This is a good example of how Greek mythology can shift between different sources and traditions. The same figure may have different parents, names, appearances and deeds depending on place, period and author. Sometimes different stories also merge and overlap.

In Part 3 of our series on Greek mythology’s strange beings and forgotten legends, we follow some of these side paths further: from the Idaean Dactyls to the three-bodied giant Geryon, and on to the multi-headed dogs Orthrus and Cerberus.

The Idaean Dactyls

The Dactyls were male divine or semi-divine beings associated with the Great Mother goddess, especially in the forms of Rhea and Cybele. They were also linked with metalworking, fire and magic. Beyond that, however, the ancient sources describe the Dactyls in very different ways. Their number varies, as do their names and places of origin, and in some traditions they almost merge with other mythological groups.

Mount Ida does not always refer to the same place either. One Mount Ida lies on Crete, while another stood in ancient Phrygia in Asia Minor. There were also other local traditions concerning the Dactyls, including on Rhodes.

Another widespread tradition says that the Dactyls came into being when Rhea was about to give birth to Zeus. She was trying to save the newborn Zeus from his father Cronus, who devoured his own children to prevent any of them from one day overthrowing him. When Rhea pressed her fingers into the earth during the birth, the Dactyls were born – and the Greek word daktyloi means “fingers”.

The Greek geographer Pausanias, writing in the 2nd century AD, records an Elean tradition in which the Dactyls are five in number and individually named. Heracles corresponds to the thumb, Paeonius to the forefinger, Epimedes to the middle finger, Iasius to the ring finger, and Idaios – also called Acesides – to the little finger.

This Heracles, the eldest of the brothers, was said to have organised a footrace between them and crowned the winner with a wreath of wild olive. According to the same tradition, this was the origin of the later Olympic Games. The Dactyl Heracles was also said to have brought the wild olive itself from the mythical land of the Hyperboreans, far to the north.

The traditions surrounding the different figures named Heracles later began to overlap, and accomplishments originally attributed to older figures could eventually be transferred to the more famous hero Heracles.

The Dactyls are also often associated or confused with the Curetes, Corybantes and Cabeiri – other groups of mythical beings connected, among other things, with the Mother Goddess, ritual and metalworking.

In our next story, about the fearsome giant Geryon, we will encounter the more famous Heracles: the son of Zeus and Alcmene, and the hero who performed the Twelve Labours.

Geryon – the Fearsome Giant at the Western Edge of the World

In his tenth labour, Heracles was sent to steal the cattle of the fearsome giant Geryon. This was no ordinary herd, but a magnificent collection of red cattle grazing on the island of Erytheia, at the western edge of the world as imagined in Greek mythology. Heracles’ voyage across the sea later became a popular subject among ancient vase painters.

What the giant Geryon himself looked like depends, as so often, on which source you read.

One body with three heads? Three bodies with one head? Six arms and six legs? Wings? All of these versions appear. What they have in common is that Geryon is portrayed as a huge and terrifying figure, often armed like a warrior – and that the number three somehow seems to be part of his nature.

His family tree is just as strange as his appearance. According to myth, Geryon’s father Chrysaor was born when the hero Perseus cut off the head of Medusa, the monster whose gaze could turn people to stone. At the same moment, the winged horse Pegasus was also born. The giant Geryon therefore forms an important link in one of the best-known stories of Greek mythology.

Geryon’s cattle were guarded by the herdsman Eurytion and the two-headed dog Orthrus. Heracles killed Orthrus with a single powerful blow from his olive-wood club and then killed Eurytion as well. When Geryon heard the commotion, he rushed into action, according to one version, carrying three shields, three spears and wearing three helmets. Heracles met him with an arrow dipped in the poisonous blood of the Lernaean Hydra and brought the giant down.

Palaephatus, a Greek mythographer who often sought rational explanations behind ancient myths, suggested that the idea of Geryon having several heads may have arisen from a misunderstanding connected with the place the giant came from. It was called Tricarenia, a name that can be interpreted as “Three Heights” or “Three Heads”.

Geryon continued to appear in literature long after antiquity. More than a thousand years later, he turns up again in Dante’s Inferno – this time in a new and even stranger form.

Orthrus – the Dog in the Shadow of His Famous Brother

Orthrus is much less famous than his brother Cerberus, the dog who guarded the entrance to the realm of the dead. Both were children of Typhon and Echidna, two of the great primordial monsters of Greek mythology and the parents of a long line of other terrifying creatures.

Orthrus’ task was to guard Geryon’s precious red cattle on the island of Erytheia.

He is most often described as two-headed, but here too the sources vary. In some he has only one head, in others three. Depictions of Orthrus are rare and are almost always connected with Heracles’ theft of Geryon’s cattle.

Accounts of his death also differ. In the version we have just followed, Heracles kills Orthrus with his club. In some ancient depictions, however, Orthrus is shown pierced by arrows.

His brother Cerberus is an even clearer example of how a mythological figure’s appearance could change over time. In the earliest literary sources, he could have fifty – or even a hundred – heads. Only later did the three-headed version become dominant and the one best known today.

Orthrus’ family tree also has its surprises. A passage in the poet Hesiod can be interpreted as making Orthrus and the Chimera the parents of both the Sphinx and the Nemean Lion, two other feared creatures of Greek mythology. Here too, however, the sources are ambiguous and different traditions offer varying versions.

From Orthrus to the Underworld

Cerberus belongs above all to another story. Not long after the encounter with Geryon, Heracles is sent down into Hades, the realm of the dead, where the many-headed watchdog plays a much larger role.

In this part, we have seen how closely the different strands of Greek mythology are connected. The Dactyl Heracles led us to the Olympic Games, the hero Heracles to Geryon, and Geryon’s cattle to Orthrus.

Cerberus will lead us into the next part of the series: “The Geography of the Underworld”.

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Sources

Diodoros Siculus, Bibliotheca historica, book 5

Pausanias, Description of Greece, book 5, 5.7.6–9

Wikipedia various posts

Palaiphatos, On Unbelievable Tales

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But dig a little beneath the freshly whitewashed surface, and the reality is considerably more complex.

Historical background

The white landscape is neither an ancient tradition nor something that characterizes all of Greece. It was in the Cyclades that whitewashing gradually came to dominate the landscape. Through a combination of practical everyday needs, state sanitation, policies during the dark years of dictatorship, and growing tourism, the image we know today eventually took shape.

According to the common narrative, the houses of the Cyclades began to be whitewashed during a cholera epidemic in the 1930s. Equally widespread is the story that the military junta later ordered them to be painted blue and white to resemble the Greek flag. Both claims have been repeated so often that they have almost become accepted truths.

The houses of the Cyclades were not always white

Long before any government regulations were introduced, houses were whitewashed for purely practical reasons. Slaked lime, ασβέστης/asvéstis, was cheap, easy to apply, and reflected the scorching sun. Its strongly alkaline properties also made it useful for hygiene and disinfection.

But that does not mean the older villages were the dazzling white environments we associate with the Cyclades today.

Ochre and earthy red tones often appeared alongside whitewashed surfaces, while other houses left the local building stone exposed. Shades of blue could be created by mixing the lime with λουλάκι/louláki, the same pigment used in laundry to make white fabrics appear brighter.

The result was much more varied architecture, often shaped by materials that were locally available and easy to obtain.

It was not only the colors of the houses that looked different. Many of the old communities of the Cyclades were built far from the coast, high on mountain slopes or behind natural shelter.

Why the villages ended up there – and what role centuries of pirate threats played – is another story, one we’ll return to in the next part of our series on the houses of the Cyclades.

The role of sanitation during difficult times

The major shift came in the late 1930s, when Greece had already endured years of economic crisis, political unrest, and war. Out of this political turmoil emerged General Ioannis Metaxas, who seized power in a military coup.

In a tense society where poverty and unrest made epidemics easier to spread, disinfecting lime became an inexpensive tool in the state’s public health policy. The regime made whitewashing compulsory on the islands for sanitary reasons.

But was it really, as is commonly claimed, a cholera epidemic that prompted Metaxas to require whitewashing?

