citinotes
City of knights
Endless sandy beaches, grand promenades, stunning temples, minarets and domes, vibrant markets, and the shadow of a vanished Colossus crowned by an idyllic Medieval Town untouched by time: Welcome to Rhodes, the island where ancient philosophers, crusaders, knights and muezzins whisper a melody that nurtured the West in the cradle of the East.
Like a golden mosaic of stories
The magnificent Greek island of Rhodes is like a golden mosaic of precious stones, each recounting a different story across time. If one could turn back the clock by 6000 years, they could still find traces of Rhodes’ existence. Thanks to their naval expertise and powerful fleet, the island’s inhabitants established one of the oldest trade hubs in the Mediterranean. In the ancient town of Lindos, temples were built and coins were minted at a time when Periclean Athens had yet to emerge. In the Classical Era, their urban planning influenced the design of city streets for centuries to come. During the periods when the island was annexed by the empires of Alexander the Great and the Romans, Rhodes became a major cultural center: The Rhodian schools of philosophy, astronomy, rhetoric, theater and sculpture attracted generations of young scientists, artists and aspiring politicians who came to the island to learn from world-reputed teachers.
An island of such fame and invaluable location dominating every major trade route between Europe and Asia, made conquerors eager to inscribe their names into the fabric of the Rhodian glory: Byzantine emperors, Arab caliphs and Genovese crusaders, all sought to harness the island’s strategic and economic potential. Then, one day, the Knights arrived. In the aftermath of the fall of the Crusader state of Jerusalem in 1291, the Knights Hospitaller, a Catholic military order from Jerusalem found the perfect refuge in Rhodes.
A union of eight ethnicities, known as “tongues” – France, the Kingdom of England, Holy Roman Empire, Italy, Provence, and the Crowns of Aragon, Auvergne and Castille- became the “Masters” of the island for over two centuries. Under their rule, Rhodes modernized its infrastructure, building a hospital, shopping centers and numerous catholic churches. A citadel, constructed around a magnificent palace and a network of picturesque pebble-stone streets adorned with chivalric emblems, bestowed Rhodes with a distinctive look unique in Greece and polished its image with a timeless allure of grandeur.
In 1522, the bells of war rang once more. What if 300 valiant knights, under the command of Philippe Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, the island’s last Great Master, fiercely withstood a six-month siege? Suleiman the Magnificent was determined to paste “the pearl island” to his conquests: the time had come for Rhodes to pass from Europe’s far West to Asia’s near East. Four centuries under the Ottoman rule added yet another gem to the Rhodian mosaic of cultures, dogmas and architectures. Each new dawn was now announced with the languorous singing of the muezzin, instead of the clashing sound of swords. The medieval banners had long fallen from their flagpoles giving way to the slim silhouettes of minarets rising above the horizon. In cemeteries, not far from tombstones carved in Greek and Latin, islanders discovered the beauty of Arabic inscriptions. On the Rhodian skyline, the sensuous curves of Ottoman domes came to complement the clear-headed geometry of Greek columns and the rigidness of Latin towers.
Mussolini’s forces who, in 1912, succeeded the long line of rulers, only amplified the plurality of Rhode’s cityscape. Eager to convert Rhodes into a Capri-like destination for prestigious tourists, the Italians redesigned parts of the city according to their vision of post-islamic architecture -but on a christian soil. The result was a creative blend of Oriental Art Deco, enriching the island with iconic landmarks, such as the New Market building and the Kallithea Springs Resort. Their seamless coexistence with the other architectural strata is perhaps the best testament to the island’s openness and ability to embrace different cultures in perfect harmony.
Discovering the island layer after layer
Upon arrival, visitors can immediately feel the island’s tranquil vibes. Unlike the smaller and more hectic Cyclades, Rhodes exudes a laid-back attitude from the start. Its long promenades invite relaxing walks and its endless beaches offer cathartic swims in deep blue waters. The best way to discover the island is to take your time, allowing it to slowly reveal each layer of its atmospheric stratification.
