My extended stay in Athens left me frustrated and impatient, as anyone can tell by my recent entries, but Kim's arrival, and our immediate departure to the islands has taken the edge off the many changes I have experienced here in Greece. First we visited the island of Santorini, an island famous for its geography and views, but had little to offer this time of year. The town of Fira, the main town of the island, sits upon the edge of an active underwater volcano which was responsible for the biggest eruption in recorded history and, as some believe, directly responsible for the demise of Minoan culture which was so heavily based in Crete and the Aegean islands. This eruption caused the middle of the island to sink, creating the caldera, and now, in the middle of the bay, there is a small island which is the ever-growing lava dome. When we arrived in Santorini we were blessed with a clear sky but a stiff wind that bit straight through our clothes and left us tousled and cold. But that didn't stop us from enjoying a great dinner of lamb, fish, and a large jug of locally made wine (thanks Dad!), which left us optimistic about the rest of our trip together. But our enjoyment of Santorini was short-lived, as the next day felt more like a day in London or Seattle than a day in the arid Greek islands; cold, wet, and a blistering wind. So, to escape the boredom caused by the weather and the empty touristy town we headed out the next day to Naxos, the largest of the Cyclades islands, and a gem of an island that has held a dear place in my memory since my recent trip there in September of 2004.
When you visit a place and it becomes special to you, whether it be because of the scenery, the food, the memories made with friends, or even a combination of the above, it becomes a place difficult to leave, but when you do, it's like you have left a part of you behind. After all, when you travel you never return whole again. And so I have felt about Naxos since myself and three friends toured the sun soaked island on scooters, nearly running out of gas among the marble mountains while trying to catch a ferry back at the main port. So, to be back now has left me wanting to recreate part of those memories, but I have come to realize that I can't, and I shouldn't. Why spoil them? But I did succumb to some temptation, and so Kim and I rented a scooter and drove to many of the areas that I had not seen on my last trip here, venturing to the beaches on the southern tip. While the sun was warm the water was not, so swimming was out of the question, but for me there is no better place than one with sand beneath your feet, a breeze in your hair, and the sound of a wave imposing its will on the nearby rocks. And so it is here, but with the majesty of stone lined fields of olive trees and vineyards, tiered in a way that accentuates their history, and even more genuinely highlighted by the cries of the sheep and the brays of the donkeys, all demonstrating that little has changed among the Naxos countryside in the past decades and centurıes. This is no more apparent than at the site of the Temple of Dmitrios, a 2500 year old temple set in the middle of a fertile valley as briefly described above. This temple was constructed by the peasants which inhabited this island as a show of thanks to the fertility Gods. And while today it is just a fraction of it's former self, and much of what remains has been painstakingly restored, it is easy to picture the sheer, simple magnificence of such a structure, and even more fantastic to understand that this temple was not built by slaves (like the Parthenon in Athens) but by the peasants themselves, who lugged the huge blocks of marble down from their mountains upon their own backs, and upon the backs of their own
mules. That, to me, is true religious devotion. Being here, staring at the bleached white temple surrounded by fields of poppy flowers populated by colonies of bees and sunbathing lizards, and the wind gently twisting it's way through the rough mountains of the island, and it's hard not to feel the religious connotations that such a place offers, whether you be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, pagan, or even atheist. Beauty, and Nature, is one universal language, one common meeting ground for all.
But to get back to the temple itself, the marble used was local, and Naxos marble is perhaps the finest in the world, and was the main provider of marble used in the ruins of the Parthenon, the Temple of Poseidon, and many other ruins throughout Greece and the Aegean coastline. And while this marble has clearly been trucked away to many a destination, it is still in abundance here in Naxos. Never before have I seen a mountain that in one point is adorned with the dry vegetation and the golden rocks common for this landscape, but as clear as night and day transforms into a mountainside of sheer marble, creating the impression that the mountain is hunkered beneath a snug blanket of pure grey stone, with its busheled head peaking out for the day's last light.
