As part of her contribution to the Lazaretta revival project, Alba invites you to discover a poetic and introspective text written in homage to this historically rich site. Blending personal memories with universal reflections, this piece delves into the soul of Lazaretta, the former quarantine building on the island of Syros, which bears witness to the past while highlighting the fragility of our heritage.
LAZARETTA,
I am here.
I chose to be here as an ultimate expression.
I write so I don’t forget…
We slowly approach the steep, deserted shores of Syra, where only the dry stone walls of enclosures hint at human presence. Suddenly, our eyes catch sight of Lazaretta. A strange vision. It’s late at night. Without realizing it yet, the wind blowing around us whispers a vocabulary of illness, insomnia, drowsiness… It speaks of a sickness that can infect an island, a country.
During the brief stopover, the ship is stormed by a group of guards and nurses who lead us into the building. Like a fortress, it imposes an unusual sense of harmony between the sky, the earth, the sea… and humankind. A recognition of contradiction.
In my “cell,” I gaze out the window into the night until midnight. I listen to the sea, smell the salt, and inwardly follow the movement of the water against the rocks on the nearby shore. This stay will painfully cleanse the miasma of my soul. At times, I hear the women and children laughing, and it reassures me, allowing me to maintain an intimate resonance with the familiar.
Lazaretta offers passersby a pause in time, in life, and perhaps a final destination on their journey. To me, it feels like the heart of the world.
Plagues return again to satisfy an ancient hunger. And isolation remains the only useful remedy—or perhaps escape, as the ultimate cure.
I so desperately want to preserve this place that makes me feel the reverence for life, for nurturing light, for that vital force that opposes darkness, both physical and moral. Yet I feel it is destined to disappear, and this thought grips my heart. I want to keep a living memory.
Lazaretta—would the world be diminished without the permanence it represents?
Lazaretta is a beauty not yet broken.