Herodes Atticus, more than a name

Herodes Atticus is best known for his theater at the foot of Athens’ Acropolis. For most people, it is only a name to define this historic monument, forgetting who he was and what he achieved in life.

Herodes Atticus was born in Marathon, Greece, into a family of Athenian descent in 101 AD. He is known as an Athenian rhetorician and a Roman senator, spending time between Greece and Italy.

 

He was exceptionally wealthy and moved in the highest social circles. Emperor Hadrian, for instance, appointed him Prefect of the free cities in the Roman Province of Asia in 125 AD. A good year later, he was elected archon (high magistrate) of Athens. And in 140 AD, Emperor Antoninus Pius invited him to Rome to educate his adopted sons, the future Emperors Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus. As a Roman citizen, he was appointed Consul of Rome in 143 AD.

 
When he was 40 years old, he married Appia Annia Regilla, a 14-year-old aristocrat related to the family of Antoninus Pius’ wife.
 
Herodes Atticus was a philanthropic magnate and patron of many public works. What comes immediately to mind is the theater in Athens, which he financed in 161 AD to honor his wife, Regilla. Watching a Greek play performed within these walls or attending a popular or classical concert is a gratifying experience!

However, thousands and perhaps even millions of visitors have left their marks on the white marble construction. It calls for an extensive restoration and conservation process that is expected to take at least three years. During that time, the summer Athens Epidaurus Festival will be relocated elsewhere.

 
The overall deterioration consists of cracks in the Pentelic marble due to the variations in temperature and rainwater infiltration. Another problem is the plants that root in crevices and hold water. The theater had been destroyed in 267 AD and was in ruins until the 1950s, when the seating area and orchestra were restored. These repairs are now in dire need of improvement and require a comprehensive conservation plan.
 
The list of buildings Herodes Atticus funded is quite extensive. The ancient Panathenaic Stadium in Athens,  with a capacity of 50,000 seats, for instance, was one of his projects executed in 144 AD. Elsewhere in Greece, we owe him the Theater of Corinth, the Stadium of Delphi, the Baths of Thermopylae, and a splendid Nymphaeum in Olympia.
 
I was very surprised to read Herodes Atticus' name and his wife’s in Olympia. The Nymphaeum stands at the entrance to the Stadium. The two-story-high back wall was filled with statues of Herodes Atticus and several Roman Emperors like Antoninus Pius, Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, and their family members. 

Most statues have been moved to the Museum of Olympia. Among them, I noticed Athenais, one of Herodes Atticus’ daughters. She married Lucius Vibullius Rufus, and the couple had six children, but only three survived to adulthood. The eldest daughter, Elpinice, was born in 142 AD and died in 165 AD. The son, Atticus Bradua, was born in 145 AD and was the only child to survive his father. Herodes Atticus was heavily disappointed by his son and left him nothing after his death.

 
Also exhibited in Olympia’s Museum is a life-size bull, which carries an inscription left by Regilla reading: "Regilla, priestess of Demeter offers the water and appendices to Zeus." This brings history to life!
 
Outside Greece, aqueducts donated by Herodes Atticus can be found in Canusium, Puglia region in Italy, and in Alexandria Troas, Asia Minor. In my blog post of February 2024, I mentioned the Baths and Gymnasium of Alexandria Troas built by Herodes Atticus in 135 AD. They were surrounded by vaulted corridors with marble walls, and water was delivered thanks to the aqueducts on the northeast side of town. Most of the building remained intact until it was destroyed by the severe earthquake in the winter of 1809-1810.
 

At the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, I encountered a statue of Polydeukes, also Vibullius Polydeukion, the adopted son of Herodes Atticus, dated to circa 150 AD. Wikipedia, however, mentions the boy as his pupil and lover in a relation resembling that of Hadrian and Antinous. Polydeukes died around 173-174 AD. His loss greatly affected Atticus, who built a Heroon in his memory.

 
Herodes Atticus lived to be 76 years old in 177 AD. Regilla had died in 160 AD, after being brutally kicked in the abdomen while eight months pregnant.  Her brother accused Herodes Atticus of having ordered one of his freedmen to beat her to death. At the trial that ensued, Herodes Atticus was acquitted by Emperor Marcus Aurelius, his former tutor.
 
