Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? Epidaurus!

This is Asclepius. Well, not really. It’s just a statue, and anyway he didn’t really exist. He was the son of Apollo, and a demigod who had healing powers. Notice the staff at his side entwined by a single snake, his identifier; not to be confused with Hermes’s caduceus, originally a symbol of commerce, although somehow that became a symbol for today’s medical professionals. Hmmm… Obamacare, anyone?

The Cult of Asclepius at Epidaurus began in the 6th century BCE, and a sanctuary was built in his honor. At the beginning of the 3rd century BCE, a theater was built. It originally had 34 tiers and seated 6,200 people. A century later an upper block was added to the theatron, which increased its seating capacity to 12,300. The orchestra is a complete circle over 6o feet in diameter.

This particular theater was the #2 reason for my entire journey so you can imagine how I felt as it first came into view. I headed to the parados, the place where the chorus entered before there was an actual stage, and our tour guide began her spiel.

Susan told me I was visibly twitching while the tour guide was droning on and on, but I listened patiently and held my tongue as she doled out misinformation, when all I really wanted to do was run to the center of the orchestra and start singing. You see, not only is this the best preserved of the ancient Greek theaters, not only is it an architectural marvel of stones laid into a hillside about 2,300 years ago, and not only is it beautiful to behold, it also has perfect acoustics. In every amphitheater there is a “sweet spot” usually marked by a circular stone in the center of the orchestra, and when you speak from that point, your voice comes reverberating back to you as if you are shouting through a megaphone. In this theater, a handclap sounds like a gunshot, and a whisper can be heard in the very last row.

Eventually I got the green light and made my way to center stage. The set behind me was for one of the productions in this summer’s Athens/Epidaurus Theatre Festival. I performed part of the Watchman’s opening monologue from Agamemnon by Aeschylus, and I nearly “pished ma keks,” as the Scottish say, because it was unbelievably powerful. After that I sang a bit of Bowie’s “Life On Mars.”  I received scattered applause from strangers, but my usual fans weren’t that impressed. At that point I think they just wanted some ice cream.