Some landmarks stay with you—not because they’re especially grand or famous, but because they were part of the scenery of your life. The Giannitsa Clock Tower is one of those for me. I remember it clearly from my childhood. It was a distinct landmark, different from all the other buildings we’d pass on our way into the town center.
It always stood out. I asked my father once what it was.
“Ένα παλιό τούρκικο κτίριο,” he said—*an old Turkish building*.
Even now, all these years later, the clock tower still draws the eye. Not just because of its height, but because of its unusual, fortress-like shape. With its thick stone walls and narrow vertical openings—slits instead of windows—it looks more like a defensive outpost than a public clock. I later learned there’s a name for those openings: *loopholes*, or *arrowslits*. In medieval architecture, they were designed to allow defenders to fire arrows, crossbows, or early firearms while remaining protected behind stone walls. Whether the tower ever served that function is unclear, but the design gives it a strikingly austere, purposeful appearance.
A Tower Through Time
The Giannitsa Clock Tower (Ρολόι Γιαννιτσών) is believed to have been built in the late 18th or early 19th century, during the last decades of Ottoman rule in the region. Back then, Giannitsa—known as Yenice-i Vardar—was a thriving town in central Macedonia, with deep Ottoman roots dating back to the 14th century, when it was founded by the military leader Gazi Evrenos Bey.
Ottoman clock towers became common during this period. They were often erected near mosques, baths, or market squares, serving both practical and symbolic functions. Telling time wasn’t just about organizing daily life—it was about progress, order, and visibility. In diverse towns like Giannitsa, where Muslim, Christian, and Jewish communities lived side by side, the sound of the clock was a shared point of reference.
Today, this tower is one of the few surviving Ottoman-era structures in the town. Most were lost or demolished during the 20th century, especially following the population exchange between Greece and Turkey in 1923, which transformed the cultural makeup of the entire region. That’s part of why this clock tower feels so important—not just as an architectural relic, but as a rare thread connecting Giannitsa’s layered history.
A Closer Look at the Inscription
The tower’s east side features a stone inscription written in Ottoman Turkish, using the Arabic script that was the standard for written Turkish until 1928. That year, as part of sweeping reforms under Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the script was officially replaced by the Latin-based Turkish alphabet we see today.
A modern plaque outside the tower claims that the inscription says it was built in 1753/54, “as a gift to his father and mother and the souls of the Gazis.” But when I asked ChatGPT to translate the inscription itself, I got this:
“Şerif Ahmet bin Hüsrev El-Hakkı, in the year 1177, had this clock tower constructed as a gift for his father and mother, and for the souls of the Gazis. The tower was built with the purpose of providing time and serving as a reminder for the daily prayers of the Muslim community.”
The year 1177 refers to the Hijri calendar, also known as the Islamic calendar. It’s a lunar system, which means it runs about 11 days shorter than the solar-based Gregorian calendar we use today. Using the most common conversion method, Hijri 1177 corresponds to 1763–1764 CE.
That’s a full ten years later than what the plaque claims—1753/54. It’s possible that different methods of conversion were used, or perhaps the plaque rounded based on an estimate. Either way, the discrepancy is intriguing.
I can’t help but wonder what my grandfather would have said about it. He went to elementary school in Cappadocia, Turkey in the early 1900s, back when the Ottoman Arabic script was still very much alive and in use. If he were here, he might have read the inscription to me himself—bringing the past a little closer.
A Coffee Beside the Past
There’s a bar/café tucked just next to the tower, where I sat last summer with a coffee, enjoying the view. It’s a surreal kind of closeness—history towering quietly beside your table while the sound of clinking glasses and casual conversation drifts through the air.
According to Google, the tower is supposedly open to visitors on weekends from 9 to 17, but when I asked at the café, they weren’t so sure. “Δεν νομίζω,” the waiter shrugged—I don’t think so. If I get confirmation, I’ll update this post. But for now, even just standing beside it, looking up at those timeworn stones, feels like enough.
If You Visit Giannitsa
- You’ll find the clock tower next to the St George Park (Πάρκο Αγίου Γεωργίου) and St George Church (Ιερός Ναός Αγίου Γεωργίου Γιαννιτσών), within walking distance of the city center.
- The structure itself isn’t large, but it’s impossible to miss—it rises from the pavement like a piece of another century.
- Take a moment to sit at the café next door. Watch the way people move around it. You might feel, like I did, that time hasn’t stopped—but it has definitely slowed down here.