Another in my occasional blogs about our travels…

(Edited to include clarifications and reflections).

I don’t know if you know this but one of the many reasons I am obsessed with history is the myths and legends of Ancient Greece. Understandable really when you consider my education. Back in the dark ages (or the 1970s of you prefer) the British education system insisted on teaching history in a semi-factual basis. To put it another way, the younger you are the earlier period you were taught – I was about to say “studied” but obviously as a 5 or 6 year old you don’t really study, you just sit and listen as an adult tells you supposed “facts” and you are expected to just accept them. Because to a six year old stories about hiding an army inside a giant wooden horse is as believable as a man on a winged horse cutting off a snake woman’s head. Later in life of course, you can (as I did) choose to go back and do your own research to determine whether what you were indoctrinated with was fact or propaganda.

Anyway, back to Ancient Greek mythology and “history”. The unraveling of the interweaving of fact and fiction is central to the understanding the Ancient World. Thanks to the work of hundreds of scholars over the past century or so (whether they were enthusiastic amateurs or trained professionals) we can argue that some of the stories from Classical history have some basis in fact but other tales are most probably entirely fantasy.

Achilles may have existed but I doubt anyone would disagree that he wasn’t dipped into magic blood/water to protect him from harm leaving only the one heel vulnerable. The siege and subsequent sacking of Troy probably did occur (though I don’t personally believe the siege lasted ten years, nor do I think the wooden horse is more than poetic licence).

In other words, while we have evidence that Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus (if we can believe those names) and some of the others named in the works of Homer existed, the evidence for Theseus, Bellerophon, Medea, Ariadne and Andromeda is sadly lacking. And it is sad. I personally would love to find evidence for at least two of these mythological characters. Obviously the main characters from these myths, the deities, are most probably entirely fictional.

You may have noticed I did qualify that statement.

That’s because while their divinity is entirely fictional, it is not outside the realms of possibility that there were people with those names (or similar) and over hundreds (if not thousands) of years, their real identities and accomplishments were mythologised and deified. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not even remotely suggesting that Zeus, Aphrodite, Ares, et al were real people that lived on Mount Olympus; throwing thunderbolts and controlling the seas, bringing forth springs or creating winged horses by cutting off priestesses heads. I’m not that gullible or stupid.

Their semi-divine offspring are more problematic to determine, recorded history is replete with evidence of warriors and nobility claiming decent from gods. Even real historic figures that we have a relatively large amount of information about are not immune to mythologising. Does anyone really believe that Alfred the Great burnt the cakes? Or that Robert the Bruce spent the night in a cave playing with spiders? But, as improbable as those scenarios are, they are still taught as “fact”.

One thing we can be sure of though, the people that told these stories were real. There were ancient Athenians and Spartans. Xerxes and Leonidas did eat, drink and make merry. There were kings of Ithaca, heliots did labour in the fields below Mount Teygetos; Troy, Thrace, Lycia and Corinth were full of real people doing real things. Baking, painting, bathing, shagging, pickling walnuts, breeding horses and countless other activities were all happening to real people in real time. They probably didn’t all look like Gerard Butler or Kirk Douglas but just because Victorian antiquarians and Hollywood portray as much historical accuracy as a Winnie the Pooh book doesn’t mean we should dismiss everything from antiquity as fantasy and myth.

And it is because I don’t dismiss all of the stories from the Ancient world as fiction and wishful thinking that LSA and I chose to tour the historical sites of the Peloponnese. Luckily for us there is a travel group that specialises in tours like this. In fact, this is the second time we have enjoyed the services of these informed and enthusiastic guides*.

For this trip we were in the more than capable hands of the charming and informative Maria. Seven action packed days of coach trips and archaeology. Covering, in a matter of air-conditioned hours, distances that would have taken days for our ancient counterparts. Crisscrossing Greece to wander, wide-eyed and gobsmacked, through Sparta and Olympia, Mycenae and Athens.

