A CENTURY OF SILENCE

A CENTURY OF SILENCE

“What I want to do now is show you some differences between the Ottomans and the Greeks from a human perspective…” said the old man and continued:

“In 1908, during the Young Turk Uprising, a common grave was built in Aposkep where all prominent Macedonian leaders who died in the Ilinden Uprising were buried. Buried in this common grave were Vasil Chakalarov, Pando Shindov, Pop German Chikovski from the village Chereshnitsa and many other revolutionaries from the Ilinden Uprising, as well as their relatives and other victims of the war.

But when the Greeks occupied Macedonia in 1912, 1913 the so-called Greek Andartes (Illegal Greek-sponsored armed bands roaming inside Macedonia) and the Grkomani (Macedonians supporting the Greek cause) dug up the tombs in the Aposkep common cemetery and scattered the bones of those buried in it throughout the fields and meadows. They then filled the graves with stones and sang songs while doing this.

One of the songs they sang went something like this: ‘Chakalarov is gone, Macedonia is gone, we destroyed Chakalarov and with him all his followers!’…”

Old man Krapov’s face suddenly changed. He looked angry and overwhelmed by sadness. He looked like he had been deeply violated. There was bitterness in his voice when he said: “HOW HORRIBLE!!”

He paused for a moment, recomposed himself and continued: “That day was ‘The day of the Souls’ a holiday honouring the day of the founding of the Christian church. Remembering the dead on that day was a tribute to their souls... It is the same with all Christians everywhere.

What the Andartes and Grkomani did that day was a terrible sin, more confirmation of the dangers and consequences of nationalism and populism as it is cherished in Greece. Their gain and exultation came from brutally insulting the dead, which shows not only disrespect for us and our history but also reveals the kind of savage people they are, getting joy from other people’s pain and suffering! And they call themselves civilized and Christians? Our Greek invaders are uncivilized un-Christian savages… I have seen what they are capable of… and believe me friend evil deeds speak a lot louder than words…!”

I swallowed hard. I felt like my own pride was choking me so I felt I needed to say something. I turned towards the old man and before I had a chance to open my mouth, he began talking again:

“After the Ilinden Uprising was ended and we lost our bid to free ourselves, more Greeks from Greece, especially Greek Andartes (1), began to infiltrate Macedonia with aims at completely extinguishing IMRO and all its affiliates.

We all know about the kind of heroism our rebel bands showed during the fighting but I want to tell you something about a place called Sliveni. There too was a large common cemetery in which IMRO members were buried; among whom were the leaders Mitre Vlaot, Lazar Poptraikov, Petre Naumov from Aposkep and many others, about 60 in total. Our people, including my own family, with great pride every year laid flowers on these tombs; that is until 1913…

But the sickest thing that happened was after that, after the 1913 Greek occupation of Macedonia when the Greek government ordered the cemetery’s destruction in the most disgusting way. Not only did the Greeks destroy our cemetery but to ensure that we would never visit it again they created a Greek cemetery on top of it

and buried the likes of Pavlos Melas (real name Mikis Zezas) (2), born in Mesalia Epirus, and forced our (Macedonian) people to worship him.

The destruction of the cemeteries where the Ilinden Uprising fighters and heroes of Macedonia were buried and expected to rest for eternity, has shown how barbaric the Greeks and our most current occupiers can be… They want no less than to erase everything Macedonian… our entire Macedonian heritage… centuries of Macedonian culture and civilization… And what are we doing? WE ARE KEEPING SILENT! And who benefits from our silence? Our occupiers… our executioners… of course! And why are we keeping silent…? You tell me! To keep our executioners happy?!

But the scariest period of our existence was when the dictator Metaxas (1936) came to power. At that time almost the entire village of Aposkep was sent to jail to the dry, desert Greek islands.

I also want to emphasize what happened on the Greek-Italian front. As soldiers of the Greek army, 36 young Macedonian men from Aposkep gave their lives fighting for Greece. Included among them were Panaiot Mishaikov, Spaso Bubev and Micho Pochev. The village became quite active during the Greek Civil War and many sacrificed themselves for Macedonia’s freedom. Sadly no one cares...