What place would be more fitting to start the day than Lindos, the town of Rhodes’ “dawn”? One of the oldest naval powers in the Mediterranean, Lindos, together with Ialyssos and Kameiros, created the city of Rhodes. Its acropolis hangs imperially over the deep blue waters while the Sun God reflects its blinding light on the magnificent Doric columns of the temple of Athena Lindia. “Prismatic explosion of waves against the blue sky, crushing out their shivering packets of colour” noted Lawrence Durrell (1912–1990), a real troubadour of Lindos’ majestic beauty. For the British novelist and travel writer, Greece was a life changer. At age 23, Durrell persuaded his family to move to Corfu island, where he stayed until WWII. In 1945, he obtained a posting to Rhodes as a press attaché to the British embassy, at a time when a temporary British military government was established in the Dodecanese. He set up a house in the little gatekeeper’s lodge of an Ottoman cemetery and penned a book, “Reflections on a Marine Venus” that pays homage to the island.
At noon, when most tourists head for lunch, the Medieval Old Town offers a tranquil moment for the most romantic ones to follow the steps of the Grand Master along the iconic Street of the Knights. The yellow sun rays streaming into the palatial rooms illuminate the red hair of a Medusa on a 10-century-old mosaic from Kos; they polish the immaculate surface of a wooden throne; they light up the porcelain face of an angel sitting serenely next to a Medieval fireplace. As the eyes are drawn towards the city, the prominent figure of the mosque brings Larroumet’s words to mind: “it seems as if […] the helmets of the knights, shaded by the oriental keffiyeh, will shine between the crenellations”. In the selected passage, writer and art historian Gustave Larroumet (1852-1903), describes the Rhodian union between the European and Asian worlds. Centuries later, this cultural encounter remains impressively palpable, particularly in the Medieval Old Town, a Unesco World Heritage Site. Here, a short walk can swiftly take the visitor from the serenity of the palatial architecture to the buzz of its colorful market, an oriental bazaar where talkative merchants put playlists of old Greek songs to lure tourists into their shops.
At the “souk” -the Arabic term for market- nothing seems to have changed since old times. As Déon notes in his travel book: “Ancient Rhodes smelled of leather, spices, coffee —all the scents of the Orient that one begins to inhale upon arriving in Salonika or Athens but which, on this island, take on their true, heady essence. […] Horn makers, bouzouki makers, cabinet makers, bric-a-brac sellers, and fabric merchants stood behind their stalls, patient, dreaming”. Michel Déon (1919 – 2016) a writer with an extensive bibliography comprising over 40 publications, devoted years to chronicling the nuances of Greece, Italy and Portugal, eventually becoming a reference among researchers of Mediterranean customs and cultures.
Late in the afternoon, a refreshing walk to a Rhodian park is a perfect choice to appreciate the island’s copious natural reserves while cooling body and soul from the heat of the day. Rodini is a lovely park conveniently located on the outskirts of the city, while the famous Valley of the Butterflies is a haven of dense flora and paved paths taking the visitor from ponds to waterfalls. Rhodian parks have been repeatedly praised by visitors across the decades; we are fortunate to have identified some rare travel notes from the Middle Ages. Nicolas de Martoni, an Italian notary from Gaeta, embarked on a journey in June 1394 to explore the Holy Land in Jerusalem. On the way to Alexandria, a stop-over destination, his boat was hit by a violent tempest and came ashore in Rhodes. He stayed for a few days and recorded his impressions of this unexpected visit. Christoforo Buondelmonti (c. 1385 – c. 1430), an Italian Franciscan priest, was one of the first travelers to willingly risk a perilous boat ride through the Greek Archipelago in 1414. What’s more, at the end of his trip, he authored two historical-geographic works providing us with precious -and rare- information on Medieval Crete and the Aegean Islands. The two pilgrims recount their enthusiastic impressions of the Rhodian gardens, which they each describe as “the most beautiful gardens in the world”.
In the evening, the city of Rhodes dazzles like a queen in its most beautiful garments. Its sunsets paint the sky with a blue-and-pink layer that softens the sobriety of the fortified citadel. The lovely square, named to commemorate the Jewish Martyrs, offers a view of a stunning orange sky ablaze. Then it is time for an unforgettable walk along the Street of the Knights. If you admired it during the daylight, you will fall head over heels for it in the evening. An intense blue-colored sky covers the arid street like velvet, reminiscent of a royal blue pashmina brought by the crusaders from India or the silk lining under a French king’s ermine coat. During the blue hour, the noble “Rue des Chevaliers” transforms into a fairytale realm, with open gates for fierce knights to gallop along the pebble path in search of a princess locked in a tower.
