Kastoria: the living history of West Macedonia's capital

 

Tucked away in a lesser-known corner of Greece lies the beautiful city of Kastoria. Its appeal is far removed from the landscapes popularised by Mamma Mia! Here, the postcard-perfect blue and white is echoed not by chalky island dwellings but by overlapping clouds and clear sky. Its history too is distinct from white marble and classical sculpture. Rather, its quietly quaint cobbled streets retain the memories of the Romans, Byzantines and their Turkish successors who once occupied the region. Frozen in time, Kastoria is a capsule of Greece's less studied, yet more recently influential, history. 

Although considered the capital of the region, Kastoria felt more like a ghost town when I visited, particularly in the early summer season. A permanent siesta seemed to swallow the entire city: streets were rid of its pedestrians, cafe facades uninviting, older residents hid from the sun in cool interiors. The freedom to explore the city without the bustle of tourism was a welcome experience. Yet, were it not for the brown heritage signposts identifying historical buildings, it would have been easy to believe I had wandered back into the 14th century.  

When I did get the opportunity to look beyond the signposts and step inside an old Ottoman mansion, it became clear that part of Kastoria's unusual character stems from the fur industry that brought prosperity to the city for centuries. An artist using the mansion as an exhibition space explained that furs were traditionally sourced from animals found in the surrounding mountains. The building itself stood as a reminder of the wealth the trade once generated. Only later, after reading more about Kastoria's history, did I begin to understand the scale of the industry's decline. One report detailed the impact that the loss of the Russian market had on local fur traders. For years, Russia accounted for the majority of Kastoria's fur exports, its demand remaining untouched by the animal welfare campaigns which altered attitudes in Europe. Following Russia's invasion of Ukraine, EU sanctions on luxury goods dealt a significant blow to the trade. With this in mind, the city's fading grandeur seems less the result of the passing of time and more the visible traces of economic change. 

But, there is a surprising charm in the crumbling remains of a contemporary apartment block, especially when it stands next to a weathering Byzantine church. The rust of an aging wooden door which sits alongside the collapse of a modern balcony railing. The fading pigments of century-old frescoes which compete with the brightness of a freshly-painted window shutter. Modern family life which shares walls with spaces which enclosed worshippers centuries ago. One solitary sacred shrine which stands at the centre of a renovated square. Bordered by a basketball court, it is ignored by those around it, serving less as a monument than as a source of shade for cars parked beneath the midday sun. 

To admire Byzantine and Ottoman sanctuaries in this way is usually the privilege of archaeologists and scholars. Frescoes can be viewed in situ and up close without barriers, entrance fees or crowds of competing visitors. It is a rare opportunity for a curious traveller to encounter traces of the past in the wild and to experience the thrill of discovery for themselves. 

As I turned the corner and caught sight of one church's terracotta facade, another would reveal itself behind it. Unprompted by a map or a prescribed route, but guided by instinct and chance, I wandered from one monument to the next. Kastoria is a historical treasure hunt for those who allow themselves to follow its clues.