Naxos: High in the Hills

Given its size, Naxos provides many enjoyable day trips into its plentiful hills. Passing up on the beach in favor of a hilltop morning, I headed off for Apiranthos. The town, a taste of old Naxian times, is filled with ancestors of Cretian refugees speaking a unique dialect among the 400-year old Venetian ruins and labyrinthine streets. The town itself did not strike me as particularly memorable — spoken like a truly jaded traveler — but the surrounding area, filled with olive groves and shaded trails, made the trip more than worthwhile.

Naxos enjoys more fertile lands than its Cycladic bretheren, the back country essentially one giant olive grove. The stepped paths weave up and down the mountains, olive leaves framing their journey. After munching on fresh mulberries, I followed one of these paths for a while, stopping to enjoy the musky scents along the way. But wait. Something was off, and I immediately pinpointed the problem: Flies. Everywhere. The buzzing drone was worse than any I’d witnesses. They barely bothered me (thank, God), but their abundance perplexed me. A few steps later, the lightbulb illuminated: Donkeys. The traditional Greek mode of transportation, for loads both human and material, is donkeys, and they are still very much in use in the countryside. While my nose couldn’t pick up on it, the flies congregated for a great feast of donkey manure.

Refreshed from the hike and waiting for the bus, the oppressive slapped me upside the head. Santorini never suffered from this heat while I was there, and every drop of water I guzzled was immediately sweat out. I spent the afternoon in my hotel room hiding from Apollo and his hot henchmen.

The island’s fever started to break around 7PM, and I set out to see my last Greek island sunset at St. George beach, the closest to town. Given the port’s festive atmosphere, I expected beachfront activity akin to Perissa, pulsating with music, conversation and clinking glasses. However, I was pleasantly greeted by sands so white and soft it was like walking on confectioner’s sugar and relatively few beachgoers or establishments. Apollo must have felt badly for ruining my afternoon, because he unleashed the most spectacular sunset on which my own eyes have yet feasted. Dappled with small clouds, white rays thrust out and upward from the fiery circular sun. Blue fades to purple, to yellow, to red. Suddenly, the waves surged. Most likely the result of an unseen passing boat, I cannot help but think the sun’s ocean dunk produced this ripple effect.

And there it went. Day drifted into night. I am so blessed.

[08.06.19] Naxos (Thursday)

Sayonara, Santorini & Naxos Night

Up with the sun, I wound through the worn, marbled paths of Oia and made my way to the port of Athinios. After fueling up on a frappe, I sat on a six hour ferry to Naxos, furiously bringing this blog up to date. It’s amazing what some idol time and crack caffeine can do for creativity and motivation.

Known for its lush olive groves, hills as undulating as a dragon’s back and a unique alcohol called citron, Naxos, the largest of the Cyclades island group, suffers less tourist bloat than its little sister Paros but still offers a fun nightlife, sparkling beaches and day trips back in time to its older villages. George, proprietors of Windmills Studios and my inn keeper for the next few nights, picked me up at the dock and gave a great introductory tour of the town on our way to the hotel. After showing me to my room, he returned bearing a map and a bottle of wine on the house. Talk about service!

With only a few days in Naxos, I hit the town nearly immediately, heading for the port rather than the beach given my reddened skin. Most places seemed empty and life took a turn for the more relaxing compared to Santorini. Prices were lower; hawkers less pushy. Restaurants spills onto the sidewalks of the port, octopuses drying like wet laundry on lines out front. Delicately constructed pastries and candies filled storefronts, and I nearly swept a large portion of free Turkish delights into my purse when no one was looking. Other shops beckoned with that tantalizing stink of good cheese or offered free tastes of citron, distilled in the hinterlands from the leaves of the rare citron tree. Few people strolled the waterfront and I wandered very much alone into the Kastro, the serpentine Byzantine quarter of Naxos Town. Gladly getting lost in the winding ways, I stumbled across a large Catholic Church, a few museums and countless elderly Greek women out for their afternoon gossip session.

Wandering alone, I became keenly aware that while I enjoy making memories with friends new and old, I also enjoy getting lost in my own head while doing likewise in my environment. I found humor everywhere; my trip suddenly became funnier. I ran into a club named, no joke, “Ghetto: A luxury dance club” And, no, it wasn’t a strip joint. I cracked myself up thinking of how much fun I would have going to that place and commenting all night, “Dude, this club is SO ghetto.”

