If you go further and then turn off to the right you come to the ruins of Tiryns...
Pausanias was travelling from Argos to Epidavros, heading roughly east on an inland route in the foothills above the plain. But if like me you're travelling north-west from Nafplio towards Argos, on the modern national road, then as luck would have it the ruins of Tiryns are also on your right.
In myth, Tiryns was the home of Herakles and possibly also his birthplace; in real history, it might have been either a summer base for the rulers of Mycenae, or the centre of a small kingdom subject to them. It's built on a low bluff of rock above the Argive plain, and I gather that in ancient times the sea would have been close by, perhaps making it a citadel above a port.
Whatever the truth of the history, it is a magnificent place. Homer calls it "wall-girt Tiryns" and "mighty-walled Tiryns" and a few other such things, and Pausanias says the local story is that the walls were built by the Cyclopes, a race of giants; he also says, at another point, that he thinks them as impressive as the Pyramids of Egypt.
I arrived at about ten past 11; it was a beautiful morning, sunny and warm but with a fresh breeze. The first thing I saw as I walked up towards the entrance was an archaeological dig in progress, just to the north of the citadel; it seemed to be tea-break time, but when I went by again later there were about twenty people working on the dig and at least another ten nearby sorting and washing finds. Very exciting to see ongoing work exploring the area around a great site like this.
They give you a leaflet when you arrive, which has a basic description and a series of plans each measuring about 2cm square. On the site itself there's no signage at all, nothing, nada. I'd been reading up in advance, and besides, I like using my imagination. But even so, just a little bit of interpretation can really help!
I found a lot of work going on within the site as well; mostly strengthening and consolidation, and some reconstruction of recent damage. I'm afraid that means there are unattractive bits of ironwork in some of my photos. It isn't very pretty, but if in the long term it keeps the place standing for another few thousand years then it's worth it.
It seems to me (using my imagination!) that in its heyday this must have been just as impressive as Mycenae. Different - not as overwhelmingly theatrical perhaps - but still majestic and impressive. One would reach the gate by going up a huge entrance ramp, flanked by those Cyclopean walls to either side.
One would come to a mighty gate built of stone monoliths, easily as large as the Lion Gate (and interestingly, built of the same handsome but unusual conglomerate stone).
One would turn and pass through a series of antechambers, with columns and stone thresholds, and presumably with chamberlains and guards and so on. Then one would come into a vast hall or courtyard, with a colonnade all round and a big circular altar on the southern side; and ahead would be another smaller antechamber and then the Megaron, the throne room, with the classic arrangement of four massive columns and a central circular hearth.
There's less climbing than at Mycenae; once you're at the top of the ramp that's basically it as far as the height of the citadel is concerned. But this succession of chamber after chamber would surely still give something of a processional quality. Until at last one came into the presence of - who?
Herakles and Megara?
It's a nice thought. I could go off on all sorts of tangents here, theorising about whether Tiryns was subject to Mycenae, and whether the legend of Herakles' enforced submission to Eurystheus of Mycenae reflects this. I love this mental picture I now have, of a palace standing within those mighty walls, with red-painted pillars on stone bases, and wall-paintings, and a royal couple greeting their subjects in the Megaron...
The greatest religious sanctuary of this whole area was the Heraion, the Temple of Hera in the hills near Mycenae (almost impossible to get to without a car, sadly). When Tiryns was destroyed by an earthquake, a shrine of Hera was built in the ruins of the palace. Hera is supposed to have renewed herself annually at Kanathos. Herakles' name means "Strength of Hera" but it wasn't the name he was given as a child; it was a title he assumed as an adult to try and mollify the Goddess; she hated him because he was one of her husband Zeus' many bastards. Are all these bits of history and legend reflections of this having been an area where the worship of a primary Mother Goddess had held on, past the prehistoric era and into the time when the real events took place, whose echoes we now know as myth?
I'd love to think so. But I must stop theorising like this! Of course, I would love to settle down and write a Bronze Age Greece novel or two (and it would give me a perfect excuse to have to come here often). I don't think anyone's done a fictional Herakles (well, apart from Disney films, who very sensibly stop their version of the story at a conveniently happy point long before things get nasty in the legend).
Anyway: I walked all over the citadel, finding the workshops and what might have been a wine press or might have been a bathroom, and the postern to the springs outside, and staircases, and one of the famous corbelled galleries.
There was a constant breeze taking the bite out of the sun; there were wildflowers and bees, and butterflies, and ladybirds, and grasshoppers everywhere. A handful of other visitors; and by the foot of the entrance ramp, a young man dressed in white, drawing. He was on the other side of the fence.