Frankly, the Macedonian people were seduced to join the Greek Civil War. It was all lies and deceit…

Today, Aposkep is peaceful and humble, many of the former villagers are scattered all over the world and the Greek government will not allow them to return home because they are NOT Greeks by birth. If they were born here and were indigenous to these lands and, as Greeks claim: ‘only Greeks live in Greece and Macedonia was always been Greek’ then what else could they possibly be? Or putting it another way, ‘How can they possibly be anything other than…’ But obviously, by some logic that only Greeks can understand, they are NOT Greeks by birth… So there you have it…

Well, after I came back from the island… from then onwards I lived an unhappy life full of guilt...”

As the old man spoke his facial expressions began to slowly change. His eyes seemed to go darker and turn from bright to ash gray…

* * *

The Church bells in Kostur Region ring every morning on Sundays and holidays.

“Kostur,” old man Krapov said, “will seduce you with its mystery and you will not know what to expect. This is especially true with young people.

Unfortunately as time passes there are less and less true Kostur-ians (people of Kostur) in Kostur… their memories of Kostur died off somewhere out there. They are now gone forever...

Kostur, over the years, like most other cities in Greek occupied Macedonia has gone through significant changes. The centuries old traditions are being chipped away and less and less remain of them as time passes. The 27,796 new colonists and settlers, otherwise known as ‘Prosfigi’, ‘Madziri’, or ‘Pondi’ settled here from distant Asia Minor after the Balkan Wars and after World War I (1919 -1922), have been slowly changing the scene.

As soon as they arrived here they were settled in different parts of the city and they not only brought alien things here, they also ripped out everything that was Macedonian. Now Kostur breathes a lot differently…

But fortunately, there are centuries old historic characteristics still hidden in this great mix of today’s modernity, even some that have been brought from Asia Minor. People are like migrating birds; they bring some things, take some things and then disappear...

Let me tell you what the old people from Kostur knew and that we should also know. Hidden under these old walls in the heart of Kostur are fabulous secrets which our ancestors left behind. Buried

in the rubble are temples and all kinds of historical remnants lying under the debris all forgotten... The truth about us is hidden deep under those old walls…”

Old man Krapov paused for a moment, sighed and resumed talking:

“I remember the many famous Kostur church bells ringing very early in the morning on Sundays and during major Christian holidays. Many of these bells were forged and brought here from Russia and the Ukraine. Many people from Kostur Region are now far away from the sounds of those church bells… Oh how lonely for them it must be… They are our brothers and sisters… Surely they must miss the sounds of Kostur’s church bells every Sunday… Those sounds reverberated all the way to Russia... Oh those lonely people away from Kostur now living quiet and unremarkable lives… being lost to time…

During important holidays it was customary for the people of Kostur to openly celebrate as a community but since the Greeks banned these celebrations people have forgotten that they even existed. Most holidays that the Kostur people celebrated were based on the Bible and were mainly seasonal holidays associated with the harvest or with historical events.

I remember as a child, my favorite holiday in Kostur was Easter. That’s when my grandmother Dora and my mother Vana dressed me in my native Macedonian folk outfit which they had made for me to wear on special occasions. It was wonderful to ‘click’ eggs with my friends and then eat them after six weeks of fasting. I particularly liked the candles made especially for children in the form of small baskets that were easy to hold. Yes, Easter was an endless happy time of the year for celebrating a new beginning, hope and praise for life. People rejoiced, congratulated each other, fell in love and respected one another on Easter... Oh, my good friend how can I tell you this… If Macedonian Culture dies in Kostur we will all die with it… The secret is hidden in our Macedonian birthright… it is hidden deep inside of us. We never took an oath to shield our ancestral land and protect this country... It is only by our deep roots that our identity is confirmed…

The Macedonian people’s fate is threatened, not only in Kostur, it is a historic crossing; it involves all Macedonians from this part of Macedonia…”

It was hard for me to believe everything this old man was telling me. I stood there mute, frozen and visibly upset.

* * *

We took a walk down the sloping sidewalks. They were a bit slippery from the half rounded beautiful pebbles in the gravel with which the sidewalks were covered. The sun was setting and the pebbles, in a strange way, were reflecting all the colours of the rainbow. It gave a person a strong sensation that they were being splashed, especially near the lake and surrounding hills. One also got the sensation that the air was filled with music, poetry and all kinds of art.

