Karpathos Island, Greece

Pigadia and its harbor on the island of Karpathos

A woman sells handicrafts

Map

We asked several Greek friends if it’s still possible to find an island where traditions are more important than trinkets, where legendary Greek hospitality isn’t eclipsed by impersonal hotels and hordes of tourists.

The response: Karpathos. This island of only 6,000 people, known throughout Greece for its thriving folklore, is midway between Crete and Rhodes. It is also the ancestral and often-visited home of many New York-area Greek-Americans.

After a 30-minute flight from Rhodes, we entered Karpathos’ tiny airport terminal. There are no rental-car kiosks, so we asked the rep where to return the Jeep we’d be driving.

“Leave it in the airport lot with the key in the ignition,” she explained. Incredulous, we asked about thieves. “Don’t worry,” she laughed. “This is Karpathos!”

We sensed our search for that special island was about to be rewarded.

Most tourists stay in nearby Pigadia, which offers the Aegean Sea’s best snorkeling and world-class windsurfing. But we headed north toward the most remote, traditional area of Karpathos, which is only 30 miles long and 7 miles wide. As we navigated the bumpy, winding mountain road that bisects the northern half of the island, we were treated to spectacular views of jagged peaks and pine-forested terrain sloping precipitously to the sea.

Driving along the spine of the mountain, we saw only three other cars – we were among the privileged few savoring vistas more glorious than those of Italy’s Amalfi Coast or Big Sur’s Highway 1.

After an hour, we wound our way down to the tiny village of Diafani. We settled in the Glaros Hotel, with its spartan, spacious, light-filled rooms. Our balcony had a stunning view of the village, its harbor and fishing boats. After a welcome from Georgos and Ana, the hotel’s owners, we walked down a twisting, narrow path lined with white homes – and doors and shutters painted blue to deflect evil.

Diafani has no Internet cafés, no large hotels, not even a bank or gas station; its sole ATM broke a year ago. Three wizened women, repairing fishing nets, greeted us with “Kalispera” – good afternoon.

The main street along the crescent-shaped harbor has six cafeneion – cafés – meeting places for village news and gossip. In one café, men with weather-beaten faces were arguing and laughing as they played tavli, the Greek version of backgammon.

“Where there’s nothing to do,” observed a man stirring thick Greek coffee, “the people become the newspaper.”

Spirited Greek music invited us to Café Rahfti. On the roof is a huge statue: a woman waving toward the sea with two children clutching her hands and skirt. Their looming presence reflects how villagers depend on men who must work abroad to support their families – Karpathos gets more money from emigrants in New York and New Jersey than any other Greek island.

Rich cultural traditions draw Greek folklorists and anthropologists to Diafani and nearby Olympos to record music and interview elderly people. To see more of this “disappearing Greece,” Georgos and Ana encouraged us to visit Olympos.

On the 5-mile drive to this mountain village (on a newly paved road), we passed centuries-old donkey and foot paths. Because of pirate raids between the sixth and 13th centuries, people moved inland to Olympos, which is perched high above the sea. With only 300 residents, the village is a living museum, where traditional clothing, crafts, music and a local dialect are preserved. People used oil lamps and candles until electricity came in 1980. Because it’s remote, with only a few small rooming houses, it isn’t overwhelmed by tourists.

We strolled along the main street, wide enough only for donkeys, and paused at Sokaki Shop. The owner, Sophia, proudly told us that her husband is the only man in the village who still makes stivania, hand-crafted yellow suede goatskin boots with decorative, red leather-tipped toes. Introducing us to an elderly lute player, famous for his songs of herding, fishing and exile, she offered to sell us his CD.

The female shopkeepers of this matriarchal village compete for survival. That’s why many villagers work in nearby Rhodes or have settled abroad – primarily in New York and Baltimore.

On Olympos’ pathways, we smelled bread baking in outdoor communal ovens and nodded to curious women peeking from windows. Aware of the widespread belief in the evil eye, we were careful not to compliment women wearing multi-colored embroidered skirts and scarves. Flattery and praise might bring bad luck to the person receiving it.

Wandering to the northern end of Olympos, we were awed by 14 imposing white windmills overlooking a dizzying descent to the sea. On the terrace of the Moulin Taverna, we sampled island specialties: makarounes – homemade pasta with crisp caramelized onions and melted local cheese – and melitzanes papoutsakia, sumptuous eggplant stuffed with meat, garlic and tomatoes. The fresh bread was made from barley, ground – as it has been for centuries – in the windmill above us.