Thinking Naxos a sleepy island, I went home for a rest before going out for the evening. My key gave me trouble, and a stout yet small older Greek woman, sitting outside as all older Greek women do in the afternoon, came to my rescue. She said, “George,” pointing to the reception desk. “Mama George,” pointing to her heart. I immediately fell in love with Mama George and spent a while chatting with her about New York and Naxos, promising a repeat visit tomorrow.

I arrived back at the waterfront right after sunset and sauntered up to the unfinished Temple of Apollo, started in 522BC by the tyrant Lygdamis, but left unfinished. Next up, was the Venetian House, a small museum that each night hosts sunset concerts and dance performances of traditional music. Thinking the cover was only a few Euros, I was surprised to find the cheapest seats were 18. Ina stroke of backpacker brilliance, I bought myself a super cheap beer at a supermarket and sat just around the corner from the outdoor venue, enjoying the entire concert under the moonlight for a fraction of the price.

By the time I had bounded down to the port again, people — both tourists and locals — filled nearly every available seat, the buzz of nightlife humming excitedly thanks to the Greece-Portugal Euro Cup game. I went home thinking I would come out once Greece won and the partying commenced. Unfortunately, a few goals later, the team’s dreams were dashed and the energy slurped out of the town.

New Album 6/18/08 11:09 PM

Santorini: Red Beach and Kamari Beach

Final day in Santorini! I’m both happy and sad, but put off the latter in favor of the former with another exploration day. I head to Red beach by bus, and am greeted by towering red volcanic formations looming over a relatively secluded beach. I spend a while sunbathing, finishing my book and exploring, before deciding it is much to hot to stay here longer. Unlike Perissa, Red Beach lacks cafes and other respite from the sun, save the beach umbrellas. I take the bus back in to Fira and transfer to another out to Kamari beach.

Kamari is similar to Perissa, with restaurants, bars and clubs dotting the boardwalk. But all I want is a pizza. Ever since seeing the boys’ pizza last night, I’ve been craving pizza. And out of the five billion places to dine at in Kamari, most of which are overly eager to dish out grub to tourists, I pick the one place whose kitchen is closed. All I have in my belly is a jam-spread piece of bread ingested circa 10AM, a plain crepe from noon and two sodas, one of them diet. And here I am about to imbibe an enormous daiquiri. There goes my sobriety.

The upside is that I found pool bar. There are a few of them, actually. Of course, I pick the biggest, most welcoming pool on this popular strip. When I taste my daiquiri (who knew there were so many i’s in that word?), I’m reminded of one of those barrel-shaped fruit drinks I drank as a kid. You know, the kind that you identify by color rather actual taste. “Red’s my favorite flavor!” I detect no alcohol. I’m hoping that’s because it’s well made, but I have a feeling that isn’t the case.

After my drink, I enjoyed the pool. It’s glorious and I knew then and there that I was in paradise. I even scored some peanuts to stave off the hunger after my swim.

I leave the pool still wet from my dip and notice that after nearly 3 weeks of sunshine, I finally have a sunburn. A nice little Coppertone girl burn radiated from where my bikini bottoms hit my lower back. I think of how awesome this will feel when backpacking tomorrow.

I finally wrap up my day with pizza at a little place on the beach called Irini’s Café, owned by a grandmotherly Greek woman. I board the bus and make it back to Oia in time to pack up and say my goodbyes to the crew.

Working at the bookstore was both difficult and incredibly rewarding. I made some new friends and was given the time and space to explore the island and myself. Living in such cramped quarters with so many people is difficult, and I realized that I could probably not do it for a much longer period than that I spent there. Atlantis Books is its own little microcosm, divorced from reality in many good ways and many challenging ones. I hope I make it back there some day. And if any of you go to Santorini, please patronize this place. Knowledge is a wonderful thing to which to have access, both at home and abroad.