The beauty of the lake came alive before our eyes. The houses looked like they were literally on top of one another looking down on us. And as darkness began to cover Kostur, looking up from the lakeshore, the city looked like a huge Christmas tree with thousands of shining lights all mirrored in the gilded lake. When the moon found its way to the top of Goritsa Peninsula, it looked like a huge lightbulb shining over the whitewashed and decorated houses shining on places of love and history in Kostur.

But now in these times there is rarely a time of true Macedonian life in Kostur. The only thing I know about Kostur and the Kostur gymnasium, churches and fisheries where the famous carp was caught, is what I learned from old man Krsto Krapov.

Many years have passed since I last saw Kostur. Even then the city was old and beautiful; it could not hide its beauty. Kostur is my personal big wound. It hurts me every time I think of the place where I was born and grew up. For me it has always been the most beautiful place in the world. But in the Balkans, as the veterans used to say: “Life is boring when there is no fighting...” and as such someone who has evil in their mind will surface and start looking for something, looking in history to justify his violent ways. The

fighting and the wars have divided us into heroes and evil doers and now, we find ourselves all around the world; not in our homeland, at our fathers’ hearth. Why are we not in our homeland? And so I wonder: “Who am I? I was born here, I had a family and a house here, our ancestors are buried here and their bones have been destroyed here... Why? My God, my God, we have lost everything! What kind of people were we? What kind of people are we?

I experienced a strange sensation which was making me feel inebriated. Light was pouring over the western part of the city just before sunrise. Windows were being opened and blinds were being pulled back. Warm air flowed out of the windows carrying the sweet breath of home and the aroma of grandma’s frying pitulitsi (fritters).

I felt like a child being rocked to sleep in a cradle. I laughed out loud as if I was drunk.

I took a long breath of spring air filled with the sweet aroma emitted from the Macedonian homes. A magical feeling overwhelmed me and made me yell swear words out loud... The settlers, occupants and thieves of our homes gazed at me strangely from the windows. My heart began to tremble and I felt like I was going to pass out.

God! I am going to say it again: “I am so much in love with the home of my ancestors.” Seeing it in ruins hurt me badly. My sight began to blur, I shivered and chills ran down my spine. The house was not too old, but was neglected. The garden was neglected. There were broken corners on all sides of the house and the yard was littered with bricks and garbage.

I whispered the names of all my dead relatives and wished them eternal rest.

God how many of my people were resting under such ruins...

So for years, every persecution, every attack on the Macedonian people, opened a new page, a new path on alien roads ruining more dreams and hopes. It is time for our people to wake up. Dig graves for our dead in our Macedonia. Wake up. Our dead are not

avenged… forgotten.... When are we all going to call out in a single voice what the world needs to hear?

* * *

Spring in Kostur began with the flooding of the River Belitsa. Half of April had already passed and the winter, which constantly wanted to come back, finally let go. That’s when Krsto Krapov returned to his home, after half a century of being away. To him everything was like a dream.

Kostur, like every other place, had a life of its own.

The streets were empty, only my steps shattered my feeling that time had stopped.

The people of Kostur are now all over the world, more die of sorrow from roaming, left there by the left (communists) with nothing more than their tattered clothing on their backs. They do not die from hard work in factories, they die only because day and night they mourn the loss of the aroma of roses and basil found only in Kostur...

We were sitting on a wall while I listened to Krsto Krapov speak. He had a nice, warm voice but his face was rigid, tense and evil looking. Suddenly he looked down and a long uncomfortable pause followed. He looked like he was simmering with helpless rage. But some invisible force must have broken through because he looked at me and said:

“Oh, my friend, we Macedonians are silent, as if nothing bad had ever happened to us.

The Balkan war years 1912 and 1913 were years of pogrom, years of national disaster, especially for the people of Kostur, for us, and we remain silent in front of the world so that Greece can not only occupy our lands but also carry out unprecedented genocides against our people. Look at all the genocidal acts the Greeks have committed against us and the laws they have enacted to eliminate us. And where are the words ‘genocide’ or ‘occupation’ written in our most recent history? Nowhere! All we read in our history today is

that Macedonia was divided into three parts and its parts were annexed!! Really? Was this all that was done to Macedonia and nothing more? What about what was done to us, the Macedonian people? Is genocide an acceptable common practice not worthy of mention? Not even in our history books?

