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| My Favourite Planet > English > Europe > Greece > Northern Aegean > Samos > gallery |
| Samos, Greece |
Samos gallery |
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Grapes growing over the doorway of a house in Kokkari, Samos. |
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Wine has been produced on Samos for thousands of years. The legendary Ankaios (Ἀγκαῖος; also known as Ancaeus of Samos) was the helmsman of the Argo in the adventure of Jason and the Argonauts. According to the legends, he became king of Samos and introduced wine cultivation to the island.
Although Samian wine was not among those mentioned as the finest by ancient authors, it was valued enough to be exported. The wreck of a merchant ship of the 4th century BC, discovered off the coast of Kyrenia (Κερύνεια), northwest Cyprus, was found to be carrying amphoras of wine from Samos (see photo below).
The distinctive qualities of the sweet wines produced on Samos are due to the muscat grapes (known in Greek as μοσχάτο, moschato) from which they are made. Although muscat grapes are among the oldest known type for producing wine, it is not known exactly when they were first grown on the island. The earliest reference to muscat grapes on Samos is from the 16th century. They come in a wide variety of colours, from amber to dark blue (as in the photo above).
The main growing region is in the centre of the island, around Mount Ambelos, the Greek name of which, Ἀμπελος, means grapevine.
Samian wine was also celebrated in poetry by Lord Byron. |
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Domestic grape production. |
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The Isles of Greece
by Lord Byron |
The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece !
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of War and Peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung !
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their Sun, is set.
The Scian and Teian muse,
The Hero's harp, the Lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse:
Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your Sires' "Islands of the Blest."
The mountains look on Marathon ---
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
A King sate on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations; --- all were his !
He counted them at break of day ---
And, when the Sun set, where were they?
And where are they? And where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now ---
The heroic bosom beats no more !
And must thy Lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
'T is something, in the dearth of Fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush --- for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o'er days more blest?
Must we but blush? --- Our fathers bled.
Earth ! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead !
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae !
What, silent still? and silent all?
Ah ! no; --- the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head,
But one arise, --- we come, we come !"
'T is but the living who are dumb.
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In vain -- in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine !
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine !
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call ---
How answers each bold Bacchanal !
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The noblier and manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave ---
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
We will not think of themes like these !
It made Anacreon's song divine:
He served --- but served Polycrates ---
A Tyrant; but our masters then
Were still, at least, our countrymen.
The Tyrant of the Chersonese
Was Freedom's best and bravest friend;
That tyrant was Miltiades !
Oh ! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind !
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore,
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, such seed is sown,
The Heracleidan blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks ---
They have a king who buys and sells;
In native swords, and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine !
Our virgins dance beneath the shade ---
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear-drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die;
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine ---
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine !
From Don Juan, Third Canto, LXXXVI,
by Lord Byron (1788-1824).
Written in Greece in the winter of 1819–1820. |
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Model of a 4th century BC Greek merchant ship which was looted and sunk by pirates
off the coast of Kyrenia (Greek, Κερύνεια), northwest Cyprus. The 14.75 metre long,
single-masted vessel was carrying 404 transport amphoras of wine and oil from
Samos and Rhodes, as well as almonds and stones.
Model constructed by E. Kardimis. Thessaloniki Archaeological Museum. |
Photos, maps and articles: © David John 2003-2019,
except where otherwise specified.
All photos and articles are copyright protected.
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have been attributed where applicable.
Please do not use these photos or articles without permission.
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Higher resolution versions are available on request.
Some of the information and photos in this guide to Samos
originally appeared in 2003-2004 on davidjohnberlin.de.
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