[08.06.17] Santorini: Red Beach and Kamari Beach

Santorini: Last Day at Work

Since I planned to take my final day on the island (tomorrow) off, this was officially my last working day. I wanted to make it count, and made a long list of items to accomplish. The first of which was organizing the Greek section. In Greek. This required that I teach myself the Greek alphabet, which is what I did as I went along. I was so proud when I placed the last book and dusted off the pretty display. Now, I can pronounce most Greek words. Alph, beta, gamma … ta da! I also varnished some shelves Pauline built in the bathroom and made signs for the Greek section and some special sections we created, including one dedicated to “dirty” books. Oh, nothing too dirty. We’re talking Lady Chatterly’s Lover type dirty.

That evening, we partook of an amazing dinner on the terrace cooked by two of Pauline’s friends from France. The reason I had to depart in two days time was because Pauline organized a film festival to take place that upcoming weekend. The films, all made using Super 8 cameras, would be projected outside on walls around town. An influx of people was on its way for the event, and by the time I asked about working at the store, it was full for that weekend. I would have loved to stay through the fest, but it would have required me to move to a hostel. Given that I was leaving for Israel so soon, I decided to move on and explore another island instead.

Her friends were in for the festival, and staying with Maria. After dining, Anna and I joined Quinn and Tim at the local pizzeria for a big draught and to catch the Austria-Germany soccer match. Anna is from Austria, so she was disappointed when her team lost by one.

[08.06.16] Santorini: Monday

Santorini: Father’s Day

I spent much of the day around the shop, so it was pretty uneventful. Only news was that Craig, one of the founders of the shop, arrived. Rather than drone one once again, I’ll give you, reader, a break for today.

[08.06.15] Santorini: (Sunday)

Santorini: Perissa & Perivola

On my first full day off, I decided to check out some of the famed black beaches on the south of the island, known for their hot sand and even hotter nightlife. First, I stopped in Fira, the main town, as all buses originate there anyway. The town didn’t thrill me. It was dirty and clogged with cruise boat tourists, mostly American. One guy was even wearing an American flag T-shirt that said, “These colors don’t bleed.” Wow. I wish the fashion police had an outpost in Fira.

After stuffing down two pieces of pizza – old cravings die hard – I boarded the bus to Perissa. Perissa is the head of a long black beach lined with cafes and beach bars, most featuring thatched umbrellas and service on the beach. I spent a while letting the sunblock soak in – so far, I had successfully avoided sunburn – then headed down the beach to check out the scene. Since mid-June is just the beginning of the tourist season, the beach scene was just warming up. Many lounges and clubs were advertising opening parties and nothing was overly crowded. Making note of a few gently thumping house music clubs, I picked a place called Yazz in front of which to park my towel. Soft jazzy lounge music floated over the umbrellas and out to sea.

I could only stay for about 45 minutes or so. You see, black sand beaches are pleasant on the eye, but not on the backside. The dark granules soak in the sun like a thirsty linebacker guzzles Gatorade, and hot doesn’t even begin to describe the temperature of these beaches. Take off your sandals, and you’re walking on hot coals. Most beachside establishments recognize this and have erected wooden “sidewalks” between the road and their umbrellas. But when you don’t want to pay $10 for a chair, you’ve got to brave the heat from beneath. I couldn’t tell what was worse, the sun beating down or being cooked from below. I was hoping I’d be able to wrestle an octopus in the water, since I could just throw him on the rocks to cook him up.

With freshly fried derrière, I sauntered further down the beach. I started craving a pool. Yes, a pool. Most people roll their eyes and question how I could possibly prefer a pool to the clear blue Mediterranean. Think of it what you may, but I vastly prefer pools to saltwater swimming. Give me chlorine, a smooth bottom and recirculated water for wound-flaring and contact-killing salt and sand any day. With this new goal in mind, I noticed a club called JoJo, with a sexy little pool by which I could indulge in a fancy beach cocktail. But it wass early still. And I trekked on, determined to make it to the end of this beach and perhaps to another, the Red Beach.

When the beach ends, the road makes a turn into farmland. Of course, I don’t hesitate to take it, which is another great trip decision. I’m thrusted out of the touristy beach front and into the back roads of tomato gardens, fig and pomegranate trees and quiet residences. I wander all the way to another small port, Vlichadi, before realizing it is much to far to walk to the Red Beach in such oppressive heat and sun. I settle down for a lunch of tsaziki and cucumber & tomato salad high above the port, where my eyes are as sated as my stomach after a lingering meal.

