Anopoli, where I am at the moment, is the birthplace of Daskalogiannis, who led a Cretan revolt against Ottoman rule in the 18th century. His real name was Ioannis Vlachos but, having been sent abroad for an education by his wealthy ship-owning father, his last name was dropped by his compatriots and he became know thereafter as Ioannis the teacher, Daskalogiannis (daskalogos = teacher).

That’s him in the middle of the village square as I’m sat having my breakfast, with the White Mountains behind him in the distance.

The revolt began on 25 March 1770, with a promise of support from the Russians. Unfortunately for him and his compatriots, the support never materialised and the Turks put an early and brutal end to the uprising. 

He was taken to the fortress in Heraklion, skinned alive and executed in June 1771. It’s said that he didn’t utter a word while being skinned, although I suspect it more likely that he was simply unconscious, something I’d not risk saying here in Anopoli for fear of causing offence. As the monument to him suggests, he’s revered here, throughout Crete and in Greece as a whole. Even the airport to which I flew in and will leave from is named after him.

It’s also said that, when the fate of he and his men became clear, they performed the war dance, Pentozalis, which seems like a mightily odd thing to do, but Greek pride is powerful. I witnessed this when I first crossed the border in 1974 from what was then Yugoslavia and saw a group of jubilant men emerge from their vehicle and kiss the ground.

Despite defeat, the Daskalogiannis revolt was the first step towards freedom from the Turkish occupation of Crete. It kept people’s hopes of freedom alive and the legacy of his sacrifice became an inspiration to all the revolutionary efforts that followed. They led ultimately to the revolution that broke out in 1821, and eventually to the whole of Greece becoming an independent kingdom. Not bad for a boy from Anopoli, which explains why they’re so proud of him here.