We remained silent and alive, listening to the great maple trees at the entrance of Kostur whispering in Godly voices, we watched the silky waves move across Lake Kostur always in motion and never sleeping...

Look here I will tell you how it was. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw it with the Greek Andartes and with our rebel fighters. It was all a setup… a skam… a lie. This is how it was done then: In the distant past someone killed someone from the Ilinden family. Then someone from his family murdered someone from the murderer’s family. And so on and so on. Here in Kostur and in Kostur Region in general, every generation lost a few people to revenge killings. This is how it was done later: Thousands of people were detained and sent to the dry islands and many of those thousands left their bones on those islands? What had they done to deserve that? The only ‘wrong’ they had done was that they were Macedonians! Silence may indeed be golden in such situations but it seems to me that generation after generation of silence, protecting the evil done to us by the Greeks (Andartes), confirms that there was not a single Macedonian willing to step up and loudly say what he or she thinks: The true reasons why they have banished us is because we are Macedonians!!

After Macedonia was occupied, three types of patriotism surfaced and got into our Macedonian mix as we all, here in this part of Macedonia, bent our heads down and settled under our new Greek slavery. We left our Ottoman overlords with great hope that because the Greeks were Christians they would treat us better than the Ottoman Muslims... What a great surprise… I recall asking my grandparents; ‘Why do we tolerate living under Greek slavery?’ The answer: ‘This is our homeland from time immemorial, there is nowhere else for us to go and this occupation too will pass just like the Ottoman occupation and the Greeks will leave just like the Ottomans left!’

The Greek occupation authorities justified this slavery by saying: ‘From time to time there needs to be cause for fear in those who can’t be helped with reason; and getting angry is not useful.’

One thing is certain, the Greeks committed crimes against us, especially against the descendents of the Ilinden fighters. The Ilinden rebels were freedom fighters and fought against Ottoman slavery and now in the 1940’s all those people and their families were labeled as fighters against Greek slavery.

Attacks against prominent Macedonian families have gradually increased with aims at robbing and degrading them of their honour. They used especially abusive words to describe them. When they went to their homes they would call out: ‘Get out of here you Ilinden dogs!’

We Macedonians here are characterized as having deep local patriotism. The village is an entity just like the family whose existence we jealously protect. This self-reliance and local loyalty is a natural consequence and a variable of our history. We carry a deep inborn sense of loyalty towards the spirit of Macedonia.

This Macedonian patriotism was put to the test in Kostur on March 5, 1943 when a meeting of 48 members from various villages was convened. There, among other things, they decided to form an organization called the “Macedonian Committee” for Kostur Region whose purpose was to defend the villages. People from about 60 different villages volunteered to join. They were even allowed to take up arms because they needed to protect themselves from dispossessed Greece.

Many gatherings like this one were also organized in other cities. All the descendants of Ilinden fighters got their chance to join the fight and many decided to grab arms and defend the Macedonian people against all past crimes committed against them. Many also felt that ‘the Macedonian days of slavery were over’.

Many Macedonians in those days became rebels and so ELAS wasted no time in labeling them ‘Fascists,’ ‘traitors,’ ‘Ohrana

agents’ (Bulgarian agents) and whatever other denigrating words they could think of to discredit them. ELAS personnel then organized public rallies and gave many political speeches, brainwashing the people. They also beat up people and broke into shops and houses. The rebels had no choice but to call on the people to stand up and defend themselves. They shouted: ‘Brothers, let us unite! Brothers unite! Macedonian people when are you going to stand up for yourselves?! It is our primordial right to stand up and defend our fatherland, our hearth, our people and not just run away. God, we endured the Ottomans for five hundred years and now we have to endure the Prosfigi (Asia Minor colonists and settlers) who are a hundred times worse. Oh Lord, you gave us a soul but there is no soul left in us, we are only people! How long must we spill our Macedonian blood!? Later when the rebels saw that conditions were getting better, they slowed down and delayed their acts of justice. But in spite of their peaceful intentions, the Greek prison camps were being filled with the honest men from Kostur Region anyway…

The old people used to say, this can’t be good, and not long after that the rebels armed themselves with long Italian rifles (Maliheri) and stopped the Greeks from ransacking the villages and from abducting people. It was not difficult to drive the Greeks out. The rebels captured a couple of culprits and drove their long swords through their chests. That was it. Doing this, however, created so much fear that it not only drove the Greeks out but also stopped all criminal activities. Those who had ideas about robbing and murdering people and about snatching a woman or a girl, would not dare... And as such, the rebels brought some happiness into the lives of the villagers. Unfortunately, as things progressed, life in the villages became cursed, especially when people began to be drawn to fight in a life or death struggle. After that life reverted back to the way it was and the villagers had to hide and do their singing and dancing indoors in secret rooms.

