From Gefsi/Kouzina, January 2001
Hios: The Island with a Thousand Faces

Written by: Socrates Papahatzi
Translated by: Denise Morfiris

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From the moment the first lighthouse comes into view, at Cape Venetiko, the ship has another hour to reach the harbor. The eye searches the island looking for details in the dark shape of it.

The lights from villages, small and large, look like embers from a fire and are spread over the invisible mountain slopes and hills. Here and there a pinpoint of light from a motorcycle or a car follows its lonely journey through the night, disappearing then reappearing then disappearing and reappearing again and again. We are in the northeastern Aegean, a nine- hour trip from Pireaus, and a hairs’ breath away the Turkish coast and from Hios.

It is an island full of life, yet quiet, in some places wild and in others meek, aesthetically beautiful, aching from all of forces as a mother aches for her child. And Hios, like a mother, really does ache with nostalgia for her children with an unbearable grief. For centuries she has watched them leaving her. For the people of Hios have always been lively and inquisitive travelers and an adventurous tribe.

Hios, a word perhaps of Phoenician origin, that means "mastic" (from ancient times mastic was a symbol of its’ uniqueness). One tradition wants the name to come from Hioni (snow) that was the name of the daughter of the first settler, Oinopiona. On the other hand, the second tradition says that Hios was the name of the son of Theseus and Ariadnis. Theseus was the person who taught the people to cultivate grapes and make wine.

From the beginning, the people of Hios had an inclination for shipping merchandise by sea. They were the richest and most openhearted people of ancient Greece and were known for their love of having a good time. Hios was also the most advanced society of its’ time. The oldest Constitution in the world was the Mega Ritra of Hios (8^th century) and it was the source for the laws of Solona. Today, the most active part of Greek shipping is done by "Hiotes" (people from Hios) and with ships from Hios.

And even now they are still the most open hearted and fun loving people in all of Greece and have the reputation of being…"crazy". On summer nights in July and August the island echoes with festivities. And even if the orchestra is a little off key or if some modern songs ruin their repetoire, the light in the peoples eyes, the Hiotiko Ouzo, and some unusual melodies may grab your emotions and impel you to dance with them under the stars.

The people of Hios aren’t standoffish with tourists. They will greet people on the street with the same naturalness as they greet each other. They will help you without feeling as though it is a chore, without the over doing of it that is found in some places where the local people groan under the weight of tourist "worthiness". Thank God, Hios still has its’ own rythmn and still has secrets for those who have the willingness and desire to find them.

The capital of Hios is Hora. It is full of beautiful Neoclassic buildings which are choked, unfortunately, by the cement structures built next to them and the sight of this is anything but idyllic. Hora is built on top of the ruins of the ancient city and its’ castle is a silent witness to the changes it has gone through over the centuries. Byzantine and Frankish occupation, Turkish occupation, uprisings and conflicts, the Hios massacre, the catastrophic earthquake of 1881, and its’ emancipation in 1921. It is, of course, the center of life on the island during the summer months because of its nightlife and its cosmopolitan air. The beauty hidden in the interior areas of Hios surpasses all conventions and competes with the poetic physical features of the area: Places like Kampos, Thimiana, Tholopotami, Nagos, Lithi, Patrika, Katarraktis, Agio Gala….

There are over 600 kilometers of roads, excluding the unmeasured winding lanes and footpaths that cross the island from one end to the other, that climb up and down hills, that disappear and reappear among the trees. It takes days to see the whole island by car. And even then the days are not enough to get your fill of wandering in a small area, walking among the wells and sweet smelling gardens.

Hios has more sunny days than any other place in Greece. On summer days when the sky is clear, the colors, shapes, and sense of depth give it an unreal clarity. The tourist season coincides with the cultivation of mastic trees in the southern part of the island and it is the only place in the world that produces mastic. As with the landscape, the architecture of Hios is a triumph of opposites. There are areas covered with vegetation. There are rocky, barren mountains. There are towns and castles from the Middle Ages, mosques and manor houses and, of course, the indelible scars of Turkish occupation.

The rejuvenated town of Kampou is a maze of roads, stone villas and ivy covered walls. It is an ideal place for an evening walk with the rays of the setting sun turning golden and soft making the vegetation seem to undulate seductively and blend into the hills across the way. The olive trees, the mastic trees, the pine trees, and the cypress trees all seem like a rug of various shades of green in the southern towns. There is the moonlike landscape on the plateau of the Aipos Mountain going toward the ancient town of Volisso, and the quiet western shores with their midievil style watch towers, from where the guards scanned the sea in fear of pirates. Thousands of priceless pieces joined together to make up the fantastic world of Hios.

Hios also has its’ "consumer" or tourist spots where postcards and pictures can be bought and kept as reminders of an unforgettable vacation. The heart of the matter, though, is this: It has to do with the magic of the island that can be seen in the local residents eyes, giving the island a life of its’ own, with its own feelings and desires. "Something is happening here" are words you will hear visitors whispering, many of whom have become summer residents or even permanent ones.

There are many popular beaches, like the one at Karfa (with modern hotel facilties), at Komis, at Agias Fotinis, or at Emporou (across the way with its black pebbles, of volcanic origin). Hios’ seaside is full of picturesque villages and seafood taverns. Next to these, however, are an unending chain of secret coves, with beaches of either sand or pebbles, with deep, crystal clear water, each one giving another optical image and each one providing its own view to watch an ideal sunset. Sometimes these coves and beaches are difficult to negotiate, and are perfect for getting away from the crowd or for camping. Every group of friends, be they island natives or tourists, have their own special "hide away".

A singular phenomenon for Greece is that the midievil towns found on the island of Hios are very well maintained. There is the town of Pirgi (with strange, wedge shaped protrusions decorating the walls of the homes) and Olimmpi. There is the town of Mesta with its’ sidewalks and arch covered roads and Anavatos and Hiakos. There is the town of Mistras with its’ abandoned homes that stare severely at you, boldly sculptured on the slopes of the granite hills.

As you tour the island you can’t help but feel, as a reverberation even, a religious thrill, a feeling of contrition, diffused in the fragrant air in agreeable accordance with the other that is in close pursuit. That which awakes a little after noon when the sun is savage and the only thing that causes a breeze is the buzz of insects…

Byzantine churches and monasteries that are spread out all over the face of the island intensify the feeling of respect visitors have. The pride of Hios, Nea Moni (New Monastery), built in the 11^th century by Emperor Constantine Monomaho and placed in a very imposing spot, rules in the middle of the island. The elderly nuns who are left at the convent philosophize about God and life and death, looking with goodness into their unfathomable solitude. For centuries Nea Moni was the religious and economic center of Hios, until 1822 when it was attached by theTurks, who butchered the monks and people found inside who had asked for asylum there.

In the sacred pictures, mosaics and icons, reverent faces look at you with a life that has been rooted there for centuries. You suddenly feel something of the devoutness of the simple man, a mixture of awe and fear.