Learning from the Sarakatsani

In the spring of 2023, I completed an art research residency in Athens. My focus was on herbs and plants—their therapeutic properties and how these can be integrated into cooking. I explored the healing powers of food, viewing it as a form of medicine not only for the body (somatic), but also for the mind and psyche.

My approach was rooted in oral history: I sought out conversations with herb experts, foragers, farmers, cooks, and land cultivators. As part of this research, I traveled to Epirus, specifically to Zagori—a stunning region of interconnected villages, mountains, and canyons in northwestern Greece. This area is known for its wealth of wild herbs and medicinal flora, and is also considered the birthplace of some of Greece’s earliest folk doctors.

During my 10-day stay, locals encouraged me to visit Gyftokampos, a settlement where around 15 traditional Sarakatsani nomad huts have been preserved in their original form. On my first visit to Gyftokampos, I was struck by the natural beauty of the area—a lush 20-acre forested flatland filled with fir and pine trees. Granted to the Sarakatsani Association by the Greek Ministry of Agriculture, the area functions as an open-air folk museum faithfully recreating the traditional Sarakatsani way of life.

Among the huts, one finds spaces designated for sleeping, cooking and cheesemaking, teaching (a school hut), worship (a chapel), weaving (a loom hut), and animal keeping (a sheep hut), among others. Since 1979, Gyftokampos has hosted an annual gathering of Sarakatsani associations—a day devoted to reconnection and celebration.

Nestled within Greece’s mountainous heartlands and expansive plains, the Sarakatsani people carry with them a heritage rooted deeply in ancient traditions. Nomadic by nature and pastoral by occupation, their story is woven through centuries, uniquely shaped by their environment. From the origins of their tribal identity to their distinct ecological architecture, the Sarakatsani provide a remarkable case study of sustainable living long before it became a global concern.

The Sarakatsani are considered one of Greece’s oldest indigenous communities, preserving a lifestyle nearly untouched from antiquity through the 20th century. Historically pastoral nomads, they herded sheep and goats, migrating seasonally between lowland winter pastures and highland summer grazing lands.  

Their origins, according to both historical records and oral tradition, trace back to ancient Greece. The name”Sarakatsani” emerged during the Ottoman era; folklore suggests it derives from “Karakatsan”—meaning “black fugitives” in Turkish, a reference to their traditional black clothing symbolizing mourning after the fall of Constantinople.

The first post-war data on nomadic livestock farming is given to us by ethnographer Angeliki Hatzimichali (1975, vol. I, Part A Appendix), who recorded almost all the families of the Sarakatsanai of Greece.

She writes about their past: “Nomads from an ancient lineage of livestock breeders, shepherds, without their own land and permanent residence, walkers and people of the woods, these are the Sarakatsani.”

“In Greece pastoral nomadism is a system of raising sheep and goats whose historical roots reach back to antiquity. Both the geomorphology of the country and the prevailing system of production in lowland areas were conductive to the development of nomadism as a socio-economic formation. The original system evolved into what is known as transhumance stock farming”  (Gidarakou I. & Apostolopoulow C.D. 1995)

The landscape of Greece, with its rugged mountains and fertile plains, is ideally suited to nomadic pastoralism—a practice where herders seasonally relocate flocks between elevations to optimize grazing. This transhumance was more than mere movement; it represented a sophisticated ecological and economic strategy, ensuring sustainability and biodiversity. The Sarakatsani, pioneers within this system, traveled flexible routes—”strata”—to exploit environmental variations across seasons, avoiding overgrazing and allowing natural replenishment of pastures.

This practice flourished notably from the late 19th century through the mid-20th century. According to Angeliki Hatzimichali’s ethnographic studies, the Sarakatsani were among the most prominent groups maintaining these traditional practices into the 1950s. The decline of nomadism due to socio-political changes, agricultural reforms, and modernization saw the transformation of Sarakatsani from nomads into semi-nomadic and, eventually, settled communities.

The Sarakatsani society revolved around the family unit and the broader collective known as the “tseligkato,” essentially an economic and social cooperative. Families grouped into “tseligkata”under leadership chosen for wisdom and ability rather than mere seniority. The “tseligas” (leader) coordinated not only livestock activities but also social events, communal decisions, and interactions with broader society.

Their life rhythm was synchronized with natural cycles. Transitions occurred with major religious festivals—moving upwards in spring around Saint George’s day (April) and returning in autumn around Saint Demetrius’ day (October). Their connection with nature informed all aspects of their daily activities—from cooking, using local herbs known for medicinal properties, to weaving and garment-making with wool from their sheep. Sarakatsani women were the ones crafting their huts, weaving textiles, and preparing food, thereby preserving and transferring cultural heritage across generations.