On the way back to the beach, a motorbike passes me. About 20 minutes later, the driver passes again, obviously coming back from wherever he had gone. He offered me a ride. Flashing lights go off in my brain for two different reasons: 1) Never accept rides from strangers, especially men; and 2) Riding a moto without a helmet is dangerous. The thought of getting on a moto even with a helmet freaks me out. After some negotiating with this dude to make sure he’s cool – thank you, parents and NYC, for making me street smart – I decide that as long as he rides slowly, which I ask him to do, the less than 5 minute ride should be fine and, most likely, even fun. Clinging to his shoulder for dear life and clutching my hat and scarf, I climb on and we’re off. It was exhilarating and I’m glad I did it, if only because it save me a good 30 minute walk.

Back at the beach, I went about finding JoJo to no avail. How can a club just disappear like that? I decided it’s for the best as it was reggae night anyway, and instead went to check out a pumping place called Wet Stories. The music is awesome, but earsplitting and I immediately regret not tucking my earplugs in my beach bag. But how did I know I’d be at a huge house club during my day at the beach? I made my way to the DJ booth and saw that it’s a girl spinning. Awesome! She’s dropping great music, if a little hard for the afternoon. The upside is that it has everyone dancing, and after a beer and making friends with some Greek girls, I’m bopping around on the dancefloor, getting shot at with a Super Soaker, offered shots of Bacardi 151 (which I definitely turned down) and throwing down when Ame’s “Rej” comes on. I know it’s a few years old, but I immediately recall Ibiza and have a twinge of longing, wiching all my NYC friends where here. I do a little dance in their honor and sneak away to catch the bus before my ears start bleeding.

Still grinning, but feeling ill from all the dancing and sun, I head to bed before the shop is even closed, customers browsing below me. I hear there were even some pictures snapped of my prostrate body. I deserve it for pooping out early.

[08.06.14] Santorini: Day 5 (Fira, Perissa & Perivola)

Santorini: Santorini Mou

Another scorcher in Oia. The skies here never seemed to cloud, with the exception of one ten minute rain “storm” – no more than a few drops.

I can’t believe I haven’t spoken of Oia yet! Oia (pronounced “ee-ah”) is a small town on the northern tip of Santorini (Thira to the Greeks). The worn marble stone streets of Oia wind between whitewashed stone dwellings – the ones you see in every calendar featuring the Greek islands. The dwellings, painted white to reflect the sun and keep the insides cool, are accented with blue paint, the most plentiful pigment in the island, perfectly mirroring the gorgeous contrast between fluffy clouds and blue skies. However, clouds are an anomaly in Oia, know for its transcendental sunsets. Built high into the cliffs of the caldera, watching the sunset in Oia is like having box seats to the best show on earth. And it’s free everyday!

In the 1950s, a massive earthquake destroyed much of the town. Rebuilding required special permits, including restrictions on changing much of the town’s design. Home and business owners were required to present pictures of the structures pre-earthquake and build to similar specifications. This reconstruction is ongoing even today, and is mainly responsible for the pristine condition of much of Oia’s architecture.

After spending the morning in the bookstore, Sophie and I hit another beach, Katharos. More of a typical beach than Ammoundi, with black sand and pebbles rolling underfoot, Katharos still requires a difficult trek. I’m happy to restrict future beach trips to the southern beaches know for their fine sand and accessibility.

That evening, we wandered to another bookstore-friend’s home, Maria. I say wandered because in actuality we get lost. A French ex-pat, Maria is a bookstore fixture. She spent decades in India before Santorini home. She also has many, many cats. When we finally arrived, bouncing and rough-housing kittens tumbled at our feet.

With Maria in tow, we went to dinner at Santorini Mou (“my Santorini”), a local taverna with live music and a raucous atmosphere. After some issues ordering due to the large group (we had picked up two New Yorkers along the way), we spent the night stuffing ourselves with moussaka, tsaziki, eggplant dip, pita, kebabs, spaghetti, salad and wine. Tim took up with the band and we even got our own serenade. Well, Quinn was the actual recipient, as the song was dedicated to encouraging him to follow his dream to buy a sailboat.

Sophie and Anna, tired, went home, while Pauline, Quinn, Tim and I stayed for one last drink. We made it back to town and decided the evening couldn’t possibly be over, and bounded down to the castle. There, Tim furiously bowed his violin like a madman while the three of us performed some poor man’s version of modern dance. It was weird and wonderful. I left before the other, playing Pied Piper to all the town’s homeless canines, who came out of the woodwork to follow me and my leftovers back to the shop.

