Given my dual fascination with history and botany, it's a bit surprising that yesterday I ran into a story I'd never heard before that involves both. I wonder if you know about it?
It's the strange tale of "mad honey."
Turns out in eastern Turkey, near the Black Sea, there are two species of rhododendron -- Rhododendron ponticum and Rhododendron luteum -- that grow in such great profusion that they dominate the landscape. When they flower, the effect is absolutely spectacular.
But there's another species that appreciates the display, and that's bees. Both species are pollinated by bees, which are lured in not only by the flowers' bright colors, but by the abundance of nectar.
So when these plants flower, the local honey comes almost exclusively from these two species.
The problem is, these plants don't only produce sugar, they produce organic compounds called grayanotoxins. The grayanotoxins appear not to bother the bees at all -- it would be seriously counterproductive for the plants to poison their pollinators -- but humans who consume the honey made from the nectar of these species end up with serious problems, including hallucinations, dizziness, nausea, bradycardia, and vascular hypotension. The symptoms are rarely fatal; you'd have to consume a lot of the stuff to die from it. Most people with what is called "mad honey syndrome" recover in a day or two, although during that period they might well think they're not going to make it.
So, of course, humans being what they are, there are people who take it recreationally. Me, if I want a mood-altering substance, I'll stick with a glass of red wine.
Where it gets interesting is that "mad honey" has intersected with history on more than one occasion. The Greek historian Xenophon, in his chronicle Anabasis, recounts an interesting experience some of the troops had while traveling through eastern Anatolia on the way back to Greece from their time as mercenaries in Persia:
Now for the most part there was nothing here which they really found strange; but the swarms of bees in the neighborhood were numerous, and the soldiers who ate of the honey all went off their heads, and suffered from vomiting and diarrhea, and not one of them could stand up, but those who had eaten a little were like people exceedingly drunk, while those who had eaten a great deal seemed like crazy, or even, in some cases, dying men. So they lay there in great numbers as though the army had suffered a defeat, and great despondency prevailed. On the next day, however, no one had died, and at approximately the same hour as they had eaten the honey they began to come to their senses; and on the third or fourth day they got up, as if from a drugging.
A few centuries later, a similar incident happened, but deliberately, and with a much less happy ending. The Greek historian Strabo writes in his book Geography of the unfortunate fate of some of Pompey the Great's soldiers during their campaign against King Mithridates VI of Pontus:
Now all these peoples who live in the mountains are utterly savage, but the Heptacometae are worse than the rest. Some also live in trees or turrets; and it was on this account that the ancients called them Mosynoeci, the turrets being called mosyni. They live on the flesh of wild animals and on nuts; and they also attack wayfarers, leaping down upon them from their scaffolds. The Heptacometae cut down three maniples [around 1,500 soldiers] of Pompey's army when they were passing through the mountainous country; for they mixed bowls of the crazing honey which is yielded by the tree-twigs, and placed them in the roads, and then, when the soldiers drank the mixture and lost their senses, they attacked them and easily disposed of them.
Which raises the question of exactly how stupid these Roman soldiers were. They were marching through a hostile region occupied by people who were known to be "utterly savage," and just happened upon bowls of honey left for them on the side of the road -- and instead of being suspicious, they were like, "Nom nom, looks good to me!"
My opinion is that the resulting massacre was just natural selection at work.
Anyhow, apparently "mad honey" is available for purchase if you go to Turkey, where it's (1) legal, but (2) strongly discouraged, because like many psychotropic substances, the difference between "whoa, far out" and "HOLY SHIT THE WORLD IS ENDING" is a very blurry line. So even if there aren't savage bands of Heptacometae waiting for you to get high so they can stab you with sharpened sticks, you might find yourself regretting consuming it, like a middle-aged couple did in 2008 when they heard the stuff improved your sex life and instead of having a fun frolic ended up in the hospital because they thought they were having heart attacks.
So restraint is recommended.
Anyhow, that's our curious historical vignette of the day. Greek military campaigns, beautiful flowers, and hallucinogenic honey. And given what some plant toxins can do -- monkshood and manchineel come to mind -- this one is pretty mild.
But if I ever get to visit Turkey, I still think I'll still steer clear.
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