“Thousands of people crammed into a temporary village that simply cannot hold them. The heat was unbearable. No water, no public baths, no latrines, no accommodation available — The noise; the crush; the dust; the smoke; the long hours and the queues —”
Yes, a Games village. Nope, not the 2010 Commonwealth Games Village. This is a description of Olympia in Greece, site of the Olympic Games, at the Neronian Games of 67 CE. (That is when Emperor Nero turned up and demanded a special games, in a non-Games year — and then proceeded to “win” the 10-horse chariot race, even though he fell off the chariot.)
The description comes to us courtesy two German tourists of the time, “a couple of big, flabby, fair-haired River Rhenus wine merchants”, who are dedicated sports fans. They are visiting Olympia again in 76 CE when they bump into Marcus Didius Falco. Falco is a Roman private eye, and he is in Olympia to investigate the mysterious deaths of two upper-class Roman girls.
Falco is the lead character of a series of historical murder mysteries by Lindsey Davis. In this title, See Delphi and Die (2005) goes to off-season Olympia. It turns out that both the dead girls were on tours organised by a shifty Roman travel operator, Polystratus of Seven Sights Travels. Etc., etc.
So the names are fun and occasionally mock-antique, the characters terrific, and the conversation quick and well-weighted. The history, however, is excellent; so the German tourists’ memory of Olympia can be relied upon if not in detail then in general.
“We had to sleep under a blanket tied to bushes last time,” they say. “The permanent lodging houses are always taken by the rich athletics sponsors and the chariot-horse owners, who of course are even richer.” This time, “We brought a decent German tent!”
So the star athletes and officials stay in the luxurious Leonidaion, while spectators and pilgrims jostle for space on the damp floodplain nearby. And around them becomes available everything that the traveller might need, from food to entertainment to souvenirs to sex.
What a fine money-making opportunity. Davis points out that by the time of the Roman empire, the neighbouring city of Elis had fought for and won the right to manage the Olympic Games; one measure they took was to insist that every athlete spend a month at Elis or Olympia preparing (and thus spending) before the Games.
Very wise. Now, 2010. Here are the Commonwealth Games, and here are the athletes and sports officials from around the former empire, corralled within their village. There they are fed and entertained and sold handicrafts. Various tourist-friendly pockets of the rest of the city have been spiffed up, to amuse the visitors and lighten their purses.
But what Delhi will not see is mass tourism. The talk of thousands of hotel rooms and homestays was boosterish. People no longer travel to watch games. So what’s in it for the host city, apart from infrastructure that may not meet citizens’ long-term needs?
It’s time to revive games as visitor events. Forget the foreigners — it’s too much effort. Why not focus on the somnolent National Games, and play them up for domestic tourists? It is very satisfying to sit in the stands and watch feats of athletics. Not in school nor in the office does one now need to aim for perfection and measure oneself against the best. It’s refreshing to watch others do it; and it may even be inspiring.
What’s more, the National Games are often held in places with tourist potential. The last ones in 2009 were in Jharkhand. I’d like a reason to go there; and it is affordable.
But, as Falco explains, “The Emperors wanted their own great festivals, held in Rome, to enhance their prestige. It was not in their interest to modernise the old Hellenic ceremonies. They paid lip-service to history, but they liked to see rival attractions die out.” As far as the games go, let’s behave less like the imperial Romans and more like the democratic Greeks.
