This travel journey started with a misty dream: my deceased mother pointing to a place on the map and whispering: “This is Mystra. You must go there.”
Mystra, all but a deserted village near the Peloponnese town of Sparta, has its beginnings in Greece’s Byzantine period. Personally, I’d rather enjoy the Classical or Bronze Age sites of Greece. But my love for Greece is neverending (Delphi travel and the Ionian Islands being personal favorites), but if your dead mother has an opinion, you listen. I packed my bags and picked up my ticket for the five-hour trip to Mystra at the bus station in central Athens.
Getting There – Part of The Journey
Part of the Mystra experience is about getting there. The main road hugs the sea coast as it heads north of Athens before crossing a deep crevasse that slices through the Isthmus that connects the Aegean Sea to the Gulf of Corinth – this is called the Corinthian canal. As you pass the ancient city of the same name, the views open up for a fantastic photo opportunity of Acrocorinth, a beautiful mountain where once the famous courtesan-priestesses of Artemis went about their daily work from the Goddess’ temple.
Leaving these sunny shores, the highway heads inland as the scenery out the window changes into a mountainous, stony terrain covered with towering pine forests.
The first stop is the legendary Sparta (Sparti). It sits in a low plain, surrounded by high, snow-capped mountains, covered with orchards, citrus and olive groves, and vineyards. Those of you familiar with Greek history will know that the Spartans were known as the most fierce and fearless warriors of the old world, but despite their aggressive nature, little is left of ancient Sparta. I have time to enjoy the Museum and stroll along flag-stone pathways as wild flowers and oleander bloom amongst the ruins.
A band of children join me on the walk to the Sanctuary of Artemis Orthia, which is by the river, asking me to take their picture while wanting to know why I was there. My thoughts drifted to those legendary Spartan youths who, when reaching puberty, were sent on a rite of passage this very shrine to pay homage the Goddess. When they reached the altar of the temple, the youths were flogged until their blood covered the stones. While some did not live through the severe beating, the ones who did became worth of adulthood and started their extensive training to become warriors, like famed Leonidas, a Spartan hero. Yes, he is one of the men portrayed Hollywood-style in the movie 300 – you won’t find Gerard Butler here, just a serious imposing statues perched outside the nearby stadium.
The Mystra Mystery
Neo Mystra is a charming wee village of old-fashioned stone houses topped with red-tiled. In amongst the houses and twisted lanes there are bulging rose gardens and magenta bougainvillea pouring across the white-washed stone walls and balcony trellises. Yellow flags bearing the double-headed eagle of Byzantium fly from every wrought iron balcony, and each lamp post is stamped with this golden symbol.
In the center of town, at the cross-road, I come upon an ancient oak tree, its thick trunk entwined with roses. It has grown around the spigot of a spring where cold drinking water still gushes. I fill my water flask here before venturing up the hill to the hold city, just as pilgrims might have done in medieval days.
Built on the slopes of Mount Taygetos, the Spartan’s sacred mountain, the ruins are two kilometers up the mountain. One of the most important cities of Byzantium, Mystra was home to nearly fifty thousand Spartans and was occupied until the early 1800s. Villas, monasteries, restored palaces and churches are thrown about the steep, uneven mountainside. The gabled houses had balconies and decorative arches and are the best preserved examples of Byzantine city houses. On the peak of the hill, Castle Myzithras pokes the sky like an imposing warrior ready for any trouble.
The weather is bright and sunny this May morning – late May or early June are the best times to visit, as the wild flowers are in full bloom. I meander along narrow streets and pathways and step through arched lanes. Except for an occasional tour group of Greek seniors (few foreigners have caught on to the mystery of Mystra), the medieval city lays silent and still, disturbed only by the trilling of birds, humming of bees, and a faint sound of music echoing up the hillside. Wild flowers bloom everywhere. I feel as if I am on the edge of some unknown paradise.
Later, I sit in the courtyard of a monastery soaking up this atmospheric feeling. Gradually, a composition I used to play on my mother’s piano comes to mind: In A Monastery Garden. I realize that this setting – with its roses, potted plants, flowering shrubs and burbling fountain – is exactly as I used to imagine as a child. Inside the chapel, I sit on one of the little wooden seats along the wall and think of my mother whose presence I have felt all day, mulling over her mysterious presence, and thank her for showing me this wonderful slice of Greek history.
Photo Credits: tilo 2005, alun salt, stefg74, byrdiegyrl
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