Journey to Mistras
by Chris Zindilis
In the early 1980s I was doing some voluntary work helping out within the Greek antiquities department at the British Museum: work that was so interesting and involved research in Greek and classical history. It also gave me the opportunity to give guided tours on the famous Elgin marbles on occasional Saturday mornings. It was a contribution that I was so proud of - and one which lasted nearly eight years; an opportunity which allowed me to put my own personal expertise towards the great history of my great nation; my beloved Greece.
While doing this I decided to go and visit Greece on an extensive tour, with the main purpose to visit historic and religious places, photograph and do write-ups about them. It was to be a working holiday, with data and photos collected for historic updating on some of the major ancient and classical sites.
Two journeys were considered: the first was mainly done on foot and with the use of public transport. The second journey was carried out in 1986. The planning of this first journey, which covered southern Greece – also known as the Peloponnese - took almost a year to plan, and once completed, September was chosen as the best month to travel. A few weeks before my departure, Joe, who was a good friend and history buff, and who always wanted to visit Greece, asked me if he could come along. We had a long discussion, and it was agreed that he would accompany me on this first journey.
A few weeks later arrangements were made, and on the 31st of August 1983, Joe and I took a flight from Heathrow to Athens. Our baggage consisted of two very heavy rucksacks; a small tent; three SLR’s and one medium format camera and lots of film. Also, one 8mm super eight cine camera with sound; eight three minute Kodak cine film cartridges, journals and a pair each of good walking boots.
What you are about to read are some small extracts from my journal after we arrived at the valley of the derelict Byzantine city of Mistras.
On our arrival at the valley of Mistras, we were surprised to see that it was almost deserted. There were hardly any tourists to be seen. Back in 1983, Mistras was not very well known and it was too far down south for a casual tourist to venture out so far into a new and not very well charted territory. It was perhaps a blessing, having the whole valley and the old city at our disposal. Having studied the geographical plan of the old city, I decided that the best way of approach was to follow a narrow path that snaked all the way up the side of the mountain which led to the top of the old castle. From there it would be much easier and more advantageous to methodically work our way down, exploring as we travelled.
We carefully started making our way up this narrow path that seemed never ending and was covered by weeds and in certain places, very slippery. It was more like a goat’s track than a path, and Joe and I were grateful that we didn’t have to carry the rucksacks on our backs. It was a painstaking effort and during the climb we made some stops to catch our breath and a rest. Half of our water supplies were gone by the time we got to the top. The temperature at the castle must have been over 40 degrees centigrade.
The dead city that stretched below us dated back to the fourteenth and fifteenth century. As we started our descent, we had a bird’s eye view and a clear topographical understanding of Mistras. Its architecture was Byzantine and its colouration was of honey-blond walls; ascended sporadically with the colour of mauve. As we slowly proceeded with our exploration within the ruins, we realised that what we were observing evoked a Byzantine empire long collapsed from the savage onslaughts of the Orient. The further we descended, it became clear that the weight of five hundred years had undone its walls and houses and the denser the vegetation became. The narrow streets and steps were covered with weeds, collapsed Byzantine copulas, worn away paths and ruin palaces.
The mountain we were on was originally known as Mesythra - named after the Greek word (Goat cheese.) Over the years the name had changed to Mistras. Under the Byzantine rule Mistras expanded, developed and became very important, politically and culturally, and its importance was known as the renaissance of Byzantium. After the fall of Constantinople the Emperor’s brother escaped and came to Mistras where he was crowned Emperor and ruled for another seven years. Mistras at its height became an intellectual centre of the Byzantine Empire. The close relationship between Mistras and Constantinople made it a city of academic, artistic and a most important centre of Theology. It was also high in fashion and individuality. Scholars from all around Europe flooded in to teach and study; but besides all that, Mistras kept the true spirit of ancient Greece, and the end product of all its philosophical teachings were well known and valued, and even compared with Renaissance Italy.
