The Real World of Mythic Greece

Traffic in Athens is organic. Cars, buses, trucks and swarming motorcycles and Vespas are in no particular lane but ebb, flow and merge in the manner of a mighty river. “We’re reaching our first circle. One. Two. Three. (I’m counting streets.) Turn right, now!”

Morning rush hour in Athens, and we had to cut across town to reach the toll road to Corinth. (Travel Tip No. 1: Make sure your maps have the Greek spelling as well as the English transliteration.) I glanced at my companion. Beneath his absolute concentration, Sean McLin was having the time of his life. We were in Greece, and the adventure had begun.

We had spent a long time talking about a trip to Greece, then narrowing the dream down to what seemed most idyllic: 10 days in the northern Peloponnese, the peninsula southwest of Athens that was favored by the gods.

We weren’t looking for a group tour of Greece, but we did want some guidance for using our time and money wisely. Dogged research, along with tips from friends and colleagues, led me to what seemed the perfect arrangement: a customized, partially guided tour from Hellenic Adventures. The company would give us vouchers for hotels, arrange for the car rental and provide personal guides for our stops in Athens, Delphi and Olympia, plus lots of extras. The rest of the time we would be on our own--but with Hellenic’s assistance only a phone call away.

Sounds ideal? Well, there were moments of anxiety. Everything had to be paid for in advance, and we, in Los Angeles, were dealing with a Hellenic agent in Minnesota. Ultimately we had to accept on faith that Hellenic would deliver what they promised. We were going in off-season (October), staying at hotels chosen by Hellenic, and driving a 600-mile loop from Athens to Corinth to Nauplia, then across the Peloponnese to Olympia, north to the ferry at Rion, then east to Delphi and back to Athens. It was to be our personally crafted journey on the back roads of Greek history. If it went bad, it would be very bad.

Our arrival at Athens airport was not a good start. Hellenic had arranged not only a driver and car but also a guide to assist in our transfer to the hotel. Our plane was late, and our guide was fuming; she had booked another job after us. As we rode toward the hotel, she said Hellenic had made some changes in our trip, but she couldn’t remember what they were. She handed us a cell phone to call the Athens office. The phone was dead.

We were relieved to reach the hotel, the Acropolis Select, and to have our prepaid Hellenic voucher accepted. Our room was pleasant, with a private deck, modern decor and, oh joy, a full-size bed. (Travel Tip No. 2: In most Greek hotels a “double” means twin beds pushed together.)

The neighborhood, the Makrigianni district, is next to the south slope of the Acropolis and only a 10-minute walk from the Plaka, the old Turkish quarter, with its tavernas and night life.

We settled for a short walk, a light meal and an early bedtime. A Hellenic guide would be picking us up early for a morning devoted to the Acropolis, the hilltop compound of ruins that symbolizes Greece and the National Archeological Museum.

I wasn’t enthusiastic about having a guide for the major sites along our trip. We are avid readers of history and archeology. It seemed to me that armed with our “Blue Book,” which comprehensively describes archeological sites, we would only be annoyed by the prattle of a professional.

I was wrong. Eleni Petroutsou was passionate, intelligent and articulate. When we reached the Parthenon, she made us turn our backs to its brilliance and look instead at the surrounding hills, the harbor and ocean. “First consider the landscape and second the buildings placed within it.”

This set the tone for an amazing five hours of discussion and reflection. We moderns are trained to look first at the physical evidence of the past--buildings, ruins, monuments. Through Eleni, we learned that this is the end point, not the beginning. When we did look at the Parthenon, the Temple of Athena and the exquisite Erechtheion, it was with very different eyes.

A “welcome dinner” our second night was in Symposio, a converted house in Makrigianni. It was part of the Hellenic package, and we girded ourselves for tourist kitsch.

How do I describe a dining experience that surpassed (in memory, at least) any meal I’ve had in San Francisco, New York or Paris? Do I mention the butter made by the mother of the restaurant owner, the olive bread? The wine, Katogi Averoff, rich, smooth and generous on the palate? A dish of stuffed sardines, complex but not overpowering? The fresh grilled perch on a bed of thyme and tomatoes?

The next morning, National dropped off our car, a Hyundai hatchback, at the hotel, and off we went. (Travel Tip No. 3: The best driving maps are “Greek Road Editions” and “Freytag & Berndt,” available from travel bookstores.) Within 90 minutes we were across the Corinth canal and in the Peloponnese.

