In the beginning of his fifth book of “Histories” (named ”Terpsichore” by the Alexandrians), the great Herodotus describes the customs of the various tribes of Thrace. He mentions, among others, the tribe of Trauses, who lived in the southern slopes of Mount Rhodopi in today’s northern Greece. They have a curious custom: When a baby is born, all the relatives and family gather around it and lament for the multitude of pain and disappointment that the new human will have to endure during his/her life. They enumerate all the bad things and ills that are possibly going to happen and the whole occasion is that of a real mourning. On the contrary, when someone dies, the same gathering takes place but there is rejoicing, and the burial is a celebration since the dead person is now free of pain and sufferings and does not risk any more to have bad things happening to him. They have a big feast to celebrate this happiness.
These people obviously believed that the dead would continue existing in a different form of life than that of our human existence, which, in their perception, was not to be recommended.
A pessimistic view of things, although, unfortunately, realistic. We humans of the 21st century do not seem to be better off than the Trauses in this respect. This might explain our constant quest for a way to escape, find a refuge and a “paradise” which could offer an illusory protection (or at least the “Lethe,” or forgetfulness) from the facts of life. A real place with an artificial character, having subjective qualities recognisable mostly by ourselves (and maybe by some other individuals sharing the same illusions).
This is the role of our Cycladic island. The grey lines of its mountains as they emerge in the sea mist carry this absurd promise of the place that offers Lethe. This offer is recognised only by the happy few who share the illusion. It is not recognisable by many others who maybe live permanently on it or visit for professional reasons, or even for pure entertainment. The happy few are a relatively small number and mostly know each other. Many of them have built or own houses on the island, which they consider their escape depositories.
It is a ridiculous situation but entirely true. A piece of land in the middle of the sea appears to provide a metaphysical shelter and becomes a symbol of freedom and of a reconciliation with oneself. The Trausian life is considered to be beyond the waves and can only be reached by ferry. When one is on this island, one lives in a sort of protected eternal cocoon, despite television and the Internet.
In the winter months, when there are no crowds, this feeling takes over completely. It is even reinforced in times of bad weather when the ferries cannot sail and one feels cut from the rest of the world. Such secret happiness, even if it is temporary! Missing connections with the Trausian world might be a big problem for some, but is a blessing for the happy few who sit watching the gale force winds and waves sipping their ouzo in the single open and badly heated taverna of the harbour. They are full of internal comfort and recognise their blessings of happening to be there at that moment.
It’s when we talk of the “magic” of the island. The miracle of following the overgrown paths and sinking in the sand of the deserted beaches. As long as the magic is still on, we are somewhat safe from the Trausian life.
This illusory feeling is particularly strong when we are away from the island, in the grips of the everyday existence. We imagine our island houses beckoning and inviting us from afar. We also imagine the magic moment of boarding the ferry in Piraeus in the buzz and hustle of the harbour.
And look forward to this moment.
