mythology – Wine Dark Sea Villas Blog

Destinations October 31, 2024

Monsters in Mythos

As October draws to a close, we here in America (and many countries besides) prepare to celebrate Halloween. Our bowls of candy are full in anticipation of hordes of costumed youth, with our houses decked in artificial cobwebs and plastic bats, orange and purple neon lights blinking in and out of focus. We go to parties or stock up on toilet paper for a night that revolves more around tricks instead of treats. Horror movies play on an almost constant rotation, and scary stories told by a fire are extra special this time of year.

Greece, however, does not have a Halloween. For them, October 31^st is just another fall day, and life continues on as per usual without a ghoul or gremlin in sight. But that doesn’t negate the fact that Greek mythology and folklore are practically rife with ghoulies from the get-go. From hundred-headed hydras to fire-breathing dragons, from the vengeful cyclops to the terrifying gorgon, the Greeks are no strangers to things that go ‘bump’ in the night. So on this special Halloween edition of our blog, let’s take a look at some of my favorite Greek monsters. ‘Tis the season, after all.

Vrykolakas

The Vampire has had a stranglehold on mainstream consciousness for an eternity, even before Bram Stoker debuted his epistolary novel Dracula in 1897. Since then, of course, Count Dracula has been portrayed in over 200 films alone, and the ‘vampire genre’ is certainly alive and kicking, even if their main characters aren’t. But before the rules of the vampire were established through this vast literary and film canon, there were earlier myths and legends from all across the globe of blood-sucking beasts who stalked the night. Though eastern Europe may be able to lay the strongest claim when it comes to the most easily recognizable vampiric myth, the ancient Greeks had one such creature lurking on the periphery of their folklore.

The vrykolakas is, in many ways, closer to a ghoul or zombie rather than our traditional understanding of the vampire. Instead of drinking the blood of its’ victims, the vrykolakas had a penchant for human livers, though most other bits of flesh would do in a pinch. Like their vampiric cousins, the vrykolakas were once perfectly normal human beings, but due to living a sacrilegious life, being buried in unconsecrated ground, or simply having the fatal combination of having red hair with grey eyes, they would rise from their graves to stalk the living. Terrorizing their former villages, the bloated, ‘drum-like’ vrykolakas brought with it plague, death, and fear. Some myths even describe the creature crushing their victims by sitting on their chests to suffocate them. Their appearance in the villages would often be heralded by knocking at front doors and calling out the names of old friends and family. To this day, many Greek villages hold a superstition that you shouldn’t answer the door until you hear the second knock, lest you be murdered and subsequently turned into a vrykolakas yourself. Of course, you can pre-emptively prevent your family or friends from turning into a vrykolakas by burying them in consecrated ground, but if you’re too late and you need to take care of business, you must impale, behead, cut up, or cremate the body on a Saturday, (when the vrykolakas must rest).

There have been several archaeological finds to suggest that ancient peoples feared the vrykolakas enough to do something about them. Tombs from Cyprus, Khirokitia, Attica and Lesbos all have graves that contained bodies that had been ‘pinned’ down with spikes in their extremities to prevent the interred from rising from their respective graves. Some bodies were cut in half, or had portions of their limbs removed. But the legend of the vrykolakas isn’t as far removed from the modern day as you might think. During World War 2, Greece experienced a massive widespread famine that resulted in over 300,000 people starving to death. The resulting influx of bodies led to cemeteries reaching capacity, and the government decided to implement the use of mass graves in unconsecrated ground. This led to many distraught family members to preemptively behead the bodies in order to prevent their deceased loved ones from coming back from the dead.

So watch out for your next knock at the door. For all you know, it could be your last.

Werewolves

The Greek myths, though not the first to mention the concept, contain some of the earliest werewolf stories in our global consciousness. The legend centers around an Arcadian king named Lycaon and his fifty sons, and the resulting tragedy of what happens when you try to test the gods. Lycaon has a complicated history, as many mythological figures do, and there are a million myths that portray the king and his fifty sons in different lights, significantly altering the myth. However, the most common myth goes a little something like this:

After Lycaon had founded the kingdom of Arcadia and his sons, in turn, founded various cities that to this day still bear their names, the family fell into a state of debauchery and ‘nefariousness,’ disregarding social rules that Zeus himself had established long ago. In order to test the family, Zeus appeared to them as a hungry peasant, begging for food and shelter. Lycaon and his family opened their doors to him, but in a perversion of the laws regarding hospitality, proceeded to butcher the youngest of Lycaon’s sons, (or grandson, or even a complete stranger, depending on the myth you read), and used his meat for the meal. The reasoning for this act of cruelty? Perhaps it was to test the belief that any stranger could be Zeus in disguise, and wanted to deliberately disrespect him. Perhaps it was a baseless act of cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Whatever the reason, Lycaon had angered Zeus, who was horrified by such a blatant disregard for hospitality, one of the tenets that was so sacred to him. In response, he transformed Lycaon and all his children into wolves, and brought the murdered son back to life. According to Ovid, this transgression is what brought about the great flood from the myth of Deucalion.

