Day 6, Saturday - Sparta, Mystras, Sellasia, Koniditsa
This morning we walked back to the square for a breakfast of yogurt and cappuchino. We walked back through a crowded street. Saturday is market day in Sparta and everyone was out selling the produce from their farms. The people came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, reflecting an area which has been overrun many times with different ethnic groups. There was one fellow about 6'2", with very light skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. At the other end of the spectrum was a man with long curly black hair and dark skin and coal black eyes. These people couldn't possibly all be related to the same Greeks who inhabited this place 2000 years ago. We were still hungry, so we went into a grocery store at the corner of the market square to buy some more yogurt. The owner spoke English with a Australian accent. He had blue eyes too. He had spent 20 years in Australia and then came back to Sparta to open this grocery store.
I really envied the man. Life is peaceful here. Nobody rushed around trying desperately to make an extra dollar. Every face was relaxed and friendly. They were all enjoying life as it was instead of trying to change it. They didn't have much in the way of material possessions and seemed to be doing very well without them. They spent their time enjoying the moment.
After briefly stopping at our hotel to get our car, we drove west to Mystras. As we left the town of Sparta, we passed rows of olive trees lining the road to the foothills of the Taygetos mountains which rise 10,000 feet up. Mystras was built on the foothills of the Taygetos mountains. A large Castro (castle) sits at the peak from which one can view the entire Spartan valley.
In 1203 AD, the Venetians successfully redirected the fourth crusade from Jerusalem to Constantinople. As a result, the Peloponnese and the rest of Greece was soon divided among a number of western European barons. In 1249 a Frank named William of Villehardouin.built the citadel. The plain of Sparta was considered too dangerous during times of war. During an attack, all was safe behind the formidable towering stone walls of the Castro. In 1259, the Byzantines, under Michael Palaeologus took Villehardouin captive during a battle in Macedonia. Upon his reconquest of Constantinople in 1261, Emperor Michael negotiated the return of several fortresses in the Peloponnese, including Mystras in return for Villehardouin’s release. The Greek population abandoned Sparta, still under control of the Franks and settled in Mystras. Villehardouin eventually had to abandon his home in Sparta due to a lack of people. Because Constantinople had been robbed of most of its treasures, and the surrounding territory was still in foreign hands, the Greeks in the safer Mystras and made it the cultural center of what was left of the Roman Empire for its last two hundred years. The Turks took over after their conquest of Constantinople iaround 1460. After Greek independence, the first king of Greece, Otto, led a procession down from Mystras back to the Spartan valley to reestablish the old Spartan city about 1850. The last inhabitants of Mystras left in 1951 to create the current tourist attraction. Only some nuns were allowed to stay in their convent.
The ruins of most of the buildings are still visible. A few churches have been totally reconstructed. Several buildings stood without a roofs, exposing beautiful frescos to the elements. Without some help, those frescos won't last for long. Inside these churches were more beautiful frescos, some quite faded. The walls and ceilings were covered with them. In one, the last emperor of the Roman empire, a decendant of Michael Palaeologus, received his crown. He then went off to his throne in Constantinople where he died several years later in 1453 during the final Turkish onslaught of that city. We stayed until 1:00 p.m. Then we went back to our hotel to change clothes. We had promised Aunt Loi we would come back for lunch. While we were in the hotel, I spotted a large map of the region and saw my grandfather Mazarakos's village, Xrisafa. It was now the site of a monastery. The only way there was along a 17 mile dirt road. That isn’t an easy trip by car. Since I knew no one from his family lived there any longer, we decided to postpone the trip until the road was paved.
Back in Sellasia, however, Aunt Loi and Uncle Demo consloed us with Dolmathes (stuffed grape leaves), macaroni, lamb, and locally made Retsina wine. They don't eat like this often; we got the royal treatment.
Loi took us to some cousins from my mother's mother's mother's family, Anthanasopoulos. My cousin is a 60 years old who has a married 26 year old daughter named Vassaliki. We were welcomed with candied cherries. As we sat in the dining room, I noticed that the wooden floor was worn and unvarnished. The cross beam structure of the roof was not covered by a ceiling. It looked a lot like my garage back in Chicago. In the yard I could see a donkey, a couple of chickens and a goat.
