A refuge for artists and home to romantics everywhere, Monemvasia has a curious and wonderful effect on its visitors. We discovered this while staying at Goula, a guesthouse favored by artists, and eating at places where history, stories, art, and gastronomy create beautiful settings. At “Kanoni” and “Voltes,” but also at “Kamara tou Vyrona,” where we tasted Monemvasia and Malvazia wine. We met a couple of artists for whom the Rock of Monemvasia is the backdrop to their daily lives, and we were moved as soon as we stood at the base of the most important icon of the Crucifixion for Orthodoxy. Yannis Ritsos was our invisible guide, and Manolis Grigoreas, a painter from Monemvasia, was our guide to the present and the past.
In front of the gate. Once again. If you look at the right hand side of the door, Time has formed a face. It says “Welcome?” Well, I can hear it. Clear. Very clearly. Monemvasia. My Monemvasia. Once again I’ve passed the “single intervention” to get you back.
But this is a place of incomparable charm. You can’t not come back here. Again and again. It wins you over. Of course it does. Effortlessly. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that entering the Castle feels like getting your little revenge on the motorized tyrant of our daily lives. There’s no room here for a car, a motorbike or even a bicycle. Horses and mules cross the “Middle Road” and turn, deftly, into the even narrower canyons.
Two horses loaded with sacks force me to pull over. Horses are the only means of carrying heavy things and building materials. Listening to the animals’ horseshoes on the stones, the imagination runs wild. It travels back, to the Monemvasia of yesterday, the “Perionymon Asty”, which was crossed by proudly dressed plumed steeds. The Byzantine city passed from time to time into the hands of the Franks, the Ottomans, the Venetians. They all left their traces here.
Why is it that every time I set foot here I feel that I have left my accounts with this place unfinished? Why does the visitor feel this need to return to Monemvasia? I feel compelled to answer it this time. The “aroma” of Monemvasia has a recipe and I want to find it. Urgently.
The small suitcase sighs on the downhill cobbled street. The guesthouse, this time, is near the gate. “Wallace.” It’s one of the names the Monemvasians have for their rock. At the top it is bare. The name has a Slavic root meaning “bald”. Two buildings beautifully hugged overlooking the sea. The room radiates warmth. It’s the windows with the crochet curtain that bring the breath of the sea inside. You get the feeling that you have it all here. You feel self-sufficient. Calm. Complete. “If only we could stay here forever!”
“But it is not uncommon for our visitors to forget to leave. They literally forget.” Dora, the person who takes care of “Walla” brings us a coffee on the terrace. I sit her down to talk to her.
“Okay, life has made it so that people come as a hunted man on weekends and weekends. But there are many, mostly foreigners, who forget Time, days and hours. They find their peace here. And they literally get caught.” He shows me an envelope full of notes left behind by the residents of Walla. “They feel the need to write us a few words before they leave. As if they want to leave their stamp. “Let’s not be forgotten. But who can I forget of all of them? I remember them all. One by one. Special people. Jim and Carol will stick with me most vividly from 2014. They came in January and stayed here for three full months. Every year they leave frozen New York behind to winter in the most beautiful places on the planet. A retired university professor in the chair of English and American history, he. A photographer, she. I think they both fell in love with Monemvasia. Jim? Talk about teenage enthusiasm! Every morning he’d wake up and write poetry. All inspired by travel and Monemvasia. At one, every day, they would set off on a long walk, a hike, an excursion. We kept in touch of course. Once the book is published they promised to send it to me. They don’t know yet whether it will come out as a stand-alone or include poems born in another place.” We go inside. I see the place with new eyes. I look for Erato…
We take the main cobblestone road from the beginning. The first space you encounter is an art space. Malva. The gallery of the painter Manolis Gregorea. I take a sneaky peek. The painter is bent over, reverently embroidering on a large piece of paper. Next to him, a lady is watching him. They are talking. The colors and looks in the works hanging in the delicate gold frames invite us in. Sirens are charming. We pass by. Another time.