I'd said "Kalimera" to him as I came in, and asked him if the wall there was closed (it was). Now as I came by again to go, he looked up and grinned at me and said "So, you're leaving now? It was good?"
I told him it was great; the walls, the gallery, all so impressive! I sneaked a look at his drawing; it was tremendously neat and exact. I asked if he was a draughtsman, and he told me he was an architect, working for the archaeological unit.
We stood there chatting for a good ten minutes; he was a very interesting chap and his English was excellent. His name was Panos, he told me.
He showed me how there had been some damage just recently, part of the wall collapsing and needing to be reconstructed. He was doing precise diagrams of the current state, before they began work. Then over the next few months it was all going to be cleared, restored and consolidated, there and in three other areas where the great walls were in trouble. "And then," he said "It can all open to the visitors again. If we have enough money..."
We talked a bit about the economic situation; which he described as "complicated", a courteous understatement if ever I heard one. "It goes back a long time, and there are people who don't want to face that, they just want a simple story, someone to blame... Also there is a certain, shall we say, attitude on the part of the EU, which isn't going to change, and some people here have not been realistic about that. So yes, it's complicated... Where are you from?"
"London." (It's simpler to claim being a Londoner than to go into all the details).
"Ah, you don't have the Euro, perhaps you all knew something we didn't, eh?"
I told him I hoped there would be enough money to complete the restoration work. "After all, it's been here three and a half thousand years, it's good to keep it standing another thousand or so..."
He grinned again. "Yes, that's right, it is almost three and a half thousand years. Well, we can only keep working. There's a lot of change to come and it will probably be hard..."
"Change always is. Well, anyway, sorry to have interrupted your drawing."
"No, it's not a problem, it's great to meet the visitors, to see people exploring, discovering. Did you see the gallery? With the amazing roof?"
"Down that way? Yes, isn't it tremendous?"
"Ah, I'm glad you saw it, that's one of the best bits and lots of people don't go down there because they don't like the stairs!"
"Oh, I go everywhere..."
I thought about telling him about all my fanciful theories about Hera and Herakles, and my imaginary picture of the citadel; but he did have work to do, however much he might enjoy meeting the visitors. We shook hands a little tentatively (he was wearing white cotton gloves to protect his work) and I left him to his drawing.
On the way out, the woman on the ticket office also asked me if I'd enjoyed it. In Greek; most of my vocabulary promptly deserted me and I said "Orea, orea, fantastico" and beamed at her, and then asked carefully "Einai toaleta?"
There was, of course. It looks as though there were plans to have a site museum or exhibition space; but although a lovely little building has been constructed, most of it is empty, all bar the usual immaculately clean set of loos.
Fantastico is not, to my knowledge, a word in the Greek language. The word I was looking for is "thavmasia" but I didn't remember that till I was on the bus back to Nafplio. Oh well, I'm sure she knew what I was getting at.
In the afternoon I went for a mooch through the old town; did a little shopping (yay, retail therapy!) and explored the second castle, the Acronafplia, which is Byzantine and rather more ruinous than Palamidi (but also lower, hence easier to climb).
The views from there were excellent; red-tiled rooftops and little church domes, and the blue sea and the bluer mountains beyond...
Then as the weather had stayed so fine all day, I went back to the hotel and grabbed my swimming things, and went for a dip at the town beach, which is in the little bay between the two castles. I didn't take my camera with me for that, though; so you are spared another bunch of my "artistic" shots of my own feet. But it was a lovely swim...
Pausanias was travelling from Argos to Epidavros, heading roughly east on an inland route in the foothills above the plain. But if like me you're travelling north-west from Nafplio towards Argos, on the modern national road, then as luck would have it the ruins of Tiryns are also on your right.
The walls of the Mycenean citadel of Tiryns, from the road
In myth, Tiryns was the home of Herakles and possibly also his birthplace; in real history, it might have been either a summer base for the rulers of Mycenae, or the centre of a small kingdom subject to them. It's built on a low bluff of rock above the Argive plain, and I gather that in ancient times the sea would have been close by, perhaps making it a citadel above a port.
Whatever the truth of the history, it is a magnificent place. Homer calls it "wall-girt Tiryns" and "mighty-walled Tiryns" and a few other such things, and Pausanias says the local story is that the walls were built by the Cyclopes, a race of giants; he also says, at another point, that he thinks them as impressive as the Pyramids of Egypt.
