Temple of Apollo at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

It wasn’t yet noon, but the sun was beating down on the Sanctuary with an unbearable intensity. As I squinted up at the Temple of Apollo, I tried to imagine the three hundred statues that once stood in the open air on bases, columns, pillars and under colonnades, brilliant light reflecting off white marble and gilded bronze.

Castalia Spring ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Longing for relief from the heat, I set off for the lower part of the site, home of The Sanctuary of Athena Pronaia and the Tholos. Along the way, I hoped to find the Castalia Spring where the Oracle bathed before each of her sessions with Apollo. This purification ritual was such an integral part of her preparations that I was convinced that if anything might trigger my ‘remembering’, it would be this sacred spring.

By the side of the road, I came across a small fountain with a steady trickle of water. Just a few feet away, I found the actual site of the spring, but sadly it was closed off. Neither this derelict reservoir nor the miniscule fountain I’d just passed bore any resemblance to the spring in my imagination. But I was determined to test the water, so I retraced my steps and placed my hands in the tiny stream. I felt a refreshing coolness, pleasant and most welcome in the mid-day heat, but nothing more.

The Gymnasium at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moving on, I saw that the only hope for shade was an ancient olive tree in the middle of the parched earth and piles of rubble that had once been The Gymnasium. It was here that the youth of Delphi were educated and the athletes trained for the Pythian Games. There were rooms for teaching and for conferences, dressing rooms for the athletes and stone basins for bathing. And at the far end of the site was what remained of the Tholos – three reconstructed columns. Once an impressive circular structure with an outer ring of 20 Doric columns and ten interior Corinthian columns, the Tholos was believed to be connected with cthonian or underworld cults.

Olive Tree at the Gynasium ©2009 Charlene Nevill

After walking the entire length of the site in the scorching heat inspecting hundreds of giant stones, I returned to the olive tree to rest. As I sat next to its gnarled trunk relishing the shade and the slight breeze touching my skin, I felt something. A presence. A stirring of deeply-buried emotions, sadness tinged with longing for something or someone I’d known long ago.

And then somewhere in the hills above me, I heard the bleating of a baby goat. From the sound, I knew it was lost and wanted its mother. I had been yearning to see goats – an entire herd of goats with their bells clanging – but aside from the goat-crossing sign I’d seen on my way into Delphi, this was the first indication that such a sighting might be possible. I stood and scanned the cliffs above me and the hills below, but I couldn’t see the goat. Then I heard a lower-pitched bleating – perhaps that of an older, male goat and I heard a bell. I was relieved – and hopeful that I might get to see a herd of goats after all.