That detail often appears in popular accounts, but the evidence for that specific claim is weaker than for the whitewashing requirement itself. What is certain is that the measure had a sanitary purpose, regardless of which particular disease concerned the authorities most.

After the war, white began to take on another meaning. It was no longer only about hygiene, but also about aesthetics and a national identity increasingly linked to tourism.

There is a well-known anecdote in academic research on the subject that, in the 1950s, Queen Frederica supposedly showed the prime minister photographs of whitewashed houses on Mykonos and suggested that they could become a symbol of Greece abroad. The anecdote has been described as an urban legend, but true or not, it captures something real: by this time, the white houses of the Cyclades were already being actively used as a brand.

The white houses thus began to acquire a value far beyond the Cyclades themselves: an easily recognizable image of the entire country, presented to the emerging international tourism market.

Later, in the 1970s, under the military junta, the state moved from public health measures to outright aesthetic control. It was no longer just about hygiene. The authorities wanted to create a uniform Cycladic appearance. Polychromy was discouraged, and white became the dominant color for facades.

Another widely repeated claim is that houses were ordered to be painted blue and white to resemble the Greek flag. The evidence, however, points almost exclusively to the junta’s requirements concerning white. Blue seems instead to have continued as a local tradition on doors and shutters, rather than as a government mandate.

After the fall of the dictatorship, much of this standard remained in place as the democratic state began protecting traditional settlements and their architectural character. At the same time, modernist architects had already begun to see the white Cycladic forms as something almost primordial: pure, simple, timeless.

Mass tourism completes the circle

The increase in international travel after the war turned the white houses against the blue sea into the very image of Greece — and because that image spread so successfully, many soon came to believe that it applied to the country as a whole, not just the Cyclades.

The more tourists expected to see white villages, the more buildings were whitewashed to meet those expectations — a self-reinforcing cycle in which the image eventually took the place of reality.

Toward the end of the 20th century, regulation continued through specific rules for many of the Cyclades’ traditional settlements, not least several of the islands’ main villages, known as Chora. White could still be the norm there, but the rules also took greater account of local architecture, so the result did not look the same everywhere.

Ermoupoli on Syros is a clear example, with its colorful neoclassical urban architecture, while the mountain village of Apeiranthos on Naxos is characterized by local stone and marble rather than whitewashed facades.

Outside the Cyclades, the landscape looks different. Crete, the Peloponnese, Epirus, and the Ionian Islands have their own building traditions, materials, and colors. But as tourism developed, the familiar Cycladic white began to appear elsewhere as well, especially in tourist resorts. Local traditions remained, but were often complemented by the image of Greece that visitors already knew from postcards and travel brochures.

A white heritage – with many nuances

So who painted the houses of the Cyclades white? There is hardly a simple answer. Lime had been used there long before the regimes of the 20th century, but it was during the last century that white gradually went from a practical tradition to a rule, an ideal, and finally an international symbol.

Today, the image is so powerful that the white houses often come to represent all of Greece – even though they do not tell the whole story, even of the Cyclades themselves.

Behind the white surface are older colors, local materials, and communities shaped by very different needs from those reflected in today’s postcards and vacation photos. The older Cycladic houses were often built to blend into the landscape – and many of the islands’ traditional settlements still lie surprisingly far from the ports and beaches that are now centers of life and tourism.

Why were the villages built up there? Don’t miss the next part of our series on the Cyclades, where we explore concepts such as Chora, Kastro, old ports, and centuries of pirate threats.

Sources

Myrto Stenou, NTUA – Heritage

Greek Parliament – Foundation for Parliamentarism and Democracy

Wikipedia – Antibacterial properties of lime

University of Edinburgh – Katerina Mitka, Greek Tourist Landscape

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Panagia, as the Virgin Mary is also called, has a deep historical connection to the modern Greek nation’s struggle for independence. For Greeks, the day is both one of the year’s most important religious holidays and a popular celebration that unites the country in festivity and reverence.

The cities are emptying out

August 15 is a public holiday in Greece, and the entire country comes to a standstill. The capital, Athens, and other cities are emptying as people travel to the villages and the islands to celebrate Panagia. The usually busy streets in central Athens, such as Panepistimiou St. and Patision St. become strikingly quiet and deserted, creating an almost eerie atmosphere in the otherwise vibrant and noisy capital.

The Island of Tinos, a center for pilgrimages

One of the most famous celebrations takes place on the island of Tinos, where thousands of pilgrims gather to honor the Virgin Mary at the central church of Panagia Evangelistria. Many come to fulfill a τάμα/tama, a votive offering for answered prayers. It’s still common to see believers walking on their knees on the red carpet leading up to the Panagia Evangelistria church, in gratitude or hope for divine help.

In Greek churches, one can often see small metal plaques, also called τάμα/tama, hanging on the icons. The plaques are usually embossed with an image showing the purpose of the answered prayer. It could be an eye for restored sight or a ship for rescue from shipwreck.

The celebrations on Tinos also have a national dimension. On August 15, 1940, the Greek cruiser Elli was torpedoed by an Italian submarine while anchored off the island to take part in the festivities. The event is still commemorated every year as part of the celebrations.

Folk festivals combining tradition and joy

Just as with other Greek holidays, many πανηγύρια/panigyria, traditional folk festivals, are organized throughout Greece during this time. If you’re in the country at this time of year, you’re likely to come across one of these festivals, either on the mainland or on the islands.

These events combine religious ceremonies with lively festivities, featuring music, dance, and traditional food, where both locals and visitors participate. They provide a unique insight into Greek folk life.

In our article about island-hopping in Greece in the 1980s, you can read about the August 15 celebration on the island of Amorgos [unique visual material].

During the festivities, it’s customary for the church to offer both food and drink. The food is cooked in large cauldrons and served to all participants, while the wine flows abundantly to the tunes of traditional music and dance. The celebration usually lasts from the evening before the holiday until early the next morning.

August 15: an important name day for many

August 15 is also the name day for many Greeks, including those named Maria, Panagiotis, Panagiota, Marios, Despoina, Parthena, etc. Maria is the most popular name in Greece, making the celebration even more extensive.

In Greek culture, name days have traditionally been more important than birthdays, although this trend has changed somewhat in recent decades. So if you have Greek friends or acquaintances who bear any of these names, take the opportunity to congratulate them on August 15 – it will be appreciated!

Greek Holidays: Summer Easter unites an entire country

August 15 offers a unique insight into authentic Greece: from the unexpectedly quiet streets of Athens to the local festivities across the country, and from the devoted pilgrims on Tinos to the joyful participants in panigyria – this day showcases a country where tradition and modernity meet uniquely.

It’s a day when local customs come to life, families gather, and many feel a special connection to the country’s cultural heritage. For visitors, August 15 provides a chance to experience Greece beyond the usual tourist attractions – a country where history, faith, and community intertwine into a rich mosaic of experiences.

Have you experienced the celebration of Panagia on August 15 in Greece? We’d be delighted to hear your stories or see your pictures from this special day. Please share your memories and impressions in the comment section below!

It’s always exciting to hear personal experiences from this unique Greek celebration. Whether it’s a picture from a picturesque village, a story about a memorable panigyri, or just a reflection on the atmosphere of this day – your contribution enriches our shared understanding of this fascinating tradition.

Χρόνια Πολλά σε όλες και όλους! (Happy name day to everyone!)

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Recent articles

• Another Heracles, a Three-Bodied Giant and a Two-Headed Dog – Part 3 of Our Mythology Series
• Who Painted the Houses of the Cyclades White?
• Greek Holidays: The Entire Country Celebrates Panagia on August 15
• World Heritage in Greece, UNESCO’s updated list – 2026
• Athens Metro – Where the Subway Meets 3,000 Years of History

By 2026, a total of 21 sites in Greece have been inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The latest additions are the Minoan Palace Centres on Crete, inscribed in 2025, and the wider Mount Olympus area, added in 2026.

The list includes famous destinations such as the Acropolis in Athens, Olympia, Delphi, and the historic centre of Rhodes. But it also includes lesser-known places that are every bit as fascinating.

