September 17 – Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride to Monemvasia

Time to say goodbye to Naplion. We collected our hand-washing from the balcony rail, wolfed another mound of yogurt, and took off. This time we were heading further south into the Peloponnese: to Monemvasia. Our hotel proprietor suggested we take the modern, fast road through the interior, but prefering scenery over speed, we headed towards the sea. Trusting our instincts and the map, we were ready for adventure.

The first several miles were easy. As we came upon each town, we watched the signs carefully. All of them were in Greek, but some were only in the Greek alphabet. Still, we became quite adept at deciphering: “turn left at the upside down triangle, backwards 7, and jagged E thing.” When reading off the map for upcoming towns, we only called out the first four letters of the name. The system worked well.

This drive was stupendous. As we followed the sea, hundreds of feet above the shoreline, we gasped at the sweeping coastal views. Dense thickets of trees cascaded down the rocky mountainside, the bottle-blue sea glittering below. Many times we pulled off to the side to gaze in amazement and snap pictures. Only a few cars shared the road and we easily overtook the handful of slow-moving trucks we encountered.

Near the town of Leonidio, the road turned inwards, cutting through the Badron Gorge, a yawning chasm gouged into the toothy crags of Parnonas Mountain. Climbing 4,000 feet in 17 miles, we followed the undulating ribbon of asphalt to what seemed like the top of the world. Nestled in the towering cliffs was the Pagaia Elona Monastery, white-washed and gleaming against the gray cliffs. As the tortuous road snaked up through the canyon, we found more roadside shrines and bicyclists — bicyclists! — sweaty lines of them wending their way down from the other side of the rock.

Now, the sea no longer a handy reference point, we had to pay close attention as we came upon lonely crossroads. The craggy switchbacks eventually whirled us into the sleepy little town of Kosmas, tucked high in the mountains. We parked to stretch our legs and have a drink.

Shaded by huge sycamore trees, a handful of tables wobbled in the central plaza, waiting for the travel-weary. A little dazed from the drive, we sank into seats and ordered frappé and a beer, smiling at the smattering of other travelers tottering by. The clack of worry beads drew our gaze to a clutch of local Greek men sitting nearby, sipping tiny cups of sludgy coffee and cloudy glasses of ouzo. Clouds of smoke swirled over their heads as they eyed the newcomers curiously.

Refreshed, we nosed Aggie down the only road out of town, technically a two-way street, but in reality no wider than one lane. I was very glad not to meet anyone coming the other way. Not far out of Kosmas, we hit a crossroads that did not match anything on our map. Should we go right or left? Nothing gave us a clue. We pulled over, hoping logic would prevail. Our instincts told us one way, the map another. A car idled just a few yards away, its occupants seemingly engaged in the same exercise as they scrutinized a high-held map. Gino ran to find out what they knew. They had just come from the way we needed to go and we just came from where they were headed. Folding our maps, we each took off, waving as we passed.

From here, the road gently spiraled downward, the terrain changing to acres of silvery-green olive groves. Spying a sign indicating Monemvasia to the left, we paused again. This did not comport with our map which indicated we should stick to the main road straight ahead. Veering into a deserted gas station, I approached a man sitting near the pump. Despite our lack of Greek, we gleaned that the deviant direction was a short cut; against our instincts, we decided to take a chance and turned left.

The road itself was is good condition, but the route was very isolated and we began to wonder if we had become lost. Still, the roads we passed posted signs to little towns well-marked on our maps. This had to be right; we were simply in a much more remote area. Once, we stopped to let a tractor leading a team of mules plod by. A few miles later, we came upon a modern-day shepherd: a man on a motorcyle leading a small herd of goats across the road, bells jangling. Stopping to ask if this road really led to Monemvasia, he responded that it did. Asking us (in Greek) if we were German, we responded, “No! Americans.” “Oh, Neh! Neh!” (Yes! Yes!), he smiled broadly.

Four hours after leaving Naplion, we finally cruised into Gefyra. Cautiously crunching over the narrow causeway across the spit of sea that connects this town with Monemvasia, we drove until the road petered out. Our parking karma was sharp this trip and we zipped into a just-vacated spot right at the front of the traffic-free old town. Backing little Aggie in to face the sea, we would not start her up again for three days. We had arrived at Monemvasia, the “Gibraltar of Greece.”

