The Armenian presence on islands across the world is a remarkable yet often overlooked chapter of diaspora history. Scattered across seas, these small, isolated lands have sometimes served as crossroads in the Armenian journey, other times as safe havens from the hardships they were forced to endure—leaving behind traces of tales, communities, and memories that now linger on the margins of history.
Among them lies Corfu, a Greek island in the far northwest of the mainland, carrying a deep Armenian story. What sets Corfu apart is not only its breathtaking natural beauty but also a history distinct from much of the region. Unlike neighboring lands, it never fell under the Ottoman rule but was governed first by the Venetians and later by the Greeks, becoming the nearest safe refuge for Armenians and other refugees seeking protection from persecution across the centuries. For this very reason, Armenians settled here during distinct periods, their story unfolding in two main yet separate chapters bound by a single thread—both now fading into history.
Armenians settled here during distinct periods, their story unfolding in two main yet separate chapters bound by a single thread–both now fading into history.
Initial Traces
In the 16th century, when waves of Armenian refugees found shelter on the island’s shores, they founded a small village in the northwest of Corfu and gave it a telling name—Armenades (from Armenia). A century later, this community moved to the nearby village of Rachtades, which offered better living conditions, where olive cultivation became their livelihood and rooted them firmly in the rhythms of the Corfiot life. There, adopting the surname Armenis became their own way of honoring the Armenian heritage.
Azniv Yeramian, a Greek Armenian who conducted extensive research on this subject, writes that Armenians in the villages of Corfu have preserved certain cultural stories. According to these accounts, the early Armenians were determined to resist assimilation, maintaining a custom that if a daughter married a foreigner, her children were required to bear Armenis as a second surname.
Two prominent figures with this marker appear in the annals of the Corfiot history—Rachtades-born Ioannis Vrailas Armenis, a well-noted writer and philosopher, and his brother Petros Vrailas Armenis, who went on to serve as Greek ambassador to Paris, St. Petersburg and London in the 19th century and represented Corfu in the Greek Parliament. Yet, there are no further accounts of their Armenian identity other than the second surname.
Beyond such names, the traces of this early community grow faint. As Azniv explains in her work, today families with the surname Armenis can still be found in Rachtades, Armenades, other small villages, and in the town of Corfu. Some know fragments of their story, others not at all. Instead they mostly identify as Greeks or Corfiots, their Armenian roots absorbed into the island’s wider history.
Today, perhaps the most tangible reminder of Armenians on Corfu isn’t found in monuments or churches, but in the aroma of coffee and the taste of ice cream.
The Second Arrival
Amid the horrors of the Armenian Genocide and the wider catastrophe in Asia Minor, the island of Corfu once again became a sanctuary for those who had been forced to leave their lives behind. Between 1922-23, more than 22,000 displaced people found refuge here, among them 3,000 Armenians—mostly orphans.
The task of sheltering these children fell to orphanages that had previously operated in Constantinople, including the Lord Mayor’s Fund, Faber Boys Home, and the English Friendly Society, supported by organizations such as the American Red Cross and Near East Relief. With the sudden arrival of so many, the orphans were sheltered wherever possible, including notable buildingsfrom the Corfu Fortress to the summer residence of Empress Elisabeth of Austria, better known as Sisi.
Much of what we know about this chapter comes from the personal archive of one of the orphans himself, Krikor Yeramian—Azniv’s own father. In 1912, Krikor and his brother were among the 750 children transported from Constantinople to Corfu through the Lord Mayor’s Fund. His papers offer a fragmented yet invaluable window into the daily rhythms of orphan life revealing more than mere survival.
In particular, photographs show a community sustaining its presence through determination—children playing in the Armenian football club Artsiv (Eagle in Armenian), celebrating national holidays such as the anniversary of the Battle of Avarayr (451 AD against Persians), or setting out on swimming and sightseeing excursions under the guidance of devoted teachers.
Education and the arts also flourished, even if only briefly. In 1923, the Armenian Community Committee was formally established to coordinate the growing social and religious needs of refugees with local authorities. The Committee opened the Ararat School and the Armenian Theater, which staged regular performances to enrich the orphans’ cultural lives.
Among those who came to Corfu to nurture this young community were towering figures such as Teotig, the celebrated Armenian writer and educator from Constantinople, and Georges Garvarentz, who would later gain renown as an Armenian French composer and collaborator of Charles Aznavour.
For a short period of time, Lord Mayor’s Fund even produced a twice-weekly magazine, Prismak (Prism), edited by the French Armenian poet Kegham Atmadjian. Years later, in Paris, Atmadjian would co-found the youth literary magazine Chank (Effort) with resistance fighter Missak Manouchian, giving voice to a new generation of French Armenian writers.
A Way Forward
Life at the orphanages extended beyond books and performances. The children were trained in practical crafts—shoemaking, tailoring, carpentry—skills that promised independence and a path forward. Young Krikor Yeramian, for example, earned a certificate signed by orphanage director Leslie D. Osborne praising him as a skilled carpenter, a trade he would later turn into a successful furniture business on Corfu.
