Monday, August 13, 2007

To Agamemnon's palace (we think)

This place, Nafplios, is like some kind of European resort, the sidewalks facing the harbor covered for miles in every direction, it seems by rows and rows of cafe tables and umbrellas. We feel fancy and significant just sitting there.

After breakfast (on our pension's spectacular terrace overlooking the city and harbor, the experience tainted only slightly by two tables of Americans arguing politics), we caught the local bus to Mycenae, only an hour or so away (and that's counting the incredible gridlock in the tiny town of Argos). Here, in Mycenae, it is said, is where Agamemnon (I've given up on trying to keep the spelling correct and consistent...it's just too tough in these internet cafes to worry about the particulars) lived, on top of a great hill, surrounded by mountains, and overlooking an incredible valley, covered in a patchwork of olive trees, grapevines, etc. We entered through the Lion's Gate, a famous entry way characterized by, well, a lion on top of a stone gate. But it's more monumental than my catty comment suggests, and opens onto the citadel where you find the remains of numerous tombs, and on top of the hill, of course, because that's where the king always lives, the remains of the palace. And let me emphasize, "remains." You get some rocks in a row, a low wall or two, and the very bottom stone of a few columns. Other than that, you've got your imagination and the guidebook to rely on.

It is here where the archaeologist Schliemann discovered the very cool mask of Agamemnon (which we saw back in the Archeological Museum in Athens), along with tons of other goodies. At the bottom of the big hill, and sort of away from the citadel was the beehive tomb of Clytemnestra...which consists of a stone, domed tomb beneath the hillside. Despite Leslie's highpitched warning, I made him walk across the top of the dome on the way out (he feared my gelato-weighted ass would cause the fragile ruin to give way). These were also long-time goals of Dr. M's (i.e., the seeing of the Lion's Gate and Clytemnestra's tomb), so there was a lot of sighing. (For those not up on their Greek history/myth, Clytemnestra was Agamemnon's wife who, pissed off because he had to sacrifice (that's one way of looking at it) their daugther Iphigenia at the beginning of the Trojan War, offed him in the bathtub when he returned. Supposedly, they still have the bathtub (understand, if you will, that this is all more than likely myth)...but we never found it. The sun and the swarms of tourists beat us back to the bus, which whisked us back to lovely Nafplios.

Upon closer inspection, we have decided not to rent scooters. Dr. M left his driver's license in Athens in his big suitcase (that driver's license has come to carry a lot of psychological weight for him...lots to talk about with his therapist), which means we would have to ride on the same scooter (i.e., he would have to touch me)...and the scooters, up close, appear to be held together with plastic ties, glue, and good luck. So we will catch a cab instead to the top of the mountain to see the castle that looms over our pension.

Leslie continues to cry out, regularly, that this is the cutest town he's ever seen. And last night, when we took the road behind the pension, through a tunnel and out onto another stone path nearby, we found ourselves perched over a cliff beneath which was a lovely little beach, full of frolicking folks. He was really beside himself then, crying, "I didn't know such places existed!" Routinely after one of these comments, he adds that he wishes he had a girlfriend and that she were here with him rather than me. Understandable if irritating.

Foods been ok. I risked the moussaka at lunch and it was transcendent.

Onto Athens tomorrow, Delphi the day after (we've hired our own cab driver instead of taking a giant, nasty tour bus).

Oh, and Eric, in regard to your comment, Leslie says he is DYS-FUNCTIONALLY ILLITERATE, OK?

1 comment:

Eric Lueders said...

Did you hear any rumblngs from the oracle? Did they say perhaps the evil counselor Karl Rove has left the buttonhead to think on his own? Or the flee the South where the temperature is over one hundred, Memphis one oh five and that on the thirtieth anniversary of the real King's departure from this space/time continuum. Alas and shit! Why do the good die young? Or is it catholic girls?

Leslie, give us a call. While the cat may have your keyboard, it doesn't have your tongue. We'd love to hear the blow by blow, no pun intended.