[08.06.13] Santorini: Day 4

Santorini: Surprise Wedding

Anna arrived early this morning. Anna is the reason I am here in the first place. I was introduced to Pauline through Anna, who formerly dated one of Sean’s best friends. I haven’t seen her in years as she has been in Paris teaching and getting her Master’s degree. We spent the morning catching up and doing odds and ends around the shop.

I took some time in the afternoon to indulge myself in window-shopping for expensive jewelry. Santorini, particularly Oia, is know for its dazzling gold and gemstones, especially aquamarine and amethyst. I weaved in and out of countless shops, trying on ring after ring. I lust after big, chunky rings (hey, everybody has their weaknesses). Most were out of my newly-unemployed price range, though they were so wonderful to admire on my fingers. Many of the rings were rough cut with brushed gold, perfect to dress up or dress down depending on the occasion. I picked out a few I would “think about” and spent the rest of the time enjoying the view of the caldera, a catastrophic event’s gift to all who visit the island.

Santorini as it is now known resulted from a huge volcanic explosion that occurred in 1647 BC. A huge pocket of hot air and lava formed under the island, pushing it up out of the sea tens of thousands of years ago. Eventually, this dome could no longer take the pressure and burst, sending the island crumbling into the sea. What is left is the circular outline of the island’s perimeter, with the middle –- the caldera — filled in with water, like a big bowl. Santorini’s caldera is the world’s largest.
Archaeological evidence suggests that Santorini might even be the home of the legendary lost continent of Atlantis, and that the explosion wipe out the great civilization. It is also thought to be responsible for the destruction of the Minoan civilization on Crete, as a huge and unforeseen tsunami crashed down there as a result of the Santorini eruption.

This beautiful setting inspires many people to choose Santorini as their wedding or honeymoon destination. Everyone is a couple here, and I felt naked for lack of a wedding band.

A few days before, a flamboyant friend-of-the-bookstore came in to ask if Tim would play his violin at a wedding she was organizing. It would be small, just the bride and the groom, and she wanted it to be special. He agreed. We knew the wedding was tonight, and as the sun set, Sophie, Pauline and I heard Tim’s violin coming closer to the bookshop. We looked down from the terrace and saw that he had led the wedding party to our front door!

The couple came in the store and popped some champagne while the photographer captured the moment. Talk about PR! We toasted the newlyweds and I realized that I had just added a fourth wedding to my Worldwide Wedding Tour.

We wiled a quiet night catching up with one another and enjoying time in the bookstore. The store at night is always full of friends and festivity. Staying open late, we sat around telling stories and reading, inviting customers to join if they so desired.

[08.06.12] Santorini: Day 3

Santorini: Day 2 (Wednesday)

I decide to tackle non-fiction today. The section is a mess and needs a major overhaul. Google comes to the rescue by providing ready-to-use categorizations, but now it’s up to my judgment about what books fit where. Not surprisingly, this takez me hours. What constitutes anthropology vs. sociology vs. urban studies vs. cultural criticism? For students of these topics, the delineations might seem easy. But when you have the books in a huge pile in front of you, trust me, it’s anything but easy.

Having conquered non-fiction, I decide to hit the beach for the first time since being here. I bound down the 250-odd steps to Ammoundi, a port and small beach, only to realize I forgot my beach towel. There is no way I’m going back now, so I brave it with just my scarf. The “beach” isn’t very impressive; it’s more of a watering hole with a place to sit and dry off. The scarf is useless.

After a short stint in the sun, I decide the afternoon would be much better spent sipping beer and eating seafood at one of the waterfront tavernas known for their ocean pulls. I plop down at the most friendly looking restaurant, and order up a beer and grilled octopus. Famished, I devour the bread they give me and ask for more, knowing that a good base is needed for my large beer. The octopus is amazing, grill over hot coals in the sunshine and doused with lemon and olive oil. Once I’m stuffed, tipsy and ready to leave, the waiters, who have taken a liking to me because I keep cracking jokes and am alone, bring me out two Santorini specialties on the house: deep friend tomato croquettes and eggplant salad marinated in vinegar and olil. I can barely fit another bite in my stomach after stuffing down nearly a whole loaf of bread, but not one to be ungrateful, I munch it up. It’s so good!