This daydream walk can only be topped by the stunning view from Mandraki port. From there, the city of Rhodes, like another Salome, unveils all her layers to the visitor: the warm walls of its Medieval citadel, the pale facade of its Islamic-styled New Market, the sailboats and windmills dancing with the scirocco, and the city lights casting soft reflections on a wrinkling sea. Michel Déon must surely have felt Rhodes’ heartwarming vibes when writing these words:
“We would return for its sweetness, its languor, the Frankish elegance of its palaces and the Rue des Chevaliers, its memories of a brilliant Middle Ages full of greatness and temerity. In Rhodes remains the nostalgic memory of an armed and conquering West...”
*This guide is dedicated to my friends, Manos and Christiana, for helping me uncover local stories and hidden gems of this magnificent island.
Citinotes
chapter 1
Between knights and muezzins
Around noon, we discovered the coast of Asia and Rhodes at the same time. The “Island of the Sun”. Brilliant Rhodes, also known as ‘Macaria’, the fortunate one, appears crowned with white rocks and surrounded by greenery. The mild climate, pure air and fertile soil made it an earthly paradise for the ancients. They said that in Rhodes, the differences between heat and cold were scarcely noticeable, as the two temperatures merged seamlessly. […]
Despite the presence of palm trees and minarets, the first impression is reminiscent of Mont Saint-Michel emerging from a bluer sea under a brighter light. A crenelated enclosure, interspersed with towers, tightly encircles the area. This enclosure is anchored on the right by a multi-level fortress, the former palace of the great masters, and on the left by a chatelet with a sturdy gate, the Sainte Catherine gate. In the past, the entrance to the port was defended by a magnificent tower, crowned with four turrets and topped by a donjon. This was the Saint-Angel tower, a marvel of military architecture which occupied the site of the famous colossus, representing Rhodian Phoibos. […]
Like Mont-Saint-Michel, Rhodes was as much a religious city as it was a warrior stronghold, always “at the risk of the sea” and of the enemy. Half European and half Asian, it seems at first glance that nothing has changed here since December 31, 1522, when Suleiman took possession of the city. The noisy and colorful population that swarms on the quay, attracted by the sight of our great liner, has retained their normal costume: it seems as if, in a short while, the banners of the seven languages will float on the bastions and the helmets of the knights, shaded by the oriental keffiyeh, will shine between the crenellations.
Half European and half Asian, it seems at first glance that nothing has changed here since December 31, 1522, when Suleiman took possession of the city. […] it seems as if, in a short while, the banners of the seven languages will float on the bastions and the helmets of the knights, shaded by the oriental keffiyeh, will shine between the crenellations.
In a few steps, after crossing the outer wall which separated the bourgeois city from the noble city, we find ourselves in the street still called Rue des Chevaliers. Here, the illusion is marvelous. On both sides, the architecture of the 11th and 15th centuries survives in its most characteristic forms, with a series of externally intact buildings. No restorer of historic monuments has touched this place. Light wooden mashrabiyas barely cling to the facades, distorting the character very little, as the knights often adapted their Western habits to those imposed by the East. Thus their large hospital, for instance, is built in the shape of a khani: the buildings frame a central courtyard with arcades, but these arcades are pointed, and the facade resembles that of a fortified castle.
Light wooden mashrabiyas barely cling to the facades, distorting the character very little, as the knights often adapted their Western habits to those imposed by the East.
Towards the middle of the street, there is a pulpit surmounted by a canopy embedded in the wall. The call that the Greek archbishop made to the women and children in 1522 sent the entire population up to the rampart. […]
The inns and priories of the nations line the street, each featuring their crest alongside that of the Grand Master who built them. Those of England and Italy were at the bottom of the street, while that of France was in the middle. The English and Italians were able to take their crests with them; the French coats of arms are still in place. The fleur-de-lis, with its vigorous and pure design, shines like the oriental sun on a marble plaque, surrounded by the old cry: ‘Mont Joye Sainct Denys’. Next to it, surmounted by the cardinal’s hat, the coat of arms of the great master Pierre of Aubusson. […]
Most of the Knights of Saint John belonged to the French order. Of the nineteen great masters before holding the magisterium at Rhodes, fifteen were chosen in our nation. Among them were the two heroes of 1480, Aubusson and Villiers de l’Isle-Adam. When Suleiman reached the island’s doors, there were 292 knights: 120 Frenchmen, 88 Spaniards and Portuguese, 47 Italians, 17 Germans and English. The testimonies of this old glory would look fitting on the walls of Saint-Denis.
