Part IV: Of hagiographies, ancient gods and serendipity

Friday May 18th, 2018: Near Kitta, Ano Boularii, Stavri, Charouda, Kotronas, Lagia, Marmari, Temple of Poseidon and Apollo

Final day in Mani and the plan was to try and visit as many old churches as possible and to also try to visit the most southern point of mainland Europe which is the lighthouse Tenaron.

I called the museum at Areopolis and as we had planned (see post Part II) I arranged to have one of the museum attendants to open three chapels to which he had keys. I drove to Areopolis and collected the guard, his name is Yannis, and back we drove to near Kitta to see the 13th century chapel of Sergius and Bacchus. The old chapel stands alone in a field away from the main road. It is in a reasonably good condition because the locals maintain the building and even hold sermons on certain days.

13th century chapel of Sergius and Bacchus

The dome of Sergius and Bacchus

A wall detail inside Sergius and Bacchus

The next visit was to a small church at Ano Boularii a village that I had visited on day one of this trip (see post Part I). Again we drove all the way to the top of the village at the cemetery and then walked by the side of the cemetery down the mountain until we reached the chapel of Ag. Stratigos another 13th century chapel.

The way to Ag. Stratigos by the side of the mountain at Ano Boularii

Externally the chapel of Ag. Stratigos looks in good condition

Inside it is a different story requiring scaffolding and wooden support beams

There are some fine hagiographies and even marble columns probably found from an ancient worshiping site

By the front door there was an empty marble coffin and on top of it a marble box with two sculls on top of it

The third and final visit with Yannis as my guide was at a chapel which stood by itself on the side of a mountain by the village of Stavri. Getting there required a 10 minute hike but the view was worth it and so was the sight of the chapel.

The path leading to the 13th century chapel outside the village of Stavri

Judging from the inside of the chapel it must have been an important place of worshiping with marble colonnades ...

... and some fine hagiographies

I drove Yannis back to the museum at Areopolis and gave him a couple of bottles of wine to show my appreciation as he would not accept any money and decided to take the internal road to the end of the peninsula from Areopolis to Kotronas and then following the coastal road south to cape Tenaron. The drive to Kotronas was relatively easy and after a short break for a cold drink at what seemed to be the only cafe at Kotronas started on the drive to Tenaron. After the village of Lagia, the road becomes twisting and turning, with lots of 's' bends and high cliffs making the drive a little tense. Eventually arriving at the opening, as far as the road goes, you meet an ancient ruin and across from it the cape Tenaron. Reaching the cape requires a hike of at least 30 minutes each way and since I had arranged to meet the person with the keys to the chapel of Taxiarches (see post part II) I decided to miss it this time.

At the tip of Mani

The final visit for the day and indeed for the 4 days road trip was the Taxiarches chapel at the village of Charouda, about 20 minutes away from Kitta on the way to Areopolis. I wanted to visit this 11th century chapel since the time I started preparing for this road trip and especially after reading the Financial Times article of one of my favourite travel writers, William Dalrymple. Below is a long passage from that article so that the reader of this post can understand the background to my visit to this particular chapel:

"As Paddy knew, and wrote about so beautifully, the Mani contains some of the most ancient and Byzantine chapels and basilicas in Greece, dotted around olive groves above steep coastal cliffs; but any traveller who wants to get inside and see their celebrated frescoes must first find the guardian grannies who keep the keys, and then persuade them to disgorge them and to let you into their carefully tended holy places. This can be more difficult than it sounds. On one occasion, trying to get inside the famed 11th- century church of the Taxiarches at Charouda,

I was directed to the door of Antonia, a black-clad matriarch in widow’s weeds who looked so ancient she could almost have lost her husband to Ibrahim Pasha’s Egyptians. Yes, she said, with deep suspicion in her voice, she did hold the keys, but no, this was the time of her lunch. I should come back in an hour. I did as I was bid, only to find she was taking her siesta. Deciding to walk along the coast until she woke, I returned only to be told she was unable to take me to the church as she was feeding her great-grandchildren. Then she was putting out fodder for her donkeys: wouldn’t I like to come back tomorrow morning?

