Astypalaia: Morphology of the island (Part 3)

Astypalaia is the most western island of the Dodecanese, next to the Cyclades. It’s about 95 square kilometers and it is divided by a rocky isthmus the asphalted road has been made on. From this corner you can dominate both sides. The island has the peculiar shape of a butterfly whose isthmus is just the body.

The ground is mostly rocky and the western side reaches 500 meters height, whereas the eastern side is 300 meters high. The few flats areas are closed to the coast: Livadi, Maltezana, Mesa Vathy, Exo Vathy. Fig, orange, lemon and pomegranate trees, grapevines, growing aubergines, herbs, tomatoes, melons, water melons and so on grow here.

In the west the landscape spreads on reddish rocks, blackberry bush and bushes of aromatic herbs such as thymus, oregano and the soothing ‘flascomilio’ from which you can obtain camomile that cures intestinal disorders, stomachache, nervousness, insomnia; the flascomilio is also used in addition to the charcoal, leaving a delicious aroma on grilled meat.

Colors change in the east side. The rocks become whitish and the blackberry bush dyed of a dark green; the reddish ground is replaced by a golden area. Sheep and goats climb the rocks; they have at their neck the typical bells that ring with different sounds so that each owner may recognize them.

The coast is rugged formed by a rocky continuum interrupted only by the plenty deserted coves covered by little superfine stones. Aristotle declared: ‘Astypalaia foe of snakes’ because it is the only island in the Aegean where there aren’t any. This is due to the double yearly passage of storks, greedy of snake eggs; they travel to Africa in the autumn and come from Asia at the beginning of the spring.

Astypalaia: Some of history (Part 2)

The myth of Astypalaia is quite important. She is Europe’s sister, daughter of Phoenix who is at his turn son of Agenor, the father of the Phoenicians. Agenor’s parents are Neptune and Libya. About three thousand years ago, a desert island in the Aegean had been chosen by the Cares who came from Asia Minor. They called it Pilléa, then Astypalaia. The etymon might be divided into two words: ‘Asty’, that is ‘town’ and ‘paléo’, that is ‘ancient’. As a result, the meaning sounds something like ‘ancient town’ or ‘ancient gate’.

Ovid called it Stampalia in one of his ‘Metamorphosis’. Today it has another version, that is ‘Astropalia’ in New Greek. The island had always been appealed by all its neighborhoods for its strategic and geographic position and as a consequence, its inhabitants focused on keeping their independence.

Many peoples possessed it leaving their mark over the centuries - you can tell it by the indelible signs in the architecture, language, habits. Astypalaia succeeded in escaping the enemy attacks by strategic alliances with the Filo-Dorians, that is the Spartans; then it turned its back to those ones in order to enter into an alliance with its ex enemies, the Athenians, that is the Ionian. These alliances were fickle and sudden, expensive and risky and they didn’t always succeed. As a matter of facts, in the Fifth Century the Peloponnese Wars among Greek populations burst out and Athens was defeated. To Astypalaia it was a big loss, because it had to pay its economic share. However, Astypalaia could release from the heavy Athenian ward.

The gods Athena, Artemis, Zeus, Apollo and Dionysus were praised and its inhabitants built temples to honor them; unfortunately those temples do not exist any longer. At last Astypalaia started autarchy. The establishment was run by two main organs: the Senate and the Parliament, called ‘Vuli’. During the Hellenic Age the harbor was used to trade; the people used to plan Olympic Games and the athletes dedicated victories to the gods.

Then the Romans came. They decided not to subdue the island, provided that Astypalaia paid a huge sum, then they signed a treaty in 149 B.C. and let it have its own political autonomy. Pliny the Elder named it ‘libera’, that is ‘Free’. A so small island couldn’t resist to the continuous pirate attacks, so it had to subdue to the new strength of the Christian Age, Byzantium which compelled it to heavy levy.

