27 April–1 May 2009

Life and Death in the Village

The rhythms of life in the village are measured by the seasons and by the ever-changing variety of harvests, by the liturgical calendar, by births and marriages—and, sadly, by death itself.

A younger brother of a friend died suddenly on Monday and was buried on Tuesday. We had been with Vassili on Easter Sunday, celebrating with so many others the rebirth of life through the culimination of Lent: now, at age fifty, he had passed.

The entire village was in mourning on Tuesday, milling in the courtyard of the church as the open casket was carried through the narthex amid the cries and wails and breast-beating hysteria. Although it was a time of immense sadness for family and friends, the funeral was also a demonstration of the remarkable community solidarity that still exists in rural Greece. A procession followed the casket through the narrow alleyways that lead to Anastasis Church, and the town cemetery, the highest point that overlooks the village and Anemomilos beach.

A Gale Blows Through the Coast

When the skies finally cleared in our corner of southern Messenia, it was only at the behest of a persistent gale, blowing stiffly from the coast of North Africa. Swimming remained off limits for most of last week—if the pounding surf didn’t get you, then the wind-whipped sand would.


Mistras

Our last major adventure was a day excursion to Mistra, the medieval Orthodox city located about 5 kilometers from Sparta—a nearly three-hour trip from Finikounda. Getting to Mistra required crossing the Taygetos range.

At nearly 9,000 feet elevation at the summit and still covered in snow, there is but one pass leading through a steep gorge: a 60-kilometer, two-lane road that runs from Kalamata, along dizzying hairpin turns, with mind-numbing ascents and descents, through a no-man’s land of sharp crags and deep ravines. The pictures here show the approach to Mistra.

We are happy to say that the little Fiat was up for the task, if barely, although we were forced to slow our descent with the clutch and transmission rather than with the brakes, as a loud squeal from the front wheels kept us on edge for most of the journey.

There was great evidence of the severe and devastating forest fires of 2000. We stopped at one roadside monument to pay our respects to a fallen firefighter, a captain from the Sparta Fire Dept. who perished in the line of duty fighting the blaze in one of the mountain passes.


During the return journey, we turned a sharp corner and found ourselves face-to-face with a pair of large cows who were lumbering toward us in the oncoming lane, loud bells clanking, many kilometers from the nearest settlement—apparently all on their own.]

--------------------

Mistra is one of the most beautiful places in all of Greece, an almond-shaped hillside located along the steep rise of Mount Taygetos’s eastern flank. It is a dramatic site, a complete medieval city—in the 1300s more than 20,000 people lived within this triple-walled city. It has quite rightly been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site.



Built by the Franks under Guillaume II de Villehardouin, prince of the Moreas (Peloponnese), in 1249, it was one of a series of forts (the others are at Monemvasia and in the Mani) built to protect his domain. Mistras fell to the Byzantines in 1262, and for the next 250 years became the Despotate of Mistra. This was the final province of the Byzantine empire. With Constaninople besieged for decades by the Ottoman Turks, distant Mistras served as the empire’s quasi-capital. The arts and humanities flourished there in a rebirth of Byzantine culture and Orthodox spirituality. The artistic and architectural achievements of Mistras are unparalled in the Orthodox, and arguably the Christian, world. Mistras was also an intellectual center, famous for attracting some of Byzantium’s most notable scholars and theologians.

Mistra fell to the Turks in the 1560s but was briefly recaptured by the Venetians in 1687, when the town’s population rose to more than 40,000. The second Turkish occupation, from 1715 onward, marked a long decline. (Like everywhere throughout Greece, the Turks brought nothing but misery and destruction—including the defacing of precious church frescoes, and the murder and mayhem for which they were infamously barbaric.) In the 1950s, the last of the residents were removed to Nea Mistra, and the modern restoration began.

Mistras, the site, is effectively divided into three parts: the acropolis (or castle), the upper town, and the lower town. We parked at the top gate, and ascended to the castle, from which we got our general bearings and decided how best to approach the site—at which one could surely spend several days. From the summit, one looks across the broad, fertile Europas plain toward modern Sparta, the bread basket of the ancient Spartans.

The photos here offer only a very brief sense of the majesty and beauty of this precious site.

After several hours of hiking through the site, and discussing the history of the site with the children, occasionally helped by various guards—all of whom are devoted shepherds of this magical place—we set off for modern Sparta.

A famously unwalled city, not much of ancient Sparta remains—the strength of Sparta rested with its fighting men, not with grand architecture or monuments. Fearful of being caught in the mountain after dark, we enjoyed a quick lunch and set off through the mountain pass for Kalamata.

Nia and Jonathan swam in Finikounda at 7 p.m., the sun still warm enough to dry us.

1 May 2009

Today is May Day, a special holiday in Greece, with a few interesting twists. On the evening before (April 30th) there is a tradition of people performing little pranks--several of which were apparent this morning: the main road into the village was blocked with dumpsters; several boat trailers were backed into the ocean; a large bonfire was burning on the highway.

May Day itself is a day of excursions to the countryside--for picnicing, collecting flowers, making garlands.

We met several friends at the zaharoplasteio (sweet shop) and sat out on the covered terrace and watched the people come and go, while we eat sweets, drank coffee, and watched the girls catch fish with some classmates--an Egyptian boy and his little sister. Then the sky darkened and the rain fell, and the children joined us.

The rain can't last forever: spring will turn to summer. We are convinced that a slow change is a comin'--everywhere.

-----------------------