Shopping through Corinth, Epidaurus and Mycenae

  Patras, Greece
Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The following morning the woman who was to be our guide for the next four days met us aboard our bus. Her name was something like "Anitazizi" and she was an archeologist by training. She was a knowledgeable and professional forty year old who had been conducting tours for 20 years. She was an excellent field marshal but the toll of two decades herding ignorant tourists around was maybe getting to her. She had a sharp and impatient side to her that led to at least two confrontations per day with your writer.
 
Our bus set out with its complement of seventeen couples, mostly retired folk but including one pair of newly-weds. Anitazizi informed us that we were going to do our tour in the reverse direction to that which had been published. It turned out this was par for the course, as nearly everything we did was opposite, or at least significantly otherwise, than we had prepared for.
 
So we went east along the southern coast heading for the Peloponnesian peninsula. Along the way we wondered about the name of a nut-bearing tree we saw. I went forward to the Guides Seat to ask and was informed that passengers were not allowed to move about in the bus and I should return to my seat. Thus clued in I did as instructed - but not gladly. It occurred to me that any gratuity Anitazizi might be expecting had just been given a serious discount. It was to become a standing joke among fellow travelers on the tour that anyone who asked a question would inevitably get slapped down but would be rewarded with high-fives from the others.
 
At our first stop we were allowed to exit the bus to view the wonders of the 4-mile long, 75-foot wide Corinth Canal that cuts between the mainland and the Peloponnese. This engineering feat was initiated by the Roman Emperor Nero but was not completed until 1893. We also came upon our first experience with what was to be a core of our tour, namely the lines that would form when six or more tour busses disgorged their long-pent-up passengers at the only restroom within miles. Much hopping about on one foot, especially in the ladies line.
 
It was unsettling to see ourselves in the heretofore disdained role of gray-haired old fogies staggering glassy-eyed off tour busses, camera in one hand, Depends in the other.
 
Back on the bus we drove along the rugged eastern coast of the Peloponnese arriving at The Sanctuary of

Theater at Epidaurus

Epidaurus, a healing and religious center dating from 600 BC. The center is best known for its classic theater and our guide demonstrated its near-perfect acoustics by clapping her hands while standing in the orchestra area. Sure enough, from high up in the 55th tier of stone benches we could hear each clap, even over the hoots and catcalls of several busloads of high-school students from Albania (you don't want to know).
 
Our day's itinerary carried us next to Mycenae, the fortified palace complex of King Agamemnon, leader of the Greek forces against Troy. The unassailable palace, protected by a wall that was up to 46 feet wide and thought by the Greeks to have been built by giants, was occupied by royalty from 1700 to 1100 BC. It features the remarkable "Lion Gate", with a huge carved cornerstone-like centerpiece, l

Lion Gate, Mycenae

eading to the Great Ramp that meanders past a large graveyard circle and up to the Royal Palace.
 
The palace is perched on the peak of a hill that towers above the valleys below. The hill itself sits in the shadow of twin teton-like mountains and it is altogether a very impressive sight. Some of us wondered out loud why they didn't build the palace on top of one of the actual mountains, but Anitazizi thought we were being impertinent.
 
Having by now climbed the 55 tiers of the Theater at Epidaurus several times, and having ascended to the aerie that was Mycenae, we were ready to sit down for a while. On the way to our hotel in Patras (also spelled "Patra"), however, we were introduced to another core feature of Greek touring. This involves a stop at a large retail outlet where one is greeted by a high-ranking member of the staff. The tour guide gives an introduction (also spelled "shill") then the staff member gives a short speech telling the visitor that products sold at this establishment are made by craftspersons and that is why they cost so much more than anywhere else. And by the way, there are serious discounts given for cash transactions.
 
We were given an hour or so to SHOP and it became quite evident that the tour guide - and maybe the bus driver, the janitor and Little Bo Peep  - all got a commission on any sale that was made. Not one who enjoys the whole SHOPPING scene anyway, I began to resent having paid serious money to the tour operator in order to have items I did not want sold to me. This amplified the tension growing between me and Anitazizi.
 
Eventually we got out of there and drove along the south coast of the Gulf of Corinth to Patras, the third-largest city in Greece. There we were billeted in a casino for the night. You don't want to know.
 
As we approached Patras we could make out, through the gloaming, the outline of an elegant bridge that spanned a narrow section of the Gulf, connecting the Peloponnesian peninsula to mainland Greece. We were to hear much about this "Charilaos Trikoupis Bridge", because the nation is very proud of the engineering marvelosity of the thing - even though it was built by the French. We were assured that we would be crossing it tomorrow, which we found comforting.