Mistras’ religious and influential spirit continued until the Turkish conquest in 1460. Mistras still remained prosperous under the Venetian rule (1687-1715) and was famous for its silk industry. Life carried on under the Turkish occupation, till Greece’s independence, and remained still active till the early 1950s when the Greek government decided to evacuate what was left of its diminished population. After that it became a dead city. From the many churches and monasteries that were active all along the valley through the centuries, less than half a dozen are still inhabited by a few nuns.
As we continued our descent the sun above us was getting hotter by the minute. It became too much for Joe and although he put his t-shirt back on, his back was already red raw and he was starting to feel the effects. We were almost half way down when we arrived at the remnants of what were once the royal palaces of the Byzantine emperors - situated on the upper end of the city. We carefully entered one part of the palace through an old medieval stone entrance and I took my first glimpse at what was left of the old palace and looked up at its windows. It felt very eerie; as if these high windows looked back at me and stared terrifyingly like empty eye-sockets. Poor palace, I thought; if these old stones could speak, I wonder what stories they could tell us. We exited the ruin and made our way towards some of the old derelict churches and monasteries. Although Mistras is almost forgotten in these modern times, all is not lost; for the spiritual life has been kept alive in these few silent monasteries, where nuns, who dress in black in the style of the Tuaregs, wander in white courtyards tending to their everyday needs and the maintenance of these forgotten places.
A good example is the beautiful monastery of Pantanassa. The monastery, whose belfry depicts something of a lighthouse and stands like a watchtower, is part of the Byzantine age of Mistras and was founded in the fourteenth century. It was governed by the Despots Paleologos; the family of Byzantine Emperors who lived and ruled from their palaces that Joe and I had visited earlier on. We wanted to see it, but as we headed down another hazardous footpath, we crossed paths with an ‘Ohia’- a dangerous venomous snake that appeared from nowhere. It crossed our path, stopped for couple of seconds, lifted its head from the ground slightly and hissed at us, and then disappeared behind a rock face. We were not very surprised to see it, because Mistras has ideal conditions for snakes and other wildlife to breed, live and survive. It was our first encounter in Greece with a deadly snake.
Once we reached and entered the Pantanassa monastery, we were astonished by its beauty, and were surprised to see such a beautiful church. Having come prepared, we changed into long trousers and entered. We quietly walked to the back of the church and looked around at the beauty, the workmanship and creation of the interior of such an old place. I found a seat and chatted quietly with the person who was responsible for taking care of the church, and we discussed its history, and design. He was so kind, and showed us the frescoes - and one in particular - the late style of the resurrection of Lazarus that was painted in the colours of the Spartan countryside. Memories came flooding back to me from my childhood days; remembering when I was a young boy, and the hours I had spent listening to my grandmother giving me lessons on Byzantine art. I felt her spiritual presence; as if she was there with me, and I was able to see and translate what I saw as though looking through her own eyes. I instantly recognised the colours of Byzantium that she had related to me; using nature’s flowers and trees to make me remember them. I saw flaming red of the anemone, yellow of the laburnum, and that celestial blue of the periwinkle; the lovely rose of the flowering laurel, and the silvery green of the olive trees. I would have given anything just to have her there with me and feel her strong physical and beautiful presence.
Afterwards I talked with Joe about the iconostasis, [screens on which icons are placed separating the sanctuary from the rest of the church] and about the icons and their significance. I explained to him that on some of the major icons presented on the iconostasis, were little copper or silver strips with figures of a leg; or an arm; a baby; an eye; a woman; a man; stamped upon them, which hang below the icons. Greeks have a very strong religious faith, and if one requires help; for instance: if that person has a problem with his or her leg, arm, eyes; or if a married couple cannot have children, they come to the monastery and they pray, pay their respects by lighting candles, and as a sign of faith and commitment they will leave behind a strip of that particular request in the hope that it will be granted by the church’s saint, or by the almighty God. They will also go and pay their respects by approaching the iconostasis and experience a physical contact by kissing the icons; first with Jesus, followed by the holy Virgin, and the rest of the saints, and finally light a small candle which signifies the holy light of our Christian faith and also to pay respects to the memory of a dear loved one.
Later, we visited two other churches after we left the monastery of Pantanassa, but by late afternoon we decided it was time to make our way back down to the valley of the Mistras.
