Parga
Parga
Impregnable castles, immersed in greenery, rocky islands embraced by the waves and a chapel built on Panagia. All given over to lush vegetation, they complement what everyone has in mind about classic, non-negotiable, unconditional beauty.
What did you really know about Parga? You’re trying hard to remember. What had you read, what did you expect? The first image obliterates any questions; it makes you forget what you were looking for, what you would like it to be. You keep looking up, the full moon over the Venetian castle.
The small church of Panagia shines in the vegetation of its small island. The humidity blocks the view, it spreads, it doesn’t let you clearly distinguish the opposite Paxos. It is night and the eye is on the obvious. You don’t notice the fancy colors of the neoclassical buildings, the traffic on the pier, the people at anchor, the fishermen securing the boats in the harbor.
Parga
But what you see is enough. To understand, to think why the northern shores of the Ionian have always magnetized their own public. Those who like the green of the dense olive groves, those who seek the coolness of the fruit-bearing forests, those who swear eternal loyalty to golden sandy beaches drowned in pines, to rocks and chapels that float as if in transparent waters. You feel lucky to have stolen a little more “summer” and nature shares your mood, the wind makes and lasts, the sea sparkles like glass.
Two castles look down on you, yellowish ruins of the Venetian rule, witnesses of the later dominance of Ali Pasha. Parga was not conquered, it was sold to the Ottomans, and its inhabitants fled, leaving it for neighboring Corfu, self-exiled but never enslaved.
Always with them and the image of “Parginopoula”, led them once more. It was she who first showed the way to the castle (in the 14th century) and they slowly spread around it, leaving forever Paleoparga, the first village on the plateau, behind the verdant ridge of Mount Bezobolios.
It will dawn and you will see them. Rocks thrown into the sea protect her: the Three Litharakia, the Keftedes, the Pavloukes, the haunted Ai-Nicolas who never married his bride. The Parginians look at them from their wooden balconies, from all parts of the amphitheatrically built city. From Korkotsaki, Kryoneri, Kamini, Turkopazaro, through the few remaining “walks”, from the narrow cantons of the “uphill”, sailing in day boats that churn the waters. How much the first light reveals.
In the Parga hill
Houses of rich merchants surround you. Together with the black and white photographs, they remind us of the sea voyages to Trieste, the ships loaded with oil, textiles, timber and Jewish kitrahs. There were many trees in the past, especially in Agia, the capital village, 7 km from here, near the castle of the same name.
There they produced the tiny luxuries, that the Israelites bought dearly, to perform their own Passover sacrament.
Now the lemon groves are blooming on the slopes, they and the centuries-old olive trees are still bearing fruit, and in their shade the inhabitants spread nets, weave gigantic veils, entire acres, sew them tightly over the head. Below them you walk on the path from Piso Kryoneri, the most “protected” sandy beach within the settlement, to the chapel of Agia Eleni. You sit with the walkers on its whitewashed terrace, you see with the naked eye what a real postcard looks like.
Climb as many steps as you want from everywhere. “The hill of Parga” of the well-known hymn, the main passage between the fortress and the port. Count all the colors of the sea, the swimmers washing up in Ammopouli, painting the islet with wet footprints, others choosing the oars.
Behind the winged lion of Agios Markos, the once impregnable fortress serves a view, accompanied by coffee and a photographic exhibition that for two years now introduces visitors to the “Other Parga”, the forgotten, the old. This is also remembered by the older people in the cafes behind the pier, they hit checkers on the table – surprisingly they don’t play backgammon, the midday activity revolves around successive games of dominoes.
The mansion of the benefactor V. Vassilas stands behind his bust, in the square of the same name, and next to it the courtyards are blooming, the smells are pouring out, they lead you deeper, into green neighborhoods. In Agioi Apostoloi, the oldest church, the point from where the miraculous icon begins its august journey; and behind it, in the monument of the Flight of the Virgins.
Even further, at the Olive Museum, you tour the secrets of the first motorized olive press. You learn that the lion trees are so dense because the residents received a subsidy, “6 piastres each”, they put them on cliffs, in ravines, where there was soil, everywhere!
If you circle around the castle, Valtos will be seen panoramically, a magical bay, a sandy beach and at its “tip” the 15 m bell tower of the ruined Agia Vlacherna; a proud symbol of faith, it surpasses any trees in height. What a wonderful side this is. The
fortress of Parga without buildings, only stone and holly trees, only green and an infinite blue.
Water, mills villages
Involuntarily you follow the train that whistles daily through the fields, charting a course for the water mills of Anthousa. There were ten in the gorge until the 1950s, 10 millers who defined their lives around the waters of the Bostania spring. Everyone here was moving to grind. From Kanalaki, Fanari, all nearby villages. Ruins are faintly visible behind old plane trees and a whole, of Lukas, working as before.
You follow the signs that lead to the waterfall. Someone measured it twenty meters, it still has water, and a rainbow at its base, made with sunbeams that squeeze like in the branches. The dirt road through the village descends to the small church of Ai-Sostis, the one that named the small coast. A fisherman was saved here from the stormy waves and picked up a shrine, just enough to fit it into the cleft of the rock.
Water, mills villages
A few kilometers further north, the peaceful and organized Sarakiniko celebrates every evening with a sunset. And Lychnos, further south, also beautiful. So many sandy beaches, and so many more, you can reach them (perhaps easier) by boat from Parga. The sea excursions cover a distance of about 6 nm, up to the Acheron estuary they take you if you wish. High up, the castle of Agia (or Anthousa) with its Russian cannons, supervises land and sea passages.
This is how Ali Pasha wanted it in 1814, from there he kept an eye on the jealous woman of Parga for years. Even higher, perched on the slopes of four hills, you can see Agia, the lively village, dedicated to Agia Paraskevi.
And you heard a lot about her, you see, if she wants it, she can do it all. It has beauties, work is needed to highlight them, and the truth is that the processes have already begun. “Spring is the best season for us”, argues Yiannis Lekkas, owner of a wonderful semi-mountainous “Oasis”.
All seasons have their grace in a place that has a lot to offer. Paths that disappear into ravines, you pass a 300-year-old double-arched bridge, by waterfalls and in the settlement with the endless view, you meet women with golden scarves in their hair, who make meat pies in joys and sorrows.
You learn everything from the members of the cultural club. From Litsa Theodosiou-Alexiou, Takis and Froso Nanou, the representative of the Women’s Association. Two years now, they are dealing with everything. With their folklore museum, with books they will publish about the history and tradition of Agia, with the July festivals, the reenactment of the Agia Wedding and much more. Together, they try to save as many nuggets of history as they can, for themselves and for their children.
Here is Ioannis Theodosiou, one of the three livestock farmers of the village. He dressed as a tzeliga to meet us, to speak to us in Albanian, to tell us about the Turks who never took root here. To sit with us in the agnadi, to show us “their” view, of the castle and the sea. In Lefkada, Paxos and Lefkimmi, in tradition and in all the natural beauty of a blessed place, which, as many have said, one thing is indisputable: “its beauty, it has it”!