To be honest, our flight was not the most comfortable or pleasant experience, landing at Athens airport at around 11pm followed by an hours ride to our hotel. Whereupon a coach load of (primarily) middle-aged English people descended upon the specially arranged meal like locust. Followed by about four hours of restless sleep before our first full day.

Early starts are the price we pay for these trips. Counterintuitive I know, for what is essentially our first holiday in two years but entirely worth it. And let’s face it, sleeping on a coach may be uncomfortable but it’s not impossible. One thing we hadn’t anticipated however was the unseasonable weather. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not naive enough to think that early spring is the same as high summer but our research suggested the average temperature would be between 16 and 19 degrees Celsius. Unfortunately the arctic weather that has plagued Britain for the past two weeks has effected Greece as well, bringing freezing temperatures and excessive snowfall. Not something to be faced wearing lightweight clothing and sun cream. Poor clothing choices notwithstanding, it’s everyone onto the coach and Mycenae here we come. Our Hero is as giddy as a schoolboy when we arrive at Mycenae, while LSA is much more sensible, choosing to forgo the driving snow and freezing wind to stay in the comfort of the coach. We’re here! Mycenae! Let me at it! Blimey it’s COLD!!!

Before we head up to the summit and the citadel we charge, or at least shuffle swiftly into the on site museum. Now this is impressive. Now I can finally see Agamemnon. I can see objects and decorations that were part of his world. The lived experiences of Bronze Age individuals were here to be interpreted from how they represented their world. The skills displayed by the artists and artisans are breathtaking and inspiring. Here, have a butchers…

While we have been overwhelmed by the beauty and expressions of human interaction and ingenuity the storm that has been silently been encroaching upon us has arrived. Nevertheless we wrap up as best as we can and push forward. I have seen it, I have touched it, I have walked in the footsteps of Agamemnon under the Lion Gate.

I am soaked through, shivering and frozen solid but still apparently seven years old. I must also resign myself to only going as far as the Lion Gate, to venture further up the mountain to the citadel is to risk frostbite and death. Quick everyone retreat back to the coach. Over the sound of chattering teeth and creaking joints we are informed we are to journey to the first Capital of Independent Greece, Nafpoli. On the coast. Really?! The coast, in this weather?

A quick five minute trundle back down the mountain and it’s everyone off the coach to explore an adjacent beehive tomb. LSA covers this one as Our Hero is frozen to his seat.

Is this a coach trip or a mobile sauna? Oh no, my bad. It’s just the steam coming off 40odd people as we descend the mountain again. My knees sound like a galleon in a hurricane as I struggle to get off the coach but let us explore Nafpoli. My hands are a lovely shade of blue as we stand in the town square discussing our lunch plans. Food sounds good but first let us search for a scarf or two. Alternatively LSA finds herself a nice hooded shawl and I get another new coat. We find a lovely restaurant that seems to think a bowl of pasta should serve 4 or 5 people. It is also frequented by a very persistent cat that is determined to stick its nose everything it can see, including the Parmesan cheese!

Our day is not over. Next stop the Temple of Asclepius. Or rather, the theatre at a site dedicated to the god of healing. Theatres hold a unique position in Ancient Greek societies. More than just a venue to present the arts, they were political arenas and cultural expanders. They were also beautifully decorated.

Helios has returned to his rightful place, and more importantly, turned up the engine power on his chariot. Our Hero has begun to thaw out but exhaustion is setting in. I don’t think either of us remember the journey back to the hotel.

Why are we getting up at seven am while on holiday? Oh that’s right, because today it’s Olympia!

Before we go any further I would just like to clarify that Olympia is not the home of the modern Olympiad. The modern athletic contest that bankrupts entire nations and disrupts the chosen city for two weeks every four years may be named after the place but they didn’t start here. Indeed if we had more information about another of the ancient “games”, say the Thracian or the Athenian Games as we do about the 416 BCE (wrongly attributed to774 BCE in original post by writer [Well you were drunk when you wrote it.] {How dare you? I was a little blurred. It’s not like I could barely stand.} [Yeah, well go with that, nodnodwinkwink] Olympic Games, then we would be celebrating them every four years.

