Saturday and church

It’s Saturday today, so naturally, we went to church. Not just any old church, either, but a very old and special one, the Monastery of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Paleocastritsa, the origins of which certainly go back to 1494 when they started keeping regular records, and presumably for a considerable time before that. The monastery occupies the top of the largest headland in Paleo bay, almost in fact an island, as there is only a narrow strip of land comprising two car parks and some tourist traps joining it to the mainland. Once past these, however, you climb a steep and twisting road up through the olives and emerge into a different century.

The monastery is a fully operative place of worship, contemplation and retreat, though it also welcomes members of the public to tour its precincts and marvel at the 15th century church at its heart. On passing through the gate, your first sight is a long, cool, collonade, crossed with arches and filled with vines and other vegetation. This is the space that runs between the church cloisters and the original olive oil mill, now used as novitiates accommodation. At the end of this cool green space rises a small flight of steps, to an upper courtyard. Here you find a small museum and gallery, stuffed full of intricate and ancient icons, painstakingly rendered on boards, richly beautiful, intensely coloured and embellished with gold leaf. Many of the icons on display were more than 500 years old, and as vibrant and uplifting today as when they were created. Here too were displayed a number of ancient bibles and other religious texts, lettered or printed on velum, some bound in covers of solid silver, others richly engraved in leather of highly decorated and enameled. That such rare and valuable artifacts could be so simply and trustingly displayed was a welcome reminder that honesty and faith do still exist in some hearts and communities.

On then to the church itself. This was hugely impressive, bar the hordes of noisy children running around, but when they eventually bored of this and went to find someone else to annoy, there was time to pause and reflect on the beauty displayed. It is a simple space – a large rectangular box, with a flat ceiling and one main door set in the centre of the long, southern wall. At the east end, an altar, in the main part of the church, a few pairs of simple seats. The walls were paneled, but it was the decoration above these that was simply breathtaking. Once your eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, frescoes became clear on almost every surface. The ceiling was also magnificently painted, and silver chandeliers hang at intervals to provide a little illumination. It was a rare privilege to be able to stand in such a sacred space, and one longed for a few less bus parties to share it with. Though their financial contributions must be both significant and very welcome, I imagine the peace which returns when the gate finally closes behind the last sightseer is equally much anticipated.