Gustave Larroumet
Vers Athènes et Jérusalem, Hachette, 1898
chapter 2
A sweet-and-sour souk market
Here are the delicate contrasts we have been indulging in for several days in the lobby of our hotel. Such tact rekindled the press’s desire for Europe. We were in this walled town, beyond the time when traders removed the wooden doors from their shops.
Ancient Rhodes smelled of leather, spices, coffee —all the scents of the Orient that one begins to inhale upon arriving in Salonika or Athens but which, on this island, take on their true, heady essence.
Horn makers, bouzouki makers, cabinet makers, bric-a-brac sellers, and fabric merchants stood behind their stalls, patient, dreaming. The streets were filled with vendors of skewers and pistachio nuts, whose harsh cries resonated louder than the call of the muezzin. At the doors of the dilapidated mosques where the pink plaster was peeling, guards in rags beckoned us with a hooked finger. However, we knew that the interiors would be disappointed: old threadbare carpets, an empty pulpit, and unbreathable air.
Islam was retreating here, content to advance elsewhere. Rhodes is exactly what I had hoped for: a beautiful, advanced monument to Christianity with buildings carved from beige, natural stone. Terrible, yet simultaneously distilling those hints of Asia which speak of a struggle spanning thirty centuries. Yet, it was not strictly a Greek island. Nature had been too generous here, digging valleys where myriads of butterflies fluttered, and bordering the slate beaches of the north with brilliant orchards. As we wandered around the islands —the Cyclades and the Sporades— we had a need for whiteness and simplicity that prevented us from fully appreciating the Mediterranean beauty of Rhodes, only experiencing it briefly to ensure we missed nothing. It was done: we knew Rhodes and we would return there, but not to ask the impossible.
We would return for its sweetness, its languor, the Frankish elegance of its palaces and the Rue des Chevaliers, its memories of a brilliant Middle Ages full of greatness and temerity. In Rhodes remains the nostalgic memory of an armed and conquering West…
Michel Déon
Pages grecques, Gallimard, 1998
chapter 3
Rose gardens
Before three o’clock, on Monday, July 13, we arrived at the city of Rhodes. It would take too long to describe the city in detail, so I will summarize by saying that the city seemed to me to be about as large as Capua. […]. Around the city, there are gardens of orange and lemon trees and other fruits of this kind. In some gardens, there is a large fountain and a windmill; the water from this fountain turns the wheel with the help of the wind, and there are buckets attached to the turning wheel. The water then falls and flows through a conduit to another fountain, which looks like a wine press. When the fountain is full, the entire garden is watered with this water in the evening.
I must add that, in my opinion, we cannot find more beautiful gardens in the world.
In some gardens, there are houses and dwellings, while in others, there are beautiful inns with halls and rooms where a traveler can be conveniently accommodated. There are so many gardens that, in my opinion, they extend for three and even four miles around the city.
from the travel notes of Nicolas de Martoni, 1394,
in Hervé Duchêne, Le Voyage en Grèce, Robert Laffont, 2002
I want to linger a little longer in this town of Rhodes, where I spent such happy years after the war, cocooned in the secret garden of Mourad Reis.
In truth, I lived in this Turkish cemetery, so beautiful and silent that I often wished to die and be hermetically enclosed in one of these beautiful forms, to remain there eternally,
dreaming of Eyoub and the great ladies who let the nonchalant drowsiness of time pass in the vehement silence of the Turkish heat, accompanied only by the murmur of the falling leaves.
In Rhodes, eucalyptus leaves spun like little propellers. My wine-stained garden table decomposed in the heat; sometimes I would write or draw on it. Friends who visited would leave messages there when I wasn’t there and eventually began writing poems on it.
