The Mayor of Lafkara

As I walked through the streets of Lafkara I only wished if I could stay there for a full two days. I longed to be in one of those rooms on the top floor of the limestone buildings. I wished to spend lazy evenings simply sitting on one of those balconies jutting into the crowded streets. In the front I could see the vast farm fields of Lafkara and the vales and dales of Cyprus far into the great distance. Bathing in the warm sunshine, I could have enjoyed the cold breeze of the Mediterranean.

Down below the streets would present the ambience and scenes of a romantic town. Both sides of the street were lined with shops on the ground floor. An infinite variety of laces was hanging at the entrance of each shop like festoons greeting the tourists. Artistically crafted Silver ware and handicrafts were on display in glass cases.

Graceful women seated on the plinths of shops could be seen engrossed in lace artistry; girls, maidens, middle aged and elderly women were at work. The senior women would engage in small talk with seamstresses across the street in raised voices. Putting their head out through wooden windows men folk too would partake in the talk. Soon a batch of foreign tourists would descend on the streets. They will move on touching and feeling the nicety of the hanging lacework, admiring the lace-making skill of the womenfolk and greeting the seamstresses. I could have viewed all these lazing at the balcony if only I could have stayed longer.

In yet another street, the star attraction was a tiny restaurant with a canopy of vine yard. Beyond the cool sweet shade offered by the hanging vines, bunches of grapes were dangling around the table. Lovers and couples locked in tete-e-tete were sipping beer. The stone-paved road in the front of the restaurant wound its way. Sign boards made sixty years ago advertising the famed lace of Lafkara were hanging on the frontage of every shop.

I could have enjoyed all these if I had stayed there for two days. But my time slot was just one short hour! Within that I must capture the best visuals of the world famous Lafkara lace. Dropping me in a street, Stelios, my tour guide had moved out to park his van. I started shooting the place that had a venerable history of over 1000 years. I felt that history was sleeping in every stone that paved the street and the buildings.

What struck me most was the pure innocence of the people of Lafkara! Wearing a one-piece dress and sitting on the street side, the women worked with laces. They were icons of classic Greek grace and charm. The fine art of making marvellous laces was a heritage handed down to them by their ancestors. When a girl in the family turned eight, her mother or grandmother would induct her into the ABC of lace making. By about eighteen she would be an adept in the lace-making art. Generations ago, when Greece was under Venetian rule, the technology of lace-making diffused over to this place. That was in fifteenth century. Thereafter lace became the pulse of Lafkara. At home women folk made lace. Men folk took it to the markets far and wide not only to Europe and America but also to Asia.

I hurried into my work of shooting every street of Lafkara. Greeting the lace workers and often accepting their invitation to visit their shops I moved on. At last I reached a shop at the end of the street where an old woman was sitting. I got introduced to her. Her name was Paath. She told me all about the great Lafkara lace. Usually I do not seek consent to photograph people during my travels. It was not very practical either. But for a change I made up my mind to seek her permission to videograph her. I felt a special bond of affection for the people of Lafkara and I did not want to annoy them with a camera shot.

Paath who ought to be above seventy was very cultured. She allowed me to shoot her special lace creations of pictures. She took me to the inside of her shop which had silverware, handicrafts and iconostasis frames. Proudly she introduced me to her husband who owned the shop and gave out his name Constantinos. A seventy-five year old handsome man. He highlighted light heartedly that he had the name of emperor Constantine!

Constantino was a politician too. He had been the Mayor of Lafkara for ten years. I discovered instantly that like every other politician, he too had a strong weakness for the camera. As Paath was spreading the lacework before me, he was eloquently speaking to me of his politically heroic acts as a mayor. He described how he made a 40-minute documentary about the handicrafts of Lafkara, i deflected the topic asking him how he fared in his business.

The old man had a wish as I set out to leave. He wanted a photo session with three of us. I had positioned my camera in a showcase. Soon the documentary maker in him got up. He began giving me lessons on angles. I politely reminded him of the acute shortage of time with me and I bid goodbye to him.

The old man was not satisfied. He was anxious to present me with a gift. He started searching and rummaging the area. Soon his eyes fell on a laced towel spread by Paath for me to view. He picked it up to give me. A stern look from Paath made him abandon that idea. Maybe that towel might have been the product of a long week’s hard labour for her.

He performed a swift U-turn and faithfully placed the towel where it was. He quickly brought out a post card that depicted Lafkara and presented me with that. He formally declared that as a gift from the former mayor in memory of my visit.

I took it put it in my bag and left the shop. The old couple were waiving their hands at me as far as they could see me.