There was talk that the Prosfigi envied our songs and dances. They would say that it was envy for those songs and dances that motivated them to want to create a large army so that they could chase us away and keep all of Macedonia’s treasures for themselves.

But try to explain that to the Macedonians who were accustomed to dividing themselves into two camps and who hated each other… It is impossible. The communists had no problem promising everyone a bright future, except for themselves. What did they really think; that in all that chaos they would come out on top? Did they really think they were that smart?

And while they divided themselves into two groups they forgot that they were Macedonians and became ‘communists’ and ‘rebels’. So in time the rebels hated the communists as if they were Greek Andartes and the communists hated the rebels as if they were fascists. The only difference was that the rebels remained true believers to the end and stayed home and defended their fatherland… The communists, on the other hand, fled and joined Tito’s army… to do what… I don’t know…

When my grandfather found out that some Macedonian communists had become ‘brothers’ of the Greek communists, he made reference to a proverb: ‘Our peoples, the boys who call themselves communists, have no idea that one cannot place themselves in the same bag with a savage dog.’

They say that disaster never comes alone. And it is the way they say it is. Misery needs company. Misery follows misery. Harm follows harm. Evil begets evil… for the Macedonians.

After many Macedonians declared themselves Communists, the Greek government began to slander and persecute them saying that ‘Communists are atheists’, they are ‘faithless’, ‘godless’ and they belong in prisons. Now we Macedonians were hated on several levels, even by our own people. People were led to believe that those who were professing to be communists were very dangerous people and needed to be expelled and sent to live abroad. And that is exactly what happened to us. Now many people from Kostur Region, especially those who had ideological affiliations, ended up roaming the world. But, on the other hand, even during the Greek Civil War (1946 – 1949) the Macedonian people were pressured to

be atheists through the banning of our religion. You can see here how we were setup… Right?

Hatred was inherited and passed on from generation to generation, even today; even while we live in exile… we still hate each other like we were hungry for blood... for vengeance... for revenge. The blood that was spilled in those days created uncrossable boundaries between our families and between our people. No one could even marry a girl from an opposing family. This is something that never existed before but was now happening everywhere! This was even happening to the people of Kostur... who brought the evil here! Outsiders came here and brainwashed our people to hate one another. And to this date, no one has asked: ‘Where did I go wrong?’!”

I watched old man Krapov speak as images like shadows passed before my eyes. The lies, the suffering, the turmoil... our people have endured from the “invented” evil that has been unleashed upon us Macedonians, that made us to want to hate each other so much... and to never ask why?

* * *

“In the years after they divided Macedonia, the Macedonian people, it would seem, have learned to manipulate the power of speech by keeping silent…

Enough talk, we have a long way to go. We are going to visit the gravesite of Macedonians who hated each other…” and with those words old man Krapov stopped talking.

God, I said to myself, fate has squashed this man so many times and I can see now with my own eyes how much it has hurt him. He was in pain when he said:

“I am ashamed of covering up our history. By covering up our history we have hidden away our heroes, our victims… their sacrifices will be forgotten by the generations to come. And what do we do now? We celebrate the rewards of those who slaughtered our heroes. We celebrate their victories and festivities… They who came

here to destroy us! We stand in rows in front of their monuments, surrounded by the most beautiful and aromatic roses Kostur and Macedonia have to offer. And we did this for what? For some ‘ideological’ reason alien to us?! Shame on us!

Well, I am who I am. I am not two-faced. I tell it the way I see it. Everything has a price... History has a price… History will disregard the bones of the Macedonians who died for their freedom... Why? Because we chose to forget them by keeping silent!

They were the progeny of our Macedonia and all of us, I am telling you, will feel the pain of this open wound for as long as we live. Our silence is very strange indeed. We keep silent because we don’t want to shame this old Greek civilization??? These savages??