In the early 1980s I was doing some voluntary work helping out within the Greek antiquities department at the British Museum: work that was so interesting and involved research in Greek and classical history. It also gave me the opportunity to give guided tours on the famous Elgin marbles on occasional Saturday mornings. It was a contribution that I was so proud of - and one which lasted nearly eight years; an opportunity which allowed me to put my own personal expertise towards the great history of my great nation; my beloved Greece.
While doing this I decided to go and visit Greece on an extensive tour, with the main purpose to visit historic and religious places, photograph and do write-ups about them. It was to be a working holiday, with data and photos collected for historic updating on some of the major ancient and classical sites.
Two journeys were considered: the first was mainly done on foot and with the use of public transport. The second journey was carried out in 1986. The planning of this first journey, which covered southern Greece – also known as the Peloponnese - took almost a year to plan, and once completed, September was chosen as the best month to travel. A few weeks before my departure, Joe, who was a good friend and history buff, and who always wanted to visit Greece, asked me if he could come along. We had a long discussion, and it was agreed that he would accompany me on this first journey.
A few weeks later arrangements were made, and on the 31st of August 1983, Joe and I took a flight from Heathrow to Athens. Our baggage consisted of two very heavy rucksacks; a small tent; three SLR’s and one medium format camera and lots of film. Also, one 8mm super eight cine camera with sound; eight three minute Kodak cine film cartridges, journals and a pair each of good walking boots.
What you are about to read are some small extracts from my journal after we arrived at the valley of the derelict Byzantine city of Mistras.
On our arrival at the valley of Mistras, we were surprised to see that it was almost deserted. There were hardly any tourists to be seen. Back in 1983, Mistras was not very well known and it was too far down south for a casual tourist to venture out so far into a new and not very well charted territory. It was perhaps a blessing, having the whole valley and the old city at our disposal. Having studied the geographical plan of the old city, I decided that the best way of approach was to follow a narrow path that snaked all the way up the side of the mountain which led to the top of the old castle. From there it would be much easier and more advantageous to methodically work our way down, exploring as we travelled.
We carefully started making our way up this narrow path that seemed never ending and was covered by weeds and in certain places, very slippery. It was more like a goat’s track than a path, and Joe and I were grateful that we didn’t have to carry the rucksacks on our backs. It was a painstaking effort and during the climb we made some stops to catch our breath and a rest. Half of our water supplies were gone by the time we got to the top. The temperature at the castle must have been over 40 degrees centigrade.
The dead city that stretched below us dated back to the fourteenth and fifteenth century. As we started our descent, we had a bird’s eye view and a clear topographical understanding of Mistras. Its architecture was Byzantine and its colouration was of honey-blond walls; ascended sporadically with the colour of mauve. As we slowly proceeded with our exploration within the ruins, we realised that what we were observing evoked a Byzantine empire long collapsed from the savage onslaughts of the Orient. The further we descended, it became clear that the weight of five hundred years had undone its walls and houses and the denser the vegetation became. The narrow streets and steps were covered with weeds, collapsed Byzantine copulas, worn away paths and ruin palaces.
The mountain we were on was originally known as Mesythra - named after the Greek word (Goat cheese.) Over the years the name had changed to Mistras. Under the Byzantine rule Mistras expanded, developed and became very important, politically and culturally, and its importance was known as the renaissance of Byzantium. After the fall of Constantinople the Emperor’s brother escaped and came to Mistras where he was crowned Emperor and ruled for another seven years. Mistras at its height became an intellectual centre of the Byzantine Empire. The close relationship between Mistras and Constantinople made it a city of academic, artistic and a most important centre of Theology. It was also high in fashion and individuality. Scholars from all around Europe flooded in to teach and study; but besides all that, Mistras kept the true spirit of ancient Greece, and the end product of all its philosophical teachings were well known and valued, and even compared with Renaissance Italy.