When we returned to our hotel, Georgos and Ana told us the dirt road to the airport was closed for construction at 8 a.m. and warned that we’d miss our early-afternoon flight if we didn’t leave by 6:30 a.m. So they sent us off before dawn with homemade cakes.

The drive along the dusty ridge was uneventful, save for wind whooshing through olive and pine groves and goats bleating as the sun lit the sky. Shortly before 8 a.m., with less than a mile before the dirt road ended, a construction worker stopped us. He said we’d have to wait a short while. After we’d spent nearly two hours watching bulldozers move boulders, another driver pulled up – a civil engineer from Athens named Vaspar, who was philosophical about the delay, which he’d often experienced. So we enjoyed kouvenda, the Greek art of conversation – playful, spirited and opinionated.

At noon, a construction worker finally motioned us through. “Too bad the road’s open,” Vaspar said. “I’d like to speak to you more.” As we parted, he added, “Ta leme.” Though it’s Greek for goodbye, it literally means, “We’ll talk.”

At the airport, we left the key in the ignition, a symbol of our intention to return and take him up on the offer.

IF YOU GO …

A double room at the Glaros Hotel costs $40-$60 per night (breakfast included); http://www.hotel-glaros.gr.

The Balaskas Hotel is $30 to $45, with breakfast. http://www.balaskashotel.com

Olympic Airlines: Nonstop, round trip from JFK to Athens is $1,045 per person ($680 $365 taxes & fees). The round trip from Athens to Karpathos (via Rhodes) on Olympic is about $120.

British Airways: One-stop round trip from JFK to Athens is $890 per person ($397 $493 taxes & fees).

American Airlines: One-stop round trip from JFK to Athens is $967 ($464 $503 taxes & fees).

for more info: Greek National Tourism Organization, (212) 421-5777, http://www.gnto.gr; see also http://www.greeka.com.

(NY Daily News by Donna Rosenthal & Joe Lurie, October 19th 2008)

Aspros Potamos, Crete

The eastern Lassithi prefecture in Crete is a porthole into life in old Crete and its robust geography. Aspros Potamos, left, is an enclave of 300-year-old cottages once used by olive farmers and goatherds.

Peaceful and primitive, with stone floors and oil lamps for light, cottages in Aspros Potamos are now open to tourists as a rustic retreat.

Palaikastro is a village of 800 on the eastern end of Crete. Nearby is a Minoan-era settlement that may have been as large as Knossos.

Near the ancient town of Itanos is one of the more popular beaches in the area: Vai beach.

Land slated for resort development near Palaikastro. Residents fear that the resorts will guzzle the island's increasingly scarce water resources.

Pefki is a mountain village where visitors can hear traditional music, eat snails fried in olive oil and rosemary and drink raki, a potent Cretan spirit made from grape must.

A Pefki local prepares food for her chickens.

A night view of tavernas in the port of Makriyialos.

A spiraling, slightly treacherous dirt road leads to Aspros Potamos, an enclave of 300-year-old cottages in eastern Crete once used by olive farmers and goatherds. Peaceful and primitive, with stone floors, oil lamps for light and a starry night sky, the cottages, now a rustic retreat for tourists, offer visitors a glimpse into the life of old Crete, without the boutique airbrushing.

It’s not the usual vision of Greece’s largest island, but for many, it’s far more rewarding than the seaside nightclubs, umbrella-pinned beaches and Riviera-lite resorts that attract many people. The eastern Lassithi prefecture, which stretches from a lush plateau of farms to dry crags overlooking transcendentally blue bays, offers plenty of portholes into a disappearing Crete and its robust geography.

Melissinos Famous Greek Sandals, Athens, Greece

"Sophia Loren" Sandal

Stavros Melissinos’ son, Pantelis (or: Panteleimon), following in his father’s footsteps, has also combined art and craft and is currently working as a third generation sandal-maker and sandal-designer in his shop at 2, Aghias Theklas St., in the Psirri area, next to Monastiraki Square, in Athen, Greece.

Panteleimon S. Melissinos (nickname: Pantelis -the poet’s son)

2 AGHIAS THEKLAS ST., PSIRRI, 10554 ATHENS, GREECE

Tel: +30 210 3219247

http://www.melissinos-art.com

A Weekend in Athens, Greece

For years, Athens, concretized and crowded, was a one-night stand on the way to the Greek isles. But now a visit has become more than just a quickie for the sake of the Parthenon, left. With new museums and galleries abounding, the city is reinventing itself as a place where antiquity meets edginess.