Anyway, back to the story. It could be argued that the supplanting of the Ancient Greek Empires by Rome and then Rome’s demise was both a blessing and a curse. Gone was the first proto-democracy in Athens, forever lost are thousands of plays, philosophical debates and medical texts, but thanks to Roman appropriation of Ancient Greeks sites the architecture and artistic achievements of great individuals are still with us. Scattered across the world they may be but not all is lost. Luckily for us not everything was stolen or destroyed in the 1600odd years since the fall of Rome either. I am not going to go into the debate about the systematic removal of art and cultural heritage by Northern European treasure hunters other than to say that what they did leave behind is more than equal, if not in some cases superior, to what was taken.

Olympia is beautiful! Sprawling and underfunded but a joy to behold. To stand in the starting blocks of ancient foot races, to gaze longingly at the temple of Zeus, to be able to discuss the question of whether or not women were allowed to attend the Ancient Games in the actual gymnasium of those games is making Our Hero fizz in weird and wonderful ways. Personally I think that expecting (reportedly) 40,000 men to spend a week or more surrounded by sweaty, oiled up athletes, with the wine and feta flowing, without a single woman is ridiculous. I would further argue that the very idea is a result of misunderstanding the Ancient Greek culture, mistranslations of texts and religious propaganda. But let us get back to the tour, at least I would if people would stop walking into shot!!

Let us move on from the in situ archaeology into the attached museum. Quick, pass the brandy! Our Hero is having a crisis. This place is AMAZING!! Don’t believe me? Look at this lot then…

At this point I would just like to thank and apologise to our patient and long-suffering guide Maria. I’m sure herding cats on ice skates would be easier than trying to get this bunch of reprobates to all move in the same direction at the same time. Oh and I must give a shout out to Christos, our driver. I wouldn’t attempt some of these roads in a Mini never mind a luxury coach. Our return to the hotel is again accompanied by the Snore Chorus.

Day three and we all stumble, half asleep, onto the coach for the first of our optional excursions. Today we head for Sparta!!

[I’m not sure it needs the double exclamation marks.]

{Of course it does. This is SPARTA!!!}

[Technically it’s Sparti and you are not Gerard Butler]

{Don’t be such a spoilsport. This is my trip and I’ll channel my inner Leonidas on anyone that tries to ruin it.}

[Will that include CGI’d sixpacks?]

{How very dare you?!}

Actually Sparta is a bit misleading. Because there have been three of them. Ancient Sparta, Medieval Sparta/Mistras, and Modern Sparta/Sparti. With the collapse of the Ancient Greek city states original Sparta was abandoned. The inhabitants of the prehistoric superpower moved from the fertile plain below Mt Taygetos further up onto the mountain. It is to this Byzantine town that we head. You won’t be surprised to find that during this strictly hierarchical period the town was divided by “class”, with the nobility living on the top of the mountain surrounded by thick high walls and everyone else left to negotiate the steep, narrow roads/goat tracks on the side of the mountain. Nor will it surprise you that churches and private chapels dominate during this ultra-religious period and it is towards these we are guided.

Given the average age and prevalence of mobility aids among our group Maria now gives us a choice. Those of us that wish to can walk/climb up to the castle while the rest will go up by coach. Guess which Our Hero chose. Girding his loins and calling on the great god Pan, Our Hero sets off… LSA (and the majority of the others) make a beeline for the coach. Ten minutes later, sweating, stumbling, and wheezing like a busted bellows, Our Numpty is cursing his hubris. But did he make it, you ask yourselves. Of course he did and here’s the proof.