In the blazing afternoon sun and puffed out with food and beer, I decide that, No, kind sir, I do not need that donkey ride up the hundreds of steps back to Oia. I’m in perfectly good shape to do it myself. You can probably imagine how this went, but in case you were wondering, it involved lots of huffing, puffing, cursing, sweating and exaggerated movements. I called Sean and I had to hang up on him because all he heard was “Ahaaaa, ahaaa, ahaaaa.” Future visitors, take my advice: The donkey ride is SO worth the €5.

That night, I met Quinn and John the poet. Quinn hails from Chico, California, works in software and is one of the first people involved in the bookstore. John is a kind soul whose knowledge is inspiring and who is a walking dictionary for even the most obscure words. Along with Tim, Pauline and Sophie, this was our happy little family, sharing laughter, stories and a drink or several.

[08.06.11] Santorini Day 2

Santorini: Day 1 (Tuesday)

Feeling a bit better, I greeted the morning and my first day working and living at Atlantis Books, a cooperative bookstore begun by a few people from England, the US and Cyprus. While on a trip to Santorini, in the blue-and-white village of Oia, two friends were inspired to open an English language bookstore as a haven for writers and readers from around the globe. Based on the Parisian “Shakespeare & Company” model, where people work at the store in return for full room and board, sleeping in the stacks and eating communal meals, they loaded up a van named “Danny” and drove it from the UK to Santorini, found a location and got some funding and local angels to help them acclimate, built the shelves and beds from found and donated timber, and opened their doors in 2004. Since then, the store has moved from its original location near the castle (more like a fortress) on the edge of Oia; the owner wanted to “upgrade.”

Since then, a revolving cast of characters has maintained the store, with the core crew managing. I learned of this special place from my friend Pauline, who has discovered it though one of her (and Sean’s) friends. When I realized some of my trip would have to be spent without Sean, I couldn’t think of a better place to be – a place where I could finally rediscover and reinvest in my love of writing that had slowly slipped away as I became more entrenched and involved in my career path in marketing and communications. Sure, that takes writing, too, but in a much different manner than creative, reflective writing.

The bookstore itself is beautiful, a circular cellar lined with handmade wooden shelves swollen with tomes new and old. Fiction and Greek is in the front room; nonfiction and foreign languages rest in the back, along with the beds. Build into and around the shelves are a number of surprisingly comfortable makeshift beds, some of which are covered with display books during working hours (10AM to midnight, every day). One bed is even hidden behind the main stacks in the front room. My own bed, dangerously narrow, lay above the French section and cozied up to a number of dust-covered Egyptian hand-bound blank journals. I hit my left eye socket on this small shelf one night when quickly sitting up in bed. This marks the second time this trip I narrowly escaped a black eye. While my eye may have been spared a nasty black-n-blue, my legs were not so lucky. Crawling into and out of loft beds and onto and off of tall tables, using bookshelves as your stepladder, easily polka-dotted my legs with bruises.

The rest of the bookstore features a small kitchen (which I avoided since I’m not the best cook), a back room with another bed, a bathroom and a terrace from which you can watch the fiery sun extinguish in the Aegean every night.

I was under the impression that we would be taking specific shifts to manage and work on the bookstore. Once again, I had forgotten that the world doesn’t play by the same structured rules as the US. The bookstore needed a lot of attention – reshelving, alphabetizing, cleaning, etc – to prep for the busiest season in July and August. Therefore, I spent my first day perched on a tall table, alphabetizing the poetry and short story sections. Surprisingly, I immensely enjoyed this, as authors long filed in the dusty drawers of my mind popped back to life.

Tired of singing the alphabet song, I took off to watch that legendary Oia sunset from the Western part of town. I’ll save the description of Oia for another day, but the sunset was spectacular, tempered only by the overflowing mess of tourists also marveling at the spectacle. Apparently, everyone claps when it finally dips downward, an event I didn’t witness since I preferred to beat the crowds back through the narrow streets.

That night, Tim popped into town. Tim is from England. While most people pack a camera and a guidebook on their travels, Tim totes a violin. We lingered at the shop and closed up a bit early, very tired from a long day of organizing books.

[08.06.10] Santorini Day 1