Below is a more detailed description of the sites inscribed as World Heritage in Greece. The list covers a broad historical range, from prehistoric and ancient remains to Byzantine monasteries, medieval towns, and cultural landscapes.

Of the 21 World Heritage Sites, 18 are cultural sites. The remaining three – Meteora, Mount Athos, and the wider Mount Olympus area – are mixed cultural and natural sites.

Explore Greece’s rich history and remarkable landscapes through the complete list below. Click the links in the table to visit the UNESCO page for each World Heritage Site in Greece.

World Heritage in Greece, sites 1 – 6

Name	Image	Location	Year of inscription	Description
Acropolis, Athens		Athens	1987	A well-known ancient site that includes the Parthenon Temple and other ancient buildings in the heart of Athens.
The archeological site of Delphi		Delphi	1987	An ancient sanctuary and oracle dedicated to the god Apollo. Delphi was considered the world hub in ancient beliefs.
Apollon Epicurius temple at Bassae		Messenia, southwest Peloponnese	1986	A well-preserved Doric temple dedicated to Apollo, known for its harmonious architecture and magnificent views of the valley.
Medieval City of Rhodes		Rhodes	1988	An impressive medieval city with fortifications, palaces and narrow alleys.
Monastery complex of Meteora		Thessally, central Greece	1988	A collection of Orthodox monasteries built on the spectacular, vertical rock formations that rise several hundred meters above the ground.
Mount Athos		Chalkidiki-peninsula, northern Greece	1988	A mountainous region considered sacred, with an orthodox, strictly male, monastic republic, enjoying a high degree of autonomy since the 11th century AD.

World Heritage in Greece, sites 7 – 12

Namn	Bild	Plats	Årtal för utnämning	Beskrivning
Paleo-Christian and Byzantine monuments in Thessaloniki		Thessaloniki	1988	A collection of early Christian and Byzantine monuments, including churches and basilicas, which testify to the historical importance of the region.
Sanctuary of Asclepius, Epidaurus		Epidaurus, North-eastern Peloponnese	1988	A well-preserved sanctuary, with the famous amphitheater and temples dedicated to Asclepius, the ancient Greek god of healing and medicine.
The Historic Centre (Chora) with the Monastery of Saint-John the Theologian and the Cave of the Apocalypse on Patmos		Patmos, northern Dodecanese islands	1999	An important religious site, which includes the Monastery of St. John and the Cave of the Apocalypse, where the Apostle John is believed to have written the Book of Revelation.
Archeological site of Olympia		Olympia, central Peloponnesos	1989	The site of the ancient Olympic Games with a monumental collection of Greek architecture and sculpture.
Island of Delos		Delos, Cyclades	1990	An important island, revered in prehistoric mythology, with well-preserved archaeological remains and temples.
Monasteries of Daphni, Hosios Loukas och Nea Moni of Chios		Located in Athens, in Fokida district – near Delphi, and on the island of Chios	1990	Three ancient monasteries with unique architecture and mosaic work representing the artistic skill of the Byzantine era.

World Heritage in Greece, sites: 13 – 21

Namn	Bild	Plats	Årtal för utnämning	Beskrivning
Pythagoreion and Heraion on Samos		Samos, Northern Aegean Islands	1992	Remains of an important ancient city of high cultural and religious importance, with an impressive sanctuary dedicated to the goddess Hera.
Archaeological site of Aigai (current Vergina)		Vergina, Greek Macedonia	1996	The site of the ancient royal tombs in Macedonia, where impressive burial treasures and artifacts have been found.
Archeeological site of Mycenae and Tiryns		Mycenae, Tiryns, Peloponnese	1999	Two important cities from the Mycenaean period, showing the grandeur and architecture of the older ancient Greek civilization.
Old town of Corfu		Corfu, Ionian islands	2007	A well-preserved Venetian city center that bears traces of several different historical cultures and varying architectural styles.
Archeological site of Philippi		Philippi, north-eastern Greece	2016	An ancient city with impressive archaeological remains of great historical importance. The site of the Battle of Philippi .
Archeological site of Mystras		Near Sparta, Peloponnese	1989	The city of Mystras developed around the fortress built in 1249 on the slopes of Mount Taygetos. The city flourished during the later Byzantine period and was conquered by both the Ottomans and the Venetians.
Zagori Cultural Landscape		Region of Epirus, North-western Greece	2023	A remote and timeless rural landscape in northwestern Greece, where the stone-built villages of Zagorochoria nestle among sacred forests and are linked by a remarkable network of arched stone bridges, cobbled paths, and hand-carved stairways connecting the communities of the Vikos and Voïdomatis river basin.
Minoan Palace Centres		Crete	2025	Six archaeological sites: Knossos, Phaistos, Malia, Zakros, Zominthos, and Kydonia. They bear witness to the advanced architecture, social organisation, trade, and cultural life of the Minoan civilisation.
Mount Olympus area		Northern Greece	2026	Greece’s highest mountain, with a dramatic landscape and unique biodiversity, strongly associated with ancient mythology as the home of the twelve Olympian gods.

Sources: UNESCO, Wikipedia
Photo: Wikimedia Commons license

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The expansion of Athens’ modern subway system led to the largest archaeological excavation ever carried out in the city. Archaeologists investigated around 850,000 square feet of ground and uncovered more than 50,000 artifacts.

The result is an unusual museum where escalators, platforms, and ticket machines share space with graves, pottery, and archaeological remains—sometimes preserved on site, sometimes incorporated into displays inside the stations.

Six stations, thousands of years of history

Not every Athens Metro station has an archaeological exhibition, but several of them collectively tell the story of the city’s many historical layers.

Cemeteries, water systems, workshops, and homes offer glimpses of life in ancient Athens. They also introduce us to the Eridanos, one of the most important rivers of ancient Athens, which still flows beneath the heart of the city.

Today, we stop at four central Athens Metro stations that many visitors pass through during their stay. Together, they show how people have lived in, built, and shaped Athens over thousands of years.

Panepistimio – a quiet beginning to a journey through history

The archaeological exhibition at Panepistimio is relatively understated, making it easy to walk past the wall displays without noticing the finds inside.

During the construction work here, among other things, a large ancient cemetery was uncovered. Grave goods and small artifacts are now displayed inside the station—not monumental ruins, but traces of everyday lives.

That is also what makes this station a good starting point for exploring the history inside the Athens Metro. It is not about being dazzled by a single attraction, but about slowing down and realizing that Athens’ past is not confined to the city’s famous archaeological sites.

The exhibition requires only a few minutes of attention, but it offers a new perspective on the rest of the subway journey—and a reminder that central Athens lived many lives before today’s universities, traffic, and cafés.

Syntagma – a cross-section of Athens

Syntagma Square is a natural meeting place for many people in Athens. Its station also shows more clearly than any other how the city is built in historical layers.

Here, a cross-section of the ground reveals the different periods of Athens lying one above another, like stacked pages in the city’s own history book. It makes Athens’ long history easier to understand, even for visitors who cannot distinguish the Classical period from the Roman or Byzantine eras.

The excavations uncovered a workshop where sculptures were cast, graves, a Roman bath, parts of the city’s early water system, and a road that once led north from Athens. Together, these remains remind us that people worked, traveled, bathed, and buried their dead on this spot for thousands of years.

Monastiraki – where the ancient Eridanos still flows

Monastiraki is the Athens Metro station where history feels closest to us. Around 3,200 square feet of the excavated area and its archaeological remains have been preserved in place and incorporated into the station. From a 79-foot glass walkway, visitors can look down at the remains of the Eridanos—the river that once shaped this area and still flows beneath the city.

The Eridanos shaped the area for thousands of years. During the late Classical period, the riverbed—around 8.5 feet wide—was lined with large stone blocks. Later, in the Roman era, it was covered with a brick vault on the initiative of Emperor Hadrian. Fill was placed over the vault, and the Eridanos became part of the city’s sewer system.