Lycaon’s impact on the werewolf myth is nothing short of foundational. It is also said the king founded the festival Lycaea, a celebration for the god Zeus, during which a man chosen by lottery was forced to perform a human sacrifice, and upon doing so, took on the physical form of a wolf. For nine years this man wandered the wilderness in his new shape, only returning home and regaining humanity in the tenth year. This festival, which also included athletic games, continued into the 2^nd Century A.D., but whether or not the participants were truly werewolves is…highly disputed, to say the least. Even the name for those cursed to become a werewolf, lycanthropy, comes from the titular Lycaon. Though the story may not be the most familiar to fans of this particular monster, you can’t ignore Lycaon’s influence on modern-day werewolf lore.

The Minotaur

Of the various monsters, ghouls and creatures found within Greek Mythology, I have a special place in my heart reserved for the Minotaur. After all, he’s practically a mascot for the island of Crete, and you can’t wander into a single store without seeing some reference to him, his sister Ariadne, or the heroic Theseus in some way, shape or form.

When Minos, king of Crete, chose not to sacrifice a prized bull to Poseidon, the gods bewitched his wife Queen Pasiphaë to fall madly in lust with the bull. Her sacrilegious union brought about a child with the body of a man and the head of a bull, and as he grew nothing could sate his hunger but the taste of human flesh. Humiliated, but unable to kill the child, Minos locked him away in a labyrinth under his palace at Knossos, engineered by the great inventor Daedalus. When Crete conquered the kingdom of Athens, Minos demanded a sacrifice of 14 virgins, 7 men and 7 women, to be sacrificed to the creature that lived within the bowels of his palace. This practice carried on for many years before the hero Theseus took the place of one of the sacrifices, and with the help of the Cretan Princess Ariadne and her magic ball of golden thread, found his way to the center of the labyrinth and slew the creature, liberating his people. Of course, there are many more intricacies of the myth to parse and chew over, but the thought of being trapped in a dark, mildewy labyrinth while a hungry creature chases me down to eat my flesh is just as frightening as any jump scare Hollywood can dream up. And the best part about the myth? It’s possible to visit the labyrinth today!

Knossos is an archaeological site just outside of downtown Heraklion on the island of Crete, and only 20 minutes away from Villa Bella Mare of Wine Dark Sea Villas. First excavated by Minos Kalokairinos in 1877, the excavations were taken over in 1900 by English archaeologist Arthur Evans, whose controversial assumptions and reconstructive work have resulted in disputes as to their accuracy. However, it remains an important and ongoing archaeological site that contributed much to our understanding of Minoan culture that you can visit to this day! Though one can dispute the existence of the Minotaur itself, it’s a thrilling site to explore should you happen to find yourself on the island of Crete on Halloween. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find traces of a monster lurking around the corner, waiting to devour you.

With so many monsters in Greek mythology, it was difficult to pick just three to focus on today. I could write a book on the witches, ghosts, goblins and monsters that are alive and well in folklore and legend, but I think I’ll leave those for a later date. Or better yet, for you to discover your favorites for yourselves. In the meantime, carve a pumpkin, feast on chocolate, and tell some spooky stories by the fire.

Maybe even one of these.

By Katarina Kapetanakis

Destinations May 20, 2018

Cave into Belief: A Journey to Lassithi

I don’t know if you know what it’s like to be raised on a myth, but I’ll try to explain it to you.

Imagine growing up on stories like they were your bread and butter. I suppose that isn’t so unusual, plenty of children grow up in this fashion. Their parents spin them yarns for a tapestry so vast and old that no one can quite pinpoint where the first thread started. They’re a vast web of tales and folklore that, when woven together, make up the fabric of a reality. Not actual reality mind you, but a kind of reality. The whole world takes on a sort of shine, because when you’re raised on tales you end up believing in magic, and when that happens you’re never sure how much is real and how much is make-believe. Kernels of truth exist in myth, after all. And all that makes you wonder if your place in this world fits perfectly in between the truth and the story.

This was all a rather longwinded way to say that the cave Zeus was born in is a real place you can actually visit. You know Zeus; king of the Greek gods, lover of thunderbolts, and the man who set the philandering bar at its high, (or low, depending on your views on philandering). His birthplace, the cave at Lassithi, is a real place that thousands of tourists flock to every year. It was the place his mother Rhea fled to, to hide the existence of her youngest son so he would not be devoured alive by his father, Cronos.