The walls are about four metres - that's roughly twelve feet - thick, and solid
I arrived at about ten past 11; it was a beautiful morning, sunny and warm but with a fresh breeze. The first thing I saw as I walked up towards the entrance was an archaeological dig in progress, just to the north of the citadel; it seemed to be tea-break time, but when I went by again later there were about twenty people working on the dig and at least another ten nearby sorting and washing finds. Very exciting to see ongoing work exploring the area around a great site like this.
Tea-break time at the dig?
The dig in the early afternoon
People sorting and washing finds in the shade
They give you a leaflet when you arrive, which has a basic description and a series of plans each measuring about 2cm square. On the site itself there's no signage at all, nothing, nada. I'd been reading up in advance, and besides, I like using my imagination. But even so, just a little bit of interpretation can really help!
Panorama from inside the upper citadel
I found a lot of work going on within the site as well; mostly strengthening and consolidation, and some reconstruction of recent damage. I'm afraid that means there are unattractive bits of ironwork in some of my photos. It isn't very pretty, but if in the long term it keeps the place standing for another few thousand years then it's worth it.
Access ramp for the workers
No access for the tourists
It seems to me (using my imagination!) that in its heyday this must have been just as impressive as Mycenae. Different - not as overwhelmingly theatrical perhaps - but still majestic and impressive. One would reach the gate by going up a huge entrance ramp, flanked by those Cyclopean walls to either side.
Two with yours truly, for scale. In this second picture, note the size of the block I'm touching. This is why it's called Cyclopean masonry!
One would come to a mighty gate built of stone monoliths, easily as large as the Lion Gate (and interestingly, built of the same handsome but unusual conglomerate stone).
Hole for the beam to bolt the gate; and "almond stone", the distinctive kind of conglomerate that seems to have been the material of choice for gate works
The beam-hole on the other side
One would turn and pass through a series of antechambers, with columns and stone thresholds, and presumably with chamberlains and guards and so on. Then one would come into a vast hall or courtyard, with a colonnade all round and a big circular altar on the southern side; and ahead would be another smaller antechamber and then the Megaron, the throne room, with the classic arrangement of four massive columns and a central circular hearth.
The carved sill on the threshold of the first antechamber
A column base; the columns themselves were probably wooden, but on a stone base
The courtyard
...with circular altar on the south side
...and a peristyle colonnade all round - it isn't very clear in the picture, but there are lines of column bases along each side
The steps into the next antechamber were in two colours, pale limestone below and red marble above
The Megaron or throne room; the wall down the middle is from a later date
The threshold slab of the Megaron
There's less climbing than at Mycenae; once you're at the top of the ramp that's basically it as far as the height of the citadel is concerned. But this succession of chamber after chamber would surely still give something of a processional quality. Until at last one came into the presence of - who?
Herakles and Megara?
It's a nice thought. I could go off on all sorts of tangents here, theorising about whether Tiryns was subject to Mycenae, and whether the legend of Herakles' enforced submission to Eurystheus of Mycenae reflects this. I love this mental picture I now have, of a palace standing within those mighty walls, with red-painted pillars on stone bases, and wall-paintings, and a royal couple greeting their subjects in the Megaron...
Panorama of the palace area; in the distance on the right, behind the closer hill, you can just make out the twin conical hills between which Mycenae is built
The greatest religious sanctuary of this whole area was the Heraion, the Temple of Hera in the hills near Mycenae (almost impossible to get to without a car, sadly). When Tiryns was destroyed by an earthquake, a shrine of Hera was built in the ruins of the palace. Hera is supposed to have renewed herself annually at Kanathos. Herakles' name means "Strength of Hera" but it wasn't the name he was given as a child; it was a title he assumed as an adult to try and mollify the Goddess; she hated him because he was one of her husband Zeus' many bastards. Are all these bits of history and legend reflections of this having been an area where the worship of a primary Mother Goddess had held on, past the prehistoric era and into the time when the real events took place, whose echoes we now know as myth?
I'd love to think so. But I must stop theorising like this! Of course, I would love to settle down and write a Bronze Age Greece novel or two (and it would give me a perfect excuse to have to come here often). I don't think anyone's done a fictional Herakles (well, apart from Disney films, who very sensibly stop their version of the story at a conveniently happy point long before things get nasty in the legend).
Anyway: I walked all over the citadel, finding the workshops and what might have been a wine press or might have been a bathroom, and the postern to the springs outside, and staircases, and one of the famous corbelled galleries.
The workshop area in the lower citadel
The floor of this room was a single stone slab ten feet across...