Monemvasia

Monemvasia: the name means single entrance — “Mono Emvasis.” Founded by the Byzantines in the sixth century, it remained a Byzantine stronghold for 700 years. Strategically situated on a rocky promontory, the town was not only a stopover for crusaders heading east, but an important seaport and commercial center along the sea-lines from Italy to Africa and Constantinople.

It has been under the control of the Byzantines, the Turks, the Pope, and the Venetians. At one time, it was home to 50,000 people. But over the centuries, the population dwindled away until eventually the town was all but abandoned. Today, although there still are not many permanent inhabitants, Monemvasia is being enthusiastically renovated for its many visitors and future residents.

Approached from the mainland, this Greek Gibraltar seems utterly uninhabited. But ducking through a heavy stone arch, you enter a cool tunnel of rock, the single passageway that leads into another world.

 

This ancient wooden door hangs at the tunneled entrance to Monemvasia.  Long ago, these doors would be shut tight at night, securing the inhabitants from nocturnal marauders.

Jan had warned me: this fairy-tale town, inhabited by snakes and gypsies, would capture my heart. But for the prospect of snakes, it did. (Thankfully, I never did see one.) The moment we emerged from that curving stony entrance, we knew we were somewhere very special.

Settling In

Our hotel was called the Malvasia, a hobbit sort of place tucked at the very end of this Middle Earth village. Clomping our way over enormous cobbles blanketing the main single lane, we followed the hotel’s mystical gypsy to our room. Her long skirt billowing as she floated down the path, she responded to my comment that yes, indeed, Monemvasia was magical. We could not have chosen better.

In Platia Dzamiou, Monemvasia’s main square, a Venetian bell-tower provides a striking landmark.  The dazzling white medieval church of Christos Elkomenos rests to the right.  

The Malvasia Hotel  sits at the very end of the path — the last building in town. A sheer red cliff (called “Mura Rossa” — red wall — by the Venetians) and a stone barrier slithering downhill towards the sea divides the hotel, and the town, from the wild side of the rock.

On the terrace that fronts the main entrance, a few lone olive trees shade a group of straight-backed wooden chairs facing out to sea like forlorn lovers. A large breakfast room with rounded cave-like alcoves and cheery fireplaces occupies the bottom floor.

Our room sat at the top of a twisty narrow staircase. The ceiling was slightly cone-shaped and covered with a bamboo-like material.

The winning feature, however, was the little windowed door that opened onto a small balcony with a metal table and two canvas chairs.

 

Since we were the last structure of the town, we looked out onto the immense rock wall just meters away jutting straight into the cloudless sky. Views of ochre tiled roofs and the aquamarine sea stretched off to the right.

Peeping Toms we were.  From our balcony, we could peer across the stony alley below and onto a neighboring patio.  Where’s their wine? 

If I lived in this house, I know where I would dine every night.

 

 

Exploring Monemvasia

We couldn’t wait to delve into the delights of this idyllic town, so reluctantly we pulled ourselves away from our secret view.

Gino surveys the sea from the edge of Platia Dzamiou…or was he contemplating where to have his next Mojito?

As you have learned by now, lunch is often on our minds — a little taverna with a vine-covered veranda facing the Aegean looked perfect, and it was. We ate there several more times during our stay in Monemvasia.

Artists’ and tourist shops line the main street, one stacked with shiny bottles of wine. Tasting our way through the shop, we bought a local wine to enjoy later on our little balcony.

Gino was struck by shopping fever, but I was smitten by the call of those sinuous paths and stone-hewn steps. Parting ways for an hour or so, I scrambled upwards into the labyrinthine walkways hiding above the main lane.

Scurrying along mysterious Byzantine alleys lined with Venetian houses hewn of stone, peering down into crumbly courtyards dotted with jumbles of giant pots, spotting the rosy roof of a former Turkish mosque — I felt I was overlooking a muddled medina.

I climbed to the outer edge of the town, high above the entrance gate, and leaned over the crenelated wall where the Greek blue sky meets the Aegean sea.

I found Gino nursing a Mojito at one of the bars (those Cuban cocktails again!). Telling him about the man sitting at the bottom of his second-story restaurant, Gino arched his eyebrows. White shirt sleeves rolled up, cigarette floating between his fingers, the man had asked where I was from and invited me upstairs to the restaurant veranda to catch the breathtaking view of the sea. I accepted and knew this would be a great place for dinner later on.

 

Can it get more perfect than this?