Stations of the cross

On the other side of the mountaintop, there's a giant cross, and the path leading up to it has 14 marble shrines representing the Stations of the Cross.

I don't think I've thought about the Stations—representing the events in the Passion of Christ—for decades, but when I was in grammar school we went to the church every Friday afternoon during Lent to do the stations. It started with the First Station, Jesus is condemned to death, and ended with the Fourteenth, Jesus is laid in the sepulchre, and there was a set of prayers we recited for each station. Our family bible had a set of fairly disturbing and graphic paintings (I used to have nightmares about the Eleventh Station, Jesus is nailed to the cross) but the church just had fourteen metal plaques. I actually liked the Stations of the Cross liturgy, the chanted prayers and the Benediction at the end with incense and music, and especially coming out into the sunshine afterwards and getting to go home early.

I left the church intellectually and emotionally when I was still in high school, but you never forget the rituals. When I took the picture of the Third Station, I knew automatically that it depicted Jesus falling for the first time.

And there were goats

I'd mentioned that at Delphi we heard goats but never saw them. Filerimos made up for it; there were at least a dozen goats hanging out on the hillside with the peacocks.

View from the top

The monastery is on top of a mountain with beautiful views of the island on every side. The tunnel of cypresses leads from the monastery to the overlook where I took this picture.

Another day, another monastery

The Filerimos monastery in Rhodes. The monastery was built in the 15th century by the Knights of St. John; there's a ruined temple to Athena from the 3rd century BC in the front yard.

Bright sun at midday is never the best for photography, but when you're a tourist that's usually what you have. I could, and did, lighten the harsh shadows in this picture, but it looks as though it was taken in the evening. Which is actually a nice effect.

Déjà vu all over again

The first time I went to Rhodes, in 2009, I posted this:

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On our way back from Filerimos, we stopped at a ceramics shop, and it took me several minutes to realize it was the same one I'd been to 14 years ago. The potter has an electric wheel now, and he was working indoors instead of out in the yard, but I was happy to see that the family is still in business.

Sunday bird blogging

Peacocks at the Filerimos Monastery in Rhodes.

Technically, peacocks are birds, even if they seem more like minimally animated decorative objects. Who love to shriek.

End of season

I was lucky that I had the ship to go back to, because if I'd been hoping to get something to eat in Rhodes, I would have been looking for a while.

Cats in Greece

There may not have been any other people in the moat, but of course there was a cat.

In which I finally make my escape

Silence has succeeded the roar of the guns, the shouts of combatants, and the clash of weapons. Scenes of slaughter and death have faded away. Yet the fortifications, the moat and the walls, the towers and bastions, have been consecrated by the sacrifice of thousands of human beings, most of them young men, who fell here during successive sieges, great or small, by Arabs, Franks, and Turks.

The visitor is called upon to seek the memories soaking through the stone and show due respect for the hallowed ground.

This was on a sign near where I took this picture—not, alas, a sign accompanied by a map with a handy “You Are Here” arrow, but it was the first sign I'd seen in the park. And this particular section looked a lot like the place where I had walked in, so I thought I had finally reached the end. (Spoiler alert: I had not.)

But what I did see, around the next bend, was a couple walking toward me—the only other people I had seen in the park. They had obviously entered the park from the other end, and that meant that, eventually, there would be an end.

It was maybe ten more minutes before I found it, and having by that point sought more than enough memories soaking through the stone, I showed my due respect by scurrying out and back to the ship.

The fortifications

Some of the towers and walls that glowered down at me as I made my way through the moat. I was just glad that it wasn't the middle of summer as I quickly finished off the bottle of water I had as it was.

Famous last words

I walked through the moat, which has been turned into a very pretty park, and when I got hungry, I just went back to the ship.

Easier said than done, as it turned out. The moat is a pretty park, but once you are in it, there's no way out. At least none that I found. I wasn't walking that fast, but it took me almost an hour to get to the other end of it, and I had started to believe that I might never find my way out.

Those are not decorative stones, by the way, but actual cannonballs. You may beat your swords into plowshares, but they'll still have been to war.

Rhodes

Another change to the itinerary after losing Egypt was spending two days in Rhodes rather than one. Rhodes is a perfectly pleasant place, but I'd been there before and I had a hard time choosing a second excursion I was interested in doing.

Which turned out to be moot, since the one I ended up picking was cancelled. I spent the unexpected free day walking around in the town of Rhodes, which was far more interesting than anticipated. I think the last time I was here we were docked in Lindos, and I never saw Rhodes at all. It has what's described as the largest living medieval town in Europe, all surrounded by extensive and impressive fortifications, courtesy of the enterprising Knights of St. John who basically built Malta.

The season is definitely over, so almost all of the shops and restaurants are closed, but I walked through the moat, which has been turned into a very pretty park, and when I got hungry, I just went back to the ship.

Greek pottery

A potter in Archangelos, Rhodes. It's a family owned business, where he makes the vases and his daughters paint them, copying classical Greek designs and selling them to the tourists who are herded through the shop by the local tour guides.

And although his wheel runs on foot power, I have to say it seemed like an enviable existence: throwing pots under the pomegranate tree, firing them in the kiln in the olive grove. I'd switch places with him in a heartbeat.

At least until my legs got tired, which would probably be about ten minutes into the experiment. I guess I could always do the painting.

Doors into summer

Two doorways in Lindos, which is as perfect a Greek village on as perfect a Greek island as you could wish for.

I want to live in both of these houses.