Going south on the coast road from Corinth to Nauplia, I began to notice miniature houses, each topped with a cross, along the side of the road. Some were plain, some elaborate, standing alone or in clusters. It dawned on me that they were memorials to people who had died on this road. The next day I dashed off a postcard to my folks requesting a nice one if we met the same fate.

Road signs in Greece (stop, yield, no parking, no passing) appear to be only suggestions, a philosophy I would see Sean readily adapt. But the coast road was a delight, reminding us of U.S. 1 along Big Sur. Switchbacks and curves were generally marked, and most of the signs were in Greek and English, although the English version occurs a bit later, so it is handy to know the Greek.

Nauplia is rightfully considered one of the country’s most beautiful towns. The old sector nestles around a small harbor, dominated by the towering Palamidi fortress and the smaller citadel, the Acronauplia. Narrow streets, some so steep they are stairs, are lined with elegant old houses and mansions. Forget calendar images of white- and blue-painted houses. These buildings are vibrant in orange, yellow and green. Add the color of bougainvillea, the fragrance of jasmine and lemon trees, the sound and smell of the ocean. . . . I could live there.

And for a few days we did, in the Nafsimedon. The Neoclassical mansion has nine rooms; ours was in a small building behind the house, with a private courtyard shaded by a lemon tree. I bustled around opening the shutters and noticed Sean staring thoughtfully at the beds: two singles side by side. We had to laugh.

The golden hour before sunset found us resting at an outdoor cafe. Across the road, the steps to the Palamidi beckoned--all 857 of them, to a jaw-dropping view from the top. (There is also a road if you prefer to drive.)

The occupying Venetians completed the Palamidi in 1715 and lost it to the Turks four years later. My guidebook says, “You should imagine the desperation of the hunted fleeing down those steps closely followed by the Turks.”

One-third of the way up, I pointed out that by the time we got to the top, we’d have no time to explore the fort before it closed. We turned around. We had tomorrow. That’s the beauty of staying in one place for a few days.

Tiryns, the “birthplace” of Hercules, was a few miles up the road, and just beyond that, “Golden Mycenae,” home to Agamemnon, who survived the siege of Troy only to be murdered by his wife, Clytemnestra. Immersed in a world 3,500 years old, we arrived at Tiryns in the gray morning light; we were the only ones there. It was easy to believe that the Cyclops built this citadel; only giants could move those stones. (The largest block weighs more than 15 tons.)

Invigorated by Tiryns, I decided we should travel back roads to Mycenae. After going through the same village four times in an effort to find the right turnoff, the driver diplomatically offered to buy lunch at Mycenae if we could get there within the hour. The navigator generously agreed to go by the main road.

Tour groups! They’re not supposed to be here in off-season! We encountered them at the Treasury of Atreus, the magnificent tomb, near Mycenae. We entered between groups, and it wasn’t so bad.

By then Sean had developed a compulsion to visit tombs. The Blue Book (published in 1964 and loaned to us by my parents) mapped out several in the area, but the guides at the gate denied their existence. This only fed Sean’s determination. It seemed best to humor him. I found a narrow road that appeared to match the map in the book. The gods were kind. Sean found three of the tombs--one with the roof caved in, one in pristine condition, one under excavation. On our way back to Nauplia, Sean started to gloat. I had to remind him that the gods don’t take kindly to hubris.

We spent too much time at Mycenae and tomb hunting. Reluctantly we changed our plans. We still had to climb Palamidi.

Halfway up, we were grateful for the cloudy day. Up we went, and up some more, up the dizzying zigzag staircases, until at last the opening to the fort came into view. Just then the skies opened, and within minutes we were soaked. Ten steps from the top, and we had to turn back, again.

Our next destination was Olympia, on the west side of the Peloponnese. Rather than take the direct route suggested by Hellenic, I decided we should go through the mountain range of Arcadia and explore the small villages along the way. One of my maps showed the road as one lane, the other as two; the Blue Book said “unpaved.” As navigator, I kept this to myself.

The road, although narrow, was great. The driver had become more Greek with every passing day, and I felt it prudent to remind him that the small houses along the road were not just decorations.

At Karitena we stopped to climb to the 13th century Frankish fort.

Stemnitsa looked charming and had several tavernas, but we pressed ahead. (Travel Tip No. 4: In the fall there are fewer tourists, and fewer restaurants are open.)

