Attending the ancient Olympic Games was not for the faint of heart

With the Olympics returning to the land of their birth this summer, nostalgic images of the ancient Greek Games are cropping up all over Athens—even on city buses, whose flanks are emblazoned with the torsos of Adonis-like discus throwers. But in all the excitement, one of the less flattering traditions of the classical Olympics tends to be forgotten: logistical chaos. Throughout antiquity, the prototype athletic festival was renowned as an organizational nightmare, and an endurance test for spectators as much as for athletes. In fact, the whole experience was so famously grueling that a master once threatened an unruly slave with a visit to the Olympic Games as punishment.

Consider the trials of a typical Greek sports fan. First, he (or, much less often, she) was obliged to traipse to Olympia across the rugged mountains of southern Greece—traveling on foot or on muleback, as the Mediterranean summer reached its blistering crescendo, along the wretched tracks that passed for roads in the classical age. The 150-mile hike from Athens generally lasted two weeks; international guests took even longer to arrive by sea, island-hopping from Greek colonies as far away as what is now Marseille. When exhausted travelers did finally trudge into the venue, they found that their ordeal had only just begun: Zeus' sanctuary, nestled among idyllic hills, may have been the most sacred collection of temples in the pagan world, but it had almost nothing in the way of facilities. There was only one inn, the Leonidaion, and its airy rooms and soothing gardens were reserved for VIPs. Other aristocrats pitched luxurious silken tents, while rank-and-file sports fans—the Games attracted some 80,000 people, almost half of whom were hangers-on hawking cheeses, pungent wines, and souvenirs—were forced to scrabble for space in the surrounding fields, turning the gentle countryside into a vast, unhygienic campground. The athletes and their trainers, meanwhile, were housed in simple barracks.

Many in the rowdy throng slept alfresco beneath the stars. Some rented space in canvas shelters: Plato, an avid wrestling fan, once bunked incognito in one of these makeshift hostels with a gaggle of sweaty strangers. (After the Games, Plato's new friends visited him in Athens and were astonished to find out that he was actually a famous philosopher.)

As the five-day festival kicked off, a hectic sampler of the Greeks' favorite sports—including running, wrestling, boxing, and chariot racing—conditions for the spectators went from bad to worse. The ancient Olympic Stadium had neither seats nor shade, so the crowds were forced to stand in the sun from dawn until dusk. There was no reliable water supply—the summer droughts dried up local rivers—and fans would regularly collapse from dehydration and heatstroke. As for sanitation, garbage was simply piled in wells around the site, while the huge crowds used the riverbeds when answering the call of nature. These unsavory conditions were not improved by Olympia's inveterate insect problem: Desperate Greek priests would offer sacrifices at an altar to "Zeus the Averter of Flies" in the vain hope of reducing the plagues.