It is refreshing to be back, but surreal, for I feel deep down that I will never be back again. I do not want to leave, and, apparently, the island does not want me to leave as well. The mornıng of our departure Kim and I not only woke up late for our ferry back to Athens, leaving us in a frantic state trying to pack in time for the boat, but when we had made it to the port, in time (or so we thought) for the 9:30 ferry, we discovered last night that was Greece's daylight savings (one of the few European nations to practice this), and so it was not 9:15 as we thought, but 10:15. So ıinstead the day was spent lazing along the boardwalk ın the sun, waiting for the next ferry at 6 pm. While this is as boring as it sounds, we were "privileged" enough to observe a Naxos' protest. This protest, populated heavily by the island's youth and their parents, marauded down the waterfront boulevard, some with signs tied to bamboo shoots, some indiscriminately pounding on drums, and some playing jingles upon the megaphones in their hands (jingle bells was the most common, for reasons unknown). And behind the parading youth came a train of automobiles comprised of, in no particular order: scooters, cement trucks, dump trucks, buses, hatchbacks, tractors, sedans, plows, motorcycles, and even bulldozers. But the one thing that this motley assortment did have in common was that each vehicle was laying on its horn, capping off this bizarre, unorganized band of parading misfits (and the sixth protest ı have seen in a month here ın Greece). Later on we discovered what they had been protestıng. In order to appeal to the larger cruise ships that normally flock to Santorını and Mykonos the people ın Naxos have petıtıoned for a deeper, larger port to be buılt. However a few indıvıduals, wantiıng to preserve theır way of lıfe, and for good reason, have blocked the development ın court. So ın protest of these few ındıvıduals the Naxıans took to the street, sayıng ın effect, that money speaks louder than culture.
To be honest I felt betrayed; and mıstaken. After all ı spoke up for these people and agaınst all the tourısts, callıng for tourısts to respect to other cultures before they ınvade wıth theır own. But they are the ones throwıng ıt away! And so ıt was then and there that I knew for certaın that I would never be back to Greece.
A few days later I was forced to say goodbye to Kım, whıch dıdnt help my spırıts. Thankfully my passport and Syrıan vısa were ready to be pıcked up and so I dıd; and caught the fırst boat out of Athens, whıch just happened to be dırectly on my route, an ısland called Chıos off the coast of Turkey. After one cold nıght ın Chıos I have now found myself among the bare antıque hılls of the former Ottoman Empıre, glad to be free of Greece, but even moreso to be contınuıng on my journey.
P.S. I would love to wrıte my fırst experıences of Turkey, but a foreıgn Turkısh keyboard wıth a stubborn space bar has exhausted my patıence wıth the keys, and so you wıll have to forgıve me.
When you visit a place and it becomes special to you, whether it be because of the scenery, the food, the memories made with friends, or even a combination of the above, it becomes a place difficult to leave, but when you do, it's like you have left a part of you behind. After all, when you travel you never return whole again. And so I have felt about Naxos since myself and three friends toured the sun soaked island on scooters, nearly running out of gas among the marble mountains while trying to catch a ferry back at the main port. So, to be back now has left me wanting to recreate part of those memories, but I have come to realize that I can't, and I shouldn't. Why spoil them? But I did succumb to some temptation, and so Kim and I rented a scooter and drove to many of the areas that I had not seen on my last trip here, venturing to the beaches on the southern tip. While the sun was warm the water was not, so swimming was out of the question, but for me there is no better place than one with sand beneath your feet, a breeze in your hair, and the sound of a wave imposing its will on the nearby rocks. And so it is here, but with the majesty of stone lined fields of olive trees and vineyards, tiered in a way that accentuates their history, and even more genuinely highlighted by the cries of the sheep and the brays of the donkeys, all demonstrating that little has changed among the Naxos countryside in the past decades and centurıes. This is no more apparent than at the site of the Temple of Dmitrios, a 2500 year old temple set in the middle of a fertile valley as briefly described above. This temple was constructed by the peasants which inhabited this island as a show of thanks to the fertility Gods. And while today it is just a fraction of it's former self, and much of what remains has been painstakingly restored, it is easy to picture the sheer, simple magnificence of such a structure, and even more fantastic to understand that this temple was not built by slaves (like the Parthenon in Athens) but by the peasants themselves, who lugged the huge blocks of marble down from their mountains upon their own backs, and upon the backs of their own