It is reported that the aristocracy of the time refused to walk up to the citadel, preferring instead to use the services of a sedan chair. In all honesty I can’t say I blame them. Pan himself would have trouble getting up here. As breathtaking as the view is, Our Hero has but ten minutes to make it back to the coach. So get those trembling lengths of knotted string you call legs into gear and try not to face plant on the way down.

All is not lost though. Thanks to King Otto of Greece Sparta came back down the mountain. Luckily for us though modern Sparti didn’t entirely destroy Ancient Sparta, though Maria did explain that someone had at some point in history had raided the Ancient site destroying everything he found, after making copies for his own records exclusively. If Our Hero had been paying better attention I would be able to name him but all I can tell you is he was a French aristocrat, it happened in the 18th century; and that when he did finally go public with his “research” no one believed his claims because he couldn’t provide his sources.

Some of ancient Sparta does still exist so of course, when we stop in town for lunch, Our Hero and LSA can’t get off the coach quick enough. In a beautiful display of town planning done right, on the edge of the public park within which the remains reside is a local school. In her usual manner LSA has been channeling her own inner Spartan but as we draw close to the Agora pain and fatigue make a renewed assault upon her and sacrificing her own desire for culture waits patiently while Our Selfish Nerk runs off camera in hand.

There is another theatre to visit but the needs of LSA always come first. Let us repair to a local eatery for now. Tomorrow is a big day.

Tomorrow is a rest day.

After a brief lay in, maybe the length of a couple of snooze button hits, we stroll down to breakfast. Waving to those that chose to visit some old church followed by an olive oil tasting, Our Hero and Lone Supporter Angel plan to spend their day of rest exploring the village in which their hotel is located.

After a morning stroll along the promenade and harbour walls, Our Hero on constant alert to ensure LSA doesn’t pull of her little mermaid act and leap majestically into the crystal clear water, our pair of adventurers trawl the local shops sharing looks of bemused incomprehension with the locals. They wrapped in coats and scarves, us in shirt sleeves and summer dress. Yes it might be the tail end of winter for you but for us it’s practically a bright summer’s day. If this is spring, remind me not to come back in high summer. Just to make the day extra indulgent LSA treats herself to a visit to the hotel’s hair salon while Our Hero avails himself of the masseuse. Ahhhh Bliss. Tomorrow we travel to Delphi.

Oh Glod! Another 8am start? Well if we must. Delphi here we come. I have wanted to visit this place since I was about 8 years old. A desire that has only increased with every new story read.

Speaking of stories, our informative and increasingly patient guide Maria, regales us with the myth of Oedipus as we travel through the town that sits on Ancient Thebes. We don’t stop. Time is ever nipping at our heels on this trip, the need to reach our destinations to give us sufficient time to explore them without it resulting to farce.

And now, after 3 hours on the coach, we are here. I’m sure it would have only been two and a half hours if we hadn’t had to go through the nearby village. Maybe I should explain. About 20 years ago the village decided to cash in on the increasing desire by some people to throw themselves down a mountain on nothing more than a plank or two of wood. Unfortunately, nobody considered the correlation between the skiing boom and the increase in traffic. Therefore the village didn’t think to widen the road. Actually that’s a bit misleading, they couldn’t widen the road because the village is on the side of a mountain and in order to widen said road they would have had to demolish the majority of the buildings on either side of what is essentially a cart track, so now coaches must travel through at about 3 miles per hour, being very careful not to take out pedestrians and shop fronts as they manoeuvre around bends, and cars must back up to let them through. I know I wasn’t the only one to question why the local authorities haven’t installed traffic lights at either end of the ONLY road to ensure the safety of all road users.

The sighs of relief as we exit the village could have powered one of the nearby wind turbines.