The jolting iced Nescafé frappé and the thick, grainy elliniko (don't call it Turkish coffee) have lately been eclipsed in Athens by the freddo, left, cappuccino or espresso blended with crushed ice.

A number of patisseries can be found in Syntagma Square, including the baklava-crazy Karavan bakery on Voukourestiou street.

The Museum of Cycladic Art has possibly the world's largest collection of art from the island group that includes Mykonos as well as Delos, Milos, Naxos and Siros.

The Unification of Archaeological Sites walkway is one of the best things that has happened to Athens in recent decades. About two and a half miles long, it connects the city's most important historical sites and is lined with cafes, chapels and neo-Classical homes.

In the last five years, the Gazi district — once the site of the city's gasworks, which blanketed much of the area with soot — has turned into the hottest area in Athens. A central square where a new metro stop opened last year is lined with bars, restaurants and cafes.

A cypress-lined road leads to Mount Hymettus, which ancient Greeks believed to be the source of honey.

Weekend in Mykonos

Over the past few summers, Mykonos has bounced back hard as one of Europe's jetset playgrounds. The island has gorgeous white-sand beaches lapped by crystalline turquoise water. Here, Agios Sostis beach -- a semi-remote stretch of sand -- is free of crowds, lounge chairs and disco beats.

The scene at Uno con Carne, a newly-opened Argentine steakhouse set in the spectacular art deco space of Mykonos's former open-air cinema.

An overview of Mykonos Town, also known as Chora.

The moonlit harbor of Mykonos Town.

The famous windmills, a quintessential feature of Mykonos, are situated on a hill overlooking the town -- one can enjoy magnificent views overlooking the Little Venice area of the island.

Waterfront restaurants and cafes in Mykonos Town. The Little Venice area is shown in the background.

The Church of Paraportiani, built on the side of a medieval fortress in the 15th century, is made up of four chapels at ground level and another above.

Head for sunset drinks at Ai Yianni, on the beach at Agios Ioannis, Mykonos's westernmost beach. At just 26 years old, the restaurant's second-generation owner, Nikolas Xydakis, exemplifies the new face of improved Myconian hospitality.

Nestled against a hill overlooking Mykonos Town is the Belvedere Hotel, the gold standard of Myconian chic.

Keepers of the Faith

A vase painting of a woman at sacrifice.

In the summer of 423 B.C., Chrysis, the priestess of Hera at Argos, fell asleep inside the goddess’s great temple, and a torch she had left ablaze set fire to the sacred garlands there, burning the building to the ground. This spectacular case of custodial negligence drew the attention of the historian Thucydides, a man with scant interest in religion or women. But he had mentioned Chrysis once before: the official lists of Hera’s priestesses at Argos provided a way of dating historical events in the Greek world, and Thucydides formally marked the beginning of the Peloponnesian War with Chrysis’ name and year of tenure, together with the names of consequential male officeholders from Athens and Sparta.

During the same upheaval, in 411, Thucydides’ fellow Athenian Aristophanes staged his comedy “Lysistrata,” with a heroine who tries to bring the war to an end by leading a sex strike. There is reason to believe that Lysistrata herself is drawn in part from a contemporary historical figure, Lysimache, the priestess of Athena Polias on the Acropolis. If so, she joins such pre-eminent Athenians as Pericles, Euripides and Socrates as an object of Aristophanes’ lampoons. On a much bigger stage in 480 B.C., before the battle of Salamis, one of Lysimache’s predecessors helped persuade the Athenians to take to their ships and evacuate the city ahead of the Persian invaders – a policy that very likely saved Greece – announcing that Athena’s sacred snake had failed to eat its honey cake, a sign that the goddess had already departed.

These are just some of the influential women visible through the cracks of conventional history in Joan Breton Connelly’s eye-opening “Portrait of a Priestess: Women and Ritual in Ancient Greece.” Her portrait is not in fact that of an individual priestess, but of a formidable class of women scattered over the Greek world and across a thousand years of history, down to the day in A.D. 393 when the Christian emperor Theodosius banned the polytheistic cults. It is remarkable, in this age of gender studies, that this is the first comprehensive treatment of the subject, especially since, as Connelly persuasively argues, religious office was, exceptionally, an “arena in which Greek women assumed roles equal … to those of men.” Roman society could make no such boast, nor can ours.

