Old Perithia

High on the slopes of Mount Pantokrator, hidden from the noise of Corfu’s beaches, lies a village the world forgot. Old Perithia was once alive with shepherds, schoolchildren, and the rhythm of mountain life — a refuge from pirates, plague, and the turbulence of the coast. Today, its cobbled lanes wind through hollow houses, its Venetian churches stand watch in silence, and rusting relics of the modern age sit abandoned beneath the sun. Walking here feels less like visiting a ruin and more like stepping into a story paused mid-sentence.

In the golden light of evening, the bell tower of Old Perithia casts its shadow across the church façade — a silent witness to centuries of life, worship, and mountain refuge. Built in the 16th century under Venetian rule, it once marked the heart of

In the golden light of evening, the bell tower of Old Perithia casts its shadow across the church façade — a silent witness to centuries of life, worship, and mountain refuge. Built in the 16th century under Venetian rule, it once marked the heart of a thriving community.

Perched high on the slopes of Mount Pantokrator, Old Perithia lies tucked away from the coastal world — a defensive choice during the days of pirate raids and plague. Today, its red-tiled roofs and weathered stone walls remain, but the bustle of dail

Perched high on the slopes of Mount Pantokrator, Old Perithia lies tucked away from the coastal world — a defensive choice during the days of pirate raids and plague. Today, its red-tiled roofs and weathered stone walls remain, but the bustle of daily life has long faded.

Every doorway tells a story.

Every doorway tells a story.

Generations crossed this stone threshold, its surface polished smooth by centuries of footsteps.

Generations crossed this stone threshold, its surface polished smooth by centuries of footsteps.

Parked decades ago, this 1960s relic has become part of the village’s fabric.

Parked decades ago, this 1960s relic has become part of the village’s fabric.

Rust creeps across its chrome, weeds curl around its tires — a mechanical fossil in a stone-age street.

Rust creeps across its chrome, weeds curl around its tires — a mechanical fossil in a stone-age street.

Nature has a patient hand. Year by year, ivy pries apart mortar, and fig trees take root in abandoned hearths.

Nature has a patient hand. Year by year, ivy pries apart mortar, and fig trees take root in abandoned hearths.

Once the heart of childhood in Old Perithia, this school now sits in silence. Generations of children climbed these steps, their laughter echoing across the cobblestones.

Once the heart of childhood in Old Perithia, this school now sits in silence. Generations of children climbed these steps, their laughter echoing across the cobblestones.

Today, its walls carry a new kind of mark — graffiti scrawled by passing visitors and wanderers. Where lessons of reading and arithmetic once filled the air, silence is broken only by the scratch of spray paint and the creak of shifting beams.

Today, its walls carry a new kind of mark — graffiti scrawled by passing visitors and wanderers. Where lessons of reading and arithmetic once filled the air, silence is broken only by the scratch of spray paint and the creak of shifting beams.

A ceiling has caved in, spilling beams and stone onto the classroom floor. What once sheltered young minds from the mountain weather has given way, exposing the school to the sky.

A ceiling has caved in, spilling beams and stone onto the classroom floor. What once sheltered young minds from the mountain weather has given way, exposing the school to the sky.

Standing back, the school appears both fragile and enduring — its walls scarred, its roof torn, yet still holding the shape of a place built for hope and learning.

Standing back, the school appears both fragile and enduring — its walls scarred, its roof torn, yet still holding the shape of a place built for hope and learning.

Outside, a massive tree now towers over the ruins — roots gripping the earth, branches stretching skyward. Where the village’s youngest voices once grew, nature continues the lesson: all things return to the earth.

Outside, a massive tree now towers over the ruins — roots gripping the earth, branches stretching skyward. Where the village’s youngest voices once grew, nature continues the lesson: all things return to the earth.