mules. That, to me, is true religious devotion. Being here, staring at the bleached white temple surrounded by fields of poppy flowers populated by colonies of bees and sunbathing lizards, and the wind gently twisting it's way through the rough mountains of the island, and it's hard not to feel the religious connotations that such a place offers, whether you be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, pagan, or even atheist. Beauty, and Nature, is one universal language, one common meeting ground for all.But to get back to the temple itself, the marble used was local, and Naxos marble is perhaps the finest in the world, and was the main provider of marble used in the ruins of the Parthenon, the Temple of Poseidon, and many other ruins throughout Greece and the Aegean coastline. And while this marble has clearly been trucked away to many a destination, it is still in abundance here in Naxos. Never before have I seen a mountain that in one point is adorned with the dry vegetation and the golden rocks common for this landscape, but as clear as night and day transforms into a mountainside of sheer marble, creating the impression that the mountain is hunkered beneath a snug blanket of pure grey stone, with its busheled head peaking out for the day's last light.
It is refreshing to be back, but surreal, for I feel deep down that I will never be back again. I do not want to leave, and, apparently, the island does not want me to leave as well. The mornıng of our departure Kim and I not only woke up late for our ferry back to Athens, leaving us in a frantic state trying to pack in time for the boat, but when we had made it to the port, in time (or so we thought) for the 9:30 ferry, we discovered last night that was Greece's daylight savings (one of the few European nations to practice this), and so it was not 9:15 as we thought, but 10:15. So ıinstead the day was spent lazing along the boardwalk ın the sun, waiting for the next ferry at 6 pm. While this is as boring as it sounds, we were "privileged" enough to observe a Naxos' protest. This protest, populated heavily by the island's youth and their parents, marauded down the waterfront boulevard, some with signs tied to bamboo shoots, some indiscriminately pounding on drums, and some playing jingles upon the megaphones in their hands (jingle bells was the most common, for reasons unknown). And behind the parading youth came a train of automobiles comprised of, in no particular order: scooters, cement trucks, dump trucks, buses, hatchbacks, tractors, sedans, plows, motorcycles, and even bulldozers. But the one thing that this motley assortment did have in common was that each vehicle was laying on its horn, capping off this bizarre, unorganized band of parading misfits (and the sixth protest ı have seen in a month here ın Greece). Later on we discovered what they had been protestıng. In order to appeal to the larger cruise ships that normally flock to Santorını and Mykonos the people ın Naxos have petıtıoned for a deeper, larger port to be buılt. However a few indıvıduals, wantiıng to preserve theır way of lıfe, and for good reason, have blocked the development ın court. So ın protest of these few ındıvıduals the Naxıans took to the street, sayıng ın effect, that money speaks louder than culture.
To be honest I felt betrayed; and mıstaken. After all ı spoke up for these people and agaınst all the tourısts, callıng for tourısts to respect to other cultures before they ınvade wıth theır own. But they are the ones throwıng ıt away! And so ıt was then and there that I knew for certaın that I would never be back to Greece.
A few days later I was forced to say goodbye to Kım, whıch dıdnt help my spırıts. Thankfully my passport and Syrıan vısa were ready to be pıcked up and so I dıd; and caught the fırst boat out of Athens, whıch just happened to be dırectly on my route, an ısland called Chıos off the coast of Turkey. After one cold nıght ın Chıos I have now found myself among the bare antıque hılls of the former Ottoman Empıre, glad to be free of Greece, but even moreso to be contınuıng on my journey.
P.S. I would love to wrıte my fırst experıences of Turkey, but a foreıgn Turkısh keyboard wıth a stubborn space bar has exhausted my patıence wıth the keys, and so you wıll have to forgıve me.
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