The marble village on the mountains of Naxos
By Theo Kalomirakis
After spending a day and night at the village of Filoti in Naxos, the next morning I got in the car and headed towards Apeiranthos, a village perched like a crown on the mountains of the island. Apeiranthos is famous for its marble-paved streets, polished by centuries of footsteps. They all wind their way upward in a labyrinth of stone houses and Venetian towers. Every doorway in the village seems to carry a personal mark: painted signs, carved names, and flowering pots that turn the gray stones into a living canvas. Herbs and vines trail across thresholds, releasing scents that blend with the sharp mountain air.
Apeiranthos is often called the “marble village”, but it is also a guardian of tradition. Venetian influences linger in its architecture, while Byzantine chapels stand as quiet witnesses of devotion. What struck me most was the people’s fierce dedication to their heritage. Their dialect, said to have roots that echo Crete and Asia Minor, still rings in daily speech. Women still weave textiles on looms as their grandmothers did, and music and poetry remain at the heart of village life, ensuring that customs are not just remembered, but lived.
As I climbed higher through its streets, I discovered its cultural treasures: five museums, astonishing for a village of this size. From archaeological finds to folklore, from geology to natural history, Apeiranthos seems determined to tell its story in every way possible. The legacy of Manolis Glezos, the national hero born here, reminded me that this village has given not just beauty but bravery to Greece. Looking out across the terraced slopes toward the Aegean, I felt how history and landscape had shaped this spirit of resilience. Shepherds, farmers, poets, and revolutionaries have all left their footsteps on the same stones I walked today.
As I prepared to return to Athens, I felt heavy with memories yet light with inspiration. The marble steps glowing in the afternoon sun, the scent of oregano in the wind—all of these remain with me. Apeiranthos is not just a place I visited; it is a story I briefly entered. But there is one last stop before I catch my boat to Athens: the village of Halki. More about it a week from now.