Vassaliki's husband, Michael Roussis, spoke English. He had a master's degree in mathematics from the University of Athens and had just finished a two year stint in the Greek navy. He was looking for work without much success. Michael said the village was about 150 to 200 years old which would have been after emancipation from the Turks. Before that the village had a different name, Vourouli. Most of the people lived in the Parnosos mountains (predominantly inhabited by Slavs, according to the tourist brochures). Some villagers came from as far away as Krete. My grandmother had told me that her home was over 300 years old, so she must have belonged to the older village. The village used to be a central market for all the villages in the area, probably because it is close to the main road. The land is also more fertile. The harvest is more abundant than other nearby villages. The people are consequently better off economically.
Loi took us to the village cemetery to see the grave of my Great Grandparents. The cemetery is on the highest hill in the village and is surrounded by trees. At the top of the hill is a small church where funeral services are performed. There were actually three graves marked Kydiakopoulos. They are used by other relatives also. There are no first names on the graves because they are reused. When there is need to use the grave again, they move the decomposed bones of the last inhabitant to the foot of the grave where they are comingle with earlier tenants. Greeks normally have closer relations with their relatives than American families. I can understand the need to try to get along if you know you are going to have to spend eternity comingled on a molecular level with all your relatives.
As Loi looked at the grave she did her cross. What must it feel like to look at the site where you know you will spend eternity? On the way down the hill an old woman with a large mole on her face said hello to us in Greek as if she knew us. Apparently the whole village knew we were there. Loi seemed very proud that we had come all the way from America just to see her. She shoed the woman away, wanting to keep her prize all to herself.
Michael started talking about an 11th century Byzantine church located at a village 22 kilometers northwest on the main road of Sellasia called Koniditsa. The asphalt road which lead us to Sellasia turned to dirt at the other end of town, so the ride to Koniditsa was quite bumpy and dusty. We passed nothing but dirt as we made our way up hill along the curving road. The ride was so bumpy I had to drive about five miles an hour all the way. A distance which would take 5 minutes elsewhere was a major journey. You can appreciate how modern life has brought everyone closer together.
In the footnotes by Peter Levi accompanying Pausanias’ Guide to Greece’ it says that all towns ending with "itsa" are slavic in origin. It is hard to imagine that they confined themselves to their little town. I know I have some distant relatives from this town. The Byzantine church we were going to see was probably established during the reconquest of Greece by the Roman Emperess Irene (who was raised in Athens) during the 10th century in a sucessful attempt to Hellenize the Slavs. When we got there the car was very dirty. Koniditsa was quite small.
There were some men playing cards on a table at the side of the road, but they didn't pay any attention to us. On the other side of the road was the church. It had been reconstructed. I recognized it as a church in one of my grandmother's photographs. Until now, the photo had just been some nameless face in front of some unknown building. Now it meant something! The church interior looked like the interior of most Greek churches. It had a tile floor, crystal chandeliers, large brass candle stick holders, and an iconotosis with the usual icons set in arches along each side the altar. The priest offered us some orange juice. He said there had been a famous Kydiakopoulos during the 1922 war with the Turks. Michael pointed out the unique Byzantine construction; two layers of brick followed by a layer of stone. He also pointed out an old bell on top of the door used to call the faithful to liturgy.
After we returned to Sellasia, we all went to the local outdoor garden cafe which was owned by another Anthanasopoulos. Michael bought us each a Sprite. Afterwards, Pam and I went back to Loi's home and met my great Uncle George. He is my mother's mother's brother, the youngest of my grandmother's siblings. He didn't have much to say and what he said was in Greek. Nobody really knows exactly how old he is, but he is approximately 87. He is about 5'0", wears basic black glasses and a long mustache that covers his entire face, cheek to cheek. He wore a cap, an old suit with baggy pants, black shoes, but no socks. He had a hard time walking and carried a cane. He walked all the way home even though we offered him a ride. We took some pictures which came out funny because we towered over Loi, Demo and George who are all about 5'3", while Pam and I are both close to 6'.
Loi took us to see the house where my grandmother grew up. I was very curious because grandma used to tell me stories about growing up there as a child. It was below the main road on the first offshoot going south after leaving the road to Sparta. All the homes nearby appeared to be somewhat older than other parts of the village. When we got there we saw the front gate was falling apart. Unlike the other homes, the stone masonry was not covered with white plaster. One of the outer fence walls was falling down, but the roof appears to be in tact. Two thirds of this house had been abandoned years ago when my grandmother's brother, Andrew, who lived there, died. We were not permitted to even go inside because it wasn't safe.
