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hawkwing_lbThe last thing I did today, before coming home, was visit a church. It's the Church of the Panaghia and St. Athanasius, on the corner opposite the best icecream place in Greece (Real Italian Icecream, by Real Italians from Napoli: the cherry glace is to die for).
Churches are... something I do, sometimes. Just like sometimes I pour a libation to ancient Greek gods on empty balconies after dusk, sometimes I go to churches - Catholic, or Anglican, or Orthodox - and stand in the quiet darkness, and think about two thousand years of faith and prayers, incense and candlewax, prayers for the living and prayers for the dead, prayers for health and prayers for remembrance. Three, four thousand years of petitioning the heavens...
Sometimes, like tonight, I light candles, say the prayers I no longer believe in to a ceiling painted gilt and blue, icons gleaming of gold and polish in the dark. Pray for us, now and at the hour of our deaths. Be thou gracious, O lord. Trying to understand what it is in that dim silence that whispers to me still, despite my certainty of the inevitability of extinction, despite my certainty in the non-existence of benevolent omnipotence.
I've libated Hermes on my doorstep and crossed myself in front of holy icons. In the end I'm still an atheist, though the awe of holy places lacks no power to move me: I can't reconcile logic and theology, mysticism and science, and deep as the roots of my tendency towards religious awe might go, reason has to be how I, we, know the world. That which can be proven is common ground.
...All that aside, I had a very long day.
T. had suggested back in Athens that I join the study tour in the Argolid while we were in roughly the same place. So this morning I rose early and caught a taxi at ten to eight to the the archaeological site of Lerna, near Mili. Lerna was closer than I expected, so I arrived before the site even opened, an hour before the tour was due to arrive. I spent my time listening to the honking of geese away down in the groves of green oranges, slowly ripening, and sitting under an olive tree contemplating the foundations of a Neolithic house.
Lerna's an early site. There's Meso and Neolithic activity on the site, continuing in the Bronze Age, with Early, Middle and Late Helladic phases, including a corridor house (MH) and Mycenaean shaft graves (LH), after which Lerna goes out of use. There are Geometric (ie, c8th C BC) graves in the vicinity, and the Heraklean myth of the Lernaian Hydra, but there ain't a whole lot of standing remains - it's a small site, and (I'm not a prehistorian) I can't bring myself to get excited about small structures and soil discolouration.
The study tour is possessed of a pink bus, and after T. gave his prehistorian's spiel on Lerna, I caught a ride with them to Tiryns.
Tiryns has standing remains. "Wall-girt Tiryns," Homer calls it: Cyclopean masonry, a couple of megarons, galleries within the walls, a monumental approach - it stands in the middle of a fertile plain, altered in the Mycenaean period by a dam which changed the course of the river. It also used to be within 1km of the sea, before silting. From the top of the citadel, one can see olive and orange groves, with Nafplio and the Venetian citadel of the Palamidi rising to the north.
From Tiryns, onward to "strong-walled" Mycenae, approximately 15km away in a straight line. Mycenae is pretty bloody impressive, a hill overlooking a plain (more olive groves) flanked by higher peaks. Its walls are mighty impressive, and the Mycenaean remains speak of a strong, vital Bronze Age society, with cult activity associated with Grave Circle A (from which Schliemann uncovered all the pretty stuff that's now in the National Museum) and up the top, more megarons, and behind these a cistern. K. did not want to lead her half of the tour down into the narrow dark passage that leds down and down pitch black steps (which turn to the right, taking you out of sight of the sun), slippery with use, the massive smooth masonry walls weeping damp and balanced to a triangular cavity overhead, to the very bottom where a dry basin once received water piped in from the higher peaks. So I took the torch and played responsible adult for the students. It's dark down there, dark as pitch, and slippery, and steep. But thanks to a certain Bear and her roomie, I have higher standards for what constitutes a Terrifying Underground Place than I used to, and it was really quite a comfortable wee passage. Plenty of standing and elbow room.
Mycenae has some complications in terms of talking about its later occupation. The end of the Bronze Age saw a series of destructions across Greece, earthquakes and fires and whatnot, and there seems to have been a general population decrease. But Mycenae did form the core of an archaic settlement, which was destroyed by Argos in the mid-fifth century, and reoccupied in the Hellenistic period. It did not survive as a town of any size much beyond the early empire, though, and much of the evidence for later periods was cleared away by Schliemann, thanks to his Homeric obsession.
From the citadel at Mycenae (great views, and the Lion Gate is definitely worth the look), down (past the tholos tombs, the so-called tomb of Clytemnestra and the so-called tomb of Agamemnon), to the Treasury of Atreus, which is actually another Mycenaean tholos tomb. A Mycenaean tholos tomb consists of a monumental entrance, the dromos, which was usually filled in after the burial, and the tholos structure itself with a mound of earth raised over it. The tholos structure is circular, rising to a beehive-shaped roof: that of Atreus (so-called) is 13m high, and the acoustics inside are creepy and whispery: sound travels around the periphery of the structure, so that a spoken word on one side echoes oddly, and sounds almost right beside your ear on the other.
