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Yesterday was my last night in Athens. However, I had a few hours this morning for one last hurrah. There were a few options I considered.
I could star in an ancient Greek photo shoot and post my hottest toga pics (in Greece, every photo is hot). There were only two problems: my Instagram followers add up to 0, and I have the same god-like physique of Daffy Duck.
Another option could have been to wake up at the crack of dawn and run a few laps in the Panathenaic Stadium. It would be a memorable connection to history. But at my age, I feared the last lap would be in an ambulance.
I could attend a Greek cooking class. They promised to teach me how to make souvlaki, saganaki, spanakopita and other exotic meals. However, they would have to start by telling this culinary neophyte how to make another "s" dish: a sandwich.
None of those were quite my forte, so I thought a bit harder about an activity befitting an archaeology enthusiast.
If you recall, we spoke about the Battle of Marathon and the Battle of Thermopylae. Both were major engagements against the Persians. However, I kept you on-edge with a cliff-hanger. How did the story end?
The massive Persian army made it to Athens, but they carried a weakness with them: their supply ships. If you recall, the Oracle at Delphi predicted Athens' salvation would be a "wooden wall." The Greek naval commander remembered this, so he lured the enemy fleet into narrow waters where they couldn't maneuver. The Greek ships attacked, sunk many Persian vessels, and ultimately won the war. If the Battle of Salamis had been lost, the rest of Europe may have been conquered. We would have no "Western civilization" and probably no you.
After the Persians retreated, the Athenian navy ruled the seas with their powerful fleet of warships called triremes. The "tri" part came from the fact there were three levels of oarsmen to power the vessel. It crashed into enemy ships using a large bronze battering ram affixed onto the bow, like a huge man-powered torpedo.
As a kid, I always dreamed of an adventure on one of those ships with heroes like Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece, or Odysseus on his journey home, or especially Themistocles during the Battle of Salamis.
Then, I remembered something I read many years ago about experimental archaeology. It's a subdiscipline that attempts to learn about the past by recreating it. Flintknappers are one example. Their work with stone tools allow us to better understand shape, production, and function of ancient technologies.
How a trireme actually operated remained unknown to researchers. That was until the late 1980s. An experimental archaeologist formed a team with a shipbuilder and historian to solve the mystery. After many years of trial and error, they uncovered a method of rowing that made all the pieces fit. How could they prove it? They could build one. No, not a model. A full-size working warship.
It was constructed using only ancient materials and launched in 1988. A full crew of 170 oarsman could achieve a speed of 9 knots. That was enough to ram, then sink an enemy ship.
What happened to it after 1988? There were a few occasions when it returned to sea, like when it carried the torch for the 2004 Olympics. However, it has spent much of its life as a static museum display.
...until today.
The adventure began at 6:45 AM. I was told to report to a shipyard, managed by the military. The reason was because the Olympias is now an officially commissioned warship in the Greek Navy.
Stern-looking sailors checked me in, then offered guidance to the assembled rowers on our duties. The only challenge was that the instructions were entirely in Greek.
I nodded like I understood every word. We were ordered to climb aboard. This was the seat that awaited me. (Please note that there are two more rows of below and to the right. It will give you an idea of the crammed conditions.)
I took my position, then “Énas!” (oars at the ready). “Dýo!” (row!) We broke free from the moorings and were on our way into Saronic Gulf. We moved further from shore and attracted the attention of ships 2500 years newer.
The command to stop rowing happened after half a mile out to sea. We were permitted to get up, then go to the rocking upper deck with no handrails. These were the friendly faces I encountered when I emerged into the light.
It was time to ease the sails and pray the north wind would offer a helping hand.
I could only take a few photos while rowing and being commanded in Greek. To see what my experience looked like from outside, watch the video below.
The trip on the trireme resulted in sore muscles, but I didn’t complain. I wasn’t surrounded by the chaos of enemy ships with glittering rams ready to pierce the hull. The voyage gave me something archaeology students only dream of: to actually experience the past.
There was a brief moment on deck when I saw a fleeting image of divinity. I immediately recognized him from his trademark petasos (hat) and himation (cloak). It was Hermes, the ancient messenger. I asked him to bring word to Mount Olympus. At that moment, and in my heart, the gods were alive and well.
Efcharistó, Greece!
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