Delphi, like all of the previous sites we have visited has suffered over the centuries. Plundered first by the Bloody Romans, then forgotten by all as competing Invisible Sky Daddy Cults dictated Greek politics and culture, until eventually various Northern European aristocrats and antiquarians robbed out anything they deemed worthy of their drawing rooms and museums. I suppose we should be grateful that they didn’t steal everything, as the fragments they did leave behind are sufficient to fill a medium sized museum onsite, while the foundations of most of the ancient temples, the theatre, the gymnasium, and some treasure houses were either ignored or deemed worthless to the tomb raiders masquerading as historians. What was left therefore is just about enough to recreate about two thirds of the ancient sacred complex.

We should also be grateful to Gaia. If she hadn’t shrugged at the appropriate time and place we wouldn’t have this.

We don’t know who this is. We know he was a champion charioteer and that he raced for Polyzalus but he is unfortunately just another “peasant” buried under the plaudits of a “great man”. The faceless masses are not entirely forgotten at Delphi however. Practically every wall is covered with inscriptions naming freed slaves from across the ancient world, a combination of legal contract, insurance policy, and pious devotion. Possibly the greatest collection of non aristocracy and military leaders preserved in stone until the memorials raised after the Great War. Don’t quote me on that.

Our visit to Delphi, like the other sites visited on this trip, is a bittersweet experience. No matter the knowledge and eloquence of Maria, regardless the vividness of our imagination, as informative and detailed the interpretation panels, I can practically guarantee that most of us are wishing, deep down, that we had access to a TARDIS. Though personally, I would be happy with a cabbage smelling, toilet exploding, nondescript Pod, as used by Max, Markham and all the other nutters from St Mary’s§.

For now though, with Helios almost out of site in the west, it is time to return to our hotel and prepare ourselves for our final adventure tomorrow. Athens and the Acropolis await.

We have reached the final day. Our Hero has had about three hours sleep. Whether because he’s missing his own bed or because he’s back to the five year old on Christmas Eve is unknown but regardless today we descend on Athens. But before we get to the good stuff a quick visit to a former monastery. The inside may have some skilfully made mosaics but to be honest they are not my thing. Nor, to be honest, do I approve of the central figure being such a grumpy image. For a person reported to be forgiving and loving this bloke looks like I’ve just left a dirty protest in his coffee. I escape for a nicotine stick at the earliest opportunity. Onwards to the big event. It appears that the gods have listened, access to the summit of the Acropolis has been vastly improved in recent years. The queues however are still horrendous. We have arrived not long after opening but it still takes nearly half an hour to enter. Was it worth it? What do you think?! I did find it difficult to get around with my jaw on the floor though. Equally I have to keep reminding myself that despite this being a sacred place of multiple temples in the Ancient world, and reused subsequently by many Cults to host their own houses of worship (not forgetting a Turkish armoury/munitions dump) it has never been a place of quiet reflection. It has always been noisy, busy and crowded. Today though selfie sticks have replaced sacrificial offerings, attendants with whistles patrol where priests formally held sway, and the languages heard are from further afield than Macedonia and Rome. I think I’ve actually hurt my neck trying to look at everything at once.

The footing may be treacherous, the Parthenon may still be covered in scaffolding, the Sacred Caves may be out of bounds but Our Hero is over the moon to be standing on the rock that Athena and Poseidon argued so vehemently about.

A late lunch followed by grabbing a few last minute mementos and our adventures in the Peloponnese are almost at an end.

Back to our hotel to pack, pay and prepare for tomorrow’s return to real life.

Greece I love you. Your drivers are crazy, your alphabet is incomprehensible, your food is delicious and your history is beyond compare. We will return. Next time we will go at our own pace, visit only the places we wish and we will avoid the ouzo!

Before you go here is a final look at a man I greatly admire defending himself with the image of probably one of the most maligned women in history and literature… Readers [If there are any left by this point], I give you Leonidas and the aegis of Medusa!

§For further information please read The Chronicles of St Mary’s collection by Jodi Taylor. You will not be disappointed.

*see our journeys through Anatolia here.