I’m sure we’ll look at the Theater of Herodes Atticus with different eyes next time we walk through Athens.

Alexander at Thermopylae

Nothing much is left of this once so highly strategic pass. All we can see today is a flat rather fertile plain gently sloping down from tall mountain walls to the sea at the distant horizon.

Hard to imagine that it was here that the historical Battle of Thermopylae took place in 480 BC between Leonidas of Sparta and King Xerxes of Persia. For two full days Leonidas, the leader of the Greek city-states, was able to pin down the Persians at this pass until he was betrayed by a local resident who guided the enemy troops behind the Greek lines – a tactic that was to be used repeatedly by Alexander during his eastern campaigns. When Leonidas realized that he was trapped, he dismissed the bulk of the Greek army and fought a last stand with his 300 Spartans.

This act of bravery can only have fired Alexander’s imagination, especially considering that for him this battle took place less than 150 years earlier. Meanwhile, other battles had been fought here like the one his father led on his way to Chaironeia two years before and in which Alexander took part.

Today there is nothing to remind us of Alexander’s (or Philip’s) passage at Thermopylae, only a memorial monument erected in honor of the Spartan King Leonidas. The centerpiece is a most splendid modern statue of Leonidas in classical style carrying the famous inscription “Come and take them”, i.e. the words addressed by the Greeks to Xerxes who demanded their surrender. On either side of Leonidas runs a relief depicting battle scenes ending on the right-hand side with a marble figure of Taigetos, representing the highest mountain in the Peloponnese, and on the left-hand side the personified Evrotas, a river of Laconia. This monument stands pretty much at the edge of the old coastline that follows the adjacent modern highway.

It is here at Thermopylae that Alexander, after the murder of his father, summoned the members of the Amphictyonic Council, basically responsible for managing the oracle of Delphi. With their pledges of support, he can rally northern and central Greece to his cause – a minor detail in his later campaigns but a very important one in these early days of his kingship.

Thermopylae, meaning literally Hot Gates, is named after the hot springs that bubble up near the historical pass. The hot springs are still working today and it is quite exciting to sample the hot water temperature as the soldiers of Leonidas and Alexander must have done. What a rewarding way to get in close touch with the past.

The challenge of crossing the Cilician Gates

The Cilician Gates is the name of a strategic pass in the Taurus Mountains that was used for centuries. Before Alexander, Cyrus the Great, with Xenophon and his Ten Thousand, had marched over this pass, and after him, we know that the Romans, the Mongols, and even the Crusaders were here. As recently as the 20^th century, the railroad engineers working on the train connection between Istanbul and Baghdad had to find their way over the Taurus Mountains at this point.

Xenophon mentions that the pass consisted of a “carriage track,” although the road must have been paved then. The passage through the Cilician Gates was very narrow, saying that it was wide enough for a four-horse chariot, meaning that four horses abreast could move over it at the same time. Yet the road was exceptionally steep and a near-natural barrier for any army to pass unopposed. It was and is frequently crossed by streams trickling from the walls on either side.

As mentioned by Xenophon, the width of a four-horse carriage is hard to match Curtius’ statement that it was wide enough for four armed men to walk abreast. The landscape is very rugged and inhospitable, even today, and in my first passage, I tried in vain to imagine how an army could move over such a terrain. Curtius says that the natural formation resembles fortifications made by human hands – how true that is!

The route Alexander followed out of Cappadocia must have run past modern Kemerhisan, Çiftehan, and Pozantı to arrive at the Gülek Boğaz Pass, as the Cilician Gates are called today.

The Romans, great road builders as they were, have left records of their improvements together with a series of milestones all along the road, like the lonely one standing in front of the local roadside restaurant. The stone carries an inscription stating that Caracalla repaired and improved the Via Tauri, as this road was called around 217 AD. Another milestone in this same area was erected by Severus Alexander, giving the distance to the Gates, the confines of the Cilicians, which matches the figure mentioned in the inscription at the Cilician Gates further down the road.