Beyond local efforts, outside supporters also sought to provide economic opportunities for Armenian refugees. For instance, as Azniv Yeramian writes, a rug factory was launched in the Mantouki district by the British Consul and Markos Kessisian, an Armenian pharmacist educated at the American University of Beirut, which employed 300 Armenian women to produce rugs inspired by Armenian miniature art. The manufacturing was supervised by painter Yenovk Der Hagopian and exported to America and Canada.
Still, despite promising signs of developing into a fully functioning community, the orphanages had to close in 1925, with some children adopted locally and others finding refuge elsewhere in Europe.
In the decades that followed, those who remained on the island established businesses and gradually wove their livelihoods into Corfu’s economy. “The Yerakian and Bagtantian families resumed their shoemaking businesses, the Yeramian family worked in furniture, the Messian family in baking, the Kolsouzian family in fabrics, and many more. Perhaps most notable were the Karsian brothers, who opened a silk factory in Corfu town that at its peak employed 150 people and provided interiors for Greece’s Olympic Airlines,” native Corfiot journalist Alex Sakalis writes.
However, by the late 1950s the Armenian community on Corfu had begun to shrink dramatically, leaving the island’s legacy in the hands of a select few families whose labor and devotion have quietly carried this fading heritage into the present day.
Armenian Flavors Still Alive
Today, perhaps the most tangible reminder of Armenians on Corfu isn’t found in monuments or churches, but in the aroma of coffee and the taste of ice cream. The Markosian Coffee Shop founded in 1908 by Arsak Markosian and his wife Zaroui still stands as a living testament to this legacy.
Born in 1863 in the village of Kamakh near Yerznka (in present-day eastern Turkey), Markosian mastered the craft of coffee making from a young age, from importing beans to roasting. Seeking refuge from the Ottoman persecutions long before the great influx of 1922, he settled in Corfu town, where coffee culture was virtually unknown, and with skill and passion opened a shop that transformed the island’s social life.
By chance, another Armenian soon joined him—Bogos Tzarougian. Born in 1875, this fellow coffee enthusiast from Yerznka was traveling to Constantinople with his wife Vartouhi when their ship made an unexpected stop on Corfu. There, meeting the Markosians changed their fate forever, leading them to settle on the island and form a partnership.
At the height of Ottoman atrocities, in 1918 Bogos traveled to Constantinople to check on his family and encountered his cousin Soghomon Tehlirian—the man who would assassinate Talaat Pasha, one of the chief architects of the Armenian Genocide. Tehlirian tried to persuade Bogos to join his mission, but with a young family waiting in Corfu, Bogos chose to return and continue the business.
From that time on, the Markosian-Tzarougian partnership continued to flourish until 1923, when their coffee shop was reduced to rubble during a short diplomatic conflict between Italy and Greece. Afterwards, the families parted ways, each establishing their own Armenian-run coffee shop on the island.
By that time, a new cafe had joined Corfu’s Armenian story—Antranik. Opened in 1920 by Antranik Kapikian—one of the orphans brought to the island through the Lord Mayor’s Fund—and his wife Zvart Kapikian (née Karagyozian), an orphan from the Near East Relief, the cafe introduced a new cultural dimension to the island.
Antranik ’s life was marked by unimaginable loss. Born in Sebastia in 1900 into a prosperous family, he became the sole survivor of the 1915 Genocide in his family. Zvart’s story was no less heartbreaking. Born in Adana, her mother placed her in an English orphanage to protect her from Turkish attacks, visiting daily until one day she never came back.
In Corfu, the two met, married, and opened Cafe Antranik, reviving their cherished childhood taste of kaimaki ice cream—a new delight that quickly became a local favorite. According to the Corfu Museum, even King George II of Great Britain would visit the cafe whenever in Corfu. As for the locals, it was so well known that people would tell the bus driver, “Stop at Antranik ’s!”
During its golden years from the 1950s through the 1960s, the cafe served as a cultural hub for entertainment. “My father proved to be a capable and pioneering businessman for his time,” Antranik ’s daughter Zarmouhi Kapikian-Philipposian mentioned this in her interview with the Corfu Museum. “In the 1950s, he brought the best singers to perform with a five-piece orchestra—piano, two guitars, saxophone, and drums. Even the well-known [Greek] composer George Katsaros played here. Customers enjoyed the shows, but so did the passersby, who stopped to listen to the music for free.”
As the heart of Corfu’s entertainment scene, Cafe Antranik remained a family affair until 1997, then it was sold to two longtime employees, Giannis and Takis. With the name and kaimaki recipe passed down, Cafe Antranik still thrives today as a bridge between the island’s Armenian heritage and the Corfiot life.
Today, beyond the aroma of coffee and the sweetness of kaimaki, the Armenian presence on Corfu has all but faded. Only a few families remain, coming together each year to commemorate the Armenian Genocide, the most recent major gathering taking place in 2015 for its centennial, attended by ambassadors and dignitaries. Outside these gatherings, the traces of the once-thriving community survive only in fading names, surnames, and stories as fragile reminders before history consigns them to memory.