One of the most striking elements of Sarakatsani culture is their traditional hut, known as the “konaki.” A remarkable example of ecological architecture, the konaki reflects a profound understanding of the environment and available resources. Constructed entirely from locally sourced natural materials—tree branches, twigs, reeds, grass, and clay—these huts exemplify sustainability and practicality.

There were primarily two types of konakia: the rounded hut and the elongated or double hut. The circular huts were most common, featuring walls woven from pliable branches and roofs skillfully covered with layers of straw, reeds, and grass. A central wooden pole— which supported these layers—is placed during the construction and then removed when the hut is completed. The dome-like shape of these constructions efficiently sheds rainwater and insulates against temperature fluctuations. The elongated huts, mostly found in the mountains, offered expanded space and enhanced stability against harsher weather.

The shape of the huts has its origins mostly due to the circular enclosure of the fire and the way people gathered around the fire to warm themselves.  Each hut’s interior was modest yet functional, arranged around a central hearth. The fire was not just practical for cooking and warmth; it held symbolic importance, mirroring ancient Greek reverence for Hestia, goddess of the hearth. Inside, every object had its purpose and place, reflecting the simplicity and efficiency necessary for their nomadic existence.

The construction of konakia was an endeavor predominantly executed by women. Skilled artisans, these women precisely gathered materials and wove walls with intricate craftsmanship, embodying ecological consciousness through generations of practice. Their methodology avoided waste, ensured insulation, and optimized resource usage.

After getting in touch with the Association of the Sarakatsani of Epirus in Athens this spring, I was fortunate to be invited to witness the construction of a traditional hut at the Angeliki Hatzimichali Folk Museum in Athens. 

Guided by two elder members who generously shared their skills and knowledge with the younger president and two other members of the association, the project, a smaller replica of the konaki, would take three weekends to complete. Observing the formation of the hut’s basic framework, the intricate weaving of flexible wooden branches, and the tightly bound joints, I gained a deep appreciation for the determination and craftsmanship of the strong Sarakatsani women who once built these shelters.

It’s also worth mentioning here some of the materials used in the hut making. Strong fir branches are staked deep into the soil to construct the perimeter vertical frame. The circular base and the other horizontal layers leading to the roof and the roof dome are made of flexible beech tree wood while the outer layers of the hut are covered with whatever protective material the area provided, e.g. rye straw, various foliage such as ferns, dense layers of bushes, reeds or fir branches.

Without nails at their disposal, all the joints are tied with wicker: a hard-to-find material which grows close to water, near rivers and fountains. Its thin and flexible shoots acts as a simple rope of sorts. Practicality aside, beautiful and fragrant wicker is believed to repel evil and is associated with healing and many cult beliefs dating back to ancient times. In the case of the Sarakatsani, wicker is also used to make crosses that are placed above the main entrance of the hut as well as the top of the domed roof, becoming a kind of amulet and protecting the house from evil forces.

Beyond mere survival, Sarakatsani architecture is a powerful lesson in ecological balance and sustainability. The community’s keen ecological insight is evident in their strategic selection of settlement sites—often sheltered yet sunny slopes that protected their huts from strong winds and floods. The huts’ design with naturally ventilated interiors, maintained comfortable conditions year-round, during hot months or cooler winters.

This intuitive design harmonized human life with the natural world, showing deep respect and understanding of ecosystems. Today, as we grapple with climate change and environmental challenges, the Sarakatsani living knowledge of architecture can offer inspiration for sustainable building practices with minimal impact on nature, resourcefulness, and resilience.

Although nomadism has faded today, the Sarakatsani integrated into the villages and cities between the 1950s-1970s, their descendants manage to maintain very active communities. With regional associations all over Greece, mostly in the north in various cities, museums and yearly gatherings, they succeed in keeping their cultural legacy alive. 

Their traditions are actively preserved and celebrated by the younger generation who is taking over the reins. One such person is Yiannis Yiannakos, the 38-year-old new president of the Association of the Sarakatsani of Epirus in Athens who stated:

“The Sarakatsani identity today is preserved mainly through the home, the family at its core and the wider family environment of each person. An important role is played by the Sarakatsani associations that have been created with the aim of rescuing and spreading the Sarakatsani tradition, and who have produced great work and are also the ones who now support our gatherings. Also important is the contribution of the Sarakatsani singers, who interpret only our own songs. All of them together function as a connecting link for the Sarakatsani community.”

I’ve chosen to end this article with one more question I posed to him: What does “being a Sarakatsano” mean to you today?

“Being a Sarakatsano today means that you are aware that you come from a special Greek nomadic lineage, with roots that go far back in the past, with a rich cultural heritage and that you feel proud of your ancestors and the values ​​they represented and that you try to preserve this collective memory and values ​​in a modern, globalized world.”