Mistras’ religious and influential spirit continued until the Turkish conquest in 1460. Mistras still remained prosperous under the Venetian rule (1687-1715) and was famous for its silk industry. Life carried on under the Turkish occupation, till Greece’s independence, and remained still active till the early 1950s when the Greek government decided to evacuate what was left of its diminished population. After that it became a dead city. From the many churches and monasteries that were active all along the valley through the centuries, less than half a dozen are still inhabited by a few nuns.
As we continued our descent the sun above us was getting hotter by the minute. It became too much for Joe and although he put his t-shirt back on, his back was already red raw and he was starting to feel the effects. We were almost half way down when we arrived at the remnants of what were once the royal palaces of the Byzantine emperors - situated on the upper end of the city. We carefully entered one part of the palace through an old medieval stone entrance and I took my first glimpse at what was left of the old palace and looked up at its windows. It felt very eerie; as if these high windows looked back at me and stared terrifyingly like empty eye-sockets. Poor palace, I thought; if these old stones could speak, I wonder what stories they could tell us. We exited the ruin and made our way towards some of the old derelict churches and monasteries. Although Mistras is almost forgotten in these modern times, all is not lost; for the spiritual life has been kept alive in these few silent monasteries, where nuns, who dress in black in the style of the Tuaregs, wander in white courtyards tending to their everyday needs and the maintenance of these forgotten places.
A good example is the beautiful monastery of Pantanassa. The monastery, whose belfry depicts something of a lighthouse and stands like a watchtower, is part of the Byzantine age of Mistras and was founded in the fourteenth century. It was governed by the Despots Paleologos; the family of Byzantine Emperors who lived and ruled from their palaces that Joe and I had visited earlier on. We wanted to see it, but as we headed down another hazardous footpath, we crossed paths with an ‘Ohia’- a dangerous venomous snake that appeared from nowhere. It crossed our path, stopped for couple of seconds, lifted its head from the ground slightly and hissed at us, and then disappeared behind a rock face. We were not very surprised to see it, because Mistras has ideal conditions for snakes and other wildlife to breed, live and survive. It was our first encounter in Greece with a deadly snake.
Once we reached and entered the Pantanassa monastery, we were astonished by its beauty, and were surprised to see such a beautiful church. Having come prepared, we changed into long trousers and entered. We quietly walked to the back of the church and looked around at the beauty, the workmanship and creation of the interior of such an old place. I found a seat and chatted quietly with the person who was responsible for taking care of the church, and we discussed its history, and design. He was so kind, and showed us the frescoes - and one in particular - the late style of the resurrection of Lazarus that was painted in the colours of the Spartan countryside. Memories came flooding back to me from my childhood days; remembering when I was a young boy, and the hours I had spent listening to my grandmother giving me lessons on Byzantine art. I felt her spiritual presence; as if she was there with me, and I was able to see and translate what I saw as though looking through her own eyes. I instantly recognised the colours of Byzantium that she had related to me; using nature’s flowers and trees to make me remember them. I saw flaming red of the anemone, yellow of the laburnum, and that celestial blue of the periwinkle; the lovely rose of the flowering laurel, and the silvery green of the olive trees. I would have given anything just to have her there with me and feel her strong physical and beautiful presence.
Afterwards I talked with Joe about the iconostasis, [screens on which icons are placed separating the sanctuary from the rest of the church] and about the icons and their significance. I explained to him that on some of the major icons presented on the iconostasis, were little copper or silver strips with figures of a leg; or an arm; a baby; an eye; a woman; a man; stamped upon them, which hang below the icons. Greeks have a very strong religious faith, and if one requires help; for instance: if that person has a problem with his or her leg, arm, eyes; or if a married couple cannot have children, they come to the monastery and they pray, pay their respects by lighting candles, and as a sign of faith and commitment they will leave behind a strip of that particular request in the hope that it will be granted by the church’s saint, or by the almighty God. They will also go and pay their respects by approaching the iconostasis and experience a physical contact by kissing the icons; first with Jesus, followed by the holy Virgin, and the rest of the saints, and finally light a small candle which signifies the holy light of our Christian faith and also to pay respects to the memory of a dear loved one.
Later, we visited two other churches after we left the monastery of Pantanassa, but by late afternoon we decided it was time to make our way back down to the valley of the Mistras.