By John Freedman Posted on Contemplating Crete August 20, 2021
The day we visited the Agia Triada (Holy Trinity) Monastery it was hot-hot-hot. It has been hot on Crete all summer long. Maybe Crete was removed to Hades one night when we all were sleeping, and we didn't notice. If Crete weren't so heavenly, one might really believe that. Agia Triada is surely one of the most beautiful monasteries on Crete. It is kept in spectacular condition by the monks who live here - so much so that you really feel like you are visiting someone else's home when you come. From the friendly person who greets you when you enter (and almost sheepishly takes your 2 euro entry fee), to the monks wandering the grounds, to the grounds themselves, Agia Triada never strikes one as a "museum" (which it is not, of course), or a mere "sight to be seen." It is a place where people live, work, and worship, and you can easily see why someone would want to come here to worship. Agia Triada is located on the Akrotiri peninsula (a common tautology, since "akrotiri" means "peninsula") just to the east of Chania. It's about a 20 or 30 minute drive from the city center. Cretan roads are not known for being well-marked, but there are enough signs in place on Akrotiri to get you to this location once you have begun to near it. It's a beautiful approach, as you come down a walled, country road lined by tall eucalyptus trees and smaller conifers. The wall, like most everything in and of the monastery itself, is made of local stone, and so has that unmistakable reddish hue that one comes to associate with Crete in general, and Minoan Crete, in particular. Not that this structure has anything to do with the Minoans. It does not, at all. But one finds comfort and even joy in the fact that the stones used to build this place just a few hundred years ago, are essentially the same as those that built the Minoan palaces and cities thousands of years ago. Of all the man-made places one might visit on Crete, this is one of the newest. The original order to build the Catholic monastery was issued by the Venetian masters in 1611. It was intended to replace an older, crumbling monastery of a much smaller size. The Jagarolon brothers, Jeremiah and Laurentios, were given the task of doing the job, and, therefore, it is often known as Agia Triada of Jagarolon. Jeremiah died in 1634, but the work was carried on for the next 11 years by Laurentios. Still far from finished at that point, however, all work was halted when the Turks seized Chania and drove the Venetians out in 1645. For the next 180 years the partially-built structure served as home to a small number of monks who saw to it that the monastery was not torn up for building materials (a common practice here over the centuries right up to the 20th century) or allowed to fall into complete disrepair. During the Greek Revolution of 1821, the monks all rushed to join the fighting, but paid for their haste when the monastery was plundered and burnt down in their absence. Still, the aftermath of that ultimately failed rebellion brought about some new freedoms for the Cretans, and they were able not only to rebuild what had been lost, but they finally finished the complex as a whole. As such, most of what we see today when we visit Agia Triada was built or rebuilt around the middle of the 19th century. Agia Triada reminds me of my love for the films of Michelangelo Antonioni. He was a master of cinematic geometry. His feel for, and his command of, lines meeting and diverging in a cinematic frame were unsurpassed, in my opinion. And, lo, when I walked into the courtyard of Agia Triada, I was greeted by something reminiscent of an Antonioni film in 3D stone. The rooflines, the stairwells, the planter boxes, the walkways, the arches, the outdoor corridors, the windows and doors, the exits and entrances, they all provide sight lines that would surely have thrilled Antonioni. They do me, in any case... On top of that you have lush greenery squeezed into relatively small areas, usually by way of clay pots strategically placed, and well tended by the monks. As this is a life space for monks of the Orthodox faith, it is requested that you not take photos of monks without asking their permission. You will see in one of the photos below that I unknowingly happened to catch a monk as he stepped into the frame of a photo I was taking. Judging by the smile on his face, he probably didn't mind. Maybe he was mirroring the smile on my own face as I wandered about this gorgeous place of contemplation.
All photos and text © copyright 2021 by John Freedman. If you wish to use either text or photos, I will almost surely grant permission as long as you do the courtesy of asking.
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