Zeus’s cave is an hour or so drive into the center of the island of Crete. It’s a good drive, a grand way to appreciate the island in all its splendor. There’s nothing quite like turning a corner on a winding mountain road, or seeing a patch of sun drift across the valley in the center of the Lassithi plateau. It’s picturesque, like something out of a storybook. Perhaps a little on the nose, considering I’m selling you on visiting a place rooted in mythology, but it really is quite something to see in person. The last turn you take is a short uphill drive to the parking lot, where little tavernas welcome you with nourishment and a gorgeous overlook. The path to the cave lies across from them, where under an olive grove a small group of donkeys stand around, somehow managing to look both adorable and more than a little treacherous at the same time, as donkeys often do. Music from the tavernas drifts through the trees and dances on the wind as you turn to start the climb.

That’s right. The climb.

“But isn’t this a trip to a cave?” You might be saying. “Isn’t this supposed to be a little hole in the wall? You—you tricked me into hiking!”

Yes, that’s right: I tricked you into hiking. I tricked you into climbing a mountain on your summer vacation. I tricked you into exercising. I would be lying if I didn’t take a sort of perverse pleasure in it. I too was fooled by picture books depicting Zeus’ mother Rhea nursing her child in a cave that was ground level. However, in misleading you I have broken that sacred trust between blogger and reader of said travel blog, and I am sorry. Let me rebuild that trust.

Here’s an adorable donkey to help soften the blow

I’ll be honest with you, this climb takes a lot out of you, especially if you’re out of shape like I am. There are two paths to take, the paved ‘easier’ path and an unpaved, wild, untamed path that, if you’re craving an authentic hiking experience to mirror what it was like to climb this mountain a thousand years ago, is perfect for you. If you’re like me, a casual walker at best who just owns a decent pair of sneakers, a water bottle, and some plucky optimism, go with the paved pathway.

The path is steep but not unbearably so. Every so often you find yourself turning around to look back over your shoulder to see just how far you’ve come, which is reassuring as the view really is spectacular. If you can plan your daytrip around a partly cloudy day, do it; the way the sunlight filters through in patches across the valley is so beautiful, it can fill even the most inexperienced hiker with optimism and wonder. Hold that feeling. Carry it in your heart and treasure it as your calf muscles start to seize on you. Try and make it sustain you as you come to realize what those donkeys at the bottom were for, as the little kids riding them up the mountain point their stubby fingers at you in mockery. But don’t glare at them for too long: those donkeys are loaded, shall we say, and they do leave ‘gifts’ along the path. Try and avoid them.

It’s an incredible feeling to reach the top of this path, however. You’re rewarded with a sense of pride, something those brats on the donkeys know nothing about. You worked for this view, you earned it. Bask in your sense of superiority. It’s good to reflect on our accomplishments. In fact, the top of the mountain is the perfect place to celebrate them; someone had the absolutely brilliant idea of building a small taverna at the top, which serves fresh juice and water to the poor dehydrated visitors.

“So now, I’ve reached the top. A quick peak into the tiny cave and I walk casually back down the mountain. Right? …Right?”

I’ve misled you again. I keep doing that. I really do need to work on our trust exercises, I’m aware.

After paying a small entrance fee, (hope you brought some cash to get past this point Dad, or else you’re trekking back down that mountain to the car and up again all by yourself), you turn a small corner and see a hint of the cave entrance. The hole may not seem that large at first, but as you approach it widens, like the mouth of a monster opening to receive the offering of tourists. It is a gaping maw, a black abyss into the side of the mountain, with steps that descend into the very bowels of the earth. This is why they call it the ‘mouth’ of the cave, you think, as you commit yourself as one of thousands who step willingly onto the tongue. It may seem slightly dangerous, and I’d be lying if this part of the trip didn’t require a bit of caution. It does. The stairs are metal, and the farther you descend into the cave, the more saturated with moisture they become. Hold tight to the (albeit slippery) railing, follow the signs for which set of stairs to keep to, and you’ll be just fine. It’s pretty surreal to see, hordes and hordes of people filing down into the earth, and you have to wonder if the scene before you mirrors a descent into Hades rather than the place a baby once lived in. The cave screams “underworld” more than “nursery,” but I suppose you can’t be too picky when avoiding your father who wants to eat you.

The hot and humid summer air has no influence here, in fact it makes you wonder why you didn’t think to pack a sweater. Lights illuminate the rock formations on the ceilings and the walls, and small pools of water glisten in the darkness, and you know for sure that though they look quite shallow, they’re probably fathoms deep. Look closer at the walls around you. Are those faces, ghosts of legends imprisoned in the cave wall? Or just your eyes playing tricks on you? Echoes bounce around, and you wonder if that faint cry is the ghost of a memory of the infant Zeus, as the shushing of an anxious mother quiets it out of fear and love. The air is somehow thinner here. Maybe you’ve slipped between the cracks, between times, and maybe you’ll turn the corner to find them sitting there in the darkness, perched on a rock. It’s exciting and unsettling all at once.