Above ground, Monastiraki is bustling with people. Beneath the paving stones, the Eridanos continues to flow—another reminder that the city’s history is not confined to museums and famous archaeological sites.

Akropoli – everyday life in the shadow of the Acropolis

For many visitors, Akropoli station is simply a stop on the way to Athens’ most famous sight. But the exhibition inside tells a different story. It shifts our attention away from magnificent temples and symbols of state power, toward the ordinary people who lived, worked, and traded in the shadow of Athens’ sacred rock.

The excavations here covered around 27,000 square feet and revealed traces of graves, homes, workshops, roads, and baths dating from the late third millennium BCE through the Byzantine era.

In a display almost 50 feet long, pottery, mosaic fragments, trade vessels, and an upright loom tell the story of everyday life, commerce, and craftsmanship across the millennia.

Together with the Acropolis and the Parthenon above ground, the station’s exhibition offers a fuller picture of the ancient city—one in which daily life, work, and trade take their place alongside temples and monuments.

All stations with exhibitions

This article has stopped at four central stations, but archaeological exhibitions can also be found elsewhere in the Metro. Today, six stations have exhibitions, and the list may grow as the network expands, as further discoveries come to light:

• Akropoli
• Dafni
• Evangelismos
• Monastiraki
• Panepistimio
• Syntagma

Photographs from the exhibitions at all six stations above are collected on Wikimedia Commons.

Turn your Metro ride into a journey of discovery

The next time you ride the Athens Metro, give the stations a few extra minutes. Then your trip will become more than a way to travel between the city’s sights—it will also be a journey through the many layers of Athens’ history.

Sources

Elliniko Metro, Archaeological Work at the Athens Metro

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In Part 1 of our series exploring those who dwell in the shadows of Greek mythology, we looked at enigmatic figures such as Silenus and Gitauros. Today, we turn to three fascinating but lesser-known motifs from the epos of Homer: Aeolus’s bag, Zeus Xenios, and the faithful Argos.

Aeolus’s Bag

After years of war and wandering, Odysseus was finally so close to Ithaca that he could see the watchfires burning on the shore. His journey home was almost over. All that was required was that no one opened the bag tied securely to the ship—the bag that held the storms.

Earlier, Odysseus had arrived at Aeolia, a floating island surrounded by an impregnable wall of bronze. There lived Aeolus, son of Hippotas and keeper of the winds. He could both unleash the winds and make them die down.

Aeolus welcomed the strangers warmly and let them stay for an entire month. When it was time for them to leave, he gave Odysseus an unusual farewell gift: a bag sewn from the hide of a nine-year-old ox. Inside, he had imprisoned the wild winds that could blow the ships off course. The bag was tied shut with a gleaming silver cord, while the west wind was left free to carry them home.

In the Odyssey, they sailed for nine days without stopping. On the tenth day, Ithaca came into view. Odysseus, who had tended the sail himself the entire time, finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

Then his men began to whisper. They believed that Aeolus had filled the bag with gold and silver that Odysseus intended to keep for himself. While he slept, they untied the cord.

All the winds burst out at once. The storm seized the ships and drove them all the way back to Aeolia. When Odysseus asked for help a second time, Aeolus refused. A man plagued by such misfortune must be hated by the gods, he reasoned, and sent him away.

Aeolus’s bag has become a symbol of how forces, once unleashed, can become impossible to control. In the Odyssey, it is also a story of how close disaster can be. Odysseus’s men did not have to defy a monster or anger a god. They only had to be curious, envious, and open the wrong bag.

The Law of Zeus in the Odyssey

In Christopher Nolan’s film, a solemn phrase recurs again and again: the law of Zeus. It sounds like a divine prohibition carved in stone, but it concerns something seemingly simple—how you receive a stranger at your door.

In the world of Homer, a journey could be deadly. There were no hotels to book and no way to announce that you were coming. Travelers depended on strangers to offer them food, rest, and shelter.

This sacred hospitality was called xenia. A host was expected to welcome strangers, give them something to eat, and let them rest before any questions were asked. Guests, in turn, were obliged to respect the household and not abuse their host’s generosity. An exchange of gifts could turn the encounter into the beginning of a bond of friendship between two families.

Hospitality was protected by Zeus Xenios, Zeus in his role as protector of guests. No one could be entirely certain who was standing outside the door. A poor wanderer might be a god in disguise.

The entire Odyssey can almost be read as a test of xenia. The Phaeacians rescue the shipwrecked Odysseus and help him return home. The poor swineherd Eumaeus shares his food with an unknown beggar and explains that all strangers and those in need come from Zeus.

The Cyclops Polyphemus does the opposite. When Odysseus invokes the protection of Zeus, the Cyclops mocks both the law and the gods—and then begins eating his guests. The suitors in Ithaca violate xenia from the opposite direction. They have been received as guests, yet they refuse to leave the palace, consume the family’s wealth, and plot to kill Telemachus.

The word philoxenia was already used in antiquity and survives in modern Greek. It is formed from philos, friend, and xenos, stranger: kindness toward the stranger. For many travelers in Greece, the idea is still easy to recognize—in the extra chair brought to the table, the offer of something to eat, and the help given without fanfare.

The law of Zeus, then, was more than a rule about good table manners. It made it possible to meet an unknown person without immediately drawing your sword. In the Odyssey, both humans and monsters are therefore revealed by a simple question: What do they do when a stranger stands at the door?

Argos

When Odysseus returned to Ithaca after twenty years of war and wandering, almost no one recognized him. Athena had transformed him into an old beggar, dressed in rags and leaning on a staff. But someone was waiting at the palace gate who could not be fooled.

Argos, the dog Odysseus himself had raised before sailing for Troy, lay on a manure heap outside the palace. He had once been a swift and powerful hunting dog. No hare, deer, or wild goat could escape him when he followed a trail through the forest.

Now he was old, weak, and covered in vermin. With his master gone and Odysseus’s palace in the hands of Penelope’s overbearing suitors, no one cared for him anymore.

When the disguised Odysseus approached, Argos did not have the strength to stand. Yet he immediately recognized his master’s voice and form. He lowered his ears and gently wagged his tail. Odysseus turned his face away and wiped away a tear, because he could not greet the dog without revealing who he was.

Shortly afterward, Argos died. Homer writes that the darkness of death took him after he had finally seen Odysseus again, twenty years later.

And so, amid the Odyssey’s monsters, gods, and bloody vengeance, one of its most powerful scenes is the meeting between a man and an old dog. Argos needed neither divine signs nor a glimpse of the hero’s famous scar.

Argos knew who had come home.

In our series about those who live in the shadow of Greek mythology, the previous installment explored enigmatic figures such as Silenus and Gitauros. Today, it is time for three fascinating but lesser-known motifs from the Odyssey: Aeolus’s bag, Zeus Xenios, and the faithful Argos.

Sources

Centre for the Greek Language, The Odyssey

Homer, The Odyssey, Books 9, 10, 14 and 17 – original text

Greek Ministry of Education, The Odyssey

The chef Nikolaos Tselementes was the man behind this transformation. Using French cooking techniques and Italian influences, he reshaped older Greek dishes and culinary traditions from the Eastern Mediterranean. His influence became so great that his last name became—and remains—a common Greek word for cookbook. But who was the chef who set out to modernize Greek cuisine?

The chef who became a cookbook

Nikolaos Tselementes was born in 1878 into a family with roots in Exambela on the island of Sifnos, but he grew up in Athens. He initially worked in a notary’s office. His path to the kitchen began at his family’s Aktaion hotel and restaurant in Neo Faliro, where he got his first glimpse of professional cooking.

Tselementes was not content simply to learn the dishes already being served. He soon studied cooking in Vienna and later worked, among other things, as an embassy chef. In 1910, he began publishing the monthly magazine Odigos Mageirikis (Cooking Guide), featuring recipes, nutritional advice, and food news from other countries. After spending time in the United States, where he pursued further studies in cooking, pastry making, and dietetics, he compiled his knowledge in the major cookbook published in 1926.