Despite powerful but ambiguous depictions in Greek tragedy, no single ancient source extensively documents priestesses, and Connelly, a professor at New York University, builds her canvas from material gleaned from scattered literary references, ancient artifacts and inscriptions, and representations in sculpture and vase painting. Her book shows generations of women enjoying all the influence, prestige, honor and respect that ancient priesthoods entailed. Few were as exalted as the Pythia, who sat entranced on a tripod at Delphi and revealed the oracular will of Apollo, in hexameter verse, to individuals and to states. But Connelly finds priestesses who were paid for cult services, awarded public portrait statues, given elaborate state funerals, consulted on political matters and acknowledged as sources of cultural wisdom and authority by open-minded men like the historian Herodotus. With separation of church and state an inconceivable notion in the world’s first democracy, all priesthoods, including those held by women, were essentially political offices, Connelly maintains. Nor did sacred service mean self-abnegation. “Virgin” priestesses like Rome’s Vestals were alien to the Greek conception. Few cults called for permanent sexual abstinence, and those that did tended to appoint women already beyond childbearing age; some of the most powerful priesthoods were held by married women with children, leading “normal” lives.

The Greeks don’t deserve their reputation as rationalists. Religion and ritual permeated the world of the city-states, where, Connelly notes, “there was no area of life that lacked a religious aspect.” She cites one estimate that 2,000 cults operated during the classical period in the territory of Athens alone; the city’s roughly 170 festival days would have brought women out in public in great numbers and in conspicuous roles. “Ritual fueled the visibility of Greek women within this system,” Connelly writes, sending them across their cities to sanctuaries, shrines and cemeteries, so that the picture that emerges “is one of far-ranging mobility for women across the polis landscape.”

These aspects of Connelly’s well-documented, meticulously assembled portrait may not seem that remarkable on the surface, but they largely contradict what has long been the most broadly accepted vision of the women of ancient Greece, particularly Athens, as dependent, cloistered, invisible and mute, relegated almost exclusively to housekeeping and child rearing – a view that at its most extreme maintains that the names of respectable Athenian women were not spoken aloud in public or that women were essentially housebound.

Connelly traces the tenacity of this idea to several sources, including the paradoxically convergent ideologies of Victorian gentlemen scholars and 20th-century feminists and a modern tendency to discount the real-world force of religion, a notion now under powerful empirical adjustment. But another cause is a professional divide between classicists and archaeologists. In their consideration of a woman’s place, classicists emphasize certain well-known texts, the most notorious being Thucydides’ rendition of Pericles’ great oration over the first Athenian dead of the Peloponnesian War, which had this terse advice for their widows: “If I must say anything on the subject of female excellence, … greatest will be her glory who is least talked of among men, whether in praise or in criticism.” Connelly, though, is an archaeologist, and she insists that her evidence be allowed to speak for itself, something it does with forceful eloquence. Far from the names of respectable women being suppressed, it seems clear that great effort was made to ensure that the names of many of these women would never be forgotten: Connelly can cite more than 150 historical Greek priestesses by name. Archaeology also speaks through beauty: “Portrait of a Priestess” is an excellent thematic case study in vase painting and sculpture, with striking images of spirited women, at altars or leading men in procession, many marked as priestesses by the great metal temple key they carry, signifying not admission to heaven but the pragmatic responsibility that Chrysis so notoriously betrayed in Argos.

Greek religion is a vast and complex subject, and “Portrait of a Priestess,” by concentrating on one of its most concretely human aspects, offers an engrossing point of entry. It’s not clear how far this lavishly produced book was intended for general audiences; a map, a glossary and expanded captions would surely have been welcome. But Connelly’s style is clear, often elegant and occasionally stirring. And while she shows a fertile disregard for received wisdom – her astonishingly radical reinterpretation of the Parthenon’s sculptural frieze, conceived in the early 1990s while she was researching this book, helped her win a MacArthur fellowship – she is no polemicist, a fact that has the effect of strengthening her more provocative points. Polytheism’s presumed spiritual failures may eventually have led to the Christian ascendancy, but Connelly shows that the system long sustained and nourished Greek women and their communities. In turn, women habituated to religious privilege and influence in the pre-Christian era eagerly lent their expertise and energy to the early church. But with one male god in sole reign in heaven, women’s direct connection with deity became suspect, and they were methodically edged out of formal religious power.