Only a small orb of light makes it down from the entrance, but it’s a light you’re drawn to as you circle around and make your way. Gripping the railing tightly, you follow the procession of visitors who make the slow climb back into the day. If you’re like me, you’ll probably blink a little in confusion, turn around, and stare again at the mouth of the cave. Were you ever down there at all, in that inky blackness? Did you transition from reality to myth and back again? You check your phone for the photos of the rock formations. They’re there. Boy, are they going to make some killer Instagram pics later…perhaps you were down there after all. But now it’s time for another fruit juice. Banish these thoughts from you, of blurred lines and jumbled myths: sip something cold, gaze at the view, take a deep breath, and get the group together. It’s time to go.

If you get the chance, when you’ve returned to your villa, gaze out over the pool. There’s a mountain range there that looks almost like the profile of a grizzled man, cut from the stone, his eyes closed. That’s Zeus, come to rest on the island of his birth, taking refuge in death at the same place he found safety in birth. I’m not yanking your chain, he’s there, sleeping and covered in grass and trees and goats and Cretans, and of course, you. They let him sleep though, the Cretans…his dreams keep the island the magical place that it is, a blend of myth and reality, a place where the lines between the two are blurred. And you know firsthand the power of that blur now.

By Katarina Kapetanakis

Destinations October 29, 2017

The Land of the Wine Dark Sea

The blind poet Homer once sang of the mighty hero Odysseus, sailing across the Wine Dark Sea as he passed the craggy shores of Crete. It is the land of Minos, king of an empire so great it once brought Athens to its knees.It is the place where Zeus was hidden from his ravenous and jealous father, Cronos, raised in a cave where soldiers clashed their weapons to cover his mighty cries, born into darkness in the depths of the cavern in Lasithi, where tourists flock today in droves to descend into this haunted place, a cathedral of stone with spiral ceilings and thick cool atmosphere lead any visitor to understand how the legend was born in that place. The land of Crete lends itself to curious imaginings. Caves that look like entrances to the underworld abound in the island. A hike through the bucolic countryside will find ancient sites and olive hillsides covered with the ubiquitous olive tree, sometimes with trees 4000 years old. It is easy to become lost in the mythology of the very air.

The ancient songs of Homer ring through the Cretan countryside disguised as the blowing winds. Standing on stop of that plateau, you can picture the heroic king Orpheus playing his lyre, calling his wife Eurydice out of her crooked tree. In the gorge of Samaria, goats fearlessly climb impossible rock sides of surrounding mountains as one hikes through, still imagining that the wind carries the song of the king, looking for his lost love, hiking a trek very much like the one you’re walking on right now. Though his goes to a darker destination than the path you’re following. Looking to either side of this gorge, one gets a perspective of ones’ place in this incredible land. But perhaps you feel like searching for history within the island? It is a history that is intertwined with myth, so much so that the lines between reality and mythology is blurred. You can visit the labyrinth at Knossos, where the monstrous Minotaur was held, though today it is much less a prison for a beast and more a fascinating archaeological ruin. Walking through its once great halls evokes a feeling of wonder and mystery, and you cannot help but picture the palace and the labyrinth beneath in their respective heydays, glistening with vivid color and beautiful murals. The image of the bull is shown throughout the palace, and you can’t help but wonder as you step through the ruins…that perhaps reality isn’t as separate from fiction as one would like. Could there be more truth to the story of the half man, half bull? Could the stories of the heroic Theseus, wandering the dark corridors of the labyrinth, holding his breath as he listens for the monster, sword in hand and magic thread in the other, be true? In the land of gods and monsters, perhaps, just perhaps, it could be.

Even when we seek rest and sustenance with food and drink, the ancient spirit of Crete is alive and dominate over the modern land. Mythology has even woven itself into the very fabric of Cretan customs. The ancient rule of Philoxenia, the law of hospitality, wherein travelers and strangers are to be protected and entertained with respect, is still practiced today in every Cretan household. The belief was born from the myth that wandering gods, taking on human form, would pay surprise visits to the mortals in an effort to test their hospitality. Nowhere is philoxenia more prevalent than in local tavernas, where a visit will prove the Cretan adherence to the law of hospitality. No one leaves the table without first a toast of raki, a drink that is certain to both delight and fascinate, and a sampling of local fruit as dessert. The traveler is always made to feel like a friend-that is the Cretan way. After all, you never know if your next dinner guest is Zeus in disguise.

Crete is the land of heroes and marvels. Legends lend themselves to the gorgeous Cretan landscape and rugged terrain. Listen to the distant sounds of the bells placed around the necks of goats, and the cicadas hum, and one will instantly be transported to the time of Homer and his gods and heroes.

By Katarina Kapetanakis