however, are the postcards (at left) that show museum workers – almost naked ones – constructing the building. With these hotties putting the thing together, who cares if it was built a couple of years behind schedule?

One of the museum’s best attributes: the floating cafe with a view.

If you were missing the so-called “Elgin marbles,” you can always ogle the reproductions inside the museum metro station. Take that, Anglo Imperialists!

“You can kiss me on a Wednesday, a Thursday, a Friday, or Saturday is best. But never never on a Sunday, a Sunday, a Sunday ’cause that’s my day of rest.”  We love you, Melina!

See many more pictures of the museum in this wonderful Flickr set by skammas.

It must be summer, because the artsy jet-set and their Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses have materialized in abundance on the Greek Isle of Hydra, like the wild capers that grow from the cracks all over the island’s stone stairways. This past week’s super-event was the summer show at the Hydra Workshop, a waterfront art space that puts together an annual exhibit inspired by the collection of London-based art patron Pauline Karpidas, who flew in le tout New York (and demi-Dallas) for this year’s event. Co-curated by mega-gallerist Sadie Coles, the young artist featured this year was “bad boy” New York artiste Nate Lowman, who was in attendance with non other than petite amie Mary-Kate Olsen. (Coles’ hubby, fashion photographer Juergen Teller was also there — with nary a Marc Jacobs model in sight.)

The art this year was all about being self-referential: silk-screened portraits à-la-Warhol featured all the friends-of-Lowman crowding the Hydra waterfront (and saving everyone the trouble of having to look in the mirror). Many of the images were based on photographs snapped by John Shand-kydd (cousin-by-marriage to Diana Spencer), who, to keep things really meta, was also there, snapping away at the proceedings.

For more on this little fiesta, check out Rachel Chandler’s (self-referential) report at The Moment.

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Before le deluge.

The show packed the crowds into the steamy gallery – some of them were even decked out in trousers. Fancy!

Here the artiste, sporting of-the-moment asymmetrical ‘do, confers with girlfriend/actress/grande coffee sipper Mary-Kate Olsen – holding a Diet Coke. (Loved your work in The Wackness, M-K! ) To the right, looking slightly dazed: Swedish photographer Hanna Liden.

“Do your balls hang low, do they wobble to and fro…?”

Lowman’s portrait of Pauline Karpidas.

The real deal.

Lowman, right, does yoga stretches while enjoying some chit chat with smokin’ sculptor U.B. Morgan. In the background, M-K holds court with Herr Juergen in front of gyro advertising.

Pandemonium was unleashed when this young lady tried to parallel park her donkey, almost mowing down the artiste. Quelle horreur!

Take one dead shark. Add a submerged coffin. Throw in a Jeff Koons-designed yacht. What do you have? A Matthew Barney extravaganza on the Greek Isle of Hydra, a renowned, car-free artsy fartsy hideout where everyone who is anyone goes everywhere by foot or burro. Hosted by collector/industrialist/Koons yacht owner Dakis Joannou, the performance/party/shark roast combined various events into one hyperreal Mediterranean spectacle.

The first installation was in a former slaughterhouse on Hydra’s Mandraki Bay, where Barney and painter-of-the-minute Elizabeth Peyton collaborated on a little event called Blood of Two, sponsored by the Athens-based Deste Foundation Center for Contemporary Art. Sadly, it did not involve fileting Björk. But it did involve getting up at dawn to watch a bunch of local workers dredge up a glass coffin from the Aegean that contained a Peyton-painted portrait of Barney. (So meta!) After the ceremonial lifting, said coffin/vitrine — very Jules Verne — was carried along a rocky path to the slaughterhouse, where the artsy jet set could admire its contents. Naturally, the Barney/Peyton team filmed the whole parade, which mimics a local Easter event in which an icon is carried into the sea and out again. (So culturally relevant!)

Accompanying the procession? One shark, dead, to be sacrificed to the ravenous culture vultures at an evening reception. This consisted of about 500 attendees sitting at the longest table we’ve ever seen (seriously, you couldn’t see the ends from the middle) all of whom diligently gnawed on the charred member of the phylum Chordata in the name of art. Naturally, it tasted like chicken. OK, not really. We didn’t eat the shark. There wasn’t enough to go around. But I’m sure it was delicious. Especially with a little tsatsiki on the side.

To read more on Matthew Barney’s shark party, check out The Moment, ArtForum and Art Observed.

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Scenic Hydra.

The area hadn’t seen this much excitement since the Peloponnesian War. Everyone was up at dawn to watch the coffin dredging!

The coffin arises from the deep.

Cue the media scrum.

The rocky walk from Hydra’s slaughterhouse to the annex-by-the-sea.

How cool would it have been if it had contained Damien Hirst? The mind reels.

As the sun set, it was time to retire from the slaughterhouse and get ready to party.

Here, Mr. Barney himself, casually clad in denim shirt, chit chats with one of the VVIP guests.

The shark: “I think we overcooked it. Get the A1.”

Getting ready to nosh, at the world’s longest table.

And nosh we did…into the wee hours.

All the while, Daki Jouannou’s yacht bobbed serenely in the harbor. Au Revoir, Mr. Jouannou! We look forward to nibbling on some other form of marine life next year!