“There may be no finer tribute to the potency of the Greek priestess than the discomfort that her position caused the church fathers,” Connelly writes in her understated way. Her priestesses may be ancient history, but the consequences of the discomfort they caused endure to this day.

Steve Coates is an editor at the Book Review.

Walking from Sparta to Mystras

Walking from Sparta to Mystras

Walking from Sparta to Mystras

The Municipality of Sparta is the capital of the Laconia prefecture with a population of 18.025 inhabitants. With an excellent city plan Sparta stands on the site of the ancient city built by the decree of 1834 signed by King Otto and designed by Staufehrt. The plan followed the Ippodamean example of wide avenues and big squares.

The capital of the prefecture is the administration centre and has all the characteristics of a modern provincial city. The economy of Sparta is based on agricultural production and tourism. It is surrounded by ancient sites and the centre of the city is crowned with many neoclassical buildings and monuments.

In the Archaeological Museum there are important exhibits and in the Koumantareios Gallery there is a permanent collection of oil paintings by western European artists. The unique most interesting Museum of Olive is open to the public all year round.This is an alternate approach to the Byzantine castle settlement of Mystras, a pleasant walk beside Sparta, for both visitors and inhabitants of the town.

The path starts at the end of Lycourgos Ave., on the outskirts of the town towards Mystras or Kalamata and initially follows the bank of Magoulitsa and Skatias up to the first houses of Mystras (50 minutes walk). Stone-paved for the greater part, the path takes full advantage of the river-side vegetation, to lead the visitor under the shady plane trees. The whole route has been included in the European Long-distance Path E4.

On the way apart from the natural beauty and the breathtaking view of Mystras and Mt. Taygetos we will come across two natural springs with clear, drinkable water, the post-Byzantine chapel of St. Andreas, two old lime furnaces and a pottery-works, as well as the ruins of a water-mill.

Kirsten Lockie

New Zealand artist Kirsten Lockie has investigated various forms of visual communication over the past 30 years.  Introduced to watercolours 1980 by painter and architect Mark Bassett.

Qualified graphic artist with Diploma 1982, she studied printmaking under John Drawbridge one of New Zealand’s finest print makers. His open-minded teaching method and enthusiasm for the subject inspired Lockie to pursue printmaking after leaving New Zealand for Europe in 1983.

She soon settled in Italy where she met Florentine artist Giuliano Ghelli who in turn introduced her to Fabio Fornaciai of Galleria Tornabuoni. By 1989 Lockie was not only producing watercolours and prints  but her abilities extended to weaving and to the dying of yarns, taught by Pascal Goldschmidt weaver and lutemaker. Her wall hangings, throws and carpets brought her the notable commission of a carpet 4m x 4m for Villa Mansi of Lucca.

Numerous exhibitions in and around Tuscany brought Lockie’s reputation for creating “images of light” to the attention of etcher Swietlan N.Kraczyna, through whom she held demonstrations at the “Bisonte” school of printmaking, Florence.  Soon after her award winning work titled “La lotta del Velo” Lockie moved on in strength; her once colourful light hearted watercolours ranging from delicately washed rural vistas to the exploration of abstract “Earth Horizon Sky” minimalism, were left behind by the strong expression she could produce with monoprints.

The monoprint had become her language; it enabled her to create remarkable imagery using the full range of tones of black on white. The play of light and movement in her work tending towards four-dimensional space ( recognisable in a poetical sense) reflects Lockies curiosity in subconscious creation. During her 2006 exhibition titled “Connections” she writes: “Il silenzio, la luce, lo spazio tra forma e poesia, la sensualità e la spiritualità, un flusso come respiro che accarezza l’essere svelata nell’espressione, una riunione priva di tempo connesso nell’atto pittorico”.  The same year in an exhibition dedicated to “La Danza”  one can observe once again the combination of movement and light with her unique use of spatial depth typically acquainted to her work.  Lockie has captivated many with her fine work over the years; ever evolving themes and new discoveries makes her an interesting artist to follow.

www.kirstenlockie.com

New York City Garden Rooftops

France

Ille-et-Vilaine

Vendee

La Corse du Sud

L'Aveyron

La Haute-Corse

Le Lot

Les Hautes Pyrenees

Le Meurthe et Moselle