Kerà [Κερά]
Therasia, the forgotten and bygone miniature sibling of Santorini island, has literally become my obsession, and following an additional short visit after Agrilià, the small island proved to be even more astonishing with its unbelievable landscapes and rupestrian settlements, still surviving, though deserted on the steep and inaccessible cliffs of the caldera.
Kerà is a small deserted rupestrian settlement exactly on the verge of chaos, on top of the caldera of the Santorini volcano, which was created by the violent Minoan eruption during ~1600 BCE. The tiny village and its handful of nearly collapsed dwellings, face the cosmopolitan and full-of-tourists Santorini, while they still stand despite the ferocity of nature. This part of the island lacks any infrastructure necessary for the provision of electricity or running water. The buildings are all constructed word for word within the top layer of volcanic tephra, àspa [άσπα], as the locals name this mineral, clearly demonstrating the cave dwelling vernacular architecture, which is ubiquitous across Therasia and Santorini. The carved residences are nearly identical, typical to the rupestrian habitation units found also in other settlements of Therasia, as of course in Agrilià. The habitation part of each residence faces the caldera, hanging on its cliffs, while just beside lays the omnipresent ‘canava’. The canava of Santorini and Therasia does not only represent the local name for wine cellar, but actually constitutes the artesanal winery, where grapes were crushed and pressed after the vedema, their must was fermented in excavated underground tanks, ‘linoì’ [ληνοί], and where the renowned wines of Santorini were stored and aged in wooden barrels. At these structures the locals used also to distill spirits from the pressed grape pomace called rakì [ρακή], thus using every last remain from the wine-bearing vines (Vitis vinifera), locally named ambeliès [αμπελιές]. The canava is also nearly without exception a rupestrian building, integral part of each residential household in Santorini and Therasia before the extensive prevalence of industrial wineries. In Kerà each residential unit, along with its canava, cistern and external oven is walled with hardened volcanic black or red stones, and then plastered with a long-lasting, nearly imperishable mortar made mostly of a mix of àspa and lyme.
Being one present and absorbing the experience of such places, remnants of an era lost in time, brings about contemplations on how the current developmental model over-exploits the landscape, the natural environment, human culture and historical architecture. It is more than evident, especially in the renowned and over-visited Cyclades in the Aegean archipelago, that we have commercialised just about everything with value. Alas, this value has become solely a synonym of profit to our ‘modern’ societies, with all other aspects and qualities inundated and dwarfed in view of its immense monetary worth. It could be that I possess a romantic perspective on the need to preserve vernacular constructions built in harmony with the natural landscape, traditional uses and practices, local knowledge and historical settlements against the massive wave of tourism encroachment, and the utter loss of all bonds and connections with our past. I do consider such an experience stunning and fulfilling, a unique privilege to enjoy a glimpse of a vanished and distinctive age, incompatible with our contemporary lifestyle.
