The morning mist rose over the mountains as if a veil lifting from the face of a mysterious woman. The revelations of the villages and its inhabitants of northern Greece were about to be exposed. The mountainous region of northern Greece sends a wave of confusion through the mind of the tourist. One wonders how people could survive in such a region, especially for generations. It is an unforgiving place. There is little land for the cultivation of vegetables and the nourishment of livestock, and every day brings the possibility of an untimely death from misjudging the terrain. Because of its harshness and its past, however, northern Greece is a lesson in reality that many in the 21st century could not fathom.
The cabdriver drove for miles. The heat felt as though the sun was sitting in the driver’s seat, and the winding, dirt roads that climbed immeasurable heights required a skill that would rival any professional Grand Prix driver. The sound of music moaned through the radio. Greek music, sensual and seductive, a combination of bouzouki and clarinet, always leaves the listener pining for more. There it was, Aithonohori. Aithonohori is a village, whose population once consisted of five hundred inhabitants, who lived off their tiny plots of land, cultivated vegetables and raised livestock. Unlike its population of the past, at the present there are only twelve year-round inhabitants. There is a sense of calm in Aithonohori now, and a solitude that allows the mind to imagine and to retreat into itself, to wonder. What will the mist reveal?
Aithonohori has experienced great hardships and devastation, caused not only by invaders from other countries, but from their fellow Greeks as well. The Turks, Italians, Germans, and civil war have all left their marks on the village and provided stories that have survived for generations. The sadness in the eyes of the women in black sends a chill through one’s body that takes days to dissipate. These women have experienced war and destruction, and many have lost husbands and children. They appear to be the walking dead, going through the motions of life but not actually living it. Hunched over by the weight of their world, they place their arms behind their backs to resist the pressure as they walk. What do they have left?
For a Greek wife and mother, loss will always present itself through the color of black. The black head covering, the black dress, the black stockings and shoes, this is the widow, or the mother who has lost a child. Life will never permit color again, because darkness is sorrow’s only companion. The presence of the women in Aithonohori strikes one the most. Not the terrain, not the beauty of the mist as it rises to reveal the village, but the women. They symbolize the strength, tolerance and determination of their people. Some of these women devised plans to save their children from abduction by the communists, determined to prevent communism from infiltrating the next generation, and some became war widows never entertaining the thought of marriage again, but they all maintained their love of Greece, even when their own countrymen let them down. They are the heart of the village.
What is striking about the women of the village, however, is that their pain and sorrow will not interfere with their pride and hospitality. Guests, strangers or Greeks, receive the kind of hospitality that is usually reserved for kings. The guests must be catered to, showered with delicacies and spirits. They are entertained by stories that have circulated throughout the village for generations, and will also be privy to their host’s hopes for the future. What is obvious to the guests, however, is the pride of these villagers: the pride of being Greek, and the pride of living in Aithonohori.
The men of Aithonohori are solemn and move about the village with a sense of mistrust. This mistrust can also be detected in the women. There is a sense of uneasiness that the inhabitants feel when confronted by an outsider, and although they will do everything in their power to make a stranger comfortable, they are cautious. Ironically, it is not always the stranger that provokes the caution, many are cautious of their fellow villagers. During the many wars and invasions, some villagers would spy on their neighbors in order to receive favors from the enemy. It was almost always a matter of survival. When food is scarce, children are in danger, and people are in fear of dying, the mind permits some to do things that they would ordinarily despise. Although many years have passed since the last war, people are still not able to relieve that sense of suspicion and fear. Yet life in the village moves on.
