Mediterranean islands are chock full of
ancient history. A romantic can easily imagine Jason and the
Argonauts or Odysseus sailing amongst them in ships of yore. Our
somewhat larger 600-passenger craft glided into Rhodes harbour early in the
morning. Day trips are hardly more than a superficial cultural
experience, but luckily we were off-season with few other tourists.
Rhodes is one of the bigger Greek
islands, situated off the south coast of Turkey. Must-see is the
UNESCO heritage-designated Old Town and in it, the Grand Masters'
Palace, a centuries-old seat of the Knights of St. John (also known
as Knights of Malta and other appellations). What did I know about
the Knights? Close to zip: recalling dim thoughts of the Crusades.
Richard the Lion Heart. And shades of ambitious mystery novelists who
attribute all manner of mysterious skulduggery to the order.
We spent most of our time exploring the
magnificent 14th century palace that houses the Byzantine Museum. In
1856 the palace was largely destroyed by an accidental explosion in
its armoury; almost one hundred years later it was painstakingly
rebuilt and restored from the original plans. To use their full
title, the Sovereign
Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of
Malta
dates back to the
monastic Order of St. John of Jerusalem, dedicated to caring for sick
and poor pilgrims in the Holy Land.
It
became a military as well as
religious
order
under a Papal charter; its mission then expanded to defence of the
Holy Land at the time of the First Crusade. The order attracted
members from everywhere in Europe to make it a fierce defensive
Christian force. After Jerusalem fell to the Ottomans in 1291, the
Knights moved their administration and hospitals to Rhodes, Cyprus,
and Malta over a period of time.
In the museum, I was thrilled to
see one of my favourites, the reproduction of Laocoön, “one of the
greatest of all artworks.” The original masterpiece is attributed
to Rhodes sculptors and when discovered in Rome it was grabbed for
permanent display in the Vatican’s Belvedere Garden.
The Knights began fortifying the town
of Rhodes when they arrived in the early 1300s. The outer grounds of
the palace now provide a park for exercise and families.
After an enjoyable little
trek downhill through narrow streets we had adequate time to gaze
around a central square and look at the shops. On the way a
picturesquely pathetic small child was playing a faintly familiar
song on a bouzouki type instrument. Seeking handouts of course. It
would have made a striking photo if the camera had been uppermost in
mind. Some of our group, all supposedly well-travelled, had to be
told NOT to give her money
when she should be in school. An ice cream shop has amusing creations
in its display window.
Greece was in bad
financial shape in 2011 and the tourist industry was suffering. Our
local guide Ireni was not optimistic about the upcoming election,
urging us to return soon, bring our friends.
************
Cyprus is a divided
island, as we know. Limasol was our port, in Greek jurisdiction.
Rumour has it the town is filled in season with the nightclubbing
offspring of Russian oil-money and possibly serves as an offshore tax
haven. Or money laundering; take your pick. My tour went into the
hills to see mountain villages, thus I missed discovering any direct
evidence of the jetsetting Russian oligarchy.
Beautiful scenery and
sometimes terrifying hairpins on the mountain road led us to a
variety of craft and home industries. It only took the first visit to
see how business had stalled in the discouraging economic climate.
Production had basically stopped. Owners, managers, or employees ―
whoever was tasked with showing us around these places ―
were subdued. Our local guide Antoinetta was the most animated soul
of the day.
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| Photo of their poster |
At the village of Agros we
visit House of Roses, a small factory based on cultivation of
(immense fields of) the ancient Mesopotamian Rosa Damascena.
They produce perfume, cosmetics, wine, candles, ceramic ware, and
what-have-you. The site was virtually vacant: no humming of machinery
or chatter of workers. A brief introductory talk was uninspired; much
more time was given to browsing the shop for souvenirs.
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| Photo of their poster |
After that was a
cottage-industry of jams, jellies, preserves, and candy. We toured
the pristine kitchen where I believe a woman was at work stirring
something. Preserved tender young walnuts and a candy made from fresh
grapes are specialities. Samples, of course. Our bags were getting
heavier with fragrant and tasty purchases.
Then came the winery. Just
the right time for a tasting. Here we found more enthusiasm in the
unabashed sales talk, maybe because the harvest was over as a natural
course of events rather than due to financial woes. All wines were
unfamiliar but I bought a red, knowing enough to steer away from the
retsina.
A pensive moment on their
terrace with the cats was worth its weight in gold.
Barely disguised
commercial promotion on a "tour" is easily forgiven because
these people are desperately dependent on the tourist trade and we
were the only tourists around. Of course we felt silently obliged to
spend some money as we met one pair of melancholy eyes after another.
Did we help prop up the economy? Not so much, I think. Even more so
than Ireni yesterday, Antoinetta implored us to come back to her
island again.
Occasional tiny churches
dot the area, one dating from the 11th
century! Stop the bus!
But no, we have an agenda and today it apparently does not include
history. To my great disappointment. Trying to capture them through a
moving window is impossible. The sun starts to set on the
Mediterranean about 5 p.m. this time of year; it gets dark earlier if
you’re in a mountainous area. So that puts a natural end to a day’s
excursion.
©
2015 Brenda Dougall Merriman. All rights reserved.
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