Thessaloniki, Greece
9/30 – 10/1/13
Travelers to Greece like to rhapsodize about the sun. It is often said (at least outside the smog of Athens) that the air is clearer, the daylight purer here. The postcard image of Greece is a village poised between crystalline sea and summer sky – white, blue, and blue. But summer is over now, at least in Thessaloniki, where slate gray clouds scrape the concrete tower blocks, and a remorseless rain beats the sullen sea.
When I finally ventured out to see the few churches that were open, the rain intensified. Too frustrated to think about giving up, I walked for two hours through a series of torrential downpours. On the positive side, the churches I squelched through were very impressive. Though the first of these, the late antique Basilica of St. Demetrius (located just a few blocks from my hotel) was largely destroyed by fire in the early twentieth century, enough of its golden mosaics survive to suggest its former splendor. St. Demetrius, patron of Thessaloniki, is revered throughout the Orthodox world; a steady stream of bearded priests and humble believers passed before the silver casket which holds his remains, each stopping to mutter a prayer, cross himself, and kiss the reliquary. Smaller clusters of the faithful, many bearing lighted devotional candles, gathered before the icons which lined the walls. As the only obvious tourist, I felt almost like an intruder.
Emerging from a side door, I found that the rain had grown even heavier; and despite some fairly dexterous dodging between overhanding balconies, I was completely soaked by the time I reached the church of Panaghia Achiropitos. Named for an icon of Mary that was supposed to have been miraculously painted, this proved to be a well-preserved fifth century basilica. Through the gloom of the interior (it was already dusk), I could just barely make out the star patterns of a few late antique frescoes. Reluctant to leave – I could see rain lashing the pavement with renewed fury through the open front door –I forced myself back outside to my last destination, Haghia Sophia. Like its namesake in Istanbul, this is a sixth-century church centered on a large rotunda. Unlike that building, however, it still serves as a church. I burst through the front door, wiped rain out of my eyes –and found the interior brilliantly illuminated. Two priests were chanting a service in Greek, apparently on the occasion of a baptism. It was fascinating to finally see an early Christian church used for its intended purpose, every mosaic gleaming, candles smoking and incense heavy in the air. I slunk about in the side aisles for a few minutes, but soon, like some unrepentant sinner, left the light of the church for the darkness outside.
A soggy half-mile later, my hotel clerk recommended that I try a nearby souvlaki place for dinner. I did, and came away with easily a pound of gyros meat, onion, tomato, and pita bread. Dinner, consequently, was far the most satisfying part of my day. Lightning flashed through my window, and thunder echoed in the empty avenue below. Stuffed with pork, I found myself growing sleepy. Today (no pun intended) was something of a wash – but that, I suppose, will make tomorrow’s a cleaner slate.
10-1
Unlike, say, Antalya, Thessaloniki is not a beautiful city from above. The few hills visible through the haze are unimpressive, and the local beaches polluted. The rest is concrete. But standing this afternoon atop a tower on the Byzantine wall, I could not help thinking that the view spread with such unpleasant candor beneath me was a fine sight indeed. Though it might have been fatigue, or some trick of the smog, I found myself almost elated by the view. The real reason, I suspect, is that I knew one of my longer days of walking was drawing to a close.
After a surprisingly good breakfast (I have come to expect very little of budget hotels in this regard), I had bounded from my hotel door into the cloudless morning. By the time I reached my first destination, the Roman Agora, my sunglasses were already out. Damp concrete smoked on every side as I trundled down the ramp into the market square. Though not particularly well-preserved, Thessaloniki’s agora boasts a substantial cryptoporticus (complete with a subterranean exhibition hall) and sizeable Odeon. I spent some time trying, with limited success, to read the Greek informational panels; but time pressed, and so I moved clockwise down to Haghia Sophia for another look at the Byzantine mosaics. Here, as in many other Orthodox churches, I was struck by the richness of the décor. Iconostasis, candelabra, and icon frames were wrought and chased in silver; gold shone from every wall, and colored marbles gleamed beneath my feet. I wondered what this place must have looked like before centuries of iconoclasm and earthquakes threw down so much of its original ornament.
The same thought struck me with greater force inside the so-called rotunda, probably built as a mausoleum for the Emperor Galerius, but soon after converted into a church. Only a few fragments of the original mosaic program remain, but these are absolutely stunning. In the finest surviving segment, a band on the lower part of the dome, the palaces of the Heavenly Jerusalem shimmer against a golden background. Like the stars which spangle the vestibule, these non-figural mosaics were acceptable to the Muslims who used the rotunda as a mosque for several centuries. The rest, less palatable, were piously destroyed.
Neglect, rather than vandalism, has reduced the nearby Arch of Galerius, one of the most important surviving examples of Roman monumental sculpture, to half its original size. The reliefs adorning the two surviving arches narrate Galerius’ successful campaign against the Persians; some of the more impressive panels show legionnaires sacking Mesopotamian cities and dragging captives off to the block. Galerius himself, stubble-chinned and shaven-headed, features prominently in the proceedings.
The imperial palace, part of the same immense complex, is only partly excavated. When I visited, the rooms were closed “for restoration” – apparently being carried out by a single man with a sponge. I could, however, get a good overview of the layout from above. The most intriguing room is the so-called “octagon,” which is thought to have served as an audience chamber. Judging from the inlaid marble pavements and intricate sculpture found here (now on display in the archaeological museum), anyone ushered into the presence would have been duly impressed.
Besides these fragments, many other artifacts from the city and environs were on display in the excellent Archaeological Museum. Magnificent frescoes (a series of mythological miniatures) from a fourth-century tomb dominate one room, and a number of excellent Roman portrait busts another. A lead coffin, complete with well-preserved occupant, shares a gallery with other finds from the vast Roman necropolis. The blackened fragments of the Derveni papyrus peer from the panes of a specially-constructed glass case. And, dramatically floodlit in the center of a darkened room, the museum’s greatest treasure, the beautiful Derveni Krater, takes pride of place in an exhibit dedicated to “the gold of Macedon.”
The neighboring Byzantine Museum was equally impressive. Opened only a few years ago, the three floors of exhibits are laid out and displayed with considerable artistry, making the collection (as in any good museum) greater than the sum of its parts. Besides some impressive mosaics from the Church of St. Demetrius, the most noteworthy artifacts in the section dedicated to Late Antiquity were tomb paintings from the fourth and fifth centuries. Several of these, conveniently enough, were actually discovered on the museum grounds. The most remarkable artifacts from the later Byzantine centuries were icons. My favorites showed John the Baptist, always depicted with prophetic eyes and wild hair.
Then, up the hill. The Ano Poli (upper city) is Thessaloniki’s most picturesque, and consequently most confusing, district. I followed the line of the Byzantine wall up to a tower-top viewing platform, and took in the panorama. I was, however, frustrated in my purpose of exploring the neighborhood’s Byzantine churches, all of which were either closed or hidden. I was too tired to care much. It was already five, and I had been walking since eight; and so, with a final proprietary gaze over the city, I wound my way down graffiti-splashed streets past St. Demetrius to my hotel.
