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In an old black-and-white photograph, one wore long hair and a rakish mustache, the other thick-rimmed glasses.
More than 200 international philosophers braved strikes and protests to come to Greece this month to join a forum and debate matters of the mind.
All manner of workers are protesting in Greece these days, enraged by layers of state cutbacks required in exchange for international bailout money. But there are few gestures of defiance more potent, or pungent, than the mounds of rotting, moldering refuse that multiply like mushrooms around overflowing trash bins and containers.
The ancient philosophers had their golden age. Now it's the turn of Greek newspaper cartoonists. The economic crisis that threatens to go global offers a bonanza for satirists with a talent for the scathing image or caption.
The Greek financial crisis has become a health hazard.
At 2:30 p.m. on July 19, 2009, the first Afghans to climb their country's highest mountain unfurled a national flag on the icy peak in the blue above the clouds.
To find symbolism in the Greek financial crisis, just go to the source. The national image on the two-euro coin in Greece depicts an ancient myth about the abduction of Europa, a Phoenician princess, by Zeus, the king of the gods in the form of a bull.
An American in uniform stands near a landing zone at about 2 a.m., moonlight framing his features, and talks about dead and maimed men he knows. His flight out isn't until next month, and he is counting the days.
After the suicide bombing, the U.S. Marine dog handler lay on a stretcher, his bloodied legs laced with shrapnel. They brought in his wounded dog, too. Blood dripped from the haunches of the Belgian Malinois.
It is a conversation, the military surgeon says, that every U.S. Marine has with his corpsman, the buddy who is first to treat him if he is wounded by an insurgent's bomb.
Former Afghan President Burhanuddin Rabbani sought to bridge Afghanistan's divide, but instead ended up one of the conflict's many victims. The former leader, fighter and finally peace envoy, whose shifting fortunes and loyalties matched the complexity of his splintered nation, was assassinated by a suicide bomber on Tuesday. He was about 70 years old.
"Baby, I walked on a path today. Everything was clear. Nothing happened."
The U.S. Marine swings his metal detector, scanning debris, rocks and swirls of soil for any hints of concealed bombs as he leads the single-file patrol. Alert, pausing often, the troops act like ambassadors too, lobbing smiles and candy at Afghan children in adobe-lined alleyways.
The jarring blast near the American base sent up a cloud of smoke that drifted silently in the breeze. "Not good," a U.S. Marine said. Minutes later, vehicles raced through the gates with the wounded, three Marines and half a dozen Afghans.
A few Greek entrepreneurs perch in front of laptops in bare offices above a ground-floor supermarket, five minutes' walk from the Athens square convulsed by riots last month over the country's economic crisis.
James Murdoch scaled the rungs of the global media empire that his father built. Now scandal taints the heir apparent, threatening to derail the expected succession and shaking the assumption that the Murdoch dynasty would preserve its tight grip over the multibillion-dollar business.
Rebekah Brooks dined with Britain's prime minister over Christmas and got a public show of support from her boss Rupert Murdoch before the cameras this month as allegations of phone hacking on her watch mounted.
Britain has been transfixed by the phone hacking scandal that has shaken its media world. But will it really change the nation's press?
The new head of Rupert Murdoch's British newspapers is a seasoned operator in his global empire, presiding over the successful launch of an Italian pay television venture in direct competition with the powerful business interests of Premier Silvio Berlusconi. He is also seen as untainted by the phone hacking scandal in Britain.
On a hotel rooftop in Exarchia, a gritty neighborhood known to breed artists and anarchists, a hodgepodge of activists plotted how to breach Israel's sea blockade of the Gaza Strip. Soaked in Mediterranean sunshine, these warhorses of the Palestinian cause murmured in English, Greek, Arabic and other tongues.
Organizers of a Gaza-bound flotilla said Sunday they have not abandoned their plans to breach Israel's sea blockade of the territory despite a Greek government ban on their vessels leaving the country's ports.
A stun grenade exploded in the hand of a Greek riot policeman, severing a finger. Police and demonstrators ceased combat and scoured the debris-strewn street, uniting in a frantic search for the missing digit.
Zeynep Gurcanli, a Turkish journalist, endured lengthy security checks upon arrival at Israel's international airport on her previous reporting trips. This week, however, Israeli authorities rolled out a red carpet of sorts for media guests from Turkey, an old ally turned harsh critic.
A new entry Sunday in a blog purportedly by a lesbian Syrian-American living in Damascus asserted that the entire saga was a hoax, supposedly written by a man.
Burcu Kutluk, the daughter of a retired admiral in the Turkish navy, never got involved in the street protests that she witnessed when she was a student, believing they would have little impact. She thought: What's the point of marching? Who will listen?
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