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[VACATION] Been gone from Salt Lake for 29 days now. We leave Athens tomorrow, June 30, at mid-day, return to Salt Lake around 10 o’clock the same night after about 17 hours of travel and a 9 hour time change. That should be enough to keep us rattled for awhile. So, this will be my last blog from Greece. But, I’ll likely add some things about this trip once I get home.
I don’t know much about blogging except that I probably violated every unwritten blogging rule on this trip. I didn’t blog often. I didn’t blog short. I didn’t link to lots of other blogs. I just wrote. I didn’t blog short nor often because on this trip I went days without decent Internet, or even any Internet at all. So things piled up. Short ideas became long pieces. My bad. But in the end, much of what needed to be recorded was recorded. So that’s OK.
I’ll try to keep this one short, though as right now I’m on a ferry to Athens, somehwhere in the Aegean Sea with a large island to my right. I don’t have the energy right now to ask which one. We left the island of Tinos today at 3 and it’s four-and-a-half hours by this type of ferry to Athens. We’re on the Blue Star Ithaki, the third time we’ve landed on this particular ship on this trip. We were on Tinos for four days and prior to that, it was three days on Syros.
Each island of the Cyclades has its own personality. On prior years I’ve stayed on Santorini, Sifnos, Paros and Naxos. I’ve visted Mykonos and Delos. So this trip we tried something totally different and chose two islands that few Americans visit. Syros is only half the size of Tinos but has 35,000 full time residents, while Tinos has only 8,000. Syros has a large Greek Catholic population, as does Tinos to a lesser degree (of 750 some odd churches on Tinos, over 200 are Catholic). Syros also boasts a fine mid-size town in Ermopoulis, once the shipping hub for all of Greece. It remains the administrative head of all the Cycladic islands.
Somewhere along the way, Syros developed its own robust economy so it barely goes out of its way to attract tourists. Thus, a visitor there is met by a Greece that time forgot—a polite one, a structured one, a well-planned one, and one thoroughly Greek. The vast majority of the tourists to Syros are Greek, mostly well-to-do apparently, and nearly all in search of the perfect batch of Loukoumi sweets for which the island is noted. On Syros, you can start to glimpse a piece of Greek society far removed from the flea markets and coffee shops. We saw plenty of SUVs, some of the largest private boats we’ve encountered in Greece and enough jewels to bury a pharaoh with. The shops of Ermopoulis are full of high fashion wear. Syros just defies the rest of Greece, starting with the good roads, and the drivers upon them not trying to kill you.
Tinos was much the same, but as it is an island of Pilgrimage (the devout from all-over flock here to a Virgin Mary miracle site, the Church of the Panagia, to which women crawl for nearly a mile uphill to attend), we met a smattering of people from other parts of the world. Nothing like what you’ll find on Santorini, Mykonos or other better-known islands, but not so nearly full of Greeks like Syros either. Tinos is a pretty island. Very nice beaches and some of the finest traditional villages in the Cyclades are found here, each with a bevy of dovecotes surrounding it—Tinos was heavily influenced by the Venetians, hence the taste for pigeon.
Great local fare, too, including a local Tinos cheese, a local cured meat called Louza, and salads laden with capers and sun-dried tomatoes. Tinos is also home to many loukamathe stands—and most Greeks I know flock to loukamathes, a kind of donut usually smothered in honey. We stayed at the Tinos Beach hotel, a fine place to stay if you ever visit the island, with many Western flourishes including a hotel gift shop, something not often seen in a Greek hotel.
I said I would keep this short, but naturally didn’t. Here’s what I should have said and kept it at that:
Greek women should quit doing two things. They should quit wearing bikinis and they should quit smoking. I like bikinis and I have a first hand understanding of smoking, so this is unusual. But in Greece, women of all ages and all sizes wear bikinis. Sometimes, it just doesn’t become them. As for smoking, I could care less if they smoke, but they smoke incessantly. It ain’t sexy in a French art student sort of way, when not only are those women falling out of her bikinis, they’re also no Virginia Slim.
