16 July 2025
But
Nafplio isn't just beauty. It’s burdened
with history, and
proud of it. This was once the first
capital of modern Greece,
the site of fiery political speeches, royal proclamations, and an assassination
of the first governor of independent Greece, that almost derailed a newborn
nation. Greece plunged into political chaos following his death. Eventually,
the Great Powers that is Britain, France, and Russia, imposed
a monarchy, crowning King Otto of
Bavaria in 1832–1833 to rule Greece. It was he who moved the
capital of Greece from Nafplio to Athens in 1834. Since then, Greece has
abolished its monarchy twice,
with the final abolition occurring in 1973–1974, which established the Third Hellenic Republic, which remains
today.
And
then there’s Palamidi
Fortress.
I just admired it from afar – there is said to be 999 steps, and I wasn’t in
the mood for exercise in this relentless HOT weather. I wandered around the streets for about an
hour, the terraced lodgings reminded me of the favelas of Brazil, only much
safer. It is quite a quaint little town, with its elegant bougainvillea-draped
balconies, glittering bay, and dramatic castles above. But it has been
commercialised – many houses have been turned into tourist attractions –
restaurants, souvenir shops, etc.
After
about an hour of walking, I went to a shop selling gelato and bought a cup, and
sat in the shade to enjoy it. I was confronted with what looked like gypsies –
darker skin, selling all kinds of stuff, or simply begging – I did not indulge,
simply because I remember what happened in India – you give to one, and
suddenly you are accosted with a hundred more, and there is nowhere to run or
hide. I think they will survive without my one or two Euros. I hope.
Then
lunch, which was not nice at all – everything was overcooked, from the pasta to
the souvlaki. By the way, I have a toothache, my lower left tooth I think has
finally given way – my dentist has been warning me for years about this but I
did nothing and I think finally it is rebelling, and I continue to endure the
pain even until today. Overcooked pasta is still gentle enough for my aching
tooth, but overcooked meat? Sorry, no.
After lunch, we made our way to Mycenae.
“Rich in
gold,” wrote Homer. Tucked into the dry, rugged hills of the northeastern
Peloponnese, just 30 minutes from Nafplio, lie the ruins of Mycenae, one of the
great palatial centres of Bronze Age Greece (circa 1600–1100 BCE), and the
heart of a civilization that gave its name to an entire era: the Mycenaean Age.
This is the land of myth: the home of King
Agamemnon, commander of the Greeks at Troy. A place that once rang with the
clang of bronze swords and the cries of palace intrigue. Today, it is a
landscape of sun-bleached stone, distant olive trees, and silence heavy with
centuries. There is a small mountain (hill?) here resembling a sleeping man, it
is believed to be King Agamemnon himself, made into a mountain (hill?) after he
died.
Mycenae
does not welcome you. It confronts
you – with stone,
with silence, with the kind of age that predates memory.
The ruins are scattered across a ridge
like the bones of
something ancient and proud. At first, I didn’t feel anything, just a
windswept ruin under a harsh sky. But then I passed through the Lion Gate, and something
shifted. Two lionesses, carved into stone over 3,000 years ago, still guard the
entrance with silent authority. Their faces are gone, but their posture
remains: alert, eternal. I stepped into their world. It dates to around 1250 BCE,
and it is the oldest monumental sculpture in Europe still standing. Crossing
beneath it feels like stepping into Homeric time.
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