The book gave the growing urban middle class more than recipes: it offered standardized measurements, clear methods, and a vision of what a modern Greek kitchen should look like. Its impact was so great that, over time, the name Tselementes became synonymous with the Greek word for cookbook (τσελεμεντές/tselementes).

The word τσελεμεντές still means a cookbook or recipe collection in Greek. Even today, a Greek may open their tselementes to look for a recipe. In this usage, the name is written with a lowercase initial and even has a plural form. The chef had become a cookbook.

A cuisine in constant transformation

Greek cuisine had been evolving for thousands of years before Tselementes stepped up to the stove. Ingredients, dishes, and techniques had traveled between peoples and across seas. His contribution was therefore not the beginning of this transformation, but a new and extraordinarily influential chapter in it.

Moussaka

Moussaka (μουσακάς/mousakas) already existed in various forms throughout the Ottoman Empire and the Eastern Mediterranean. During the 1920s, Tselementes formulated and popularized his modern Greek version. The original recipe featured fried eggplant, ground meat, and a thick layer of béchamel, all baked together in the oven. An older dish thus acquired the form that has since become an international symbol of Greek food.

Pastitsio

Something similar happened to pastitsio (παστίτσιο/pastitsio). The name comes from the Italian pasticcio, and an older pasta pie encased in pastry or phyllo existed on the Ionian Islands. Tselementes removed the crust and instead assembled the dish in open layers of pasta, ground-meat sauce, and béchamel. Greek American cookbook author Aglaia Kremezi has described how her grandmother preferred the old pasta pie, while her aunt defended the new “Tselementes style.” The transformation was therefore unfolding at family dinner tables as well.

Other Dishes

His influence can be seen in several other dishes and cooking methods:

• Greek béchamel: The French sauce was enriched with eggs and cheese and came to play a central role in several baked dishes.
• Stuffed eggplants (μελιτζάνες παπουτσάκια/melitzanes papoutsakia): Stuffed eggplant halves—“little shoes”—topped with béchamel in the modern version.
• Egg-lemon thickener (αυγολέμονο/avgolemono): Through his recipes, the older egg-and-lemon sauce acquired a thicker, more standardized urban form.
• Meatball and rice soup (γιουβαρλάκια/giouvarlakia): Meat-and-rice balls with older Eastern roots, popularized in the now-familiar soup served with avgolemono.
• Artichoke and vegetable stew (αγκινάρες αλά πολίτα/anginares a la polita): Tselementes helped rename and reshape the dish, but he did not single-handedly create the version known today.
• Oriental meatballs from Smyrna (σμυρναίικα σουτζουκάκια/smyrneika soutzoukakia): In his version, dried mint replaced the dish’s characteristic cumin as the dominant flavor.

His method was as important as the individual dishes. Tselementes used French techniques, butter, and cream, but above all, he provided exact quantities and clear instructions. Regional recipes passed down orally were adapted for an urban middle class that wanted to learn cooking from a book. He did more than make the dishes different—he also made them reproducible.

When the foreign becomes traditional

Tselementes’s changes were not met with admiration alone. Critics argued that he had Frenchified the Greek gastronomy: olive oil and garlic sometimes gave way to butter, cream, and French sauces, while Turkish names and Eastern influences were downplayed. Greek American cookbook author Aglaia Kremezi has said that he both changed and “ruined” Greek food. Historian Nikos Stavroulakis went further, calling him the greatest tragedy ever to befall Greek cuisine.

At the same time, the boundary between the foreign and the traditional is not always clear. Tomatoes and potatoes came to Europe from the Americas and have no ancient roots in either Greece or Sweden. Yet today, it is difficult to imagine Greek food without tomatoes, nor traditional Swedish cooking without potatoes. Something similar happened with several of Tselementes’s ideas. The béchamel topping, once perceived as a foreign addition, became within a few generations the most widely recognized image of authentic Greek cooking

That may be his clearest legacy: not that he single-handedly created modern Greek cuisine, but that he proved how quickly an innovation can become a tradition.

Keep cooking

• Modern Classic Pastitsio—Aglaia Kremezi
• Greek Béchamel and Papoutsakia—Kopiaste
• Anginares à la Polita—Caruso

Sources

Greek Reporter—overview/biography of Nikolaos Tselementes
https://greekreporter.com/2022/09/12/nikolaos-tselementes-father-greek-cookbooks/

Tselementes.gr—biography of Nikolaos Tselementes
https://tselementes.gr/author/nikolaos/

Aglaia Kremezi / Saveur—on Tselementes’s legacy
https://www.saveur.com/greek-chef-tselementes-legacy/

Wikipedia—Nikolaos Tselementes
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikolaos_Tselementes

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The Hellas Herald – part of Greek Expedition

• How did the outside world perceive Greece in the 19th century, as the young nation began to take shape?
• What role did travel writers and artists play in shaping the image of this new Greece?
• What do the news columns tell us about 19th-century Greece, a time when it was viewed by many as an almost exotic destination?

In our new series, Hellas Herald, we are delving into travelogues, art, poetry, and contemporary newspaper archives, we are piecing together a mosaic of voices to approach the questions surrounding Greece in the 19th century.

We begin our search through this archival treasure trove with the story of the fearless artist Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann. A long-forgotten article in Göteborgs-Posten, a Swedish newspaper, from October 30, 1880, left us speechless before the adventures of this fascinating Polish-Danish artist.

Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann (1819–1881)

Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann was a Danish-Polish artist who painted with a burning creative fervor and lived driven by an appetite for adventure that could not be contained by the narrow female ideals of her time.

With immense energy, she took 19th-century Europe by storm. After giving birth to nine children between 1847 and 1861, she embarked on her great international travels. Today, we will follow her intense journeys through the starkly contrasting landscapes of the Orient and Southern Europe. She spent a great deal of time in Greece during the 19th century.

Reader’s tip: At the end of this article, we take a look at the 19th-century advertising market – hilariously entertaining! 👇

The path to European artistic life

As a young artist, Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann tried to adapt to a Danish cultural climate characterized by strong national romantic currents. She became known as one of the most typical representatives of the style in Danish art. Since the art academies of the time did not allow female students, she was mostly self-taught through extensive independent studies.

Later, she moved to Rome, where she quickly became part of the German artist colony. It was also there that she met the Danish sculptor Jens Adolf Jerichau, whom she married. Her husband’s own erotically charged statues gave her the courage to ignore the local narrow-mindedness and pursue her own sensual style of painting, despite the great social risks for a woman in the 19th century.

Although she kept Rome as her fixed base, she was constantly on the move. Her own books, Ungdomserindringer (1874) and Brogede Rejsebilleder (1881), provide vivid, albeit strongly romanticized, depictions of the colorful and international artistic life of that time.

From the world of fairy tales to royal courts

In these circles, H.C. Andersen also moved, who had traveled in Greece in the 19th century as well.

Elisabeth immortalized the storyteller in a painting where he reads to her own children. But her connection to Andersen and his works did not stop there. She also created a series of acclaimed paintings with mermaid motifs and gifted one of these works to him.

Her ability to capture life and character quickly made her sought after among the absolute elite of Europe. Before Elisabeth turned her gaze eastward, she had already won great recognition and secured prestigious commissions from royals across the entire continent.

Travel in Greece in the 19th century

She soon felt cramped by Danish cultural life. Her temperament and great ambitions required more space than the North could offer. She packed her brushes and headed east, towards environments completely different from the usual European artistic hubs. Ahead of her waited a colorful and perilous existence that stretched from the royal court in Athens and encounters with outlaws in the mountains of Attica to the closed doors of the sultan’s harem in Constantinople.

The Royal Court in Athens

In Athens, she quickly charmed the Greek royal couple, George I and Queen Olga. That the young king was a Danish prince by birth became Elisabeth’s perfect ticket to the palace.
Soon she was sitting in the royal salons, portraying the court in a city that was transforming into a new, modern metropolis. With her unfailing charm and courage, Elisabeth stepped straight into the corridors of power without hesitation. She not only managed to win the royal family’s trust, but also became a frequent chronicler of the rest of Athenian society, where the ancient heritage met the new, colorful elite of the 19th century.

