Spending time in lands that have recorded or architectural history thousands of years old, that one can touch and feel and imagine is something of which we at home just have no concept. It is not to say that our land has no history, but that it is not an obvious, sophisticated, human presence. To walk on constructed paths that one knows have been trodden for hundreds, and sometimes thousands, of years is a very special feeling. Walking on the bones of the ancestors.
Of our time so far, one place that has had the most impact in this sense is the fortress at Myrina on Lemnos. There is not a lot of information readily available about it, except for a book I found in Greek, which was most frustrating. It's been built and rebuilt since 1187AD and has held invaders at bay for considerable periods under siege. It's been held by the Romans, and the Ottomans. One can imagine the difficulty breaching the walls when any other approach is made other than through the town gate. Particularly easy when one attempts, on a hot Lemnos morning, to make the approach with absolutely no idea that there was actually a town gate, let alone where to find that path in the maze of alleyways between the higglety pigglety buildings that is and has been the town over the centuries.
Stop at the cafe that isn't open yet... "How can we get up there?" pointing to sky. "Over there" points to a path of sorts to the left of us, on the sea side. Right. Thanks. "...wet paint" just as I am about to step on the apparently newly painted step. "Great - thanks, efharisto, I mean", and hoist ourselves up onto the path. Which leads eventually to a cliff, into the sea... I didn't mean up THERE, I meant the castle. Anyway, we are (well, I am) convinced that there must be a way. So we trudged, across the rocky outcrop, and up, then back across the rocky outcrop, and up, following a group of deer who seemed totally unconcerned by our presence, but just as happy to keep a bit of distance between us. Surely if they can get up there we can.
We, like so many others before us, got almost to the castle walls before being stumped by the sheer face rising above us, and the drop off below. Eventually an indistinct path became more obvious, leading us around and through and over more rocks to a ravine - ain't no way I'm going anywhere near there, even though Mark is beckoning and trying to convince me he's found the way in. Bet a few others have heard that line before, and I bet their bones are at the bottom of the ravine too. Or in a museum.
However, he was right, and one could clamber down the rocks to the head of the ravine to the castle gate and... onto the very short path down to the village. About 5 minutes walk, compared to our hour scramble. Great defense position; cliff on all sides except for that little narrow path up the hill from the town.
Walking the ruins that morning we were so glad that OSH had taken no hand, nor the Historic Places Trust. One could immerse oneself completely, touch the walls, climb down into the underground tunnels, walk through the buildings and take personal responsibility for one's own safety as well as be trusted to respect the place (actually if a few thousand troops and cannon fire can't pull something down, I imagine that we're probably not going to make much of a dent). We climbed the highest walls, Mark sat out on the ledge (while I tried to make
myself as small as possible in the middle of the tower so that I couldn't accidentally just fly off over the edge). The biggest concession to the safety of the hoards was the galv pipe at about waist height by the flagpole, and the sheer drop below. The best part of all? Not one single other person around. Just us. And all those who had gone before. I could see them, walking the paths, going about their daily business, so many years ago.
We went again at dawn the next morning, up the path this time - much more relaxing. We saw and followed the deer again, this time from amongst the houses; they obviously come down to wander the streets of the town each evening. The municipality feeds them up on the hill. Dawn was even better, cooler, lovely light and a stillness all around us. Just trying to imagine how it must have been back then. Definitely a feeling of protection within the walls.
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