Besorah

Or Simply: Temples, Temples, Temples—and Watch That Step.

Today, the ancient deities smiled upon our group—or perhaps the locals had finally appealed to them for assistance—and we divided into smaller groups for our daily adventures.

No longer would we descend upon a village like a cheerful invasion. We were now more of a scouting party, albeit one identifiable a mile away by our height, jewelry, clothing, and constant laughter. There is only so much blending in you can do when your group sparkles in the sunlight and can be heard around the next corner.

At least we were no longer holding up traffic or forming a thirty-minute restroom line just when everyone had announced they were ready to leave. The Sicilians have welcomed us with extraordinary warmth. Dividing us up seemed a gracious way to return the favor.

A Little Something for Everyone

Our wise Commodore had arranged an impressive menu of activities, all selected before we left the comforts of our American homes. There were village visits, meals with welcoming locals, olive oil demonstrations, bicycle rides, and excursions through Sciacca’s celebrated ceramics shops. Others chose golf, the spa, the beach, or the pool.

In other words, something for the culturally curious, the physically ambitious, and those who believe a vacation should involve as little ambition as possible.

But that evening, we came together for the main attraction: dinner at Villa Athena and a nighttime tour of the Valley of the Temples.

Even the most committed poolside philosopher would have had difficulty passing that up.

The Greeks Certainly Knew How to Build

Near Agrigento, the Valley of the Temples preserves the extraordinary remains of ancient Akragas, one of the Mediterranean’s important Greek cities. Today, it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site—a place where the scale of the past makes you stop, look up, and briefly forget to check your phone.

The Temple of Concordia is among the best-preserved Doric temples in the world, with 34 exterior columns. Its survival owes much to its conversion into a Christian church in the sixth century. Apparently, finding a new congregation can do wonders for a building’s long-term maintenance plan.

Nearby stands the Temple of Juno, overlooking the landscape from its elevated position on the ridge. Farther along is the Temple of Heracles, the oldest temple in Agrigento, where eight columns were re-erected in the twentieth century. Considering their age, they are holding themselves upright rather impressively. Some of us were hoping to do the same by the end of the evening.

The enormous Temple of Olympian Zeus once featured colossal human-shaped stone figures called telamons, supporting its upper structure. These were men with the weight of the world—or at least a considerable portion of the building—on their shoulders.

And the familiar four-column corner of the Temple of Castor and Pollux is itself a nineteenth-century reconstruction. Even antiquity, it seems, occasionally benefits from a little restoration. A comforting thought for our crowd.

Dinner with the Deities

We had the pleasure of dining at Villa Athena, situated within the archaeological park, just a short distance from the Temple of Concordia. It is an extraordinary setting for dinner: ancient columns nearby, good company at the table, and the pleasant realization that, for once, the surroundings are receiving more attention than the wine list.

There is something deeply moving about sharing a meal beside monuments that have endured for more than two thousand years. You find yourself thinking about the people who built them, the generations who walked these grounds, and all the lives that have unfolded beneath the same sky.

Then someone makes a remark from the other end of the table, laughter takes over, and you remember that enjoying one another’s company is also a perfectly respectable way to honor the moment.

Watch Your Step—and Possibly Your Second Glass

Now, a word about the walking.

Those of us accustomed to the familiar conveniences associated with the Americans with Disabilities Act—railings, predictable thresholds, and changes in elevation that announce themselves—found that our feet needed to pay closer attention.

Even at our hotel, a stroll through the lobby could involve an unexpected step down, followed shortly by an equally unexpected step up. Some doorways offered a raised threshold and a drop on the other side. Others reversed the arrangement, presumably to keep us intellectually engaged.

I began to suspect the architect had been paid by the step.

These little surprises do encourage mindfulness. Mostly of your shoes.

Now consider the evening’s sequence: gather approximately 150 well-intentioned travelers, some of whom qualify as senior citizens, although we prefer to think of ourselves as extensively experienced. Begin with cocktails. Continue with dinner and wine tastings. Then, once it is properly dark and comfortably late, send everyone off on foot to explore ancient ruins.

On paper, magnificent.

Underfoot, a little more adventurous.

Looking back, touring first and dining afterward might have offered certain practical advantages. But it would have deprived us of the opportunity to test our balance, our friendships, and the reassuring strength of someone else’s elbow.

There is nothing quite like an unexpected change in elevation to bring people closer together.

As for any stiffness the following morning, we could attribute that to our enthusiastic pursuit of culture. At our age, it is helpful to have a fresh explanation.

And by the next cocktail hour, most of us would undoubtedly be prepared to discuss the evening’s accomplishments with renewed confidence.

Perhaps the Commodore had understood the sequence perfectly all along.

The Kind of Evening You Carry Home

For all our joking, what a magnificent finish to the day.

The temples at night invite a different kind of attention. Their illuminated columns rise out of the darkness, and even our talkative crowd finds reasons to pause. For a few moments, the centuries feel very close.

Then the laughter returns, someone offers an arm, and we continue together.

That is the joy of traveling with friends: we come to admire the monuments, but we carry home the people, the conversations, and the ridiculous little moments that no guidebook could possibly anticipate.

The temples have stood for centuries. Our knees may require a little more encouragement.

But the memories—and the laughter—will last a lifetime.