The outlaws in the mountains of Attica

Traveling in Greece in the 19th century was not risk-free, and the mountains of Attica hid dangers that required a completely different kind of courage than the quiet salons of Athens. Her choice to paint out in the open was at this time very unusual in Greece, especially for a woman, because the countryside was constantly threatened by lawless bands of outlaws. These bands of outlaws were a genuine social plague that paralyzed the countryside, but they were also deeply intertwined with the local politics of the time.

For the still young nation, the bandits were merely criminals who threatened the security of the state. But among the people, they were often seen as heirs to the old freedom fighters of the revolution, the klephts and armatoles, who protected the local population against the exercise of state power. Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann refused to let herself be stopped by the dangers in this charged environment.

She bravely ventured into the mountains to immortalize “native Greek bandits and outlaws.” Although these specific paintings have been lost to the shadows of history, newspaper articles from the 1880s testify to a courage that lacked precedent in the European salons of the time.

In Göteborgs-Posten, her dramatic and contrast-filled time in 19th-century Greece is described as follows:

📜 She spent some time at the court of the King of Greece, occupied mostly with painting portraits, portraits of kings, queens, and princes, but also of native Greek bandits and outlaws.

The secrets of the Ottoman harems

Elisabeth did not stay long with the Greek royal couple. She sought to travel further east to Constantinople, where she achieved the rare feat of gaining access, as a Western woman, to the city’s otherwise completely closed Ottoman harems.

The journey then continued even further south, to Egypt, where, on the outskirts of Cairo, she found new motifs that continued to challenge the European audience’s view of the women of the Orient.

Her paintings from there differed radically from the exotic fantasies of contemporary male artists. Because she had actually spent time close to the women, she did not portray them as anonymous objects, but with a rare psychological depth, dignity, and a vibrant light that captivated the art world.

The echoes of the era in the printing presses

Her life and career continued to fascinate long after she had left the Mediterranean, which is clearly visible in the contemporary press. During the 1880s, her achievements were written about with great admiration in Swedish media. When Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann exhibited her works in Gothenburg in the autumn of 1880, it attracted great attention.

In Göteborgs-Posten, the exhibition was described as an event where the art was studied with “lively interest and great pleasure.” The writer reflected on her artistic development and the unique experiences she had gathered during her travels:

📜 Afterwards, she stayed in Constantinople and gained access to Mustapha Fazil Pasha’s harem, where she portrayed his beautiful daughter on behalf of the Princess of Wales. In the collection she has now exhibited, there are also portraits of several beautiful harem ladies, but with fictitious names—a delicacy toward the amiable ‘hanums’ (princesses), which was probably less dictated by their own desire than by the moral laws of Muhammad…

Through these words from 1880, the image of an artist emerges who not only mastered her choice of color and lighting but also navigated a complex world with an unusual sensitivity for cultural conventions.

A life in the service of art

Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann was a force of nature who proved that a woman with a paintbrush could be just as quick-witted, powerful, and unstoppable as her most celebrated male colleagues. At her passing, her life’s work and her rebellious spirit were celebrated. She is still considered by many to be a true pioneer.

Her contemporaries remembered her not only for her canvases, but for the vitality she radiated until the very end. In one of the obituaries, it was described how she, at a large banquet in Gothenburg’s finest reception hall, had captivated her audience:

📜 She captivated everyone with the fiery and captivating immediacy with which she took the floor in a gathering of five hundred people… it would have taken more to break her immense energy, which was based on the most sincere conviction that a true artistic talent resided within her.

It is a moving description of a woman who, until her very last breath, lived with “her usual liveliness,” her warm devotion to art, and her flashing brilliance.

The analog noise of the 1880s

Before we put a period to this first issue of Hellas Herald, we linger for a moment over the newspapers of that time, consisting of long vertical columns. The contrasts in the media climate of the 19th century are striking; when we study old newspapers, such as Sydsvenska Dagbladet Snällposten, we see how news reporting, cultural advertisements, and commercials for daily necessities jostled for space on the same surface.

It is a reminder that the newspaper reader of the past was met by an entirely different kind of “analog noise” than today’s digital feeds. Right next to notices about art auctions and cultural events were advertisements for everything from military associations to the home remedy “Parasiticida.”

Reading a page from that time is like stepping into a world where the sublime – such as the art of Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann – constantly had to share the stage with the more grounded, and for us sometimes purely absurd, concerns of everyday life.

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This seemingly inexplicable ability to endure extreme heat has long fascinated outsiders and raised questions about humanity’s hidden resources.

Today, the phenomenon has been demystified by modern science, and the firewalking itself is no longer considered a complete mystery. It has even gone so far that Western experience companies sell it as part of teambuilding activities and in courses in personal development.

Nowadays, anyone who wants can buy themselves an experience and walk barefoot on glowing coals. At the same time, it is of course not a risk-free activity. There are plenty of testimonies of people actually getting burned during this type of firewalking.

However, it is still deeply fascinating that this act can fundamentally be traced back to a living ritual that has been ongoing for thousands of years. Within the Anastenaria cult, the firewalking is not a modern gimmick, but a tradition carried through the centuries from generation to generation. In 2009, the ritual was also inscribed on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

Twenty-five years ago, in May 2001, the undersigned published a feature article in the newspaper Metrorama Athens about this ritual. The text depicted the ritual and the phenomenon of akaïa (ακαΐα), a concept perhaps best translated as incombustibility or thermal immunity.

The text aimed to present the ritual both as a living tradition and as a historical phenomenon. The headline was: “Δοκιμασία στην πυρά της πίστης” – which can perhaps best be translated as: “An ordeal on the fire of faith“. The original article (in Greek) from Metrorama 2001 is available as a PDF download at the bottom of the page.

An ordeal on the glowing bed of faith

The Anastenaria tradition, whose roots disappear far back into the mists of history, is brought back to life every year during the celebration of Saints Constantine and Helen.

Tuesday, May 22, 2001 – By Georgios A. Georgiou

On May 21, the feast day of Saints Constantine and Helen, Anastenaria is brought to life in several villages in Greek Macedonia and Thrace. It is a distinctive ritual tradition whose roots disappear far back into the mists of time.

Prominent folklore scholars agree, however, that Anastenaria has preserved elements of the ancient Dionysian cult. The rites include animal sacrifice, ecstatic dance, firewalking, akaïa (incombustibility), and rituals reminiscent of the ancient maenads’ ecstasy.

The firewalking Anastenarides appear as contemporary mystics in an ancient cult. When they are finally filled with the saints’ power after long ritual preparations, they step into the bed of glowing coals. Holding the icons in their hands, they run and dance ecstatically, driven by the increasingly fast and wild music.

Deep sighs, ritual cries, and incoherent words are heard from them as their bare feet step onto the glowing bed of coals to drive out evil, while they repeatedly chant their traditional prayers for prosperity and protection.

The origins of Anastenaria

Scholars believe that this unique folk cult originates from the ancient homelands of northeastern Thrace and Cappadocia, from where the population was later violently expelled, and that the tradition has been passed down in unaltered form to today’s northern Greek villages.

It is also known that dozens of people and religious sects have crossed paths and influenced each other in this broader geographical cultural area over the centuries. Furthermore, there is evidence that major orgiastic festivals called Psycharia and Sthenaria were celebrated during the Byzantine Middle Ages. Today’s custom may be linked to these.

Firewalking as a rite for healing, initiation, and faith is a global phenomenon that has been practiced for thousands of years by widely diverse cultures worldwide, from the Pacific Islands and Asia to parts of Southern Europe. This global pattern strengthens the theory that Anastenaria may fundamentally be a Proto-Indo-European heritage.

Firewalking as a commercial experience

In our time, however, the great tradition of the Anastenarides tends to be diluted, as it has increasingly been transformed into a tourist attraction and a noisy, commercial market. Many judge that the ritual has lost touch with its roots and risks dying out completely, or, at best, being reduced to cheap entertainment and magic tricks.

