Read Online One Cretan Evening and Other Stories by Victoria Hislop - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Hislop
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earlier, Thessaloniki had ceased to be part of the Ottoman Empire and become part of Greece but it remained a place of diversity and tolerance.
The colour and contrast of its rich ethnic meze was reflected in the variety of outfits paraded in the streets: there were men in fezzes, fedoras, trilbies and turbans. Jewish women wore traditional fur-lined jackets and Muslim men their long robes. Wealthy Greek ladies in tailored suits with a hint of Parisian haute couture were in striking contrast to peasants in richly embroidered aprons and headscarves, who had come in from the surrounding rural areas to sell their produce. The upper town tended to be dominated by Muslims, the area nearest to the sea by the Jews, with Greeks occupying thecity’s outer edges, but there was no segregation and in every area people from all three cultures mixed together.
Rising up the hillside behind a huge semicircular arc of coastline, Thessaloniki was like a giant’s amphitheatre. High up on the hill, at the furthest point from the sea, an ancient wall marked the boundary of the city. Looking down from this height the landmarks of religion dominated: dozens of minarets rose into the air like needles in a pincushion, red-tiled domes of churches and pale synagogues dotted the cityscape in its great sweep down towards the Gulf. Along with the evidence of the three religions that all thrived here were remains from Roman times: triumphal arches, sections of ancient wall and the occasional open space where pillars stood like sentries.
The city had improved in the past few decades, with the laying down of some broad boulevards, which contrasted with the ancient pattern of winding lanes that snaked like the serpents of the Medusa’s hair up the steep gradient towards the upper town. A handful of large stores had appeared but the majority of retailing was still carried out from small shops no bigger than kiosks, family run, thousands of them, all vying with each other for business and squeezed into the narrow streets. As well as the hundreds of traditional kafenions, there were European-style cafés serving Viennese beer, and clubs where people discussed literature and philosophy.
There was a density about this city. The volume of its inhabitants, and their containment in a space enclosed by walls and water gave it a concentration of strong smells, vivid colours, and continuous noise. The calls of the ice-seller, the milk-seller, the fruit-seller, the yogurt-seller, all had their own distinctive pitch, but together made a pleasing chord.
Night and day, there was never a pause in the continual music of the city. Many languages were spoken here: not just Greek, Turkish and Ladino, the language of the Sephardic Jews, but French, Armenian and Bulgarian were also commonly heard on the streets. The rattle of a tram, the cries of the street vendors, the clashing calls to prayer from dozens of muezzin, the clank of chains as ships came in to the dock, the rough voices of the stevedores as they unloaded cargos of necessities and luxuries to satisfy the appetites of rich and poor – all of these combined to make the city’s endless tune.
The smells of the city were sometimes not as sweet as its sounds. A pungent stench of urine wafted from the tanneries, and sewerage and rotting household waste still flowed down into the harbour from some of the poorer areas. And when the women gutted the previous night’s catch, they left the steaming, odorous debris to be devoured by cats.
In the centre was a flower market, where the fragrance of blooms still hung in the air for many hours after the stall-holders had packed up and gone home; and in the long streets orange trees in blossom provided not only shade, but the most intoxicating aroma of all. There were many houses where jasmine rampaged around the doors, its aromatic white petals carpeting the road like snow. At all times of day, the smell of cooking suffused the atmosphere, along with wafts of roasted coffee
The colour and contrast of its rich ethnic meze was reflected in the variety of outfits paraded in the streets: there were men in fezzes, fedoras, trilbies and turbans. Jewish women wore traditional fur-lined jackets and Muslim men their long robes. Wealthy Greek ladies in tailored suits with a hint of Parisian haute couture were in striking contrast to peasants in richly embroidered aprons and headscarves, who had come in from the surrounding rural areas to sell their produce. The upper town tended to be dominated by Muslims, the area nearest to the sea by the Jews, with Greeks occupying thecity’s outer edges, but there was no segregation and in every area people from all three cultures mixed together.
Rising up the hillside behind a huge semicircular arc of coastline, Thessaloniki was like a giant’s amphitheatre. High up on the hill, at the furthest point from the sea, an ancient wall marked the boundary of the city. Looking down from this height the landmarks of religion dominated: dozens of minarets rose into the air like needles in a pincushion, red-tiled domes of churches and pale synagogues dotted the cityscape in its great sweep down towards the Gulf. Along with the evidence of the three religions that all thrived here were remains from Roman times: triumphal arches, sections of ancient wall and the occasional open space where pillars stood like sentries.
The city had improved in the past few decades, with the laying down of some broad boulevards, which contrasted with the ancient pattern of winding lanes that snaked like the serpents of the Medusa’s hair up the steep gradient towards the upper town. A handful of large stores had appeared but the majority of retailing was still carried out from small shops no bigger than kiosks, family run, thousands of them, all vying with each other for business and squeezed into the narrow streets. As well as the hundreds of traditional kafenions, there were European-style cafés serving Viennese beer, and clubs where people discussed literature and philosophy.
There was a density about this city. The volume of its inhabitants, and their containment in a space enclosed by walls and water gave it a concentration of strong smells, vivid colours, and continuous noise. The calls of the ice-seller, the milk-seller, the fruit-seller, the yogurt-seller, all had their own distinctive pitch, but together made a pleasing chord.
Night and day, there was never a pause in the continual music of the city. Many languages were spoken here: not just Greek, Turkish and Ladino, the language of the Sephardic Jews, but French, Armenian and Bulgarian were also commonly heard on the streets. The rattle of a tram, the cries of the street vendors, the clashing calls to prayer from dozens of muezzin, the clank of chains as ships came in to the dock, the rough voices of the stevedores as they unloaded cargos of necessities and luxuries to satisfy the appetites of rich and poor – all of these combined to make the city’s endless tune.
The smells of the city were sometimes not as sweet as its sounds. A pungent stench of urine wafted from the tanneries, and sewerage and rotting household waste still flowed down into the harbour from some of the poorer areas. And when the women gutted the previous night’s catch, they left the steaming, odorous debris to be devoured by cats.
In the centre was a flower market, where the fragrance of blooms still hung in the air for many hours after the stall-holders had packed up and gone home; and in the long streets orange trees in blossom provided not only shade, but the most intoxicating aroma of all. There were many houses where jasmine rampaged around the doors, its aromatic white petals carpeting the road like snow. At all times of day, the smell of cooking suffused the atmosphere, along with wafts of roasted coffee
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