It was around 1986 that we booked a hotel in Elounda. That was before well known areas of Crete became the tourist hub they are today. I've no idea how we got to Elounda but I think we had to fly via London.
Our harbour hotel was full when we arrived in the middle of the night. We were given a small room at the very top of the house. It was like a crows' nest. In the morning we went to the window for our first view of the sea. What we saw was the island of Spinalonga rising from the Gulf of Corfu like the crinkle cut back of a dinosaur.
Our host Manolis, explained that the room we had booked was not available -- there had been a death in the family and the hotel was occupied by aunts, uncles and cousins. He would secure a room for us in another hotel. Of course if we were happy to stay where we were he could not under any circumstances charge us.
We stayed and in as far as was possible in two weeks we became part of the family. We were invited to attend the funeral service and to join in the meal for everyone which followed. Photos of the deceased uncle were passed around.He was pictured working in the olive grove, in his army, uniform and looking magnificent on the day of his marriage to Irene. Five beautiful children followed who now in middle age mourned their father.
One evening we walked along the seashore with Manolis and he offered to take us to Spinalonga. Next morning we set off in his blue and white boat. As we approached the island, the Venetian Fortress gleamed in the bright morning light. Manolis explained that this fortress had been built with stone from the now sunken city of Oleos which was once a place of worship for Greek Gods and Goddesses. But the saddest part of the island's history was its years as a leper colony in the nineteen thirties.
Leaving the boat we climbed the stone steps which led to the crest of the island. I tried to imagine how the people who were forcibly taken to Spinalonga had resisted. They must have felt degraded, unloved, forgotten? Peering over high walls I saw huge rocks down below where mighty waves crashed and tumbled. Surely during times of desperation the idea of jumping into this cauldron must have crossed the mind of many a sufferer. And did any person with withered limbs and oozing sores ever claw at the stone inch by inch in an effort to escape? It would be a dream surely to be carried pain free forever on a soft blue sea?
Manolis who had been talking to my husband may have read my mind. 'In time' he said, 'life for the community on Spinalonga improved. The inhabitants had their own shops, medical care, a church and a library. And there was electricity on the island too -- before it came to the mainland.' he laughed.
Did electric light prevent them from crying at night for the relatives they had left behind? Did it erase from memory the healthy children they would never hug again or end those dreams once shared with separated spouses? I didn't think so.
Manolis told us about a woman who tried to infect herself with leprosy so that she could join her husband on the island and about the father who churned his way through the water and came ashore on Crete with his small son hanging onto his neck. They were promptly returned to the island.
There was a story too about a husband and wife who were permitted, as were others at the time, to go back to Athens to settle their affairs. They had a row and he killed her -- and sent her pickled body back in a barrel of fish! He was captured and left to serve out his sentence as the gods intended.
Manolis took us to see the forty remaining graves on the island. A stone slab covered each burial place for the whitened bones of those who did not survive long enough to be allowed off the island when the leprosy scare eased. Here slumber the noble souls who were deprived of a healthy life in the olive groves, who never trod the wine-press with fellow villagers and for whom the scent of orange, lemon and jasmine had become a memory.They were deprived of that tranquility and sureness which comes from being held close in one's own place.
We returned to Elounda later in the evening. Sitting in our crow's nest we listened to bouzouki music and the chatter and laughter of people dining in traditional restaurants down below. As the sun set in the west, Spinalonga soared in the distance solid and enduring against the sky. I remembered those lonely graves and I wondered if the bones could hear the music too. Maybe they clapped their bony hands and smiled through bleached teeth before returning to their slumbers.
Much has been written about Spinalonga since I was there with my husband and Manolis in 1986. It is an unforgettable place -- it provoked the thoughts written above which in no way do justice to those who lived there.
Our harbour hotel was full when we arrived in the middle of the night. We were given a small room at the very top of the house. It was like a crows' nest. In the morning we went to the window for our first view of the sea. What we saw was the island of Spinalonga rising from the Gulf of Corfu like the crinkle cut back of a dinosaur.
Our host Manolis, explained that the room we had booked was not available -- there had been a death in the family and the hotel was occupied by aunts, uncles and cousins. He would secure a room for us in another hotel. Of course if we were happy to stay where we were he could not under any circumstances charge us.
We stayed and in as far as was possible in two weeks we became part of the family. We were invited to attend the funeral service and to join in the meal for everyone which followed. Photos of the deceased uncle were passed around.He was pictured working in the olive grove, in his army, uniform and looking magnificent on the day of his marriage to Irene. Five beautiful children followed who now in middle age mourned their father.
One evening we walked along the seashore with Manolis and he offered to take us to Spinalonga. Next morning we set off in his blue and white boat. As we approached the island, the Venetian Fortress gleamed in the bright morning light. Manolis explained that this fortress had been built with stone from the now sunken city of Oleos which was once a place of worship for Greek Gods and Goddesses. But the saddest part of the island's history was its years as a leper colony in the nineteen thirties.
Leaving the boat we climbed the stone steps which led to the crest of the island. I tried to imagine how the people who were forcibly taken to Spinalonga had resisted. They must have felt degraded, unloved, forgotten? Peering over high walls I saw huge rocks down below where mighty waves crashed and tumbled. Surely during times of desperation the idea of jumping into this cauldron must have crossed the mind of many a sufferer. And did any person with withered limbs and oozing sores ever claw at the stone inch by inch in an effort to escape? It would be a dream surely to be carried pain free forever on a soft blue sea?
Manolis who had been talking to my husband may have read my mind. 'In time' he said, 'life for the community on Spinalonga improved. The inhabitants had their own shops, medical care, a church and a library. And there was electricity on the island too -- before it came to the mainland.' he laughed.
Did electric light prevent them from crying at night for the relatives they had left behind? Did it erase from memory the healthy children they would never hug again or end those dreams once shared with separated spouses? I didn't think so.
Manolis told us about a woman who tried to infect herself with leprosy so that she could join her husband on the island and about the father who churned his way through the water and came ashore on Crete with his small son hanging onto his neck. They were promptly returned to the island.
There was a story too about a husband and wife who were permitted, as were others at the time, to go back to Athens to settle their affairs. They had a row and he killed her -- and sent her pickled body back in a barrel of fish! He was captured and left to serve out his sentence as the gods intended.
Manolis took us to see the forty remaining graves on the island. A stone slab covered each burial place for the whitened bones of those who did not survive long enough to be allowed off the island when the leprosy scare eased. Here slumber the noble souls who were deprived of a healthy life in the olive groves, who never trod the wine-press with fellow villagers and for whom the scent of orange, lemon and jasmine had become a memory.They were deprived of that tranquility and sureness which comes from being held close in one's own place.
We returned to Elounda later in the evening. Sitting in our crow's nest we listened to bouzouki music and the chatter and laughter of people dining in traditional restaurants down below. As the sun set in the west, Spinalonga soared in the distance solid and enduring against the sky. I remembered those lonely graves and I wondered if the bones could hear the music too. Maybe they clapped their bony hands and smiled through bleached teeth before returning to their slumbers.
Much has been written about Spinalonga since I was there with my husband and Manolis in 1986. It is an unforgettable place -- it provoked the thoughts written above which in no way do justice to those who lived there.
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