This is, of course, not the firewalkers’ own fault, but rather a reflection of the modern zeitgeist that seeks to turn everything sacred into a commodity. It is telling that for many years, Anastenaria was held behind closed doors – hidden and secret, far away from external influence and the eyes of outsiders.

However, this tradition was largely concealed due to the church’s hostile attitude. The official Orthodox Church has always opposed the firewalkers’ practices, branding them as pagan and accusing the practitioners of ridiculing the holy icons.

The initiated society

According to scholars, the firewalkers themselves are simple villagers who preserve their cult through oral traditions, which they have inherited directly from their ancestors. In the communities where they live, they always constitute a distinct group, an order or a brotherhood, which is said to resemble the ancient sacred societies of the Dionysian type.

Although the practitioners view themselves as deeply devout Christians, they rarely attend church. Instead, they practice their cult in special rooms in their own homes, known as konakia, or out in nature – usually in sacred groves and at places they themselves consider hallowed and call agiasmata. Their lives are characterized by strict discipline and simplicity, and they are regarded as deeply respected individuals in the villages.

In the konakia, they keep the cult’s sacred objects: the “ever-burning” oil lamp and the distinctive icons with their characteristic handles underneath, which make it possible to hold them firmly during the ecstatic dances. These icons are called “konstantinata,” “grandfathers,” or “gifts of grace.” They are adorned with small bells, ribbons, rings, coins, chains, and holy rosaries – objects that, according to the practitioners themselves, help to drive away evil.

The sacred musical instruments are also kept in the konakia: the lyre and the drum, whose monotonous rhythms and melodies help the participants fall into an ecstasy before the dance over the glowing coals begins.

A special axe and a knife are also considered sacred objects, as these are used in the ritual animal sacrifice that precedes the celebration. The animal to be sacrificed – the so-called bikadi – is usually a lamb or a ram, but in the past, it could also be a bull.

The animal is led to the sacrificial site with lit so-called “soul candles” attached to its horns and a wreath of flowers around its neck. After the sacrifice, which takes place in a strictly ritualistic manner, the animal is cooked and eaten by the initiates for luck and prosperity, as it is believed to embody a magical power that benefits the entire community.

Several scholars believe that the meat of the sacrificed animal was eaten raw in the past, just as during the ancient rituals of the maenads. This further supports the view that Anastenaria has its roots in the Dionysian cult. In addition to the bloody animal sacrifice, the preparations also include a water blessing, the breaking of bread, and a shared, heartfelt group devotion inside the konaki.

The initiates then begin their circle dance, which serves as a final preparation for the firewalking. They dance exhaustingly for many hours with the icons in their hands, aiming to induce the emotional state of ecstasy that will allow them to walk on the coals.

The sacred fire

The fire that will become the bed of coals is lit during the early evening hours and kept alive by specifically initiated individuals who have inherited this task from their ancestors. Once the flames have subsided and turned into a thick layer of deep red glowing coals, the practitioners are notified and soon arrive in a slow procession.

The visitor can then see how they surround their leader while a torchbearer goes first with a candle considered sacred in hand. The drums thunder and the lyres play wild, intoxicating melodies, accompanied by songs that, according to musicologists, are local variants of the medieval Akritic epic poems.

When the intensity of the atmosphere reaches its peak, characteristic cries begin to be heard from the firewalkers – a sign that the great moment is approaching. Suddenly, one of the ecstatic participants breaks away from the circle and steps barefoot directly onto the glowing coals, holding a sacred piece of cloth or an icon.

Seized by sacred ecstasy, the firewalker begins to dance with wild, almost orgiastic intensity, drawing the others out onto the glowing coals. Everyone experiences, as they say themselves, sights and visions: some see Saint Helen appear and wash their feet with cool water, while others see Saint Constantine pour water over the entire bed of coals and extinguish the fire.

At this stage, they are already stomping around in full ecstasy. They dance, say prayers, and get a wild look in their eyes, their bodies jerking as they raise the icons toward the sky and move across the fire in a ritual trance. At the same time, they exhibit the debated phenomenon known in Greek as akaïa (incombustibility) – the ability not to get burned.

Finally, they leave the fire filled with joy and relief – unharmed and, with very few exceptions, without burns. Drenched in sweat, pale, and exhausted, as if after a major physical ordeal, they now calm down and reverently kiss the icons before handing them over to the group leader.

Akaia – the phenomenon of incombustibility

Much has been written and said about firewalking, particularly about the phenomenon of akaïa (incombustibility). Relevant references can already be found in the writings of classical antiquity. Today, entire studies have been published presenting various viewpoints, often colored by the researchers’ own ideological convictions. The fact remains, however, that even today, science struggles to fully provide a comprehensive explanation for the phenomenon.

It is believed that the explanation for the incombustibility partly lies in the firewalkers’ fast footwork, meaning that they move rapidly over the coals from one foot to the other. Another explanation is that charcoal is a poor conductor of heat. This means that the skin does not have time to suffer burns, provided that the firewalking is performed with the correct speed and technique.

However, everyone agrees that a prolonged psychological preparation is necessary, if only to gather the courage to step onto the glowing coals in the first place, which, according to measurements, reach temperatures of several hundred degrees.

In recent years, “schools” for firewalking have actually been started in both the US and Western Europe, and seminars are organized around this ancient custom.

In their promotional brochures, modern instructors claim that these ancient techniques contain nothing supernatural or magical. Instead, they argue that the methods are accessible to anyone wishing to boost their self-confidence, courage, and mental strength – even though these courses and seminars often come at a noticeable financial cost to the participant.

When it comes to the phenomenon of incombustibility, however, the classic adage will always hold: those who don’t know any better shouldn’t play with fire.

It is worth reminding ourselves that firewalking is a global phenomenon found in widely differing cultures worldwide, from Siberia and Tibet to the Fiji Islands and among the indigenous peoples of North America.

Myth and tradition

Following the 1923 population exchange between Greece and Turkey, the Greeks of Eastern Rumelia were forced to leave their homes and settle in northern Greece. With them, they carried not only their few belongings but also their sacred icons – the so-called “chares” and “pappoudes” – which in most cases depicted Saint Helen and Saint Constantine. Along with them, the Anastenaria tradition also crossed the border.

According to myth, the tradition originated during the persecutions of the Greeks in Eastern Rumelia, when Ottoman troops set fire to their churches. The story goes that the inhabitants gathered weeping outside the Church of Saint Constantine and Saint Helen, at which point they were granted divine power. The saints are said to have appeared to the villagers, giving the faithful the strength to walk straight through the fire to rescue the icons.

Today, folklorists agree that the Anastenaria tradition has its roots in the villages of Eastern Rumelia. The first official documentation of the custom was made in 1872 by Professor Anastasios Hourmouziadis. His speech at the Greek Orthodox Academy of Constantinople was titled: “On the Anastenaria and other peculiar and superstitious traditions“.

Metrorama Athens, Tuesday 22 May 2001, by Georgios A. Georgiou

A quarter of a century later

Twenty-five years have passed since this article was published in Metrorama Athens. In the meantime, the world has changed, but the Anastenaria still lives on in northern Greece – somewhere between faith, ecstasy, folklore, and living history.

Much about firewalking has, over time, been analyzed and partly explained by science. At the same time, a strange question mark remains surrounding the ritual for anyone who has truly witnessed it at close quarters. Many participants do not seem to just quickly pass over the coals, but instead remain on them for a long time, dancing in the middle of the fire for several minutes.

I still remember the feeling myself from the village of Langadas, when the drums thundered through the night, and people danced barefoot across the glowing bed of coals. Even today, it is difficult to entirely shake the impression of having witnessed something that, at least for a moment, seemed to defy both reason and the laws of nature.

📥 Download the original article from: Metrorama Athens (PDF)

📖 On our blog, you will find several related articles about Greek folklife and tradition.

Greek mythology is not, and has never been, a single cohesive narrative. It was shaped and reshaped over millennia by poets, sailors, priests, villagers, and wandering storytellers. While some figures became famous throughout the ancient world, others faded over time, surviving only in scattered references, regional folklore, or half-forgotten traditions from marshes, mountain ranges, and remote sanctuaries.

