Clinging to the Mountain: A Day Between Velanidia’s Hills and Roadside Shrines

Driving north from Neapoli, I passed through Velanidia and its stunning cliffside blooms, then discovered the tradition of Greece’s roadside shrines—kandylakia—where loss, memory, and faith meet on the edge of the road.

On my way north from Neapoli, the landscape changed once again—but it didn’t become less dramatic. I found myself winding up a rugged coastal road when suddenly, like a white ripple on the green flank of the mountain, the village of Velanidia revealed itself. Perched steeply into the slope, its houses stacked in orderly chaos, whitewashed walls and bright red roofs peeking out of the foliage like a mosaic.

Velanidia has a unique architectural fingerprint. Its cuboid houses feel Cycladic, but the tight terraces, lush vegetation, and Orthodox churches set it firmly in the Peloponnese. It’s a settlement with deep Byzantine roots, once part of the outer frontier of the Despotate of Morea and long a watchpoint against pirates. Its name—Velanidia, the Greek word for oak—anchors it to the earth, though there’s not an oak in sight. What dominates here are cliffs, herbs, and an almost monastic sense of isolation.

And then, unexpectedly, the rocks bloom.

Along the roadside cliffs and in crevices barely large enough to grip soil, I saw Euphorbia dendroides—also called tree spurge. It’s a Mediterranean endemic, blooming in golden-orange clusters, often resembling tiny torches stuck into the stone. Locals know it as “Akkoub” and have long appreciated its medicinal properties—though with caution: its milky sap is caustic. In this dry, sun-beaten climate, Euphorbia thrives where other plants wither. It’s not just beautiful—it’s a symbol of survival.

Equally striking: the tiny shrines dotting the roads. Painted blue or white, sometimes battered by weather, they look like miniature churches—but up close, they tell personal stories. These are kandylakia, part memorial, part devotional offering. Some commemorate fatal accidents, others mark spots of gratitude—“We almost died here, but didn’t.” Inside, there are icons of the Theotokos, dusty bottles of oil, old candles, even faded photographs of lost ones. It’s where Greek Orthodoxy becomes tangible—less dogma, more lived ritual. A culture of remembrance stitched directly into the roadscape.

The contrasts in this short stretch of land are sharp. Rock and flower. Loss and gratitude. Isolation and abundance. A village climbing uphill against gravity. Shrines facing the void. I didn’t expect much on this cloudy stretch. But I left with more than I thought I’d find.

 

Out There > Motorhome Trip Spring 2025 Western Balkans and Greece > Velanidia, Greece