I’m not an anti-smoking crusader. If one wants to smoke, especially in mostly outdoor Greece, who’s to care? But, it looks really bad sometimes. The guys also. They’re not exactly Marlboro Men, being choked at the waist by ill-fitting Speedos, and all. It’s that they don’t know when to stop. Like in a line. Or in a crowded eatery. Or on a bus. Or in a cab. Or on the ferry. I think the second hand smoke debate is bogus except for workers locked into those environments, and that for the rest of us, it’s more a nuisance to be around smokers. Most of Greece seems to smoke, though. Again, so what, because after all, being free means being free to smoke, right?
But here’s my biggest gripe about it. Those smokers in their saggy bikinis and their elasto Speedos, tend to toss their ciggie butts all over the place—usually next to the rest of their beach garbage like water bottles, soda cups and sandwich wrappers. Tinos has some nice beaches, as noted above, but all over them, and on Syros, too, are cigarette butts and other litter. Both those island attract Greeks—not the rude French, the loud Germans or the Ugly Americans. They are Greeks, despoiling the same Greece that millions of visitors from around the world so admire and revere. So, if they’re going to smoke like a chimney, ok, and if they look damn foolish doing so, OK, too—but at least toss the filters, eh? I remember American beaches having the same litter problem. U.S. beaches cleaned up. I hope Greek beaches do, too.
And I really don’t care if many Greek women look silly in bikinis. I don’t really care if they smoke. I just wish they wouldn’t get so pissed when I laugh at them. It’s ok. They laugh at me—the fat American who could easily spend his money at home, but travels all the way to Greece to spend it there instead. That’s pretty funny. But, at least, on that rare occasion, I use an ashtray. (John Saltas)
[VACATION] There’s not a terrible lot to add to this blog from Crete that wasn’t in the Private Eye column I wrote last week. Fact is, Crete remains my favorite place in Greece and adding anything to more to my previous exclamations is piling on. Also, Crete seems to be getting crowded, so the fewer people who take to liking it, but better for me lest I have to find another place to spend my hard earned Euros.
It’s easy to like Chania although Old Chania (the Venetian area) is thoroughly tourist driven. Even so, Chania holds quite a few gems that are fully Cretan and the fun is trying to find one while standing fully amidst the other. One obvious tourist area is the stretch of land between Chania and the western city of Kissamos—all of the north shore of Crete is a tourist development, actually.. It could pass for Southern Callifornia except that in SoCal they planned better highways along the coast. On Crete’s narrow roads you’ll find every kitchy tourist shop imaginable interspersed with beach hotels and nightclubs. As any sprawling city anywhere, this could be anywhere too, save for the offering of Cretan cheese pies (Kaltsounia) on the local menus.
But, beyond Kissamos and nearly anywhere into the hills, through the rugged mountains of the Lefka Ori range (home to the proud people of Sfakia), the texture of Crete is entirely different. These are proud and hospitable people who still make daily treks to the market, who tend their gardens, who feed their chickens, who wait for the fish or vegetable mongers to drive by, who still go to church on Sundays, and who will take you into their homes as if you were their own child. It becomes quite hard to say no, but really, just because they have an extra bed or couch, do you for certain want to move your family of six in for a few days?
On the disappointing front, I learned something I actually suspected. Like when I was young and believed in the Santa Claus I knew didn’t exist. That is, almost all those things for sale in all those Chania shops in all those Chania alleys, are not made in Crete at all. Nor even Greece. Much of what is for sale there—especially the trinkets—are made in places like China. I understand the key chains. I understand some of the baubles. But I don’t understand the worry beads. Yikes! Greek worry beads are certifiably a Greek cultural item. Yet, the vast majority of them sold in Crete—and most certainly Athens and elsewhere—are not even made in Greece. That’s like Wisconson Cheese coming from Alabama.
Geez—just like France protects the name Cognac, Greeks have gone to great lengths to protect one of their own particular identifiable brands—Feta. Yet, another one, the Kolomboi (worry beads) are left without protection and instead are shipped in from elsewhere. What next, Octopus and Squid? I think it’s already happened since many menus now asterisk both noting that they are frozen, not fresh. Well, connect the dots ... Oh, and they say the potatoes are from Egypt.
It’s not a big deal—everyone imports and exports. But here, so many people come for the authenticity and even though it’s a unique experience, it is slightly less authentic. For example, you can go to many places in Greece and your waiter will not be Greek. Same for your hotel staff. So far I’ve been served by Russians, Poles, Bulgarians, Romanians, Albanians, Serbians, New Zealanders and Aussies, to name a few. Nothing wrong with that until you know more about the menu than they do. So, where are the Cretans? At the beach.