It is fascinating to find that wall inscription off the main highway down on the adjacent valley floor, knowing that it was initially engraved high above the ancient Via Tauri that led down to the coastal city of Tarsus. It is hard to imagine that W.M. Ramsay, who visited this area in 1882, had to use a telescope to read this inscription on the cliff above the stream (now tunneled underneath the modern road). The text can be translated as “Caracalla (with the addition of his real full name Marcus Aurelius Antoninus) made the road wider by cutting through the mountains.” It is a miracle that this inscription has survived modern construction works, as it now seems to stand on the valley floor, squeezed between the supportive wall of the highway, the narrow stream, and the mountain slopes on the other side.

When Alexander arrived at the spot known as Xenophon’s encampment near the Gates (probably less than three kilometers away), he investigated the situation. The narrow pass was pretty easy to defend from the high overhang above the road, where a small force could destroy the approaching enemy. It is clear, once again, that Alexander was not taking any chances. He ordered his light-armed Thracians ahead to occupy the different access paths and check them for enemy forces. At the same time, a band of bowmen was posted on the ridges above the access road, ready to attack if needed. It is so easy to see them mentally while moving over this road! Alexander left Parmenion with the heavy infantry near Cyrus’ encampment while he himself marched towards the Gates under cover of darkness to take the enemy by surprise. That surprise did not work out as his approach was noticed, and the small force supposed to defend the Gates fled at the first sight of Alexander and his men. This was much easier than Thermopylae!

The following day at the crack of dawn, Alexander marched his men through the narrows. The operation lasted a full day, but the road to Tarsus lay open to him. Justin is so optimistic as to write that Alexander reached the city in one full day, but this is a distance of some 75 kilometers, which Xenophon covered in a four-day march instead.

Before reaching Tarsus, walking over a reasonable stretch of said Via Tauri for about five or six kilometers through an unforgiving landscape of rough rocks and spiny bushes is still possible. A delicate arch is still spanning the road at the horizon, but this is a mere reconstruction since the original collapsed after repeated explosions at the mining site in the valley below. The mining company was ordered to rebuild it - thank Zeus for that.

It takes the modern traveler a lot of imagination since today’s highway across the Taurus Mountains has been widened and leveled compared to the narrow ancient passage. However, it still follows the same course. Then, as now, the road runs downhill from here onwards into the coastal plain, and gradually the landscape becomes much friendlier with cultivated fields and blossoming orchards along wide rivers. Xenophon had also noticed the difference, saying that once across the pass, Cyrus entered a beautiful, well-watered plain that produced sesame, millet, wheat, and barley – easy to picture!

Still marching on the Via Tauri, Alexander received notice that the governor of Tarsus no longer wished to hold the city for Persia and was ready to give up the town. The townspeople clearly got scared, not of Alexander, but of their governor, who might be plundering Tarsus on his way out. Alexander clearly understood this, and he immediately rode up at full speed to the people’s rescue, just in time before the man could take any booty with him as he hurried for the Persian court.

Another ancient road was discovered near the village of Anavarza (Roman Caesarea). During the first and second centuries, it was the most important city of Cilicia and larger than Ephesos. The town has suffered severely from repeated earthquakes over the centuries, the last one as recent as 1945. The most striking element, however, is a double-columned highway, approximately 35 meters wide and 2.7 kilometers long. It has been established that the columns were of the Corinthian order and were erected at 2.15-meter intervals. So far, 1,360 columns have been unearthed, and plans are to restore them and the entrance gate. I wonder how much and in what shape this portion of the road existed in Alexander’s days.

Jaxartes River and the Iron Gates (Central Asia 6)

[5 - Alexander moved to the end of the Persian Empire on the Jaxartes River (modern Syr Darya) through the Iron Gates (the only road east out of Maracanda), over Jizzak and Uratube.]

