Atlantis and the Silver City (11 page)

The key to answering the island conundrum revolves around the original Greek word used by Plato to describe what Atlantis was.

That word was
nesos
.

The first English translation assumed
nesos
meant “island.” In recent decades, it has been pointed out that, at the time Plato used it,
nesos
had three alternative interpretations. The standard reference work for ancient Greek,
The Greek Lexicon
by Liddell and Scott, for example, gives three distinctly different meanings:

One was “island”; another, “the mouth of a river with mud shoals.”

Critically, the third meaning was “peninsula.”
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There does not seem to be any reason why “island” was the preferred initial translation, but all subsequent translators have followed suit—despite other specific facts given by Plato that do not justify its use.

For instance, he only ever mentioned one coast—the south. In clue 23 he explains there was a vast productive plain facing the sea and expands on that in clues 84 to 88, intimating that it faced south with a high coast overlooking the sea. It was sheltered to the north by mountains “celebrated for their number, size and beauty.” Significantly, no reference was made to the north, east, or west coasts. If an island was being described, surely these would have warranted at least a passing mention? Look at clue 84 again: “The whole country was said by him to be very lofty and precipitous on the side of the sea.” Note that it refers to the whole country and the “side” facing the sea. An island has
all
sides facing the sea, not just one of them.

Clue 4 includes another subtle misinterpretation. In ancient Greek, Plato did not write “an island situated in front of the straits,” as in the
accepted translation by Benjamin Jowett, but “because there was an island/peninsula in the mouth or lobby of the Gulf, that you consider the columns of Hercules.”
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The clear implication is that the Straits of Gibraltar formed the throat, and the area outside the Atlantic where the sea broadened out was the mouth (that is, the area outside the straits that was still confined on the north by the southern coast of Iberia and on the south by the North African coast). A lobby is clearly the area of sea you pass through before entry through the straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean.

In clue 35, Plato wrote that the Atlanteans were also the inhabitants and rulers of diverse islands
in the open sea
, clearly somewhere different from where the homeland was. He would appear here to be referring to the Atlantic Ocean beyond any such land as Portugal, Spain, and Morocco, consequently reinforcing the descriptions of Atlantis being in the mouth of the Gulf before the Straits of Gibraltar, therefore not in the open sea.

Previously, a popular assumption has been that Atlantis was situated way out in the Atlantic; but the middle of that vast ocean can hardly be described as being “in the gulf outside the Straits of Gibraltar.” If so, it could equally well be claimed, for example, that New York is too; a ludicrous theory—even the original translation of it, to be “in front of,” implies proximity.

It now appeared that the original translation of
nesos
as “island” was what had bedeviled, impeded, and misdirected the centuries-long search for Atlantis. Until recently, everyone had taken that description for granted and looked for a large sunken island, big enough to have been a continent; yet it is apparent that Plato may not have wished to convey that meaning at all.

Others have noted that the ancient Greeks even used
nesos
to describe the
Peloponnese
Peninsula. In fact, that very name is a combination of two words. The first,
Pelopos
, is the ancient name of a Greek mythological hero who supposedly conquered the whole region. The other is
nesos
, giving the original Greek spelling “Peloponnesos.”
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Although technically now an island, since the construction of the Corinth canal, it was a peninsula connected to mainland Greece by a nine-kilometer-wide strip of land when it was named. This confirms that the Greeks tended to lump islands and peninsulas together under the same word.

Reginald Fessenden, once head chemist to Thomas Edison and a professor at the University of Pittsburgh, had papers published by the Massachusetts Bible Society in 1924 and 1927.
³⁷
He had made an intense study of the Egyptian
Book of the Dead
. The papers were titled “The deluged civilization of the Caucasus Isthmus.” In order to complete the works, he closely studied ancient terminology, including Greek. He categorically stated that
nesos
was never regarded by the early Greeks to mean solely “island.” Instead, it was often a more encompassing term meaning “land.” He quotes such examples as “Nesos Arabia” and “Nesos Mesopotamia.”

In the light of the other clues Plato gave, the inescapable conclusion is that he meant the area of land immediately outside the straits, the Iberian Peninsula.

He was probably referring only to the southern part of Iberia, west of Gibraltar, which would have been familiar to visiting mariners from the Mediterranean. The northern area had been affected by the Ice Age, and the chances of any significant civilizations developing over a long period of time in those conditions would have been remote. Nor would that region have fit the clues Plato provided regarding climate, crops, flora, and fauna. This also partly explains why he fails to mention other coasts, or anything beyond the mountains. In time, however, the civilization would almost certainly have stretched up the west coast, at least as far as Lisbon.

The continuous southern coasts of Andalucía and Portugal’s Algarve curve around, protruding southwest into the Atlantic at Cape St. Vincent as a peninsula in its own right. If this was the area Plato was referring to, it must mean that the major civilized area, principally the great southern plain he mentioned, was the part that sank 11,600 years ago. Before this disaster, the peninsula would have protruded much more, with more dry land also right up to and around the mouth of the Straits of Gibraltar.

But I do not think the solution is that simple. As already discussed, the seabed map for the area off the Algarve coast shows several large, very flat areas that are separated by sudden drops in levels and are called
planalto
(plains). In the sea off the western end of the Algarve, 210 kilometers southwest of Cape St. Vincent, is the area known as the Gorringe Bank (or Ridge). It is a substantial area, 60 kilometers by 180 kilometers, and is much shallower than the surrounding seabed, parts of it only 30 meters
deep. There are other similar areas to the west and south before the Canary Islands, some of which could have been above sea level before the great glacier melt—as would parts of the Gorringe Bank.