Not that I blame them, Crete has beautiful beaches including two of the finest I’ve ever seen, Elafonisi and Falasarna. When not at the beach, those Cretans claim to be in school, enroute to becoming doctors, pharmacists and engineers. Great, Crete could use more engineers and better medical care. But there’s a pharmacy on every corner already, and the new one down the street is being built by foreign workers, mostly Albanians. Greece has a relationship with Albania, like we do with Mexico. The difference is, though, many Greeks complain of no jobs available and poor wages, yet pass on the ones that are available. When I ask about this, I am told that, “well, the bosses are Greek.” Oh, now I get it.
What I really think it is, is that Greece—and Crete—are havens for one generation to pass to the next all the things they were deprived of. Greek youth have it made in the shade where life is a beach and hard times are not enough sugar in your morning frappe—which is consumed sometime around noon when they wake up. One side of me envies the laissez-faire style of the modern Greek. Another side understands why many tourists wonder aloud if this race (including my own genes) is comprised of the same one that built the Acropolis, planned great cities, spawned a history of critical thought, and gave history men like Hippocrates, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Byzas, Alexander, Pericles, Leonidas, Euclid and so many more. And women like Aphrodite and Hera.
Then again, today they say it is 105 degrees Fahrenheit. Who could blame anyone—especially a Greek—for grabbing a hall pass and heading for the beach? Does it really matter if Athens and the North Shore of Crete look as if they were planned by a committee of third graders? Perhaps not, as it sure doesn’t seem to slow the tourist tide. However, I can tell it’s changed in just the four years since my first visit. I can’t imagine the Acropolis architects getting it so wrong. But, I love it anyway. (John Saltas)
[VACATION] Athens can be daunting. The first time here I can’t say I came away enamoured. Athens is loud, gritty, confusing and flat-out hot, thanks to unrestricted building of countless ugly buildings that ate up virtually all of the green space that once dominated this area. The heat just boils in all the narrow, concrete alleys and streets as a result. Future visits changed my mind, though, as I became increasingly familiar with the Plaka, especially the Plaka at night. Strolling the Plaka—the old historic area directly below the Acropolis—is one the best ways to spend an evening anywhere. Stop for a meal here, a snack there, some shopping, slurp an ice cream and end the night with an ouzo and you’ve managed through a fantastic evening.
By day, though, Athens seems like a nightmare and it can be difficult to reconcile the two faces of Athens. As much as it is easy to hate the Athens day, it is during the day only that you can visit the major archeological sites like the Acropolis, the Roman Ruins, the Ancient Agora and all the fantastic museums. Equally, by day some areas of Athens like Monestriaki and Omonia Square are notorious for spawning hucksters, hustlers, pickpockets and thieves. Everyone in Athens warns everyone else heading to such areas—or even when riding mass transits—to be careful with your purses and wallets.
It doesn’t do much good though. The cops of Athens couldn’t stop the thievery if they tried, and by all appearances, they don’t try. In fact, finding an Athens cop in those areas is as hard as finding haystack in a needle. It’s a price for living there, I guess. Perhaps the Athenians think having an area where it’s barely wise to wander, while at the same time necessary to do so because of all the markets and shops there, adds a little spice to their city. They really are a live and let live bunch, you know, and if something goes awry, they’re quick to tell you they warned you fair and square.
So, I can’t say we weren’t warned when one of our party was separated from her wallet which was inside of her purse. The Euros inside equaled the monthly wage of the average Athenian, so a major score. Not even counting the credit cards. What a hassle! Nobody knows anything, of course, and the best we could hope for was a benign shrug from the people we asked information from. That assumes of course they took the time to listen, then shrug. Hey, they’re gypsys and Albanians, we would hear. What did we expect? Well, not much, I suppose. But, it’s amazing Athenians do so little about it, nonetheless.
As a result, I spent the day thinking of all the nasty things I could say about Athens and its people. I waited several days to write about it though, this the far less incriminating tone as is truly warranted. It wasn’t enough to ruin a trip, but its fair to say that Athens has slipped a notch or so in my belt.
Problem is, Athens doesn’t care.
