The initial announcement last summer that Hollywood luminaries such as Matt Damon, Zendaya, and Tom Holland would be filming in Moray’s sleepy fishing villages and pristine beaches sent a ripple of astonishment through the region, and indeed, across Scotland. Few, including myself, would have anticipated this corner of Scotland, often overshadowed by the dramatic peaks of the Isle of Skye or the popular North Coast 500 driving route in the Highlands, to serve as a principal backdrop for a tale typically associated with the azure waters and sun-drenched islands of the Mediterranean. Indeed, the film’s other confirmed locations—Sicily, Morocco, and the Peloponnese—underscore the perceived geographical incongruity. However, upon deeper reflection, Nolan’s choice reveals a profound artistic and practical logic. Unfurling due east of Inverness, the Moray coastline is a marvel of geological and ecological diversity. Its landscape transitions dramatically from vast, undulating sand dunes to rugged shingle bars, tranquil pine-edged marshes teeming with birdlife, and dramatic sandstone skerries that rise defiantly from the North Sea. This extraordinary visual palette, coupled with its relatively untouched nature, makes it a filmmaker’s dream. The absence of mass tourism, crowded resorts, and extensive coastal development provides an unparalleled canvas of raw, authentic beauty. For a director like Nolan, renowned for his preference for practical effects and real-world locations over green screens, Moray offers an unspoiled authenticity that CGI simply cannot replicate. Its untamed character lends itself to the epic scale and existential journey of Odysseus, a hero constantly at the mercy of the elements and forces beyond his control. Yet, the resonance between the world of The Odyssey and these Scottish seafaring communities extends far deeper than mere cinematic scenery. It delves into the very fabric of folklore, history, and human experience. Legends cling like barnacles to Moray’s shores, intertwining ancient superstitions with the very real histories of sieges, shipwrecks, and tragedies that have shaped the lives of its inhabitants for centuries. Consider the eerie tale of the "Atlantis of the North" at Culbin Sands, now a thriving RSPB nature reserve and forest, but once the site of a prosperous agricultural estate and village. It is here that Matt Damon’s Odysseus is reportedly filmed clashing with the monstrous, giant-like Laestrygonians. The historical account of Culbin’s demise is as dramatic as any epic. In a single, catastrophic night in 1694, a freak sandstorm, whipped up by gale-force winds, descended upon the settlement, burying it completely under a colossal blanket of sand. Locals, struggling to comprehend such a devastating act of nature, wove narratives of supernatural causation: some blamed a vengeful witch’s curse, while others pointed to their reckless laird’s ill-fated bargain with the devil. This catastrophic event, a testament to nature’s terrifying power, offers a chilling parallel to the divine wrath and capricious fate that so often buffet Odysseus’s journey. The desolate, shifting sands of Culbin, where an entire civilization vanished overnight, provide a perfect, unsettling backdrop for an encounter with man-eating giants, embodying themes of desolation, ancient curses, and the fragility of human existence in the face of overwhelming natural forces. “The lore you hear along this coast is worthy of a Homeric epic,” asserts VJ Randle, a Moray-based author and classicist whose novel, The Athenian Murders, draws heavily from Greek mythology. She guides me along a section of the 50-mile Moray Coast Trail, a path that winds through a landscape steeped in stories. Through an early morning Stygian sea-mist, thick and shrouding, we embark from the picturesque fishing village of Hopeman. The sandy footpath, fringed with tangles of gorse and heather, eventually leads us scrambling over the rock pools of Clashach Cove, revealing a shadowy opening nestled between towering golden sandstone cliffs. “This cave always reminds me of Calypso’s home,” Randle muses, referring to the nymph who held Odysseus captive for seven years. “Although locally, it’s said that a scarier sort of sea-spirit lives here.” She speaks of the Grin Iron Wife – a terrifying figure with pale-green skin, rusted-red teeth, and hair woven from seaweed, notorious for dragging children and the elderly down to her frigid underwater lair. This local legend, much like Calypso’s enchanting but imprisoning island, serves as a potent reminder of the sea’s treacherous allure and hidden dangers. Such chilling tales were once the preserve of seanchaidhean – the revered oral historians of Scottish Gaelic culture. These storytellers were the living libraries of their communities, preserving heroic battles, local legends, and intricate clan genealogies through generations, much as the wandering bards of ancient Greece recited Homer’s epics. It is a fading tradition, but one that local storytellers like Michelle van den Hout, founder of Otherworldly Tales, are passionately striving to revive. Her immersive walking tours introduce visitors to a pantheon of Scottish mythological figures with striking parallels to classical antiquity. There’s the formidable creator goddess and giantess Cailleach, a titan if ever there was one, whose immense power is said to have shaped Scotland’s very topography, with islands and mountains formed from rocks that tumbled from her creel basket. Then there’s the siren-like Ceasg, a Scottish mermaid, whose enchanting song lures unsuspecting sailors to a watery grave, mirroring the perilous allure of Homer’s Sirens. Van den Hout explains that these narratives were never merely about frightening people into submission. “For isolated coastal communities, storytelling was a vital way to pass down lessons about survival, respecting nature’s power, and how to treat strangers,” she clarifies. “Rather than simply warning a child, ‘Careful, that place has a rip current,’ it was far more effective, and memorable, to say that a witch lives there.” These myths, imbued with moral lessons and practical warnings, are the cultural equivalents of Odysseus’s trials, providing guidance for navigating a world fraught with both seen and unseen dangers. The threats emanating from the unforgiving North Sea were not always mythical, of course. In the historic town of Burghead, I stand on a grassy promontory overlooking granite cottages huddled around a bustling working harbour. This very harbour last year saw Christopher Nolan’s film crew dock a colossal 35-meter (115ft) longship