September 20 – A Stroll Along the Quay

Early the next morning, we took a stroll along the quay to view the town from the pier looking back. Rosy morning sun played softly over the pastel hotels and houses, shimmering in golden reflections over the bay.

The obtrusive cruise ship, possibly in from Crete, ferried its guests to the quay on rumbling hydrofoils, spewing them onto the pier. Lines of tour buses, each marked with a different language, waited to whisk them away: Danish, German, Italian, English. Time for us to go, too — today we were off to see Mystra, ancient Byzantine city clinging to a mountain outside of Sparta.

Mystra

About four miles out of modern day Sparta (itself no longer ancient) is the Medieval Byzantine site of Mystra. Hugging the rocky outcrop of Mt. Taygetos, the castle (Kastro) on the very top was built in 1249 by a French crusader named Villehardoin. After the Kastro was constructed, the settlement continued growing downwards, evolving into the upper town (Anokhora) and lower town (Katokhora). A few years later, the area was wrested from Villehardoin by the Byzantines and eventually developed into a rich center for the Byzantine culture.

Deserted tile-domed monasteries and churches, along with remnants of mansions and palaces, are what now remain of the settlement, but at one time, this had been home to 42,000 inhabitants. Aside from Mystra’s political significance, it was also famous for its artistic achievement. In the 14th and early 15th century, it was a distinguished cultural and intellectual hub for the Byzantine world, attracting scholars and theologians. Even the Renaissance of Florence and Rome were influenced by this Peloponnesan enclave.

Through the centuries, Mystra has been under the thumb of Byzantines, Turks, Venetians, Albanians, and Egyptians. Not all of its conquerors have been kind to its beautiful buildings constructed of local brick and stone, or appreciative of its brilliant frescoes adorning the walls and ceilings. Evidence of the Turks’ distaste for the religious scenes lies in the poked-out eyes of the figures floating overhead. The most recent damage to the area occurred in 1944 when Greek partisans fought on the mountainside.

Mystra is famous for its surviving churches — the lower town (a misnomer!) holds the most important ones. Parking near the lower entrance, we headed directly there. Since everything to see in Mystra is straight up, we aimed skyward, following the weed-brushed switchbacks. Stopping at each structure we came upon, we took time to look outward at the panorama over the Laconian plain stretching below.

Arriving at the most important church of the site, Perivleptos Monastery, we marveled at the radiant 14th century frescoes decorating the vaulted ceilings and flaking walls. Portraying scenes from the New Testament, the artwork was unmistakenly Byzantine, recognizable for its lack of artistic perspective. Fascinated, we lingered, peering closely at the pictures. The guard, noticing our interest, began explaining the stories behind all the different scenes. As instructed, we refrained from taking flash photos. Thanking the guard, we left, noticing a No Smoking sign prominently displayed at the door. We giggled to ourselves since the guard, wandering with us throughout the inside of this fragile little church, had been puffing away on a cigarette the whole time.

The best was saved for last — the precipitous climb to the very top of the Kastra. Not many others ventured up this high, but we did stare open-mouthed at a woman in precarious little heels cautiously making the ascent. I carefully minded my own steps in the sturdy sandals I wore, amazed she was clipping along so well in those meager street shoes. From the top (and you know we went to the very, very top), we speechlessly surveyed the dramatic views over the valley and into the rugged ravines of the Taygetos Mountains.

A Race Against the Sunset

The afternoon was reserved for Gino’s beach. Only a few minutes’ drive from Gythio, Movrouni Beach was more like what you’d imagine a typical beach to be: a long stretch of sand. The wind was up and the surf was very choppy. I ventured in only once and contented myself with reading the guidebook while Gino dipped in and out of the sea. An old man meandered slowly down the beach, end to end; as he passed by, he stopped to greet us and asked if we were having a good time. I assured him we were.

Janetakis (aka Tzanetaki) Tower. This former fortress tower now houses the Museum of the Mani.

Back in Gythio: in a race against the sunset, we headed to the lighthouse which sits on a lonely point through a tree-covered spit of land called Marathonissi. This almost-island is said to have been ancient Kranai, where, according to Greek mythology, Paris took Helen after abducting her from Sparta. Sharing this romantic spot is a fortress tower built around 1700 to guard the harbor. It now houses the Museum of the Mani, which I fervently wanted to visit. Wistfully, I had to walk past…there was simply no more time.

On the islet of Marathonissi, this little church looks back towards Gythion.

In a futile attempt to slow time, we drug our feet as we plodded back to Gythio’s main street. I popped into a bakery to buy a sweet that was taunting me from the window. Although the owner was engrossed in a soccer game, he pulled himself away to cheerfully serve us before returning his attention to his TV.

That night from our balcony, we could see that the weather was changing. Dramatic flashes of lightning played in the distance; clouds were starting to swirl in. With the impending end of our almost-perfect weather, we acknowledged it was almost the end of our trip, as well.

September 21 – Back to Athens

Our final breakfast — the fresh squeezed orange juice was sweet and delicious. But the pot of coffee we had been served the morning before was now nothing more than a pot of hot water accompanied by a container of instant coffee. Curling our lips behind our napkins, we left it and dashed downstairs to find an open cafe with real espresso.

Caffeine fortified, I cajoled Gino into one last whirl up white-washed steps leading to the upper part of town for a final goodbye to the vibrant colors of Greece. For me, this hidden tangle of serpentine streets hides the true charm of Gythio. Bright blue doors, pistachio-green window frames, and hot pink flowers paint this elevated fishermen’s quarter with vivid color.

Ethereal musical notes from a Greek CD leaked out of an open window and I stood motionless, listening. Reluctantly, I pulled myself away. Aggie was ready, as were we, for the 200 mile drive back to Athens.

The road out of Gythio was uncrowded and well marked. Veering past chugging tractors, we noticed vendors selling bags of potatoes and strings of garlic at the side of the road. Not far past Sparta and Tripoli, we breezed onto the autostrada. Every few miles, we slowed to pay our coins at the toll booths while men lingered nearby selling bunches of bananas.

As we approached Corinth (from a new direction, this time), we passed large areas of devastation caused by the fires. At one point, the fire had come right down to the road and then picked up on the other side. No doubt, this highway had been closed tight.

Menacing clouds were brewing over the city, but we suffered only a light sprinkle here and there. The pace of the autostrada clipped along and before we knew it, we were driving up to the EuropeCar drop-off at the airport. Bidding Aggie goodbye, Gino and I were once again alone with our bags. Luckily, we were able to stow them inside the terminal at a baggage storage counter. We still had an entire evening in Athens left to us!