The “Middle Street“, the main cobbled street, is filled with small arches. Tastefully made shops. Materials, souvenirs, works. All crafted with craftsmanship. Here are several hotels. The people are friendly and cheerful. Nothing flashy. Just before we reach the square dominated by the Metropolis, the “Elkomenos” and the impressive bell tower, the taverns become thicker. We enter “Kanoni” and draw a line upstairs. It is “common knowledge” that the view from the small terrace is one of the things you have to achieve in Monemvasia. The waiter takes an order from a large group of Italians. We were unlucky. We go down to the ground floor. “Did you notice the painting of Gregory?” my friend Giannetto asks me. I had seen it. Of course. But my attention was caught by an old frame. A black and white, old portrait of an elegant lady.
“It is the late Eleftheria Paraskeva Ritsu. Sister of the poet. This was her home. When she passed away she passed into the hands of the man who cared for her. From him we bought it quite unexpectedly. And by 1986, the place was getting so bad that it looked like we had no alternative. It was as if we were forced to create the “Kanoni” to treat the visitors of Monemvasia“. Mrs. Maria Loukakou remains the soul of the restaurant although her son Petros Yovanis is now at the helm. Traditional Greek cuisine, stews, local dishes but also “deviations” that have to do with the tastes of the children. “Children today urgently demand what they are used to. They do not experiment.” Ah, Madame Maria. The children. Oh.
It’s dawn. Many openings in the room. Through a window I forgot to close the sun sneaks in. I get up. The sea shines in the morning. I open the door and step outside. The weather is soft but the morning coolness demands the jacket. Some notes come scattered. We try to distinguish. Cd? Definitely not.
“Ahhh” says Dora and tries to listen. “It’s probably coming from George and Danae’s house. They’re both musicians. They live permanently inside the castle and teach music outside.” Euterpe winked at me as if to say “run quickly and meet them.”
Danae used to come to Monemvasia as a child for holidays. The Castle had become a backdrop in her mind. And she herself never got out of it. And so it came to pass that she met George. George the musician, Danae the dancer and musician. And it all came together perfectly. Their lives, their art, their dreams, their home. Permanent residents of Kastro, Danae teaches dance and music education to children in the area while George teaches folk guitar and lute. Byzantine music is still something that unites them.
George sings with choirs at the Sunday service. One week at the “Elkomeno”, the next week out in the new town. Giannettos subtly films George playing the lute, I taste pomegranate liqueur and unwittingly travel to their little kingdom. Bless them. Just blessed.
I’m bending over the front door. Monemvasia is stinging the tall ones. It cuts off our air and our swagger. Humiliation. It’s time to go to the Church of Elkomenos. The scene of the Extreme Humiliation of our Lord. In Laconia this performance is often found in the temples.
In the heart of Monemvasia, where visible and invisible engravings converge, is the Metropolis of the Castle. The visitor is surprised. The church, bare of hagiographic program on the walls, invites you to focus on the few icons and the impressive marble iconostasis of 1901. The church, of course, is much older. Its original building phase dates back to about the 6thο century. We are lucky enough to meet the parish priest of the church, Father Konstantinos. Naturally the conversation focuses on the Holy Icon of the Crucifixion. The great spiritual, historical, cultural relic of Monemvasia. “January 11, 1979. It is a significant day for us Monemvasites. Heavy rain for hours lashed the rock. Unprecedented bad weather. A retired officer broke into the Holy Church and was tempted to steal the Holy Icon of the Crucifixion. The icon, of not inconsiderable dimensions, around 1.60 by 1 and 40, was not easy to carry. He decides to saw it into three pieces and finally snatches it. Big event. Biggest commotion. But things worked out so that the icon was located, then amazingly preserved and now it is protected and under special conditions in the temple area permanently.” I enter the dark crypt. Out of the darkness emerges the magnificent Icon. A masterpiece of Palaeologan art. Jesus, the expression of suffering, the Virgin Mary, St. John the Baptist gesturing, the myrrh-bearers, the agitated angels. The special showcase, made by the same company that made the showcase for the “Jaconda” in the Louvre, ensures perfect safety and conditioning conditions for a divinely inspired work that is forever imprinted on the soul of the pilgrim. Father Constantine particularly stands by the fact that all Easter services take place in the Church of Elkomenos and given that the homonymous Icon depicts the Extreme Humiliation celebrated on Maundy Thursday. This is an extremely rare occurrence. Lucky the pious pilgrims who will spend their Easter in Monemvasia.
