The memory that has remained most vivid from our 2004 post-flotilla road trip with Suzie and Bente is the cloud of pink covering the top of The Rock. On closer inspection, this violet carpet turned out to be thousands of large-petalled cyclamens. Each of them clinging onto the limestone with barely any discernible top soil for roots or sustenance. It was the end of October, and after that long summer when most Greek vegetation had seemingly burnt to a brown crisp, this low cloud of pastel colour was mesmerising.
Therefore, it must have been October or November in 1537, when the Ottomans finally took their last possession of the Peloponnese, because they called this monolithic rock-berg, “Meneksche” (’Violet City)
The Byzantine Greeks, who founded the town in 585, called the rock Monemvasia, which means single entrance in Greek (“moni emvasi”). This refers to the short, narrow isthmus that connects this magnificent lump to the mainland, and which could be defended. Until the late 19th century the isthmus was formed into a fourteen-arch causeway with a fortified tower at each end. It had a wooden drawbridge in the central section that could be raised in the event of attack.
The location became a sanctuary for Greeks fleeing from invading Slavs and Avars. The walled town was constructed to be invisible from the mainland, to help avoid direct attacks. The lower town and upper towns can be seen only from the sea from the south, and this was the aspect that gradually focussed into view as Missy Bear sailed up the eastern Peloponnesian coast.
The original settlement on the mainland basically became the supermarket for the new citadel: you can’t grow much on a bare lump of rock. The best you can achieve for self-sufficiency is to build many cisterns in which to capture the winter rainwater.
One of the major mainland products was, of course, wine. The passing Venetians merchants - enroute to and from Constantinople and the Black Sea – called this wine ‘malvasia’, which I suppose is how they heard the sound of the town’s name. The Cadogan guide suggests that the English, in turn, must have been a bit merry when they heard the Italians speak of this wine, because they “slurred it into malmsey”. Use your imagination. I think this was a sweet red wine, and favoured by merchants because it kept well(ish). The vines were later exported westwards and grown on the Canaries and on Madeira.
I enquired in a couple of delicatessens in the new town about tasting or buying some malvasia wine. But I don’t think the locals plant that grape variety anymore. One young female shop assistant told me about the new varieties her family cultivate locally, but my search for the original Monemvasia varietal was fruitless. The new varieties and wines are very good – the whites and rosés can be very dry and refreshing - and the quality of Greek wine now is immeasurable better that when I first travelled around in 1987 and even on flotilla in 2004.
We moored up alongside in the port south of this ‘Gibraltar of the East’, and with a fine view of The Rock over the harbour wall. I wondered whether the port police would come and ask to see our papers and ask for harbour dues. They didn’t that day, but did show up two days later to ask us how we were, and to politely ask us to move further along the wall, which we did.
The formalities are applied in a seemingly random manner. Some port police ask for the full works: ships registration; boat insurance; transit log (to make sure the non-EU flagged boat is not overstaying its welcome); Greek cruising tax record (proof that we have paid the new tax introduced in 2021 which is payable by all cruising yachts); and sometimes even our passports. In other ports, we might get asked for the first two. In most small ports, there is no-one there to ask us.
And, in general, there are no mooring fees payable. Back in 2004, we might have paid 2 or 3 euros for a night, but now, most public mooring seems to be free-of-charge. Maybe they have stopped collecting local fees due to the imposition of the national cruising tax?
The Greeks’ kind attitude to visitors reminded me of Patrick Leigh-Fermor’s descriptions of the roots of Greek hospitality. He believed the traditions had some from the east, where it was/is custom to welcome an itinerant or stranger into your house, and to offer them sustenance for a day or two until they were able to move on. I wondered if that mentality or culture is what we experience as visiting sailors in Greece?
The French ports are next on the spectrum of hospitality, in my opinion. Many tend to be owned by the community and only charge a modest fee, because the townsfolk know that you are going to shop and dine at their establishments. Private British marinas can charge an arm and a leg, and many public rivers and harbours where a yacht could anchor for free are now being filled with private pontoons, often forcing out the yachtsmen who are sailing on a budget. At the extreme end of the scale in Sicily especially, the harbours are sometimes divided up into individual private pontoons and overnight charges can be eye-wateringly expensive, especially in season.
Anyway, needless to say, I think the Greek way is charming, but I suspect that not much of that centrally-collected, national cruising tax makes its way back to the individual harbour towns and villages.
Now that I have mentioned Sicily, I suppose I ought to interject some history here (non-history readers please skip the next bit). Readers of last season’s blogs will remember my fascination with the southern Normans. What I hadn’t realised is that, during the reign of the first King of Sicily (Roger II), his Norman army attacked Monemvasia as part of his overall campaign on Byzantine territories. That they failed to take it is testament to the strength of both its natural and man-made defences.
A later set of ‘Franks’ [Ed – Greeks called themselves ‘Romans’, and all westerners were termed ‘Franks’] – the Villehardouins – also coveted Monemvasia. It was one of the last places in the Peloponnese that they had not secured as part of their Principality of Achaea (following the sack of Constantinople). From 1246 they besieged and blockaded the citadel for three years until there was not a cat nor dog on The Rock left to be eaten. The townsfolk surrendered on the basis that they would retain their privileges. William agreed. But he in turn was captured and ransomed by the Greeks at the Battle of Pelagonia, so he forfeited The Rock as well as many other possessions to the Despotate of Morea.
As Monemvasia was effectively the port of Mystras, when Mystras fell to the Ottomans in 1456, the last Despot of Morea (Demetrios Palaiologo) fled to The Rock. He asked for assistance in turn from a Catalan pirate, then the Pope, and eventually the Venetians, who strengthened the fortifications.
But Monemvasia eventually fell into the hands of Suleiman I (‘the ‘Magnificent’) after he beat the Holy League - a combined force of Venice, the Holy Roman Emperor (Chares V) and the Pope (Paul III) - at the Battle Preveza in 1537. Many Monemvasians emigrated to Crete and Santorini. Needless to say, The Rock, like many other strategic ports, subsequently changed hands over many years between the Venetians and Ottomans. And the odd church got converted to mosque, and possibly vice-versa.
But Monemvasia’s final glory came in 1821, when the Greek independence fighters captured the Ottoman garrison after a four-month siege. One of the besiegers was the locally famous and formidable woman Lascarina Boubelina. She was from the island of Spetses (not too far away to the north-east) and we will talk about her in future blogs when we sail there.
Most of the inhabitants moved out to the new town on the mainland (for economic reasons no doubt). It now remains a beautifully preserved and conserved glimpse back into medieval times. It does not, however, feel like a deserted, open-air museum as did Mystras; many of the dwellings still stand, and have been lovingly converted into quaint guesthouses and boutique hotels. Many have roof-terraces overlooking the Myrtoan Sea to the south. There are a few touristy souvenir shops, but it’s quite tasteful.
Before we slipped our lines, I was delighted to make a rendezvous with an old Anglo-Greek sailing acquaintance, who was sailing his yacht south between his homes on Athens and the island of Kithera (off Cape Maleas). I had not seen him since 2005, when he was a student on a Day Skipper Practical course that I was teaching out in the Solent. We now had a coffee to catch up on old and new times. If you are reading this, my friend, it was great to meet up again and good luck with organising your big music event! We will continue to sail Missy Bear around your wonderful seas with respect, and to enjoy the warm, welcoming hospitality.
