Kastoria
STAY Hotel Doltso
SEE Profitis Ilias Cafe
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JULIO
Our trip to Greece is winding down to its last week but has been perhaps the most meaningful. Both of Christina's parents are of Greek origin and we thought it would be powerful and neccesary to visit both the places of their birth. As we have been trying to work these places into our itinerary we have come up against the puzzle of transportation in Greece. It can be pretty challenging, trying and just plain difficult. Logistics here are pretty backward and the technology sits right around 1979. Bus stations are nowhere near airports; flights are often shifty and bi-weekly; the trains and metro have not been a breeze by our standards yet the beat goes on.
After flying to Thessaloniki from Athens we took a bus to the remote mountain village of Kastoria. Home of Christina's father, Naoum's family. Although a respected architect, he comes from a long line of furriers, which is what Kastoria historically is and continues to be known for internationally. Once a symbol of status in North America, things have changed over the years and the demand for fur worldwide has declined by almost 70 percent in the U.S. due to animal rights activists and taboo. However Russia, Romania, and other colder climates still pay top dollar for Kastorian fur coats and goods.
When arriving in Kastoria one cannot help but notice the myriad of fur businesses on the outskirts of town. However, soon they fade away and you enter sheer village beauty built around a stunning lake and nestled into the surrounding mountainsides. This is high Macedonia and the mountain peaks are said to show the facade of the conqueror Alexander the Great. I try hard to make it out but just can't see it.
The town looks like a cross between a Greek Mountain village and a Swiss ski town. So picturesque, quintessential and frozen in time. We finally disembark from the bus and make our way a few miles into the hills to our hotel in the center of the old town. The population here is a mere ten thousand and we are painfully reminded of our status as locals gleefully shout at us "touristicos!" (tourists!). Most holiday visitors here are Greeks and Germans looking for an authentic experience and it is certainly brimming with authenticity. We make it to our hotel which could certainly win for cutest, lodge-y, revamped chalet we have ever stayed in - the Dolstso hotel. Filled with genuine history, antiques, lovely staff and luxury facilities, it did not disappoint throughout our whole stay; the breakfast was also amazing.
We were soon gladly informed that some of Christina's cousins will be meeting us for dinner and we anxiously awaited meeting them. I was definitely a little concerned considering I speak only a few sentences in Greek and the cousins don’t speak a lick of English. This will certainly be interesting, I thought. We were met at the hotel by the first set of cousins and were whisked away up a cobblestone street to a traditional Greek "estiatorio" or restaurant and so began my full Greek immersion.
It turns out Christina was related to seven cousins at the table, the chef and the server. There was a lot of laughing, nodding, incredible Greek food, family reporting and pictures taken. We heard many tales of Christina's grandparents, times of old, village life and what's happening currently in Greece. The whole thing was a real thrill for the both of us and little did we know the next night would be filled with a whole new cast of cousins at the restaurant next door. These cousins seemed a little more weary of the foreigner and scoffed that I was A. Not Greek and B. Not Orthodox. I was a little concerned at first having failed two major requirements but as the evening went on everyone warmed up. By warmed up, I mean force-fed me until I was literally ready to explode. Platter after platter kept coming. I took a small portion of each item but it was never enough. A random cousin would be slapping on another piece of souvlaki, salmada (like a dolmada with cabbage), zucchini fritters, fried potatoes in olive oil or other northern Greek delicacies. My vegetarian leanings had been quelled as I had been warned that it would insulting if I did not eat what was offered. I did kinda notice that people weren't eating the meat and the platter kept on coming back my way. After being reprimanded for not finishing another giant piece of lamb, it was revealed to me that most of the family was a fasting from meat for religious reasons and that what was left had to be consumed...by me.
Hearing their stories and what life is like for them was a wake-up call. Almost everyone present had some child, sister, brother, son, daughter wife or other that had died before forty. It just seems like people live harder here and that the crisis in Greece and economics have taken a toll on people’s lives in more ways than one.
I loved Kastoria and all the people there. We biked around the lake, enjoyed family coffees in between the scenic mountains, sat in smoke filled bars and reveled in the amazing cuisine. This was one of the the highlights of our time in Greece.
christina
As those of you who know me know, I was a vegetarian for 15 years. At 16, I declared to my family that I would no longer be eating meat of any kind or fish. As you can imagine, this did not go over so well with the Greeks in my immediate family – of course everyone was nice about it – but they all thought I was pretty nuts – at that time in the late 90s vegetarianism had not gone mainstream and Whole Foods did not exist. Alternatives to meat were not on the shelf at every store, and, in fact, if I wanted something “special” I would order it through a mail order to Vermont where the hippies lived. It is only now that I can truly understand how bizarre it must have been to my paternal grandparents as my grandfather was a furrier and so was most of his entire family back in Kastoria.
In fact, the entire town of Kastoria – set high into the mountains outside of Thessaloniki was built on the fur trade for hundreds of years. As my uncle would tell me when we were there, if you thought fur – you thought Kastoria. In recent years, with the rise of environmentalism and as fashion trends have shifted, the fur industry has suffered terribly. As a former vegetarian I can’t say that I disagree with the practice of not using animals for warmth but visiting Kastoria I learned more than I ever have about the art and trade of making fur coats and found a newfound respect for it truly is an art.
As my uncle showed me – each piece is handled with extraordinary care and cut to pattern before sewn into larger patterns which result in larger “pieces” that can be made as any material into coats. When I was a young girl, my grandfather gave me a rabbit coat. Fur was part of my life since I was a child, so it should come of no surprise to me that part of my cultural reclamation here in Greece should be to witness the art and trade that my grandfather and relatives practiced and from which my father rebelled. My father, you see, should have gone into the fur business, as that is what was expected of him at the time, but he too has a rebellious streak and wanted to forge his own path.
After learning about the intricate work of making fur coats and reconciling my past absolute hatred of the practice with compassion for the art and absolute necessity of people being cold in the mountains, I was also struck with the beautiful family I still have in Kastoria. In the course of a few days there we saw (and ate!) with approximately 25 people – first cousins of my father and second cousins of mine who all gathered to greet us. It was an absolute joy to be amongst family who were so welcoming, so open and so loving even after not seeing me for 15 years.
What came through over and over and what was especially moving was hearing the stories of my grandparents who would come every year to Kastoria via bus with huge suitcases filled with gifts for every single family member, young and old. My great-grandmother Alexandra would have something of a shelf or altar filled with American things her son brought her and would give them out to people who came to visit that were not her relatives. My grandparents were remembered even by my 2nd cousins – not much older than me – who had received their first American media – a poster of Charlie’s Angels or a denim Levi’s skirt.
It was amazing to hear these stories and to be here all these years later as a representative of my family. To see that this beautiful small city is here for me too – that this home is also in my heritage and in my veins was an overwhelming feeling I didn't expect. It was the knowing I had been searching for, and reminded me why I love the feeling of being in the mountains - it's within me.