The yard was completely surrounded by flowering hibiscus, the most beautiful, resilient, feminine plant I have ever seen. What joy it was to see it gush like a mouthful of cool water from the narrow bed of a stream or from a pile of burning stones in the middle of summer!
In my dreams, women have always been associated with flowering hibiscus. Such images quench dark thirsts.
Michel Déon
Pages grecques, Gallimard, 1998
We then arrive at the very illustrious city of Rhodes, where the trees are so green and the landscape so pleasant that it charms the eyes of the viewer with its marvelous panorama.
Who would not be especially struck with admiration at the sight of the magnificent garden that the Florentines created in this place? […]
[…] Rhodes took its name from ρóδov [rhodon], in Latin rosa, perhaps because this flower is more perfect and more beautiful than anywhere else. However, its name could also come from ρóδι [rhodi], in Latin malum punicum (pomegranate), as this city was once filled with people as a pomegranate is filled with seeds.
from the travel notes of Christophe Buondelmonti, 1414,
in Hervé Duchêne, Le Voyage en Grèce, Robert Laffont, 2002
chapter 4
Rosy-fingered sunsets
It was there, at the Helen of Troy, that we met once more at sunset -one of those fantastic Rhodian sunsets which have, since medieval times, made the island so justly famed according to the account of Aegean travellers. The whole Street of the Knights was on fire.
The houses had begun to curl up at the edges, like burning paper, and with each sink of the sun upon the dark hill above us, the tones of pink and yellow curdled and ran from corner to corner, from gable to gable, until for a moment the darkening minarets of the mosques glowed into blue ignition, like the light glancing along a sheet of carbon paper.
[…] Gideon was holding a glass of some rosy wine up to the red light of the sky, as if he were trying to imprison the last rays of the sunset within it. ‘Where by association’ he said would Homer get an adjective like rosy-fingered from- unless he had experienced a Rhodian sunset? Look!’ And indeed in that weird light his fingers, seen through the wine, trembled pink as coral against the lambent sky. ‘I no longer doubt that Rhodes was Homer’s birthplace,’ he added gravely. I could see that he was a trifle drunk. He moved me impressively to sit and imitate him, and for a while we examined our own fingers through our glasses before solemnly drinking a toast to Homer.
‘Where by association’ he said would Homer get an adjective like rosy-fingered from- unless he had experienced a Rhodian sunset?
chapter 5
Majestic Lindos
The Aegean is still waiting for its painter – waiting with all the unselfconscious purity of its lights and forms for someone to go really mad over it with a loaded paint-brush. Looking down upon it from the sentinel’s tower at Castello, from the ancient temple at Lindos, you begin to paint it for yourself in words. Cerulean sky touched with white cirrus -such fleece as grows between the horns of nine-day goatlets, or on the cocoons of silkworms; viridian to peacock-tail green where the sea threshes itself out against the cliffs.
Prismatic explosion of waves against the blue sky, crushing out their shivering packets of colour, and then the hissing black intake of the water going back. The billiard-green patch edged with violet that splashes the sea below Lindos. The strange nacreous bones of cliff at Castello.
But to paint Greece one would have to do more than play with a few colours. Other problems: how to convey the chalky whiteness of the limestone, the chalk-dust that comes off the columns on to one’s fingers, the soft pollen-like bloom on the ancient vases which makes so many of them seem like great plums of pure light. And when you had done all this you would still have to master the queer putty-mauve, putty-grey tones of the island rock – rock that seems to be slowly cooling lava. An impossible task when all is said and done.
It is pleasanter not to try, but to lie dozing in the shade and watch Gideon working away on squared paper with his little child’s paintbox. He stops whistling only to swear and shake his fist at Anatolia which is manifestly eluding him. ‘I nearly had it in this one’ he says. The paint-box was a present intended for his daughter; but one day, cooped up in a transit-camp he decided to try the colours out. He has graduated via railway-trains and one-dimensional drawings of houses and cows to sedate little water-colours of the landscapes he has visited. Some are quite good; but though I offer to buy them he refuses. ‘This is my diary,’ he says.
Rhodes for culture lovers
Each destination reveals a unique chapter in Rhodes' rich culture