alongside the usual fishing vessels, a striking tableau that blurred the lines between past and present. My attention is drawn to the raised earthworks beneath my feet: the formidable remains of one of the largest Pictish forts ever built in Scotland, a structure that met its fiery end in the 10th century, most likely during a brutal Viking raid. The sight of the modern longship here, echoing the very vessels that once brought invaders to these shores, underscores the cyclical nature of history and conflict. Further along the neighbouring beach of Roseisle, the landscape tells a more recent, yet equally poignant, story of human conflict. Dozens of barnacle-covered concrete blocks and pillboxes are wedged in the sand, half-buried like the ruins of a forgotten civilization. They bear a haunting resemblance to the legendary Trojan horse, a symbol of hidden danger and strategic deception. These relics, however, are not ancient; they are grim remnants of a vast defensive frontier from the Second World War, when Moray became a secret training ground for the D-Day landings. The strategic importance of its sheltered bays and rugged coastline made it ideal for simulating amphibious assaults. This legacy of wartime preparation continues beneath the waves, where several sunken tanks from these very exercises can still be explored by adventurous scuba divers, offering a tangible link to a pivotal moment in modern history. Heading further east, the coastline grows more dramatic, with cliffs steepening and craggy outcrops giving rise to ancient stories of metamorphosis and the supernatural. The soaring, 50-foot sea-arch of Bow Fiddle Rock, a natural wonder carved by millennia of erosion, is not merely a geological formation in local lore. It is said to be a giant who has fallen beneath the waves, with only the edge of his fiddle still visible, and the mournful cries of nesting seabirds are believed to be its sorrowful music. This myth, of a giant transformed into a landscape feature, echoes the epic transformations and divine interventions that pepper Odysseus’s journey. A few miles further on, the stark, romantic ruins of Findlater Castle cling precariously to a narrow promontory, a testament to its turbulent past. From Viking occupation to being besieged by troops loyal to Mary, Queen of Scots, its history is one of relentless struggle and dramatic turns. It is against this dramatic, windswept backdrop that Nolan has chosen to film the scene where the formidable sorceress Circe bewitches Odysseus’s men, transforming them into swine. The castle’s isolation, its commanding views of the tempestuous sea, and its history of capture and defence make it an ideal setting for a tale of powerful magic and vulnerability. There is magic on my visit, too, only it erupts from the ocean below. The setting sun paints the horizon a brilliant bronze, like a warrior’s shield, and the sea is uncharacteristically calm. Suddenly, a dozen dorsal fins pierce the surface: bottlenose dolphins, their sleek bodies arching gracefully. They are a regular, cherished sight along these shores, with the Moray Firth being home to Europe’s most northerly resident pod. Minke whales, majestic humpbacks, and even powerful orcas sometimes pass through, making this one of the UK’s premier cetacean-spotting locations. This natural spectacle, a wild and free beauty, offers a living echo of the ancient, untamed world that Homer’s heroes navigated. As a motor launch scuds across the bay, heading for shore apace as dusk begins to fall, my thoughts inevitably turn to homecomings. That, after all, is the profound essence of The Odyssey, transcending its monsters and battles. It is the hero’s deep, unyielding yearning to return to his homeland, his wife Penelope anxiously waiting, faithfully weaving and unweaving her shroud. Countless women through the centuries have surely done the same from these very clifftops, staring out to sea for a sign of a familiar sail, their hearts heavy with hope and fear. However, a visit to the Buckie and District Fishing Heritage Centre the following day reveals that the Moray coast’s fishwives were no idle, passive Penelopes. While their menfolk braved the perilous North Sea, these resilient women performed Herculean tasks: they painstakingly baited thousands of hooks by hand, gutted and packed vast quantities of herring, and then, with remarkable endurance, trudged up to 13 miles inland to sell their catch, ensuring the survival of their families and communities. One faded, sepia photograph in the centre’s display is particularly unforgettable: it captures female fishers, barefoot and with skirts hitched high, carrying their husbands on their backs through the icy surf, ensuring the men’s precious boots stayed dry before they boarded their boats for long, dangerous voyages. These formidable women, with their strength, resilience, and unwavering commitment, are, perhaps, the true heroes of these Scottish shores. Their stories, passed down not through written epics but through shared experience, sea-swell of ballads, and indomitable spirit, offer a powerful counter-narrative to Homer’s cunning soldier-king, celebrating instead the stalwart, unsung “fisher lassies” who anchored these communities against the vast, unpredictable sea. Where to Stay The Odyssey’s cast and crew made their base at The Seafield Arms in Cullen (doubles from £150). Owner Charles Milne recounts, “The production team turned our meeting rooms into a working base for editing the film, while our grand ballroom became a private cinema where Christopher Nolan and the crew watched the day’s footage each evening.” Its exquisitely refurbished self-catering accommodation, Bow Cottage, where Matt Damon stayed, has been decked out with ancient Greek-inspired touches and movie memorabilia for visiting fans (sleeps seven from £300 a night, minimum three-night stay). While in Cullen, visitors can browse the shelves at Beinn Books for rich collections of Scottish folklore or perhaps a classic translation of Homer’s original epics, deepening their immersion in the themes of the coast. How to Get There National rail services run to Inverness and Aberdeen, offering onward train and bus connections to larger coastal towns such as Elgin and Buckie. However, given the remote beauty of many of Moray’s beaches, ancient castles, and scenic walking trails, hiring a car is undoubtedly the easiest and most flexible way to explore this truly epic coastline at one’s own pace. Post navigation ‘Humans are designed to connect outdoors’: community hiking in Slovakia’s High Tatras The incoming tide has made a labyrinth of the beach.
