THRACE
Here, the lyre of Orpheus still echoes along the peaks of the
Rhodopi mountains. The figure of Dionysos continues to stroll
under the age-old oaks and beeches. The Aegean breeze ceaselessly
wafts the secrets of the Kabeiroi from Samothrace to the shores
of Thrace. Here, tradition expresses itself in silk, in an ornamented
embroidery, in a silver amulet. Or even in a succulent sweet.
The earth of Thrace is like a cocoon. Protective, warm, hospitable.
With its multihued birds, its fleet stags, towering chestnut trees,
and the tales told by its grannies, its real history. With its
own people, with those who came and took root here, and with you
who are exploring and getting to know it.
