Apollo still cuts a reasonably steep arc in the sky in mid
October, here in the northern hemisphere.
Beijing is sunny and clear and this is always a cause for joy. But every day now the ellipse will grow
flatter, and he will arrive later and leave earlier until the darkest day, at
the solstice, when he begins to pull higher once again. Handsome god, he’s burned through the Beijing
morning air, and scared off any pollution with the flames of his chariot. But he’s further away every day, and the air
is getting colder.
Still, hail Apollo. Thoughts are with you today. I’m thinking of your sanctuary and fissure
down into the bowls of the earth, there beneath the mighty shine of Mount
Parnassus. On a day last July, you lit
the way as I drove up out of the chaotic morning traffic of Athens, out on to a
highway, past billboards, and suburbs, beside motorcycles driving recklessly
beside me.
We had left early just as Apollo began his day. We had much ground to cover. Making a mockery of classical distances we
left Athens behind and roared up into the Boeotian lands. On a pathway that would have taken Oedipus
days to trek, on en route to destiny we got off the highway and stopped for
gas. We wouldn’t have time to see Thebes
and the ruins at Cadmea. My precious
goddesses were sleeping in the back, and I spared them yet another reminder of
ill-fated king and his parents and his eyes, and his daughter/sister and his
kingdom, which we were now very near.
We were instead, en route to Delphi. I pronounced our destination; as to rhyme with
‘belfry’ rather than ‘fish-fry’ and the pleasant young man who filled my tank
repeated back that we were indeed on the right road to ‘Del-fee.’ None of this could interrupt the girls and
their celestial naps. Off again, I was
listening to Handel’s Xerxes, first performed in 1738, which a dear friend had
recommended. And though we were heading
away from the sea, I tried to imagine the Persian whipping the Hellespont and
later starring at the ruins of his fleet that Themistocles had destroyed for
him at Salamis. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serse What an inexhaustible font this peninsula.
Driving from the south Mount Parnassus dominates as the road comes up along side and slowly turns west. And as you consider the word, the mind turns to all the other ways that assignation and so many other Greek words have been appropriated in, for example, the United States. It’s a hospital, right? It’s a medical center? Where was it? Memory did not serve and I was convinced that it was in New York or perhaps Boston. It wasn’t till I was driving along near Cole Valley a month later in San Francisco that it all became clear. Mount Sutro had apparently once been called Mount Parnassus and hence the UCSF Medical Center named in its honor. A place of healing named for a mountain people were once thrown from for committing blasphemy.
Parking beneath the sheer face, ruins above, and ruins below,
before the walkway to the entrance, was easy enough. And we tried to imagine the priestess with
her python and the athletes all coming for the Apollonian games and the
amphitheater filled to capacity. The
girls were tired when we reached the top.
“Got it. Can we go now?” I got a call from my boss over in
London. A corporate takeover, core leaders
removed now, one by one, scramble on, and the future obscured. All rather fitting, I replied, as I’m
speaking to you from atop the oracle at Delphi.
Allow me to 料事如神[1], a
change is coming.
Delphi was a place where, in the ideal at least, the Greek city-states
laid down armaments and came in humility, bearing tribute to something beyond
them. A place that no one city, at least
until Alexander perhaps, could presume to control. The games were for all. The oracle was for all. And the states of the Greek world, like the
island of Naxos, would testify to this vision with splendid artwork; Naxos
offered Delphi a majestic sphinx atop a fourteen-meter column.
Neither the column nor the vision could hold forever. But something supra-civic would inspire empire
builders and democrats alike forever after.
The European Union is similarly a supra-national vision. It speaks to the hopes of humanity that we
have the capacity to evolve beyond mere national identity. It too may not last forever but humans have
to keep planting stakes further and further forward, even if they cannot always
be held, when the tide rises. And it’s
imperative we all imagine something supra national and stable in North Asia.
Mind you, I was the type kid to visit the “Thirty Hot and
Cold Items” smorgasbord, fill my plate with everything and go back for
thirds. I only had this car for a day
and wanted to see so much. Too
much. After viewing the charioteer and
the sphinx and of course the gift shop, despite much moaning on the walk over
to the Delphi museum, (“come on guys, we already paid for it.”) we were on the
road again.
I’d asked the girls what the one site they wanted to see
was, and (thanks to Rick Riordan) they were set on seeing Poseidon’s temple at
Sounion. I was too, though it meant returning the way we came and continuing on
for another hour in the other direction.
No matter. If Aegeus could make
the journey to watch for his son Thesus’ sail color, we could set a course, as
well. The Earthshaker’s temples had
mostly (and appropriately) all been swallowed by the sea. Few remained.
Sounion however stood.
And Poseidon’s temple was not, right on the way, towards
where we needed to be by 9:00pm that evening.
That was two hours in yet another direction. I’d pre-bought tickets to Menander’s “The Girl
from Samos” so we were committed to a night in the ancient theatre there by the
sea. But as long as we’re going to Epidaurus
we may as well try to see Mycenae where Agamemnon had his compromised homecoming
with Clytemnestra. We ought to have time
for that. If we hurry.
Sounion was idyllic, all the more so as I hadn’t picked
it. No matter how templed out they were,
I knew they’d make the walk up to those marvelous columns. And they did, drawn magically just like Byron
was. Dramatic blue brine was everywhere in
three directions from the bluff. And as
three o’clock turned to four o’clock in the afternoon, savoring our overdue meal,
I still had Mycenae clamped between my teeth unable to let it go. I would manage to release it finally, two
hours later, having overshot the exit. And a good thing too, as the road to Epidaurus,
was anything but the straight line drawn upon the map I had.
The Menander play was tough in Greek, but the production was
beautiful and the ice cream helped and the setting was unforgettable, which was
all I’d really hoped for. (“It’s almost
done. It’s a comedy. You’ll know its
over when everyone’s happy”)
Driving back out of Epidaurus I had to retrace fifty
kilometers of tight, winding, ocean side road while Friday turned to
Saturday. On coming chariots rode their
high beams and outbound chariots in front plodded along in a cautious
crawl. Eventually there’d be clearance
to pass a few, only to find your way behind the next jalopy, up ahead. I wound up listening to the Boards of Canada
“Music Has a Right to Children” for the first time, in detail. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_Has_the_Right_to_Children
It was appropriately spacious, evocative, absurd. The song “Aquarius” keeps repeating (what I
thought was) “porridge” (but may have been “orange”) with a particularly benign, fatuous voice. And I laughed each time
it was repeated. Giggling was Apollonian sustenance driving at that dark hour.
Motoring back into Athens at 2:00am on a Friday night, I
became hopelessly lost, as the oracle or just about anyone might have foretold. Apollo man, where are you? I’ve no astrolabe, no stars. Rather. I relied upon the floodlights trained
on the Acropolis to guide me as I raced up one street into the Plaka, only to
be turned and spat back out in on
another one way street heading in the wrong direction Like a child making nonsense lines with a
ruler I cut this way and that, forever twisting my neck to consider the
Parthenon’s face and the drunken pedestrians.
And finally, we parked safely in the hotel basement. And the girls woke from their fourth and
final divine backseat slumber. All of us
had seen some of what we wanted for the day that we had to drive. When I drive, I drive hard. But I am very glad I don't have to do so
every day. Apollo man, I don’t know how
you do it.
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