With a drain near one corner...
...leading into a paved room with a tilted floor
...which led into a tunnel about a foot high leading off into the dark. Drains for a bathroom? Or a wine press or oil press, with built-in sluices for cleaning?
Steps down caught my interest
And led to the south-eastern gallery
...a corbelled passage inside the massive wall
The classic Mycenean pointed arch
There was a constant breeze taking the bite out of the sun; there were wildflowers and bees, and butterflies, and ladybirds, and grasshoppers everywhere. A handful of other visitors; and by the foot of the entrance ramp, a young man dressed in white, drawing. He was on the other side of the fence.
I'd said "Kalimera" to him as I came in, and asked him if the wall there was closed (it was). Now as I came by again to go, he looked up and grinned at me and said "So, you're leaving now? It was good?"
I told him it was great; the walls, the gallery, all so impressive! I sneaked a look at his drawing; it was tremendously neat and exact. I asked if he was a draughtsman, and he told me he was an architect, working for the archaeological unit.
We stood there chatting for a good ten minutes; he was a very interesting chap and his English was excellent. His name was Panos, he told me.
He showed me how there had been some damage just recently, part of the wall collapsing and needing to be reconstructed. He was doing precise diagrams of the current state, before they began work. Then over the next few months it was all going to be cleared, restored and consolidated, there and in three other areas where the great walls were in trouble. "And then," he said "It can all open to the visitors again. If we have enough money..."
We talked a bit about the economic situation; which he described as "complicated", a courteous understatement if ever I heard one. "It goes back a long time, and there are people who don't want to face that, they just want a simple story, someone to blame... Also there is a certain, shall we say, attitude on the part of the EU, which isn't going to change, and some people here have not been realistic about that. So yes, it's complicated... Where are you from?"
"London." (It's simpler to claim being a Londoner than to go into all the details).
"Ah, you don't have the Euro, perhaps you all knew something we didn't, eh?"
I told him I hoped there would be enough money to complete the restoration work. "After all, it's been here three and a half thousand years, it's good to keep it standing another thousand or so..."
He grinned again. "Yes, that's right, it is almost three and a half thousand years. Well, we can only keep working. There's a lot of change to come and it will probably be hard..."
"Change always is. Well, anyway, sorry to have interrupted your drawing."
"No, it's not a problem, it's great to meet the visitors, to see people exploring, discovering. Did you see the gallery? With the amazing roof?"
"Down that way? Yes, isn't it tremendous?"
"Ah, I'm glad you saw it, that's one of the best bits and lots of people don't go down there because they don't like the stairs!"
"Oh, I go everywhere..."
I thought about telling him about all my fanciful theories about Hera and Herakles, and my imaginary picture of the citadel; but he did have work to do, however much he might enjoy meeting the visitors. We shook hands a little tentatively (he was wearing white cotton gloves to protect his work) and I left him to his drawing.
Panos is the chap in white; also a French family just arriving
On the way out, the woman on the ticket office also asked me if I'd enjoyed it. In Greek; most of my vocabulary promptly deserted me and I said "Orea, orea, fantastico" and beamed at her, and then asked carefully "Einai toaleta?"
There was, of course. It looks as though there were plans to have a site museum or exhibition space; but although a lovely little building has been constructed, most of it is empty, all bar the usual immaculately clean set of loos.
Fantastico is not, to my knowledge, a word in the Greek language. The word I was looking for is "thavmasia" but I didn't remember that till I was on the bus back to Nafplio. Oh well, I'm sure she knew what I was getting at.
As I left; this gate was signposted "To the Mycenean dam of Tiryns" - but it was locked...
In the afternoon I went for a mooch through the old town; did a little shopping (yay, retail therapy!) and explored the second castle, the Acronafplia, which is Byzantine and rather more ruinous than Palamidi (but also lower, hence easier to climb).
Peeking through the window of a locked 11th century church
Old brilliantine advert
German warship model in a café window
At the Genesis ceramic workshop - I had another long chat with the potter and bought some little souvenirs
The views from there were excellent; red-tiled rooftops and little church domes, and the blue sea and the bluer mountains beyond...
The gatehouse of the Acronafplia fortress
Then as the weather had stayed so fine all day, I went back to the hotel and grabbed my swimming things, and went for a dip at the town beach, which is in the little bay between the two castles. I didn't take my camera with me for that, though; so you are spared another bunch of my "artistic" shots of my own feet. But it was a lovely swim...
The town beach, Arvanitia, from above
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