Dimitsana had a stunning mountain location but was very small. Searching for a place to eat, we followed some children into what appeared to be a basement taverna. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. They motioned for us to sit, and a boy who who spoke some English took our order for fassolada (a rich bean soup), salad and homemade bread. In heaven, we slurped away and watched the sitcom on TV. It was a Greek version of “Fawlty Towers,” complete with ridiculous tourists. We laughed along with the kids.

Toward Olympia, the rocky terrain gave way to fragrant groves of pine punctuated by cypress. The sacred site of games to honor Zeus is at the juncture of two rivers, with the hill of Kronos rising above. I was reminded that for the ancients, human order and natural order were complementary.

The town of Olympia is essentially a tourist stopover, so hotel quality is limited. Hellenic preferred the Europa (very nice, we investigated), but it was unavailable. Hellenic’s backup choice was Antonios. The towels were threadbare. The mattresses were so old, mine enveloped me like a marshmallow. And the meager breakfast came with bad Nescafe instead of coffee.

Despite a steady drizzle, we were eager to get out to the site and meet our guide. He was no Eleni, but Olympia’s ruins almost speak for themselves. The museum is excellent too, but the displays are scantily labeled in English. (Travel Tip No. 5: Spend $3 for a museum guide in English.)

We were late leaving Olympia and eager to make Delphi by nightfall. The “navel of the world” and home of the Oracle whose pronouncements governed the ancients is in the mountains overlooking the Gulf of Corinth.

The village of Delphi is small--one street going up and one going down. Our hotel, the Apollo, had modest but comfortable rooms, and balconies with views of the gulf. Antonios receded from memory.

Penny Kolomvotsou was our guide in Delphi. With dancing eyes and a flair for dramatic storytelling, she was a perfect match to a very special place.

Many of the most notable ruins in Greece dominate their environs. The Sanctuary of Apollo in Delphi was different. It was not until we walked up the Sacred Way toward the temple that the site revealed itself in exquisite detail.

We left early the next morning for the 3 1/2-hour drive through the mountains to Athens and the airport. It had been 10 days since our arrival in Greece, and it felt as if we’d traveled a lifetime. Ahead of us was a week in Crete . . . but that’s a different story.

GUIDEBOOK / Seeing the Greece the Gods Called Home

Getting there: Flights from L.A. to Athens require a change of planes, usually in Europe, on Delta, Virgin Atlantic, Air France, Lufthansa, Alitalia and British Airways. Restricted round-trip fares start at $668.

Getting around: I found only one travel agency that could customize our itinerary: Hellenic Adventures, 4150 Harriet Ave. S., Minneapolis, MN 55409, telephone (800) 851-6349, fax (612) 827-2444, Internet https://www.hellenicadventures.com. We paid $2,000 per person for 18 days (we also went to Crete) that included hotels, car rental and guides. Air to Athens was extra.

Two others worth a look:

IST Cultural Tours, tel. (800) 833-2111, Internet https://www.ist-tours.com, runs small group yacht trips led by scholars. GPSC Charters, tel. (800) 732-6786, Internet https://www.gpsc.com, arranges sailing trips.

Where to stay: In Athens’ Makrigianni district, the Acropolis Select, 37 Falirou; tel. 011-30-1921-1611, fax 011-30-1921-6938; doubles from $74. The Herodion, 4 Rovertou Galli St.; tel. 011-30-1923-6832, fax 011-30-1923-5851; doubles $92-$154. The Acropolis View, Rovertou and Webster streets; tel. 011-30-1921-7303, fax 011-30-1923-0705; doubles $53-$86.

In Nauplia, Nafsimedon, tel. 011-30-752-25-060, fax 011-30-752-26-913; courtyard suite $63.

In Delphi, Hotel Apollo, tel. 011-30-265-82-580, fax 011-30-265-82-455; doubles $45-$66.

Where to eat: In Athens, Symposio, 46 Erechthiou, local tel. 01-922-5321, a feast for about $50 per person with wine. O Platanos, 4 Odos Dioyenous, tel. 01-322-0666, and Socrates’ Prison, 17 Rovertou Galli, tel. 01-922-3434, were good, with dinner for about $15 per person.

For more information: Greek National Tourist Organization, 645 Fifth Ave., New York, NY 10022; tel. (212) 421-5777, fax (212) 826-6940, https://www.gnto.gr.