More than a century ago we lost the key to our bright future and no one has thought of finding a cemetery to bury the bones, with dignity, of the Kostur rebels, Chakalarov’s freedom fighters and those who died in the Greek Civil War; bones which have been scattered across occupied Macedonia!

Everywhere that we exist in the world we celebrate Ilinden. We celebrate Ilinden in the Republic of Macedonia. But for all the things we do outside, what do we do inside, in the Greek occupied part of Macedonia, especially for the children of occupied Macedonia? (Historically called Aegean Macedonia and its children - Egeitsi.) In our Kostur we keep silent. We were one people who all fought together in Ilinden, our joy and pride was the same, and now there (and everywhere else in Greek occupied Macedonia) we say nothing! We say nothing! Nobody says a word about the barbaric crimes that the Greeks have committed against us. No one says a word about what this unholy occupier has done and is still doing in our holy Macedonian fatherland. Why?!

The Ottomans ruled over us for more than 500 years but they did not destroy our Macedonian culture, they did not destroy our mother tongue, they did not even deny our names and the historic name of our country. As our heritage, Evlia Chelebi has left us traces of our past, our civilization and our deep roots. He researched (not destroyed) and wrote about our economic, social, cultural and

political characteristics. He also wrote about our language and our dialects. He was a ‘godsend’ and a friend to us Macedonians. Now let me ask you this: ‘Can we say the same thing about anyone who exists today? Are there no intelligent Greeks out there who can do this?’ Outside of genocidal acts perpetrated against us, what have our current occupiers done for us lately?”

Old man Krapov looked like he was on fire. He stared at me sharply for a moment. I thought he wanted something from me. But it seems he was more focused on his own thoughts than on me. He continued to speak and finally he said that the main problem with telling his story about the rebels freeing Kostur was that it was going to take too long, so now he had some new ideas.

He said: “I, Krsto Krapov, call on you to please help me save our Kostur culture from oblivion and collect the bones of our ancestors. I am sure the people of Kostur, with all their love, want to talk but just don’t have the courage because they are afraid! This is their tragedy!”

Old man Krapov raised his head up high, looking proud and bold, and said: “I kept silent myself, I did not condemn them for keeping silent and neither did I warn them that we would be lost because of our fear and ignorance.”

He then raised his voice and shouted at me: “HEY MACEDONIAN! OUR ANCESTORS WERE ALSO LIKE THAT, SILENT!”

He looked away as if addressing the world and shouted: “WE LOVE KOSTUR BECAUSE IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN OURS! AND THAT CLAIM IS SUPPORTED BY HISTORIC FACTS!”

He began talking again in his normal voice and loudness: “Here is what a Grkoman (Greekophile) and close associate of Pavlos Melas said about Ioannis Dragoumis and what he wrote to the Greek government in 1903.

Ioannis Dragoumis, in February 1903, wrote the following to the Greek government: ‘Most Macedonians will rebel. They are not interested in Hellenism. We will remain a minority in a naked open

space. These poor (Macedonian) people don’t want Bulgaria or Greece, they only want one thing; their freedom, that is why they are not struggling to make Macedonia Bulgarian, they just want to make it an autonomous Macedonian state. Meaning, Macedonia for the Macedonians.’ (Ilinden Notebook: From the diary of Ioannis Dragoumis - page 19, Petsiva Publishing, 2000.)”

Old man Krapov looked at me with pride and, in a compassionate tone of voice, said: “I feel very old, like my life is nearing its end but I would love to see Macedonia and the people of Kostur become happy, just like our Ilinden grandfathers wanted us to be!”

I know what Kostur was like back in 1941 to 1944 when I went there to visit the gymnasium where my grandfather Doro and my grandmother Ianka were taught. Today everything is different. Today the walls of the churches are collapsing and the icons of our saints are burned in Kostur and in the Kostur Region villages. Each of us should, at least once, ask ourselves the question: “What have we changed in our lives?” If we were given the opportunity to go back to our past, a past which was framed on lies; if we could start from scratch, what errors would we try to fix? Which pain, what remorse, what sadness would we choose to delete?

Would we dare give new meaning to life away from this city, away from our birthplace?

Would we dare guess what would become of us in exile?

Where would we go and with whom?

No one wants wanderers, losers, people who do not know how to defend what is theirs… Even animals will not leave their home so easily…

The view of eternal Kostur is wonderful.