The Last Tanner in Harmena
- Digital Rabbit
- Oct 20
- 3 min read
At the foot of Mount Parnassus, the old quarter of Harmena in Amfissa still smells faintly of leather and oak. Water runs through stone channels once vital to a thriving trade, and though the hammers have fallen silent in most workshops, one still echoes with the rhythm of human hands.
A Family that Endures
As I ate lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Harmena, I looked forward to meeting Spyros Merinopoulos, who, together with his father, runs the town’s sole remaining tannery. As far back as the 16th century, Harmena was known as a center of leather production. Like most tanning districts, it was located on the outskirts of town to keep the pungent smells away from the general population.
The local spring was said to have special properties that produced a superior leather. Man-made channels once directed water from the central Fountain of Harmena to each artisan’s workshop, where it could be diverted as needed.
The Craft of the Tanners
The tanners used acorns, sumac, and other natural plants to tan goatskins—a slow, painstaking process that yielded leather prized for bookbinding and parchment. The resulting material was of archival quality, ensuring that gold leaf and inked letters engraved on the skins would last for centuries.
After World War II, the introduction of plastics caused a sharp decline in natural tanning. Artificial leathers—vinyl, Naugahyde, and similar products—offered smooth, wipeable surfaces that soon dominated homes and commercial spaces. For the few tanners who remained, quick chrome tanning proved faster and more economical than the traditional vegetable process.
Yet nothing could rival the durability and archival purity of vellum made from naturally tanned goatskin. The Merinopoulos family continued in the old way, supplying leather for law texts and parchment for the Vatican. We were fortunate that Spyros and his father welcomed us into their workshop.
Inside the Workshop
We walked through narrow alleyways lined with abandoned workshops until we reached their door. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of hides and wood. Tables and machinery filled the dim room. Spyros showed us hides as they arrive from the butcher, then demonstrated the first stage—tumbling the skins in a wooden barrel to soften them.
His father took over for the second stage, placing the softened hides into another rotating barrel filled with natural tanning materials. The final step was hand-scudding, scraping each skin by hand. Natural dyes—typically red, tan, and black—were used for coloring. Not all the skins became parchment; some went to makers of wallets and other small leather goods.
A Town Preserved in Memory
The workshop bore the patina of centuries. Its wooden boards had warped and separated in places, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the building itself dated to the 16th century. Forty-two of the old tannery buildings in Harmena now sit empty but are officially preserved. Despite the quiet, the town still draws visitors—especially during the annual Carnival, when as many as 4,000 people don costumes to honor the Ghost of Harmena.
The Ghost of Harmena
Carnival costumes are made of tanned skins, bells, and ropes recalling the old trades. Throughout town, fantastical leather creations appear during Carnival—many still on display during our visit.
And the Ghost? The legend tells of two lovers, Konstantis and Lenio, who were struck by lightning at the Fountain of Harmena. Lenio died instantly. Konstantis was found the next day at the nearby castle, and his spirit is said to haunt the fountain still.
A Living Echo
As I left the workshop, I reflected on the sound of the wooden barrel turning; it was almost sacred—a heartbeat from another era. In a world that replaced the scent of oak bark with the sheen of plastic, the Merinopoulos family keeps alive a craft that refuses to vanish. In Harmena, leather is more than material—its memory made tangible, softened by time but still enduring.