In 1206 the Serenissima was engaged in the Fourth Crusade, but before arriving to the Holy Land it suddenly changed way and sacked some islands in the Aegean, among which Astypalaia, named then Stampalia. It became a feud of the Venetian family Quirini who, in order to show their power built the castle which can still be seen in Chora today. The quiet life in Astypalaia came to an end in 1453, a bad year for the European Christendom. Constantinople fell under the Turks and Venice had to abandon some of his most precious pearls.

Nearly five centuries of Turkish domination spoiled the island-,the governors exacted exasperating taxes; Greek was still the spoken language. The French Revolution was followed by the 1821 insurrection and Greece was one of the nations that needed freedom from the foreign bondage, but here is the paradox - Astypalaia, a Greek island didn't take part in the movement and stood apart until the Ottoman Empire came to an end. The Italians came back to the island in 1912 and used it as a military harbor during the World War I; then the Fascist Regime was imposed. The Ottoman Empire collapsed when the national states were being founded and the new Greek State claimed its own share. They obtained the Cyclades.

By the end of Second World War the other states acknowledged the Dodecanese to Greece. The Italians left Astypalaia and the island finally was given back to the ‘land of the gods’.

Astypalaia: a butterfly in the Dodecanese (Part 1)

That’s it: Dimitra’s last stop is just Astypalaia. The ferry-boat got empty on the Cyclades during the night and now few passengers are going to land. The most of them are Athenians looking for shelter in the far Dodecanese, very closed to Turkey, on the islands less trodden by the great international tourism. The sun rose a couple of hours ago and a deep light is hitting the white cupolas dominating the landscape, up there on the castle. The dock is a simple quay made of cement, a small party of well-tanned tourist is peacefully standing on waiting to board: Dimitra is going to take them to Piraeus.

Once you are on the island, you should follow the only road which starts just from the small harbour, leads on the coast of Chora and divides the beach from the typical cafés exhaling an appealing smell of food. In front of the first of these cafés there is the bus stop where you can read the timetable on a little blackboard; obviously the timetable is really ‘flexible’. The Islanders are sitting at the cafés, are sipping their coffee and smoking their cigarettes; they have come down the harbour to have a look at the new faces and to watch the boats. Some of the eldest people still remember few Italian words, last memory of the short Italian fascist occupation.

“Are you looking for a room?” A whistle, a name, few greek words and someone gets smiling closed offering you accommodation at his’. So it is for us. We follow Nichols, a middle aged man decently dressed who suggests us to choose a bus or a cab. We go for a bus because the queue at the taxi station is too long; someone explains us that there are only four cars on the whole island.
The shape of a trembling vehicle is getting closed raising a cloud of dust and making a vague noise of a motor-carriage. A few minutes later the bus comes, at last. There isn’t room enough for everyone and we are compelled to stand on a eight square meters surface. A tourist asks in English where the luggage deposit is and the bus driver, who is also the owner, smiling peacefully points out the room between the gate and his sit. Another tourist gets a bit nervous for the bad service, but others are quietly laughing about the adventurous taste of the trip. I’m becoming aware that the bus stops are ‘flexible’, too; as a matter of facts passengers get off and on whenever they want.

At Nicholas’ nod the bus stops and eight tourists including us get off . We struggle a bit to find and collect our baggage, but we finally manage that. His wife is waiting for him on the threshold near the main gate. Further on the right there is a pergola under which there are three big tables made of wood and some chairs. A few guests are busy making their breakfast. Man and wife are now talking and by their expression we guess that there are no rooms available. Nevertheless, the landlord keeps smiling never getting his eyes off me and invites us to follow him on the first floor.

On the long polished corridor there are the numbered rooms. With ‘nonchalance’, Nicholas opens them all. Then he comes back thoughtfully, enters an empty room and in perfect Italian tells me: “quick, put something on the bed!” I’m tired, I have traveled all the night and my reflexes are vaguely slow. But he snorts, he takes my sweatshirt I have around my hips off and throws it furiously on the bed. His smile comes back immediately. He opens him arms and with much satisfaction cries: “Here it is, now this room is taken!”.

Our vacation has just begun.

A Time for Everything

I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil — this is the gift of God. (Ec 3:12-13)