Day 8, Monday - Pylos, Filiatra, Kiparissia, Olympia, Patras
Breakfast included freshly baked bread, which might be expected from a French hotel. However, the Frenchmen at the next table had croissants which we eyed with envy. We kept wondering where they came from. As the got up to leave, they chivalrously gave us several which they hadn't eaten.
Twenty two kilometers south of Pylos is a large crusader fortress called Methone. Although well worth seeing, we decided to continued north instead to the site of a Mycenean ruin known as Nestor's palace. Here, the Greeks claim to have the oldest bathtub in Europe.
The palace was originally two stories high, commanding a view of the entire area. However, it was dismantled by medieval Venetians to build Methone. Now, one can only see where the foundation lay. Nearby is another Beehive tomb and the local museum which we also visited.
Outside the site, the man selling entry tickets gave us the first fresh fig either of us had ever eaten. It was red inside and very sweet and juicy. He also showed us a beautiful flower which grows locally. We thanked him, although, he didn't speak a word of English.
We drove through a pretty little town called Filiatra which seemed alive with tourists. We considered eating lunch there, but the guide book said Kiparissia was the superior town, so we drove on. When we got to Kiparissia, we realized the guide book was wrong. The buildings were all run down and looked like they might collapse any second. All the colors appeared washed out. They were drab, mostly shades of brown and green. We decided to make the best of it, and found a little restaurant where the cook had just finished his task for the day with the help of four beautiful young women. He asked my opinion of his fare and I gave it four stars.
After lunch we drove on to Olympia. This was the one ruin I had been willing to miss. Many people said it wasn't worth seeing, but we were glad we came. The museum was the best I saw to date even though all the placards were in Greek and German, but not English. We saw many famous statues and took lots of pictures. There is even a scale model of Olympia as it originally looked to help figure out where everything was.
Across the street from the museum, is the site itself. The earliest remains date from 1900 B.C. The origin of the games is said to be a chariot race between Pelops (of Peloponnese) and the local king, Oinomos for the hand of Oinomos' daughter. The annual games evolved gradually and became a formal institution of Greek life in 776 B.C. In 267 A.D., it was sacked by barbarians. In 393 A.D., the games were ended by the Roman emperor, Theodosius. The official reason was that they had become too commercial, but they also represented a link to pagan ritual in a world that had adopted Christianity. His son had the site destroyed in 426 A.D. Many of the art objects were hauled off to Constantinople. A small Byzantine church was erected.
Earthquakes toppled the remaining buildings around 700 A.D. and everything gradually was covered by mud for the next 1100 years. It was rediscovered about 1850. At the temple of Zeus, the columns are gigantic. Each marble slice of the column is six feet in diameter and over one foot thick. You can see them all in a row on the ground where they fell. A church is still visible. Originally, the place was litered with statues of Olympic champions. A few are in the museum across the road, but most have disappeared into museums all over the world.
We had a hard time deciding what to do next. One thought was to go see the ruins in Megapolis, another was to go to Patras. It was still early so we decided to take the slow road to Patras and drive east through Almalidia, Agia, Triada, and Simopolou, then north through Kalintze and Fares to see the country side. The Erimanthos mountains were to the east. Here in the northern Peloponnesse, known as Archaia, there is a small village called Mazaraki which I wanted to visit because my mother's maiden name was Mazarakos. The area was all farm land, but not quite as fertile as the southern Peloponnese. We passed corn fields, and a shepherd with his flock along the way. Pam found the whole thing boring and spent the time knitting instead of sightseeing. We saw signs for Mazaraki, but somehow never found it. Eventually we gave up and drove into Patras.
Patras overlooks the gulf of Corinth. It begins at the sea and rises up to a very large castle (Castro) at the top of a hill about a mile inland. Patras looks like a real city. It is full of tall brick buildings which echo the roar of automobiles on the asphalt streets below. My most harrowing experience during this entire trip was making the wrong turn onto a one way street and finding four lanes of cars speeding toward me with their horns blaring. This would scare anybody anywhere, however, knowing the driving habits and attitude of Greek drivers I was terrified.
The center of town is a square overlooking the port where passenger ships dock from Brindisi, Italy. At night, when we arrived, it was very noisy. I was reminded of Symtagma square in Athens. Someone kept riding his motorcycle around the square over and over again. The motorcycle needed a muffler. Patras is not quite as ugly as Athens, but to two tired tourists it was very confusing. There are two good restaurants and one bakery just across the street from the port entrance where I bought some cookies.
By 8:00 p.m. it was getting dark. Patras is a hot humid city which drains ones energy. We wanted to find a hotel quickly. Unfortunately, the quality left a great deal to be desired. The hotel we stayed at was called the Acropoli. It was run by an old man who had lived in Australia. He moved very slowly. We had our choice between a room that was quiet without a window, and another with fresh air facing the noisy congested traffic. We chose the room without the window. There wasn't any air conditioning either. The only positive aspect was the abundant hot water at all hours.
After registering at the Acropoli, we went out to eat. This was the first real restaurant we ate in since leaving Athens. The waiters wore black suits with bow ties and there were white tablecloths on the tables. The food was above average, but not up to the standards of Pylos or Kisparissia. It was also twice as expensive as any other restaurants in Greece we had been to.
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