I don't remember for Mycenae, but I know some of the Mycenaean tholos tombs at Marathon and parts north show evidence for horse sacrifice and horse burial in the fill of the dromos. If I recall correctly, at least one shows possible evidence of human sacrifice - though most archaeologists do try to suggest other explanations.
T. bought me lunch in a coaching dinner place, and promised to make me sing for it at Epidavros (no, there was no singing. There was talking about Asklepios). I got to talk to the bus driver in Greek, a little, and T. told me I should apply to a)guide the tour next year, b)intern at the Institute when the internship comes up again, and c)apply for the fellowship for A.D. when it comes 'round. (I think he thinks I'm halfway competent. How did that happen?)
A stopoff at a pot factory, for the picking-up of souvenirs, and then on by bus to Epidavros. There we talked about cthonic aspects of the cult - there are indications that part of the altar may have been covered by a canopy of some kind, indicating that in that part of the alter sacrifices were made to the god in his aspect as a hero: a covering indicates that the odour of the sacrifices were directed down, into the earth, to heroes, rather than going freely up like offerings to the Olympians - and we also talked about the Thymele, which (some people say may have) held the cult's sacred snakes... but there is a very small twisty area at the bottom, and it's entirely likely that cthonic rituals took place here.
What I didn't mention yesterday, and should have, is that like many sanctuaries certain things were prohibited within the sanctuary as polluting: one could neither die or give birth within the temenos walls. There's an interesting discussion to be had about the metaphysical/metaphorical significance (and similarities) of dying and giving birth - both attach human beings to physical and bodily, rather than transcendental and godly, realities - but I'll spare you the digression.
I didn't stick with the tour to its ultimate conclusion, having to catch the 1800 bus back to Nafplio - it stopped for ten minutes to let the bus to and from Kranidi make a connection, and I got to talk to the driver in a little Greek - and I got back to Nafplio around 1910. Back to hotel, meet cats on stoop again, change of shirt, out to dinner at a restaurent called Kepos ("Garden") which had four cats, including two tiny black kittens. Then around the corner to the Best Icecream Ever (which T. told me about today, so I was seeking them out), and grandmother-gift-purchasing in the tacky souvenir shop opposite the church.
I bought a beer in the shop and libated Hermes and Asklepios on the balcony with half of it before drinking the other half. Which made me tipsy. And now I have to answer email and wash and sleep.
Long day. Tomorrow, I go to beach, and maybe War Museum of Nafplio. Nowhere very far.
Churches are... something I do, sometimes. Just like sometimes I pour a libation to ancient Greek gods on empty balconies after dusk, sometimes I go to churches - Catholic, or Anglican, or Orthodox - and stand in the quiet darkness, and think about two thousand years of faith and prayers, incense and candlewax, prayers for the living and prayers for the dead, prayers for health and prayers for remembrance. Three, four thousand years of petitioning the heavens...
Sometimes, like tonight, I light candles, say the prayers I no longer believe in to a ceiling painted gilt and blue, icons gleaming of gold and polish in the dark. Pray for us, now and at the hour of our deaths. Be thou gracious, O lord. Trying to understand what it is in that dim silence that whispers to me still, despite my certainty of the inevitability of extinction, despite my certainty in the non-existence of benevolent omnipotence.
I've libated Hermes on my doorstep and crossed myself in front of holy icons. In the end I'm still an atheist, though the awe of holy places lacks no power to move me: I can't reconcile logic and theology, mysticism and science, and deep as the roots of my tendency towards religious awe might go, reason has to be how I, we, know the world. That which can be proven is common ground.
...All that aside, I had a very long day.
T. had suggested back in Athens that I join the study tour in the Argolid while we were in roughly the same place. So this morning I rose early and caught a taxi at ten to eight to the the archaeological site of Lerna, near Mili. Lerna was closer than I expected, so I arrived before the site even opened, an hour before the tour was due to arrive. I spent my time listening to the honking of geese away down in the groves of green oranges, slowly ripening, and sitting under an olive tree contemplating the foundations of a Neolithic house.
Lerna's an early site. There's Meso and Neolithic activity on the site, continuing in the Bronze Age, with Early, Middle and Late Helladic phases, including a corridor house (MH) and Mycenaean shaft graves (LH), after which Lerna goes out of use. There are Geometric (ie, c8th C BC) graves in the vicinity, and the Heraklean myth of the Lernaian Hydra, but there ain't a whole lot of standing remains - it's a small site, and (I'm not a prehistorian) I can't bring myself to get excited about small structures and soil discolouration.
The study tour is possessed of a pink bus, and after T. gave his prehistorian's spiel on Lerna, I caught a ride with them to Tiryns.
