Subscribe now for full access and no adverts
At Dion… Alexander the Great reviewed his 18,000 strong army before marching through thrace in 334 BC.
On 1 August 1960, I visited Mycenae for the first time. In my diary I described it as a terribly moving experience, seeing the shaft graves and the famed treasuries of Atreus and Clytemnestra. Looking back, what I recall most clearly was the romance of it all. My brother Richard and I walked from the local bus stop up the winding path to the Lion Gate, and were able to roam the site as freely as if Schliemann had just left. It was in front of this gate that, famously, Sir Mortimer Wheeler declaimed to a group of Swan cruisers that ‘Out of this gate marched Agamemnon to the siege of Troy.’ There was no ticket office, no uniformed guard to take our drachmas, and the only accompaniment came from a few goats. A year or so later, we were back, but by then there was a spanking new ticket office, uniformed guardians, and the regular arrival of tour buses. And just a decade ago, my wife and I returned once more to a site teeming with tourists. We were looking down at the shaft graves when we overheard a conversation between a woman and her husband. She was sitting on a stone wall as he ventured round the corner. She asked ‘Anything to see there, Elmer?’ His response: ‘No dear, just more of the same.’
Such is the impact of tourism, and I mention this as a background because this past summer we were back in Greece, staying in the villa belonging to the family of our Greek daughter-in-law in Thessaly. While we spent time on the nearby beach, son Tom suggested that we visit Dion. I confess I had never heard of this site. I do know Macedonian sites fairly well, having roamed the region hunting for Neanderthals, dug at Neolithic Nea Nikomedeia, and visited Pella and Vergina to enter the tomb of Philip of Macedon, but Dion was an unknown. The heat last June was intense, so we decided to set off early, and drove north for an hour. Although we did have to pay some euros, we were the only visitors.
In the shadow of Olympus
Dion is a very special place in Macedonian history, and we were treated to a triple whammy. It was, first and foremost, the home of Zeus, since the city lies literally in the shadow of Mount Olympus. Towering above us and still flecked with snow, it dominates the landscape. During the Hellenistic period, Dion developed into a strategic city linked by river to the nearby Aegean Sea; it was both a port and a religious centre. However, when the Romans became increasingly dominant following the Battle of Actium (31 BC), Dion was transformed into a Roman city. This was followed when the early Church created a bishopric, and a Christian basilica with associated buildings was constructed.
Being on the flat, the Macedonian architects paid particular attention to defence, so, in 306 BC, King Kassanda had limestone blocks hauled from Mount Olympus to construct city walls 3m thick and up to 10m high, pierced by city gates and fortified with regularly spaced defensive towers. This was an ambitious but necessary project, resulting in a square city covering 43ha. The walls are not as high today, wars and earthquakes having taken their toll, but they are still a most impressive sight. It was during this period that Dion rose to become the pre-eminent religious centre of Macedonia. We visited the foundations of the sanctuary of Asclepios, which was the destination for sick people in search of healing. However, the most significant temple of the Hellenistic period was dedicated to Zeus Olympios, where the Macedonian kings archived their legal decrees.
Olympic games were held at Dion, and it was with a certain frisson that we walked over the meadow, towards the Greek theatre, where Alexander the Great reviewed his 18,000-strong army before marching through Thrace in 334 BC to meet and beat the forces of the Achaemenid Empire at the Battle of Granicus. There is also something about a Greek theatre. In the same year as our first visit to Mycenae, Richard and I watched a performance of Iphigenia in Aulis by Euripides at the Acropolis theatre of Herodes Atticus. I recall seeing Robert Graves in the audience. Back at Dion and still the only visitors, we climbed up an aisle and took our seats to imagine from a different angle, shared by two soaring eagles, the serried ranks of Alexander’s army.
Then we turned to the Roman foundation. There is always something rather special about the baths, and those at Dion are no exception. The hypocaust columns of the hot room reveal a very large complex, as do the rows of stone seats in the communal lavatory, strategically placed over a channel that took a constant flow of water. This part of the site also had some very impressive mosaics, including those at the temple of Zeus Hypsistos. Approached by a path flanked by columns bearing sculpted eagles, the central cella contained a statue of the god holding a thunderbolt in one hand and a sceptre in the other. Entertainment was provided, too: the Romans built a compact theatre that could host 400 in 24 rows of seats. It is conveniently placed near the temples and domestic residences. Some of the inhabitants were wealthy: the villa of Dionysus has extensive mosaic floors, a bathhouse, and fine atrium. The market-place was surrounded by shops and offices where commercial contracts were sealed. Clearly, merchants and other visitors thronged to the city, and provision was made for their accommodation, even a stable for the horses.
By the 4th century AD, Christianity had come to Dion. A church was raised and, over time, leading members of the community were interred under its tiled floor.
By mid-morning, the heat was closing in on 34°C and it seemed time to see more of Mount Olympus, so we proceeded to the National Park. There we found a pathway beside a rushing stream fed by the melting snow, and we ascended to a magnificent waterfall from which the peak of the mountain was clearly visible. Steeped in Greek history, we felt it was time for some appropriate cuisine, so Tom took us to a mountain village with a welcoming taverna, where we dined while looking out over the narrow coastal plain and on to the shore of the deep blue Aegean.
Charles Higham is a Professor at Otago University in New Zealand, and an authority on Cambodia's Angkor civilisation and Ban Non Wat in Thailand.