His widow, Stemata, still lives in the other third of the house closest to the street with her mother. We went to see Stemata. Loi made it clear that she and Stemata didn't see eye to eye. It took some personal sacrifice on Loi's part to take us there. Stemata was an eccentric woman of about 60, roughly the same size as Loi only more stout. She had one eye that didn't see properly and it gave her a peculiar aspect. She was expecting us and greeted us as one who did not receive many visitors and was grateful for the ones she had.
Inside her home the floors were, again, unfinished wooden planks. The dark blood red hand plastered walls were unintentionally patterned with distinct waves. There was a single bare light bulb hanging by a wire from her very large sparsely furnished living room. Stemata motioned for us to sit down on her sofa. She brought Pam and I (nothing for Loi or herself) Greek cookies called kourambethes, and peppermint liquor called Mestika which tastes like a refined version of Ouzo. It appeared she bought them that morning just for us. This wasn't a rich woman and pained me to think what kind of dent this made in her budget. I spotted a picture of my grandmother's mother, Georgia Anthanasopoulos Kydiakopoulos on the wall. She looked just like grandma except she wore all black and had a full head of dark hair. I took a picture of the photo. Pam started talking to Stemata's mother who had spent five years in Canada and spoke English. All the time we were there, Stemata continually showered smiles, kisses and hugs on us while repeatedly asking Loi in Greek who we were.
We went outside and I took pictures of the house exterior. Then Loi took us down the street to her sister, Georgia's home. Loi explained that all the surrounding homes were related to the Kydiakopoulos family. Georgia's home was smaller, but in better condition than Stemata's. She had a three month old grandson with her and another cousin of mine although I never did figure out the exact relationship. Georgia made us thiples, another Greek sweet made of fried dough rolled like a scroll and covered with honey and walnuts. She told us she made them that morning just for us. She showed us a picture of our family taken during a baptism in Chicago around 1960. I was the only one who wasn't in the picture. Unfortunately, it had been damaged by water and the faces weren't clear any more. She kept it because it was the only picture she had of her uncle and my great uncle Theodore. He was another of my grandmother's brothers who lived and died in Chicago.
It was getting late so we started to leave. The road was narrow and there were many cars belonging to relatives from Athens visiting for the weekend. Another old woman came up to me to say hello. She was the wife of Nicholas whom I first met when I came to the village. The restaurant their son owned may have been the one in the neighborhood where I grew up on the southeast corner of Belmont and Central Avenues in Chicago. Here we said our good-byes. Loi, Pam and I got into the car to drive up the winding hill to the main road leading out of town. The road was steep and we were heavy. Half way up the hill, the car wouldn't go any further. Loi told us this was where Andrew had died. His car had rolled off the hillside and down the mountain over 2000 feet below. I started to panic. I told Pam and Loi to get out of the car to lighten the load. After that I was able to drive all the way up. Pam and Loi followed shortly on foot. Then we said good bye to Loi and thanked her for showing us around. Pam and I drove off to our hotel in Sparta.
Everyone in the village was extremely nice to us. We will always remember them in gratitude. This was the most important part of my trip. Loi made it possible for me to enjoy it. My mother's mother had raised me from age three and we were very close. It was for her sake that I wanted to come here. I am only sorry she couldn't be there with me. I had been afraid that Sellasia would be a disappointment, that it would be a poor, unkempt mountain village with ignorant peasants. During the previous week of driving through Greece, we saw many poor villages that looked worn down like an inner city slum. I was relieved to find Sellasia was remarkably clean and beautiful. I was proud to have relations from there. I didn't want to leave. I’m glad I came to see it when I did, because the entire Kydiakopoulos section of the village where my grandmother lived burnt down in 1990.
Back in Sparta, Pam and I walked to a taverna to buy mineral water. The boy who waited on us spoke perfect English. His family had lived in Boston for ten years. We decided to eat there. We had string beans with dinner which were delicious.
The string beans reminded me of a story my grandmother told about her childhood. When she was young her father took her to Sparta one day with him. For her, Sparta was the big city. She remembered going to a restaurant with him and eating string beans which were yellow instead of green. She was afraid to eat them because of the color, but her father convinced her to try them. She was surprised at how tasty they were. By car, it takes 20 minutes to go down the steep curving rode from Sellasia to Sparta. How much longer must it have taken to get there and back by horse and buggy? I wondered what kind of "restaurant" she must have been talking about. There didn't seem to be anything like an American restaurant here. It must have been similar to the taverna where I was eating. Her words took on new meaning. I tried to imagine it anew as she must have experienced it.
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