Panathenaic Stadium

Put your hand on the nearest bench. The marble is smooth and cool in the shade, and warm where the sun has been sitting on it. Look closely and you will see a faint grain, like frozen milk. Above you, row after row of white seating curves around the track in a long, narrow horseshoe. The traffic of central Athens fades a little here. You can hear footsteps on the track, a child laughing somewhere high in the stands, and the wind moving through the pines on the hills behind.

Welcome to the Panathenaic Stadium. Athenians often call it the Kallimarmaro, which means "the beautifully marbled." The name is earned. This is the only major stadium in the world built almost entirely of marble. The stone came from Mount Penteli, northeast of the city. It is the same quarry that supplied the Parthenon. So the white around you and the white on the Acropolis share an origin. They were cut from the same mountain, centuries apart.

The story of this place begins in the fourth century BCE. A natural hollow lay here, between two low hills, beside the small Ilissos river. The Athenian statesman Lycurgus shaped it into a proper stadium for the Panathenaic Games. These games honoured Athena, the patron goddess of the city. Athletes raced, wrestled, and competed for prizes. The winners received large painted jars filled with olive oil from Athena's sacred trees. In that first version, the seating was mostly simple, and the stadium was far less grand than what you see today.

The great transformation came in the second century of our era, under Roman rule. A wealthy Athenian named Herodes Atticus paid to rebuild the whole stadium in gleaming Pentelic marble. Herodes was one of the richest men of his age, and a famous patron of public buildings. His theatre still stands below the Acropolis. Ancient writers described this marble stadium with real admiration. In the Roman period, the arena also hosted harsher spectacles, including fights with wild animals.

Then came the long silence. As the ancient world faded, the games ended and the stadium lost its purpose. Over many centuries, much of the marble disappeared. A great deal of it was burned in kilns to make lime for mortar and plaster. Earth and vegetation slowly filled the hollow. For generations, this was little more than a grassy dip between hills. Travellers could still make out the shape of the old track, but the white seats had almost all gone.

In the nineteenth century, the newly independent Greek state began to look back at its ancient past. A wealthy Greek benefactor, Evangelos Zappas, funded a series of revived Olympic-style games. Some of these events took place here, in the partly excavated stadium. They were modest, and the setting was still rough. But the idea was taking hold. Greece could host the games again, in the very places where they were born.

That idea arrived in full in 1896, with the first modern Olympic Games. Another benefactor, George Averoff, a Greek merchant living in Egypt, paid for the stadium to be rebuilt in marble once more. The architect Anastasios Metaxas followed the ancient form closely. As you leave later, look for the statue of Averoff near the entrance. Athens chose to remember the man who gave this stadium its second life in stone.

Here is something many visitors miss. Look at the shape of the track. It is long and very narrow, with tight hairpin turns at the curved end. This follows the ancient design, made for straight sprints, not for modern laps. In 1896, runners found those bends awkward and slow. Athletes had to brake hard and swing around them. So this track is beautiful, but by modern standards it is quite impractical.

The most famous moment here came at the end of the 1896 marathon. The race ran from the town of Marathon into Athens, and finished on this track. The winner was Spyridon Louis, a young Greek man who had worked carrying water. When he entered the stadium in the lead, the crowd erupted. Greece had won the event that told its own ancient story. Louis became a national hero, and his name is still known in every Greek household.

The stadium did not retire after that. During the Athens Olympics in 2004, it hosted the archery competition. It also served as the finish line for the marathon, more than a century after Louis. Today, the stadium plays a quiet but important role for every Olympic Games. After the flame is lit at Olympia, in the western Peloponnese, Greece hands it over to the next host city here, on this marble field.

Now turn toward the curved end of the track. Near the turn, you will find two marble herms. A herm is a square stone pillar topped with a carved head. These ones are double-faced, looking in two directions at once. In ancient stadiums, pillars like these marked the turning point of the race. Behind the curve, there is also a tunnel cut into the hill. It is ancient, and it once linked the stadium to the land behind. Today it holds a small exhibition about the Olympics.

If you have the energy, climb toward the top rows. The steps are steep, so take your time. From the highest seats, the shape of the whole stadium becomes clear, like a long white funnel opening toward the city. On a clear day, you can see the Acropolis rising beyond the rooftops. Below you, notice the special marble seats in the front rows, set apart for honoured guests. They are a reminder that this was always a public stage, as well as a sports ground.

Before you go, pause for a moment on the track itself. Feel the hard surface under your shoes. Look back at the rows of white marble, the hills of pine above them, and the open sky. Runners stood here more than two thousand years ago, and again in 1896, and again in your own lifetime. As you walk out toward the road and the green trees of the National Garden, listen once more. The city returns slowly... and the white stone stays behind you, holding the warmth of the sun.