At some time in the past, all these could possibly have been linked as one or several landmasses above water. Maybe they even connected to Cape St. Vincent; but in this case, some areas would have to have sunk considerably, as the sea plumbs great depths in parts. Geologists are now beginning to accept that sudden movements up or down, of thousands of feet, have taken place in various parts of the world (see Chapter Fifteen). The area around the submerged Gorringe Bank is a highly volatile seismic region. This is where the 1755 earthquake originated and, combined with others, caused the dramatic sinking of parts of the seabed, with some parts thrust upward.
³⁸

The possibility cannot be discounted that there was once also a long island, or what could have been mistaken for one, off part of the Algarve and Andalucía, which housed the great Atlantis plain. In front of the Algarve, particularly, and stretching east in front of the Costa de la Luz as far as Huelva, there are many narrow tidal lagoons from 100 meters to around 400 meters wide, fronted by long strands of sand bearing some fauna. A few of these strands are connected to the mainland by narrow isthmuses, particularly at river mouths. The central Algarve, from the capital, Faro, for 30 kilometers or so east, also has substantial offshore sandbank islands farther out to sea beyond the lagoons.

Some of these islands have shanty settlements inhabited by hardy fishermen, with the occasional café and bar to welcome the hordes of sun-worshipping tourists who are ferried across to the pristine sands in the summer months to enjoy their calming, away-from-it-all atmosphere. The sea in front of Faro is also a cobweb of mud shoals and narrow, treacherous channels, as anyone flying into Faro airport can see as the plane circles before making its final approach.

These islands and sandspits may well have been much larger and more prevalent in 500 or 600
B.C.
, when Greek mariners started venturing that far, during the period between the demise of the Phoenicians and the rise of the Carthaginians. There are several historical accounts by Portuguese and Spanish authors stating that there were once more islands than there are now.
The area has been seriously affected by large earthquakes and tsunamis since Plato’s era, which must have resulted in significant changes to the coastline and islands in the immediate coastal waters.

It is also credible that other areas of the western end of the Algarve coast, in the few places where there are sand dunes rather than cliffs, once had similar lagoons or straits. One example runs west from Galé to Armação de Pêra. An inland lagoon still exists, and part of the eastern end of Armação de Pêra is built on land below the level of the beach, which was reclaimed at some stage. Another runs from Alvor west to Lagos. Part of this has several pure links-style golf holes on it and is within the Palmares golf course. Any of these low-lying islands and spits would have been devastated by the 1755 tsunami, let alone all the earlier ones. Their size and shape would have been significantly altered. Layers of the sandy topsoil would have been successively ripped off.

The visiting Greek sailors may only have been afforded glimpses during their brief stay—not daring to journey into the straits between these islands and the coast—and brought back tales, which Plato picked up and wove into his story. If the islands and sandspits were much larger then, they may also have supported considerable habitation. The mariners could have been told by the locals that they were the remnants of a much larger combined area.

Dr. Ulf Richter has perceptively pointed out that Plato never used the words “high cliffs,” although the general assumption has been that this is what he meant.
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Clue 84 reads: “very lofty and precipitous on the side of the sea.” Dr. Richter suggests that the coast could just as easily have been composed of high dunes. These can be formed by persistent westerly winds at a slight angle to the shore. The southwest Iberian coastline is perfectly situated for that, with a prevailing southwesterly wind almost every day.

Dunes, such as those near Arcachon on the west coast of France, can reach more than a hundred meters in height. The area behind this huge dune wall is normally lower and features a series of lagoons. Seen from the sea, the dunes would give the impression that the coast rises sheer from the sea. Perhaps the existing offshore Algarve islands and lagoons are remnants of such a phenomenon, and the original coastline involved a combination of high dunes and cliffs. (
SEE IMAGES
9, 10,
AND
11
IN THE PHOTO INSERT
.)

While mulling this over, I was agreeably surprised to discover yet another error in the translation of Plato’s original account. It made the hairs rise on the back of my neck, as it substantially supported my hypothesis.

It is in the section of Plato’s account where the sea is described as being navigable before Atlantis had sunk, but not after (clue 3). The accepted translation reads: “The Atlantic was navigable” (referring to before the sinking). This has been disputed. The critical word here is
pelagos
, which Plato specifically used to denote the actual area of the sea, past Gibraltar, where Atlantis sank.

Pelagos
means, literally, “A strait of low bottoms and islands” (“archipelago” is derived from it).
⁴⁰
It was also used at that time to refer to “salt marshes and lagoons.” Plato’s Dialogue should have been translated as “then the strait was passable (or navigable).” I must reiterate that he is not referring here to the Straits of Gibraltar, but to an area starting outside.

This lends significant support to other facts indicating that Plato was referring to the area immediately in front of the Andalucía and Algarve coasts as the area that sank. Even today, “straits” would exactly describe the channel or channels between the many existing offshore islands, sandbanks, and the mainland and is accurately depicted by the precise meaning of
pelagos
. That the strait was originally passable implies that it separated two pieces of land.

It is not unusual for a narrow strip of water to separate an island from the mainland. I am fortunate to have once lived in a house perched on a large rock outcropping overlooking the beautiful Menai Straits that separate the Island of Anglesey from mainland Wales, in Great Britain. These straits vary in width but are never very wide, being only a hundred meters or so across at their narrowest. Anglesey is indisputably an island, and a similar situation could have existed in southwest Iberia.

There are other references by classical writers to the area of the sea being blocked by mud shoals in the vicinity of the southwest Iberian coast:

•  The geographer Scylax described in his
Periplus:
“the ocean beyond the Pillars of Hercules is not navigable because of shoals of mud …”
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