On my travel across Uzbekistan, I happen to drive on the road from Samarkand to Tashkent, which inevitably passes through the Gates of Tamerlane or Iron Gates, i.e. the only way to go east from Samarkand – now as it was in antiquity. This narrow passage is just wide enough to let the Sanzar River run through, flanked by a railroad and our main road. The lush grasses along the river offer good grazing grounds for a handful of cows and goats – a timeless picture, no doubt. In short, this pass is worth of Thermopylae, an easy place to defend.

It is obvious that history has been written here over the centuries and Alexander was no exception. Spirits from the past still seem to haunt the present carried by the winds squeezed at increasing speed between these steep rocky walls. On either side of the pass, these same walls once carried two Persian inscriptions; one telling about Ulugbek’s campaigns (the grandson of Tamerlane); the other about the brutal murder of Abdullah Khan, son of Iskandar Khan. Luckily both panels have been removed and placed in the care of the museum because the walls are desperately defaced with horrible screaming graffiti. Isn’t there a law against this? There is, but nobody seems to reinforce it. A dreadful sight for such a historic location!

It should be noted that there are two places in Uzbekistan labeled as “Iron Gates”. There is this one, on the road out of Central Asia to the east and there is a place south of Samarkand near Derbent which I mentioned above when Ptolemy went in pursuit of Bessus (I have not seen it for myself). Useless to mention that this adds to the confusing in locating Alexander’s path through Bactria and Sogdiana.

We drive on through Jizzak, an uneventful place. Further north we unexpectedly have to take a detour because of the intricate jigsaw puzzle borderline with Kazakhstan. The main road runs right through that foreign enclave, a complicated situation with customs and passport control we rather avoid by driving around it. We loose precious time, as far as I’m concerned for when we finally reach the Jaxartes River, of which I had such high hopes, it is pitch dark. The beams of the bridge flash by against a black void where the Jaxartes is said to run. What a disappointment that is.

This is one of the places of which we know for sure that Alexander was here and now I can’t see it! In the summer of 329 BC, he entered Maracanda, but not for long as he badly needed to secure the borders of his newly acquired empire which the Persians had set along the Jaxartes River (Syr Darya). On this occasion, he must have passed through these very same Iron Gates and the city of Jizzak to reach the Jaxartes which I didn’t see. So much for tracing Alexander in this corner of Uzbekistan!

[Click here to see all my pictures of the Iron Gates]
Click here to read Episode 7 of Central Asia .

Stagira, the Birthplace of Aristotle

The name of Stagira sounds like magic, for it is the birthplace of no one less than Aristotle! Aristotle was born here in 384 BC. His father, Nikomachos, had been the doctor for King Amyntas III of Macedonia, the grandfather of Alexander the Great. Yet, both his parents died while Aristotle was still young, and he was adopted by a relative. At 18, he went to Athens, where he studied at Plato’s Academy for twenty years, i.e., till Plato died in 347 BC. Meanwhile, he founded his own school in Assos (Troas in today’s Western Turkey), and three years later, he moved to Lesbos where he met Theofrastos, who was to be his successor at the school in Athens. In 343 BC, King Philip II invited him to Pella to provide proper schooling for his son, Alexander. When his task was finished three years later, Aristotle withdrew to Stagira till he returned to Athens in 335 BC, founding his own school, the Lyceum, where he worked for the next twenty years. Being accused of impiety after the death of Alexander the Great, he moved to Chalcis, where he died only 63 years old. Tradition has it that a year after his death, the people of Stagira officially had his remains transferred to be reburied in their city…

If you look for the city of Stagira on today’s map of Greece, you’ll be directed soon enough to the peninsula of Chalcidice in eastern Greece. But surprisingly, that is only a modern town, whereas the historic site of Stagira lies some odd 30 km to the east, just below Olympiada on the shore of the Aegean Sea. I found out that an excellent way to pinpoint the site is to use the Wikimapia layout of Google, which gives the traveler plenty of detailed information besides the satellite image.

