 Dusty:Starlight:Culture
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Naxos, Ariadne's Legacy part 1
2003-07-28 10:34 p.m.
The press and rush to get off the boat in Naxos was almost as unbearable as the heat. Visions of Morocco - of piling onto a boat in Algericas, Spain, and pulling into a port in Tangier, Morocco, several years before, rose up in me. Maybe it was the insurmountable number of hotel "spokesmen" hawking rooms to confused tourists. Maybe it was the throngs of "guides" that accosted everyone, offering their services, anticipating tips. I had never seen anything like it anywhere else in Europe, and was surprised to see that twinge of the semi-third world culture persevering. But then, I reminded myself, Turkey, and Arabic culture, wasn't too far away from us. For people of two countries trying desperately to distance themselves from each other, they sure weren't trying very hard. I pushed through the crowds of tourists hesitant to get off the boat, and was suddenly faced with signs being thrust into my face for low-rate hotels and camp grounds. I wanted to find out from some legitimate source whether or not we could walk the distance to our hotel, but was wary of "tourist information" booths that looked like nothing more than strategically positioned agencies hawking the same things as the sign holders. Scooters roared past in every direction, weaving in and out of people, luggage, cars. No helmets, the drivers often not even looking, but instead fumbling with cigarettes or putting on make up. We came to Naxos because of me, and my obsession and curiosity with the mythology behind Ariadne. There is so much left to question about her legacy – what she did, who she was, how she died – that stuffy feminist theorists and literary/classics obsessives have latched onto her image, refusing to let go. Her story is used and abused in contemporary/pop lit and theory, mostly used to “take back the night” or “revive Ophelia” (bonus points to anyone who gets that reference). The way I see her story, though, is pretty simple – she’s the sucker in us all, who is sweet and caring but has to be reminded to protect thyself on a daily basis. Theseus, everyone’s warrior golden child, was a figure from Greek mythology with things to prove and maidens to deflower. Though he had reached a level of boy-band status among the Greeks already because of his heroic efforts on several battle fields, he decided he would show everyone once again how cool he was by killing the Minotaur, a half man/half bull monster who was enclosed deep inside a labyrinth. This was pretty much impossible, as only Daedalus, the architect of the labyrinth, knew how to get in and out of his creation without getting killed by the Minotaur. Ariadne, the plainer, less cool sister of Phedra (who Theseus was pursuing for quite some time) got some clues from Daedalus and with them promised to help Theseus succeed, since he promised to take her back to Athens with him and marry her if she did so. She kept her promise, but guess who didn’t? Sure, Theseus left with Ariadne – threw her on his boat full of embattled and torn up soldiers, but then abandoned her on the island of Naxos since, well, there were things to be proven and maidens to be deflowered elsewhere. So what happened to Ariadne? Depends on who you ask. And what their politics are. Personally, I don’t care. It’s enough to know that I’m not the only one who’s held a hand out to someone in need, and then got spit on in return. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s fallen for people’s empty promises because I wanted to trust that they were honest, and then watched as their arrogance kicked into high gear and they burned bridges and became abusive, shallow, superficial – as if karma or conscience didn’t affect them. So maybe I went to Naxos with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. Was I seeking the truth? I didn’t think I’d find any, that’s for sure. Ariadne exists in buried old Classics anthologies and comic books, not in the consciousness of the Greeks. I’d traveled enough not to have high expectations of answers to all my questions – which stemmed not so much from a desire for factual evidence as a desire to cut loose old demons who, at the drop of a hat, can chip away at my self-esteem. Things like this ran through my head at top speed, even amidst the very immediate reality of heat and dust and flesh. I had my eyes open, my intuition in high gear, and my brand new husband at my side. And, we had to figure out exactly how to get to the hotel we may or may not have had a reservation in, with a taxi who’s driver wouldn’t rip us off. Not to mention thwart off the gaggle of men eyeing me, or perhaps Steve, as we strolled down the plank and onto the shore. - END - Part 2, coming soon
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