In this new series, we explore some of the lesser-known layers of Greek mythology – the strange, the overlooked, and the elusive, not through heavy academic analysis, but through stories, images, and motifs that still carry a peculiar allure thousands of years later.

In this first article, we meet, among others:

• Silenus – the old, constantly drunken companion of Dionysos, somewhat comical but with a wisdom that feels almost unsettling.
• Gitauros (Γίταυρος) – a shadowy being from Greek folklore, associated with misty marshes and bull-like cries in the night.
• The shield of Achilles – forged by Hephaestus himself, not just as a weapon but as an entire world in metal: oceans, cities, stars, harvests, war, and the cosmos itself.

And this is just the beginning. Behind these first figures, many more strange characters, symbols, and stories are waiting to emerge once again from the shadows of mythology.

Silenus – Dionysos’s enigmatic companion

Among the wild retinue of Dionysos moved Silenus, a figure long associated with ecstasy, wine, and a dark view of human existence. But who was Silenus? A constantly drunken old man wobbling along on a donkey, or one of Greek mythology’s misunderstood figures?

The wise straggler in the shadow of Dionysos

When imagining the procession of Dionysos, one often pictures ecstatic maenads and lithe satyrs dancing through the forest. But at the very back of the clamorous retinue, wobbling on the back of a tired donkey because his legs can no longer carry him, we find Silenus. He is one of Greek mythology’s most paradoxical figures: a constantly drunken, stout old man with a snub nose, whose exterior conceals a wisdom deeper than that of most gods.

Silenus was Dionysos’s teacher and foster father, and he belonged to an older generation of nature spirits, the satyrs. While the ordinary satyrs were young and wild, Silenus represented the mature, almost overripe, force of nature. In art, he is often depicted with a leather wine flask slung over his shoulder and a wreath of ivy around his bald head. He is a figure who lives on the margins; he is never the center of the party, but rather the strange shadow that lingers when the wine begins to run out.

There is, however, something enigmatic and mysterious beneath this comical and grotesque exterior. Silenus possesses the gift of prophecy – an ability he only shares if caught asleep or forced into it through trickery.

The most famous legend tells of how King Midas poisoned a spring with wine to lure Silenus into a trap. Once the drunken old man was captured, the king forced him to reveal his deepest insight. Silenus’s response became one of antiquity’s most famous and darkest truths:

“The very best thing for a human being is not to be born at all. The next best thing is to die as soon as possible.”

This is the core of Silenus. In Greek mythology, he represents not just happy, superficial intoxication, but the Dionysian insight into the fleeting nature and pain of life. His wisdom is not the cool logic found among the Olympian gods, but an earthy, instinctive understanding of the chaos of the universe. In ancient Greece, he was a reminder that truth is often found where we least expect it – in intoxication, in the shadows, and in the ones the world uses to laugh at.

Silenus remains one of mythology’s most fascinating figures: a divine fool straggling behind in history, bearing a truth that is just as heavy as he himself is drunk.

Gitauros – the mist-shrouded being of Thessaly

Far from the gleaming marble halls of Olympus, many older and stranger creatures continued to live on in Greek folklore. In the misty marshes and river landscapes of Thessaly, Gitauros (Γήταυρος) was said to roam, his bull-like cries echoing through the night. Who was this Gitauros, and where did he come from?

The mysterious sound of the nocturnal wetlands

Where the great epics fall silent, folklore takes over. Gitauros is not a figure found in classical dramas or on the finest vases; he belongs to oral storytelling, to the warnings whispered among villagers in ancient Thessaly. The name suggests a creature with traits of both human and bull, but unlike the Minotaur in his labyrinth, Gitauros is bound to water and mist.

He is often described as a shadowy being that frequents the deep marshes and the reedy banks of rivers. He is a creature that is rarely seen but often heard. The characteristic “lowing” echoing over the water during the darkest nights gave rise to stories of a lonely wanderer doomed to haunt the borderlands between land and sea. In folklore, he became a symbol of the unknown and dangerous lurking in nature’s hidden recesses – the places where humans are vulnerable and disoriented.

Few clear descriptions of Gitauros have been preserved. Instead, the figure appears fragmentarily in older encyclopedias, folk traditions, and regional stories, particularly linked to Thessaly – an area that even during antiquity was surrounded by rumors of magic, witchcraft, and strange rituals.

The strange thing about Gitauros is how this ancient, primal fear of nature’s own forces has managed to survive in the collective memory, proving to be more resilient than the classical temples of ancient Greece.

Hearing Gitauros was an omen that you had come too close to a dangerous place, or that the mist was about to swallow the path. His cry was not just a sound, but a reminder that we are not alone in the darkness, and that some beings prefer to remain precisely sounds and shadows.

Through Gitauros, we see another side of Greek mythology: the regional, down-to-earth horror that is less about gods and more about the actual environment people lived in. He is the voice of the marsh, a primal force that cannot be tamed or explained away by heroic tales, but instead continues to wander through the mist as long as there are nights quiet enough to carry his cry.

The shield of Achilles

When Hephaestus forged Achilles’s new shield, he did not just create a weapon for war. But what did the shield of Achilles actually look like? In the Iliad, it is described as an entire world in shimmering metal – filled with cities, oceans, starry skies, harvests, processions, armies, and the eternal rhythm of human life.

A microcosm in bronze and gold

In the eighteenth book of the Iliad, the roar of war pauses for a moment. Achilles has lost his armor, and his mother Thetis seeks out Hephaestus, the god of metallurgy, to ask for a new set. What emerges from the god’s forge is not merely a shield against arrows and swords, but one of the most magnificent motifs in literary history: a microcosmic mirror of the entire ancient world. Hephaestus was regarded as the master smith of the gods, but in the story of Achilles’s shield, he appears almost as something more: a creator of worlds.

The description of the shield occupies a surprisingly large part of the Iliad. In the middle of the narrative of Troy’s bloody war, Homer pauses the action to let the reader contemplate this strange object, where layer after layer of scenes emerge from the metal.

At the center of the shield, Hephaestus forged the earth, the sky, and the sea, along with the sun, the moon, and the constellations that guide sailors: the Pleiades, the Hyades, and Orion. Around this center, scenes from ancient life unfold in concentric circles.

We see two cities. In one, wedding celebrations are underway with torchlit processions and singing to flutes and lyres, while men gather in the marketplace to resolve a legal dispute. The other city is surrounded by two armies; here, ambushes by a river are depicted, along with battles with spears and figures personifying hatred and panic in the turmoil of war.

Then follow scenes from the countryside. Plowmen drive their oxen across fertile fields, harvesters work with their sickles, and youths carry baskets of dark grapes from a vineyard of gold. There are also images of grazing cattle being attacked by lions, as well as a large dancing floor where young men and women dance in a ring with their hands around each other’s wrists.

All of this is framed by the outermost edge, where the river Oceanus flows – the great waterway that the people of antiquity believed encircled the entire universe.

The shield of Achilles has fascinated everyone from archaeologists to poets through the centuries. Countless attempts have been made to reconstruct it, but its true nature remains literary. It is a reminder that mythology is not just about monsters and heroes, but also about the art of capturing the entire universe on a round surface of hammered metal.

At the fringes of Greek mythology

Behind the most famous gods and heroic tales of Olympus lies another mythological landscape – more fragmented, elusive, and often stranger than the stories that have remained in textbooks and pop culture. There we find figures like Silenus, whose laughter conceals one of antiquity’s darkest insights into life, mist-shrouded beings like Gitauros, and objects like the shield of Achilles, where the entire universe seems to be contained in metal and fire.

It is also here that Greek mythology perhaps feels most alive. Not as a closed system of finished narratives, but as fragments from different times and places – sometimes grand, sometimes unsettling, sometimes almost dreamlike.

In upcoming parts of the series, we will continue to move through these lesser-known layers of mythology. More strange beings, forgotten symbols, and overlooked stories still wait in the margins, far beyond the most well-trodden paths through ancient Greece.

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