I’m leaving Thessaloniki in the early morning, heading straight east over the old road to Kavala, past Alexandroupoli, and eventually to Istanbul. Most trucks and heavy traffic opt for the new freeway that skirts Lake Koroneia and Lake Volvi on the north side, making my drive along the southern side most pleasant. On my right lay the rich wooded hills of Chalcidice in a full array of green dotted with the yellow broom and a wealth of flowers in the cleared fields. In the wind-still morning air, the lakes peacefully reflect the clouds and their harvest of reeds and other water plants. Of course, my thoughts drift off to Alexander, who has marched his army along the opposite shores on his memorable conquest of Asia. Before him, his father, Philip must have followed either side during his many battles while creating the coherent Macedonian kingdom he left to his son after his assassination. In antiquity, this part of Chalcidice was rich with silver mines, and the towns I crossed could tell me many stories. It seems, however, that they have stopped in time. Life evolves at a different pace in this part of Greece.

At Stavros, I take a right turn south to the settlement of Olympiada, a pleasant village of about 650 inhabitants built by refugees expelled from Aghia Kyriaki, Turkey, in 1923. According to oral tradition, Queen Olympias was exiled here by Cassander. Still, from the historical point of view, this story is incorrect, for, in reality, she was exiled to Pydna. The new settlers called their city Olympiada in honor of Alexander’s mother based on this tradition. Its beautiful beaches of fine white sands and clear waters are now favored by tourists from Germany and Bulgaria, but presently in the second half of May, it is still tranquil and unspoiled. At the end of the village, I find a cozy harbor with a dozen fishing boats, overseen by an orthodox chapel with easy access from either the sea or the road to Ouranopoli. This main road also takes me up to ancient Stagira, signed and fenced with space to park my car.

All is quiet here. Except for the rustling of the wind through the low trees and the songs of many birds, all I hear is my own breathing. A rough track runs upwards from the entrance gate between bright honey-sweet broom shrubs – a feast for the eye till I reach the old city walls. A big map offers what seems to be a leisurely walk around the place, but it soon turns out to be a more difficult one as I venture into the dense shrubs and bushes.

Stagira was built over two successive hills and was defended by the wall I’m facing, protecting its people not only from the land side but also from the seaside. In its heydays, roughly between 500 BC and 350 BC, this wall was two kilometers long and often as thick as two meters. Although it has been nicely restored or probably just because of this, the wall is clearly visible in the landscape from afar.

The city was founded around 655 BC by colonists from the island of Andros and later from Chalcis. Like the rest of Greece, they were involved in the Peloponnesian War in 424 BC, becoming an ally of Sparta but changing camp soon after to take the side of Athens. Like many other cities on the peninsula, Stagira joined the Chalcidian League, whose seat was in Olynthus (which I’m also visiting). But then Philip II set off on his expansion conquests of Macedonia, and he is the one who besieged Stagira in 349 BC and thoroughly destroyed it in the process. When he hired the services of Aristotle to serve as a tutor for Alexander, he may have promised to rebuild the city as part of his (re)payment, but it never recovered its previous wealth. In this context, I definitely wanted to visit Stagira, of course.

The remains of the city walls are awe-inspiring, to say the least. It is interrupted by several watchtowers, only three being round. I’m standing right next to such a round tower as I enter the city through an opening close to the Acropolis. The view I discover all along the coastline is beyond my expectations. It is a mixture of memories from the Costa Brava when I look south in admiration for the strategic choice when I see Olympiada and its harbor at my feet. The day is hazy, but I can oversee quite a stretch of coastline to the north and northeast within visual contact of Amphipolis and the Strymon delta. I have visions of the Athenian corn fleet, for instance, keeping close to the land as it made its way back home, maneuvering from one port to the next. Or how about seeing the enemy or pirate ships approaching from up here? There is nothing wrong with my imagination, of course!

Strangely enough, the structures of these stone walls vary a lot, and I don’t understand why. To the right, the wall is built in the rough Lesbian or polygonal style. In contrast, the round tower and the left part of the wall are set up in the so-called “Egyptian style,” using square and rectangular blocks of different sizes and materials (limestone and marble) alternating with dark flat stones – with surprising effects. It seems that some parts of the original walls still stand up to four meters tall.