Coming out of the temple I look up. The eye reaches up to the lift that hooks the rock. The upper Polis is now closed to the public as a vast programme of restoration and excavation is underway. In other places there are scaffolding and restoration works are planned for some temples. There are very good days ahead for Monemvasia.
On the way we pass in front of Gregory’s showroom. A group of kids has invaded. The painter’s bright colors are a trap. They can’t resist. He’s telling them something. He’s a man of few words and expressive outbursts. Like his paintings. We’re looking at Giannetto. We say not to interrupt them.
We’re going in next door. To “Rides“. The names in Monemvasia are searched. All the names are fished. Nothing is random. When you do something in Monemvasia, you can’t afford to do it sloppily. Everything takes study and care. And this has not only to do with the sensitivity with which the competent Ephorate of Antiquities embraces and protects everything. You see, Monemvasia is a fragile cultural and natural ecosystem. “For us, the name ‘Voltae’ was the best way to combine the idea of the promenade that characterises Monemvasia’s main cobbled street with the zig-zag path that leads you to the Upper Town, as it was called in the past.” We caught up with Diamantis Sebepo who, together with his brother Yannis, has set up this post-modern tavern at the entrance, almost, of the Castle. Their family with a tradition of producing and standardizing organic olive oil has imbued them with a love of the authentic and proved to them that taste works wonders. The decoration, thoughtful and with ingenious solutions, highlights the works on the walls. “They are the works of a Monemvasia lover and a dear friend of ours. A multi-dimensional Swiss who found in Monemvasia a place of joy, balance and inspiration. He had been coming to the region for 30 years, the last 12 even promoting the local organic oil in Switzerland. And he took photographs. With passion. His works put Monemvasia irrevocably in the spotlight and make our clients travel and inspire,” Diamantis tells us. What a shame that their friend is sadly no longer alive to boast of their success. We’ll be back for more at Voltes’ and their tidbits will win us over every time. Excellent ingredients, mastery and constant searching. They have brought a fresh breeze to Monemvasia and as they themselves say “I wish that haunts like ours here in the Castle would become more frequent.”
Returning to our base, the guesthouse “Goulas”, we make a short detour. We climb the stairs and come out on the plateau in front of the poet’s house. His bust, exposed to the elements of Nature, has been sweetened. The oxidation leaves its traces at the base of the sculpture. I’m taking pictures. A question returns to my mind. It happens every time I stand face to face with Rizzo. I wonder why Monemvasia doesn’t have a “House of Ritsos”? Let it not be the literal house. Let it be a place where visitors can meet the poet and his work. The breeze scatters verses of the poet from above. As if it brings them from the Upper City and wherever you stand you can touch them. When, I wonder, will the moment come for these verses to find their own arch?
We leave the things in the room. We pour some wine. Local, of course. It would be an insult to be in the birthplace of “Malvasia” and wine tradition and not enjoy local wine. According to one view, the Franks, relying on the ancient local ‘Dorean’ wine, christened the wine ‘Malvasia’ because a flower that dominated the region gave it its special colour. This flower was called ‘mollova’, or mallow in Italian. Tonight we are lucky enough to have a “relentless moonlight”. We walk along the bright path of the sea and reverently touch the moon. The “Moonlight Sonata” cannot be heard. But the poet’s verse comes as music.
When there is a moon, the shadows grow in the house,
invisible hands pull the curtains,
a faint finger writes
forgotten words in the dust of the piano
– I don’t want to hear them. Hush.
Last day. What a pity. Monemvasia needs time. Just. Calm. What good are three and five days? You get to the spring but you don’t quench your thirst.
The conversation came to wine yesterday. We remembered the little handmade signs that said “wine tasting”. Today we think we should follow them. I wonder where they’ll take us?
