i don’t think i have ever written about greece and turkey, except for maybe a post or two back *ages* ago when i was transitioning my website over from mac. greece is amazing; athens is not beautiful and that’s why i love it. istanbul is beautiful, ranks as one of my top five cities in the world, and i have several friends that grew up and still live there. i adore istanbul. in general, the entire greek empire fascinates me and that’s a big reason why i focused my masters’ thesis on the greeks, in particular two of their port cities, priene and miletos (both in modern-day turkey.)
with what’s happening in the middle east right not, with isis blowing up ancient ruins and “pagan” (um, please) temples, i felt i needed to write passionately about these places. my heart breaks for the archaeologists and the lovers (like me) of ancient civilizations and i can only hope for the time when the world realises that these temples are symbols of not paganism but of another time, people just like us, who lived and worked and worried and loved. i have seen the pictures of the purported explosions and i have read about how they lined the temple walls with dynamite.
and i am furiously sad.
the greeks (and the romans, and the vikings, and the neaderthals, and the ancient picts/celts, and the earliest native americans) were *just like us*. they built cities – some more impressive than others and each with it’s own character and life. one only has to look at skara brae in orkney or çatalhoyuk in central turkey to see evidence of a very communal style of living, one we have gotten very far away from these days, with our mcmansions and devious home owner’s associations.
priene had paved streets and running water. in 350 bce. miletos was one of the wealthiest cities in the greek empire, in the 6th century bce, and later in the 2nd. palmayra, the ancient city that was just imploded by isis, was a roman stronghold and hugely important economic city for the empire in the 4th century ad.
but, more importantly, they were people. they built houses; formed communities; made friends; made dinner; foraged for food/gardened; hunted; made love; had children; played with animals, toys, each other. and there is a component in today’s modern society who tells us that these people were “pagan” and therefore “evil.” i couldn’t be more heartbroken.
i read a post on facebook the other day from a high school classmate who had a cab driver who said that america was backwards for having “gays and lesbians.” my classmate responded in a well-spoken and thoughtful way, and many people commented on his post, applauding him for the way he handled it.
i will add to his thoughts. i only spent four years in a catholic school environment, and i do not practice any religion now (although i do not disdain it; i went to church just a week ago with my friend ra and her family.) that being said, you will never be able to tell me that another human being, past or present, is evil for his beliefs in a higher being. the greeks and the romans had multiple gods. the hindu worship one god who they worship through an infinite number of representations. native americans also worshipped various gods. so did the norse, the celts, the picts, and the egyptians. virtually all ancient religions worshipped an electic mix of gods.
some of the most peaceful times i have felt have been sitting inside an ancient temple, or theatre, or forum, alone except for my thoughts and my sketchbook, watching a trickle of water or a small ladybug cross the mosaiced floor. i’m sitting with my back to the limestone, my head leaning against a wall that’s thousands of years old. i’m walking through colonnaded halls, my feet touching the same ground that aristotle, pythagoras, socrates, walked. have you ever walked the panathenaic way? the path winds its way through cypress trees, high above the tiny, winding streets of the plaka, athens’ old city. up there, among the trees, away from the crowds, i’m at one with whatever god is listening at the moment. and i don’t particularly care which god it is. one of them will pass on a message, i’m sure.
in priene, our group was alone. above us, the plateau on which it is believed that the original city existed rose in stark contrast to the fertile plains of western turkey below. once upon a time, that would have been the mediterranean. priene would have been an important port city, albeit small. at miletos, a shy man beckoned us toward a fig tree. with the assistance of our translator, he picked fresh figs for us and showed us how to peel them. dressed in a dust-covered suit jacket, jeans and boots, and carrying a large bouquet of lavender, he was no less an human that you or i. he spoke no english, but that doesn’t make him evil. it doesn’t make him less than me. i think of him often, actually, when i think about that first trip to turkey, and i wonder what he’s doing now. he might still be meeting foreign students at miletos, leading a small group to that little fig tree below the theatre and above the roman baths, on the hill under the hot turkish sun. he’s probably still holding a bouquet of local flowers, offering them to the girls and smiling his toothless smile. i miss him.
so, it breaks my heart that the current generation of high school and college students will not be permitted (likely) to visit some of the most influential and impressive sites of our world heritage because it is too dangerous. i do not disagree. i myself will not travel beyond istanbul for that very reason, and i count myself incredibly lucky that i did have the chance to do that once upon a time. i have never seen palmayra, or tripoli, or giza, and i keep my fingers crossed that soon i will be able to, that it will not be dangerous for me to do so.
but i do not hold my breath. instead, my breath catches in my throat when i think about what could happen to some of the most important sites in the classical, hellenistic, egyptian, mesopotamian worlds. the birthplace of civilization, the fertile plains that gave birth to modern society, is barren, thanks to a misguided and hot-headed group of extremists. in writing this post alone, tears form at the corners of my eyes. i do not like this.
but i have hope, too, that when i am old and i have grandchildren, maybe they will live in a world in which they can visit these places. hopefully, they will be able to visit not only these ancient sites, but also meet the grandchildren of my contemporaries in syria, iran and iraq at these sites; children who understand that their elders were wrong to destroy remnants of another world and who welcome the chance to broaden their horizons through interactions with another society and/or religion. i hope that my grandchildren come home to me with stories of meeting a shy man with a lavender bouquet, below another temple, somewhere in the world, who offered some figs and a heartening smile.