I try to stick to the path as I visualize it from the billboard at the entrance, but there are too many side tracks and no indication to reach the next site of interest. I follow my gut feeling, passing by several ruins of Classical and Hellenistic houses from between the 5th and 3rd century BC until I reach the open space at the very heart of the city, the Agora. Here I am confronted with an unusual rectangular public building measuring 26 x 6 meters, indicated as a Stoa, although it was a hall used for public debate. It had three closed walls around which a simple stone bench was set, while the one open long side faced the Agora. A broad staircase, although placed off-center, marked the entrance. The Stoa was covered by a roof held up by a row of eight columns aligned in the middle of the construction. Sadly only the foundations have survived, and it takes some imagination to picture it in full glory. In front but to the side are remains of a small altar, and on the other side of the market place those of a water cistern. The shape of this Agora is somewhat random as if the space has simply been used to the best of the possibilities without any basic pattern.

To the right begins a paved street, Greek in as far as I can judge, passing along several storerooms. These are relatively small rooms, one containing the remains of three large jars stuck into the floor and a larger clay basin probably used for storing cereals. The next room reveals two large elongated holes chiseled in the rock (more or less in the shape of a boat) with several cavities in which most probably large earthen jars could stand. A remarkable sight, I must say.

My path leads me past the Byzantine wall from the 10th-11th century, which cuts the old city in two and is made of all sorts of materials – typical Byzantine if you ask me, for they were master recyclers avant-la-lettre. But underneath, archaeologists have discovered remains of the archaic city wall from the 6th century BC. Amazing how this city limit was being used and reused after 16 centuries! Halfway through that straight wall rises a big square tower and surprises me with full-size flooring made of inlaid marble; the open rectangular space in the center of the room seems to indicate the place for an altar, possibly dating back to the 6th century.

Descending the peninsula's southern edge, I stop several times to take in the scene, picture-perfect views into the successive coves and beaches. Close to the beach, the dense growth gives way, and I stare into the remains of walls and rooms clearly sunken under sea level. What an exciting discovery! From here, I reach what appears to be the oldest part of Stagira, where an archaic Sanctuary (6th century BC) and late Classical walls have been exposed. Well, that is what the books say, but honestly, I can’t determine what is what. I climb to the top of this northern hill crowned with more Byzantine buildings and walls that seem to have been built one on top of another without a clear pattern. However, a very delicate and promising piece of cornice from this sanctuary can be seen at the Museum of Polygyros in Chalcidice.

It is midday, and the air is becoming pretty hot. Luckily, I took enough water with me. Yet I’m dying for a cup of coffee – maybe in neighboring Olympiada? I leave Stagira over what turns out to be the long way which offers a magnificent last view of the city walls down to the cafés and restaurants along the seashore. I find a quiet and shady table at the edge of the sandy beach where the hotel restaurant owner has set up a large white tent decorated with shells and crudely crafted maritime items painted in lively colors. What a breather! I sit back to stare over the peaceful sea and blue sky. All is well, and the café frappé is exactly what I needed.

After collecting my breath and my brains again, I decided to drive south over a green road on the map to Ouranopoli, which is as far as the road would take me because the remaining section of the peninsula is the property of the monks reigning over the Athos Mountains. From above Olympiada, I make a last stop to admire the tiny island of Kapros, stretching a good two kilometers from the shore. Kapros means “boar” in Greek, which is indeed what it looks like. Even in antiquity, the resemblance had not gone unnoticed, for Stagira’s silver drachmas all carried the image of a boar …

I drive through Stratoni and Ierissos to Nea Roda, where I hope to see traces of the canal dug by King Xerxes I of Persia in 480 BC. Persian conquests and occupation have been a reality over the centuries, yet when we read about it, we tend to brush over the names and dates to return to the history of Greece as we like to see it. Just try to picture Iran occupying Turkey and invading Greece – not very likely, but Iran was Persia and mighty powerful in the 5^th century BC. We should not forget that Persia had often interfered enough in Greece’s internal affairs until Alexander the Great reversed the odds.