We leave behind the square of “Elkomenos”. We are heading towards “Portello”, the old sea gate. A slice of rock outside the castle is the only place where you can dive into the sea. We follow the signs. In a three-room restaurant few tables. And the sign. “Byron’s Kamara“. We enter an evocative space. Vivian greets us. Her Greek betrays her British ancestry. She and Byron spend a lot of time in Monemvasia. Their home is downhill in Pori. This place is the mansion her mother had bought in the early 1960s. She used to pass by on a yacht from Monemvasia. Love at first sight. She got off the boat, walked the Rock and bought the house. Just like that. One of those stories that have made the sixties seem mythical. The building, one of the finest and oldest in the Castle with strong Venetian elements has now been transformed into the most unique, alternative hangout. Maximalist in style, the “Arch of Byron” is an informal haven for artists. It is both a showroom and a stage that hosts unexpected artistic events. Musical evenings, poetry meetings, theatrical improvisations exploiting both levels. Common denominator, wine. “It’s an intellectual place,” says Vivian. “Kamara is a different experience and it brings together those who want not just attention. Those who want affection.” Byron’s friendship with George Tsymbidis of “Oenopotiki Monemvasia” led to the creation of this unpretentious space where visitors can indulge in wine and whatever the inspiration of the moment brings. “With the help of wine… pretty much everyone becomes an artist,” Vivian tells us. She doesn’t need to explain it to us at all.
Before we stop at “Kanoni” for lunch, good timing brings us to the gallery of Manolis Gregorea. The painter is obsessively working on some details with his rapier. Meeting at last. He is alone. Hesitating a little we enter. On the walls are his works. Bright. They scream “Greece”. The clarity of the shapes, the stylization and the intensity of the color make them vibrate. I notice a face. I’m mesmerized. The severity of Byzantine art with an intensity reminiscent of Fayum’s portraits. A hospitable host, Manolis Gregoras offers us space, coffee and the most precious of all. His time. Our conversation, heartfelt and true. We can’t help but share some of our questions and his own thoughts as such.
Manolis Gregorea, what is Monemvasia for you?
“Monemvasia, Monemvasia, Monemvasia, Menexe Kalesi of the Turks, Malvasia of the Franks, Malmsey of the English and its hinterland, from Kyparissi to the end of Parnonas, Kavo Malia, is the place I chose 23 years ago to live with my family. The history of the area since ancient times, let’s say from the Neolithic era, to the foundation of the “Perionymos Asteros” in the 6ο AD century and up to our days, plus the unparalleled beauty of the place and its monuments prompted us to settle here. I think it is one of the most historic and beautiful places in the world, and I believe that it is a true paradise for historians, archaeologists, architects, logographers, folklorists, geologists, agronomists, botanists, naturalists of all kinds and of course painters, that is, people with specific interests and specializations.
Your gallery, the Malva Gallery, your workshop, showroom and shop of your works is the first thing that the visitor of the Castle encounters. And the artist is almost always there. Present. Working exposed to the eyes and comments of passers-by. How important or necessary is this aliasing with the world?
“I don’t know if it’s important or necessary, but it goes without saying and with proper management it can be generally beneficial for the world and for me. Let me tell you here that the word ‘aliswere’ can mean intercourse or simply commercial transaction. I think that a visit to a painting exhibition is more than that.”
Who understands or feels, if you like, your works better?
“Usually people who are interested in painting and the arts in general. A special category of visitors are children who are obviously attracted to the vivid colours and the subjects depicted. There are also everyday visitors who watch the slow progression of work towards the completion of a piece.”
Seeing you depict the “Saints of Greek Culture”, Saints of Orthodoxy, historical figures, heroes of Mythology, writers, it is obvious that your work is based on earlier ones. Who are your teachers?
“I think that more important than what we paint is how we paint. I mean what kind of visual language we use. There is no art that is not based on antecedents. Fortunately or unfortunately I am self-taught and furthermore dyslexic and left-handed therefore I appreciate some of the antecedents of others I have even been influenced by – one of them is the writer and painter Nikos Gabriel Pentzikis – but I have never had teachers as you mean it.”
Monemvasia is a living monument. At the same time it is a place that inspires you to write, to paint, to put notes on a score, to take photographs. We feel it is a place that inspires creation. Does this really describe Monemvasia and do you share the view that perhaps it should promote this character more methodically?