It was well past 7pm when, after a lot of begging and pleading, a huge primeval key was finally, reluctantly flourished and I followed the bent-backed matriarch to the church on the edge of the village. The sun was now slowly sinking over the hills at the end of a hot day; from the higher slopes, the tinkle of unseen goat bells cut through the background whirr of cicadas as shepherds led the flocks back for their night.

The church — in truth it was barely larger than a chapel — was very small, but very beautiful. It had a domed, tiled roof and round arcaded windows, whose brick tiles were made from fired red mud. It lay in a rocky graveyard dotted with oleanders and ilexes at the edge of olive groves, and was built from stone the colour of halloumi cheese. Only when Antonia finally ground the key in the wards of the ancient lock, and had crossed herself several times, was I allowed to step inside.

Nothing prepares you for the darkly melancholic and baleful beauty of the wall paintings of the Mani churches; but remote as it is, the church of the Taxiarches at Charouda is especially fine. The anonymous painter had a particular quirk of giving some of the saints a black triangular lower eyelid. The intention seem to be to enhance their gaunt asceticism and melancholic sadness, but I thought it gave them a look oddly like the buffoonish Pierrot in the Commedia dell ’Arte.

A grim-faced Christ Pantocrator glowers down from the decorative brickwork of the dome, hands opened and upheld as if in surprise at the wonders of his own creation. Below him, ranks of cherubim and seraphim stand with their wings raised. A phalanx of prophets line the lower drum; nearby stylites preach from pillars; and patriarchs in monochrome vestments like Malevich abstracts grip their bibles and proudly display the instruments of their martyrdom. More martyrs have their flesh ripped and eyes gouged out over the walls of the nave, the background landscapes to both virgins and saints as high and mountainously craggy as the Taygetus themselves, the men and the jagged rocks of the mountains sharing a clear affinity, and a similar angularity.

The most beautiful images of all lay at the west end, near the porch where the matriarch Antonia still stood silhouetted by the last rays of the sun. That light, reflecting off the foot-polished stone floor, illuminated a pair of youthful Byzantine soldiers: a young, swaggering St George astride his white charger, all glittering armour and levelled spear, while standing at ease slightly to his left, leaning on his javelin, was a swarthily beautiful St Demetrius with a glistening mail coat, a bow slung over his shoulder and sporting a single, rather dandyish earring; the very model of Maniot resistance to the encroachments of the outside world.

Looking both at Antonia, and the St Demetrius, it was no longer impossible to believe the old legends: that these remarkable, tough, independent Maniots really were the last descendants of Spartans who took refuge here when their hegemony beyond the Taygetus was finally destroyed, their struggle finally over".[Excerpt From: Walks amid the watchtowers of the Mani, Financial Times, August 28, 2015]

I don't think I could better this description and I will stick instead to posting a few photos.  However, there is something that I need to mention. During my first visit to the village of Charouda I managed to get to the chapel but it was locked (see my post part II) but I was fortunate enough to find someone that day at a nearby hotel who gave me the mobile number of the person who has the key to the church. I phoned Gregory, the key master, who works in Sparti at the archaeological society and he agreed to meet me on Friday afternoon as he was coming to Charouda, his village, for the weekend.. When I got to the Taxiarches chapel, Gregory was already there and inside the church, lighting some candles in front of some icons. I entered the chapel, introduced myself and we talked a little about the origin of Taxiarches which was indeed originally built in the 11th century but since then refurbished a couple of times with the hagiographies being done during the 17th century. The chapel is used one Sunday per month for proper liturgies. 

While talking and completely unexpectedly by Gregory a friend of his and two ladies walked in the chapel. He embraced Gregory in the way that Greek men do, but also as I found Sicilians are also used to embracing to express their friendship. After a few pleasantries, the man turned to Gregory expressed his sorrow for the loss of Gregory's mother and just left. Alone in the church with Gregory I could not resist but ask him if his mother was called Antonia. "yes of course" he said "how do you know?". I explained about the Financial Times article about which he was completely unawares. I promised him I will email him the article.