The Battle of Navarino

The Battle of Navarino—the Reenactment Festivities

“You know, Jonathan, your looking more Greek every day.” I took my English friend R’s comment as a small badge of honor. I don’t want to be another pasty American.

I joined my friends R and A to watch the reenactment ceremony in Pylos last night, along with more than 15,000 other people. We had the good sense to arrive two hours before the event began, but still every single table in the town square had been claimed, every possible seat along the waterfront was occupied, people had even climbed onto old buildings for a better view.

But I spied a small group of Greeks placing money on a table and quickly hovered over them. One of the advantages of speaking Greek is that ability to weasel your way into and out of situations.

“May we take your seats when you leave?”

Soon they were gone and we had claimed a highly prized and coveted table with a birds-eye view of the festivities.

And festivities they were indeed. Once the sun had set, a loud amplified commentary began in all of the languages of the original combatants (except Turkish)—French, English, Russian, and Greek. The flags of all four nations flew and representatives (military and embassy) of the foreign parties circulated among the crowd. With the exception of Russia. Since Russia’s annexation of Crimea and illegal occupation of eastern Ukraine—once part of the larger Greek world and still with a population of ethnic Greeks in the Black Sea city of Odessa—the Russians have seem somewhat less welcome.

After securing our table, we took turns individually walking amid the multitude. We had managed to park R and A’s Lada—a Russian-made 4x4 with screeching wheel bearings and questionable steerage—a ways out of town, pointing toward Methoni (our later taverna destination), in order to ensure a swift escape.

The Greek Navy had several destroyers and light cruisers in port; the British had a smaller warship; the firemen, police, and press were everywhere.

The event began at sundown, with a boom crane extended several hundred feet above the inner harbor, an individual dressed in all white performing on a ring perilously above the water. A fleet of three masted ships, all of them more than 90 feet length overall, pirhouetted about the harbor in balletic fashion, in very close quarters. A commentary in English, Greek, and French boomed from loudspeakers.

"And so the allied ship encircled the Turkish fleet. Each watching the other," the narrator boomed. "And finally a cannon from a Turkish ship was accidentally fired, and the well trained allies, our friends from England, France, and Russia, replied in kind." This went on for some time, the tall ships with sailors in period costume, lip-syncing the narrator's words.

The commentary described the lead-up to this epic naval battle, describing how a fleet of 200+ Ottoman galleons was surrounded and then obliterated by cannon fire.

A replica of an Ottoman galleon was blasted out of the water and then a massive--truly massive—fireworks display ensued for a half hour. It was said to have cost more 150,000 euros and it was truly spectacular. The folks in my local cafeneion complained in advance.

"The demos [municipality] can't fix the pot-holes or replalce the broken garbage bins, but they can pay for this display"?

My little camera, sadly, was unable to capture any useable photos of the sailing vessels, which were remarkable. But here are a selection of photos of the event before the sun set, and a few of the firework display.

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After the final salvo of fireworks, we dashed up the hill to the parked Lada and managed (it seemed unbelievable given the large crowd and the enormous number of buses) to escape from Pylos ahead of the multitude, arriving at “Nondos” grill in Methoni for an 11 p.m. meal—my first real meal of the day.