“Let me observe in general, that there is no monument that is not alive. As far as I know, Monemvasia is an open archaeological site. I don’t think specific sites predispose us to create. I think the causes of any creation are much deeper than the external stimuli of any given place. In my own case I should inform you that after I settled in Monemvasia I started to paint systematically subjects from the natural world – I mean fish butterflies animals animals flowers that I had not painted until then. To finish with your present question let me mention the following. Monemvasia is an outgrowth of a city of a certain era. The historical events that have accompanied it up to the present day have marked it and given it a certain character. If Mistras, for example, is known for the philosopher Georgios Gemistos, among others, Monemvasia, on the other hand, has given us a saint of our Church. The holy Leontius”.
We found out that they call you “the painter of Monemvasia”. What does this identification mean to you?
“It is an honour for me. However, the status of a painter is enough for me. From another point of view, apart from Monemvasia, I would also like to be a painter of all Greece and, if possible, of the whole world”.
What is your vision for Monemvasia?
“Monemvasia, like most tourist places in our country, has a significant infrastructure deficit. Perhaps more important than other places because of the specificity of the place. Fortunately, months ago, restoration and conservation work on the monuments and extensive excavations began in the upper town. So let us first do what is necessary and then we can talk about visions.
We sit on the terrace. A passing storm the day before washed away the rock. Monemvasia shines. I close my eyes and look back mentally at the encounters of this three-day period. The conversations, the images, the people, the stories, those who stayed and those who left. Something common runs through everything. Something connects them. Is it Monemvasia that gives life to our half-dimmed flame? Is this piece of land, once one of the most glorious centres of Romagna, a place with a special energy? With beauty and mystery that stirs the imagination? That stirs from the burrow the sleeping artist within us? I’d like to see it that way. It seems a fitting conclusion to this thought. But it does. That’s not what it’s about. It’s something else. Something deeper. And I’m beginning to feel it very clearly. It’s not Monemvasia that wakes up Musa. It’s not the inspiration that blows through us. It’s a vibration of a different kind. The Spaniards call it “duende”. Let me leave our rich heritage for a moment and stick to this word. Duende. “…is a force and not a function, a struggle and not an abstract concept. This “mysterious force that we all feel and that no philosopher has ever explained” is the very spirit of the earth…. The muse stands still. She can hold her multi-folded tunic, her cow-like eyes gazing at Pompeii or the broad nose with four faces given to her by her friend Picasso. The angel can flutter in the hair painted by Antonello de Messina or flutter in the folds of Lippi and the violin of Massolino and Rousseau.
But the Dwede? Where’s Duende? Through the empty arch rises a wind of the mind that blows ceaselessly over the heads of the dead in an endless search for new landscapes and unsuspecting tones. A wind that smells of child’s saliva, freshly cut grass and a veil of jellyfish touching the eternal baptism of newborn things.”
“Lorca?” “Yes, Giannetto. Lorca.”
Lecture given by the Spanish poet Federico García Lorca at the students’ house in Madrid in the spring of 1930. [Federico García Lorca, “Duende” (Role and Theory), translated by Olympia Karagiorga, “Estia” Bookshop Publications].
THANKS & NOTES
We would like to thank Mrs. Toula Georgakopoulou for the exemplary hospitality at the Traditional Guesthouse “Goulas” in the Castle of Monemvasia | Website: www.monemvasia-vacations.com
In the Malva Gallery you will find original works, silkscreens and posters of the artist’s works. Above all, you will have the privilege of being talked about his work by the painter himself. We suggest you start the conversation with “Cavafy”, the stunning portrait he has done of the great Alexandrian.
We would like to thank Mrs. Maria Loukakou and the restaurant “To Kanoni” for the care and the goodies she offered us | Website: www.tokanoni.com
Special thanks to George and Danae for sharing their story with us. George Demellos, Danae Giannisi, both musicians. “Odiporoi”. George is also managing partner of Pelotel, an online booking management company
The restaurant and traditional grocery store “Voltes”, a “place – proposal” in every respect. Don’t forget to take their organic oil with you when you leave.
Monemvasia is a “wine place”. Make the most of your stay there. Byron and Vivian at “Byron’s wine – tasting Kamara” are the perfect hosts.
Be sure to visit the elegant Shop of the Ministry of Culture at the entrance of the Castle. The Ministry of Culture’s brochure “Tour of Monemvasia” gives the history of the Castle in a concise way. We consulted it too.