Tiryns has standing remains. "Wall-girt Tiryns," Homer calls it: Cyclopean masonry, a couple of megarons, galleries within the walls, a monumental approach - it stands in the middle of a fertile plain, altered in the Mycenaean period by a dam which changed the course of the river. It also used to be within 1km of the sea, before silting. From the top of the citadel, one can see olive and orange groves, with Nafplio and the Venetian citadel of the Palamidi rising to the north.
From Tiryns, onward to "strong-walled" Mycenae, approximately 15km away in a straight line. Mycenae is pretty bloody impressive, a hill overlooking a plain (more olive groves) flanked by higher peaks. Its walls are mighty impressive, and the Mycenaean remains speak of a strong, vital Bronze Age society, with cult activity associated with Grave Circle A (from which Schliemann uncovered all the pretty stuff that's now in the National Museum) and up the top, more megarons, and behind these a cistern. K. did not want to lead her half of the tour down into the narrow dark passage that leds down and down pitch black steps (which turn to the right, taking you out of sight of the sun), slippery with use, the massive smooth masonry walls weeping damp and balanced to a triangular cavity overhead, to the very bottom where a dry basin once received water piped in from the higher peaks. So I took the torch and played responsible adult for the students. It's dark down there, dark as pitch, and slippery, and steep. But thanks to a certain Bear and her roomie, I have higher standards for what constitutes a Terrifying Underground Place than I used to, and it was really quite a comfortable wee passage. Plenty of standing and elbow room.
Mycenae has some complications in terms of talking about its later occupation. The end of the Bronze Age saw a series of destructions across Greece, earthquakes and fires and whatnot, and there seems to have been a general population decrease. But Mycenae did form the core of an archaic settlement, which was destroyed by Argos in the mid-fifth century, and reoccupied in the Hellenistic period. It did not survive as a town of any size much beyond the early empire, though, and much of the evidence for later periods was cleared away by Schliemann, thanks to his Homeric obsession.
From the citadel at Mycenae (great views, and the Lion Gate is definitely worth the look), down (past the tholos tombs, the so-called tomb of Clytemnestra and the so-called tomb of Agamemnon), to the Treasury of Atreus, which is actually another Mycenaean tholos tomb. A Mycenaean tholos tomb consists of a monumental entrance, the dromos, which was usually filled in after the burial, and the tholos structure itself with a mound of earth raised over it. The tholos structure is circular, rising to a beehive-shaped roof: that of Atreus (so-called) is 13m high, and the acoustics inside are creepy and whispery: sound travels around the periphery of the structure, so that a spoken word on one side echoes oddly, and sounds almost right beside your ear on the other.
I don't remember for Mycenae, but I know some of the Mycenaean tholos tombs at Marathon and parts north show evidence for horse sacrifice and horse burial in the fill of the dromos. If I recall correctly, at least one shows possible evidence of human sacrifice - though most archaeologists do try to suggest other explanations.
T. bought me lunch in a coaching dinner place, and promised to make me sing for it at Epidavros (no, there was no singing. There was talking about Asklepios). I got to talk to the bus driver in Greek, a little, and T. told me I should apply to a)guide the tour next year, b)intern at the Institute when the internship comes up again, and c)apply for the fellowship for A.D. when it comes 'round. (I think he thinks I'm halfway competent. How did that happen?)
A stopoff at a pot factory, for the picking-up of souvenirs, and then on by bus to Epidavros. There we talked about cthonic aspects of the cult - there are indications that part of the altar may have been covered by a canopy of some kind, indicating that in that part of the alter sacrifices were made to the god in his aspect as a hero: a covering indicates that the odour of the sacrifices were directed down, into the earth, to heroes, rather than going freely up like offerings to the Olympians - and we also talked about the Thymele, which (some people say may have) held the cult's sacred snakes... but there is a very small twisty area at the bottom, and it's entirely likely that cthonic rituals took place here.
What I didn't mention yesterday, and should have, is that like many sanctuaries certain things were prohibited within the sanctuary as polluting: one could neither die or give birth within the temenos walls. There's an interesting discussion to be had about the metaphysical/metaphorical significance (and similarities) of dying and giving birth - both attach human beings to physical and bodily, rather than transcendental and godly, realities - but I'll spare you the digression.
I didn't stick with the tour to its ultimate conclusion, having to catch the 1800 bus back to Nafplio - it stopped for ten minutes to let the bus to and from Kranidi make a connection, and I got to talk to the driver in a little Greek - and I got back to Nafplio around 1910. Back to hotel, meet cats on stoop again, change of shirt, out to dinner at a restaurent called Kepos ("Garden") which had four cats, including two tiny black kittens. Then around the corner to the Best Icecream Ever (which T. told me about today, so I was seeking them out), and grandmother-gift-purchasing in the tacky souvenir shop opposite the church.
I bought a beer in the shop and libated Hermes and Asklepios on the balcony with half of it before drinking the other half. Which made me tipsy. And now I have to answer email and wash and sleep.
Long day. Tomorrow, I go to beach, and maybe War Museum of Nafplio. Nowhere very far.