The fact remains that in 492 BC, King Darius I of Persia sent a large army and fleet across the Hellespont to invade mainland Greece. This fleet, which was following the land army closely, was destroyed by a storm at the promontory of Mount Athos. Three hundred vessels were lost, and 20,000 men drowned. In the spring of 490 BC, Darius tried again. Heading for Athens, however, he was decisively defeated at the Battle of Marathon, putting an end to his Persian conquests - for the time being. New plans were drafted, but Darius died in 486 BC before he could execute any of them. It was his son Xerxes I who took over and who personally led the Second Persian invasion of Greece in 480 BC with one of the largest armies ever assembled. Xerxes had learned from Darius’ disastrous naval experience of 492 BC and ordered a canal to be dug through the narrow of the Athos peninsula, which is only two kilometers wide. This was probably one of the most significant engineering assignments of its time, shortcutting the long sailing route around Mount Athos. This is the place I want to see for myself.

But – to conclude my summary of the Persian’s role at this time in history – this didn’t mean a complete victory of the Persians over the Greek city-states, for even after being victorious at the Battle of Thermopylae, the Persian fleet suffered a severe defeat at Salamis. A year later, the Greeks united against the Persians and finally halted the enemy invasion at the Battle of Plataea. View Larger Map

Preparing for this wonder of the world, I searched for traces of the digging on satellite pictures, but the line of the old canal was very vague. The land is relatively level with only a few low hills before rising again towards Mount Athos at the very tip of the peninsula, but if one looks carefully, there is a dark green line of trees where this canal once ran through the land from east to west. Somewhere along the modern road, which more or less follows its tracé from Nea Roda to Trypiti on the other side of the narrow, I pass a giant billboard that confirms that I have arrived in the area. Exciting to be here at last but rather disappointed that there is so little left to see.

Since I got this far, I decided to continue to Ouranopoli, which promises beautiful sandy beaches and an old Byzantine fort at the threshold of the Athos monasteries, which are off-limits anyway. Exotic villas and plush hotels line the road into the city, which turns out to be thoroughly spoiled by the tourists. One souvenir shop next to the other, one fast food place stuck to the next with bawling music filling the air. I take a quick picture of the lonely but commanding fort squeezed between the harbor for fake pirate ships and a modern parking lot and turn back in search of peace and quiet. I find such a spot back again in Olympiada as I decide to take my evening meal at the same place where I tasted the coffee earlier in the day. Blissful scenery and delicious Greek food crowned with their local krassi – what more could I ask for…

By now, it is time to investigate the modern city of Stagira, where I am told there is a park dedicated to Aristotle and his works called “the Natural.” At this hour, I’m fortunate enough to have the park to myself, allowing me to investigate the several instruments that illustrate the phenomena of nature. A shiny white marble statue of Aristotle inspired by works from antiquity oversees the lovely park.

I take my time and stop at each construction: the parabolic reflectors (reflecting even a whisper from one to the other); the sundial (which also gives the month of the year); a huge lens (to prove the focusing of energy); a large compass (to illustrate that Aristotle's philosophy is universal); the pentaphone (five slabs of granite that produce a sound close to that of the ancient scale of pentaphone); two series of optical disks (whose designs, when set in motion, blend together to form another pattern); inertia spheres (the shock of one sphere is gradually carried forward from the first to the last sphere); a pendulum (where the oscillation energy of one element is transferred to the other two); and finally the water turbine (when cranking the lever, one can create a swirl in the water column similar to that of a tornado). It’s fun, I can assure you! At the far end of the park, I try my luck at the telescope focused on the Athos peninsula, but it is out of order. I take a picture in Zoom instead, with low hopes for the outcome since, as said before, this is not exactly a clear day, but in the end, I get a glimpse of the illustrious Mount Athos! Saying my goodbyes to Aristotle, I can’t help thinking he is happy here.

The drive back in the low evening sunshine will stay with me forever. The road takes me right across the middle of Chalcidice, another green route on the map. I am under the charm of the lush wooded hills with a wide variety of trees and shades of green. At times the blooming broom bushes on either side of the road are touched by the delicate sunrays and metamorphosed into pure gold. I hardly meet another car or traveler on this long drive of more than 100 km back to bustling Thessaloniki – lucky me!