Next time back, and I will be back for I do love Athens at night, I will merely stay for a shorter period—and I will advise all others to do likewise. (John Saltas)
[VACATION] Talk about a taxi ride! We got off the boat from Cephalonia at the small port of Kylini. It is not a pretty place, and comparably, it’s like entering the Salt Lake Valley for the first time from the north and your first impression would be of scarred cliffs and oil refineries. Well, there are no cliffs or refineries, but Kylini manages to find it’s own ugliness. It’s not the fault of the folks who live here that the waters before them are deep enough to allow for larger boats to port, but it’s hot, dry and colorless nonetheless. We wanted to leave as soon as we got there.
Anyway, we wanted to skedaddle. We knew our options to get to Olympia were few and they got fewer when the first cab arrived. He told us the fare to Olympia was 50 Euros. How about a bus, we asked? Sure, he said, but the fare to the bus station is 45 Euros. OK, we’ll take the cab. Olympia is around 35 white-knuckled miles away via back roads and the National Highway—which at any time of day or night is a fair replica of Daytona Motor Speedway. Our cabbie got us there safely, but on the way we were among the first to the scene of a very bad accident.
They happen even in Greece. Hard to figure, since in Greece the roads are very narrow, no one pays real attention to traffic signs (In Greece, red means “speed up, it will turn green soon), there are no set rules for passing (we’ve been passed on the left and right, sometimes at the same time on two lane highways), where every road is just one winding S curve or worse, where stopping for any reason in the emergency lane will only cause an emergency, and where cars approaching you headlong into your own lane are as common as dead bugs on the windshield. I can’t imagine how that accident took place. I can imagine, however, why Greece is first or second among EU countries in highway fatalities per capita. Along every road is a religious tribute to people who have died in any particular spot. They look like baby churches.
But we arrived safely. Our hotel, the Best Western Europa, is among the best we’ve ever stayed at in Greece. If more hotels were of this quality, I think Greece would attract more visitors, but as it is, even though one can find charm in many Greek hotels, their amenities are often insufferable. No air conditioning. No hot water. Very poor breakfast offerings. General lack of uncleanliness or malaise. That’s not everywhere, but it occurs.
And when it does, visitors report it on sites like TripAdvisor.com and next thing you know, a bad reputation evolves.
That should not happen here. Not only is Europa a great hotel, it commands a fantastic view of the area, and just 5 minutes walk away are the ruins of Ancient Olympia. However, that is all downhill. The walk back is a strenuous 25 minutes or so. Anyway, you won’t have to suffer long as the showers are top notch. The pool is very nice and the dinner that awaits afterward (all outdoor fire/charcoal oven prepared foods) will take your mind off of the hike.
The ruins themselves sprawl for many acres. Centuries ago, starting in 776 b.c. annual competitions were held here in many fields, not just athletic. It was at once a large bacchanalian party and also serious ritual. Athletes had to swear to honor. In front of the stadium many statues rose—not of the victorious, but of the cheaters and others of disrepute, frozen for all time for all to see time in their dishonor. I suppose if we did that today, statues of Pete Rose and Barry Bonds would greet visitors to the local ball park.
We have less than a day here in about an hour our bus for Athens leaves. This is a place I’d like to return. Olympia is a fine town, remote and peaceful, it has the hills and trees and it has the Europa Hotel. Compared to some places we’ve stayed in Greece, this is the Ritz. I’d even come back just for the food—we had a stew of onions and prunes last night. Sound weird? Yup, but it was as delicious as we’ve ever eaten in Greece, that alone giving reason to return. My hat’s off to the family that runs this place. (John Saltas)
I’m writing from a ferry that has just left the port of Poros on the Ionian Sea island of Cephaloniab, heading to the Greek mainland. We’ve been on Cephalonia for the past five days in a hotel room 50 yards from the sea but without a phone and no internet—a perfect place to escape. We stayed in the town of Karavomilos which is just outside the harbor town of Sami. You may have seen this place before.
The movie Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was filmed all around here. Just over the hill is the beautiful beach of Antisamos which plays prominently in that movie. If you’ve seen it, the movie is primarily remembered for the pathetically terrible accents spoken by Nicholas Cage and Penelope Cruz. Cage butchered the Italian accent, and Cruz the Greek. Cruz can be forgiven but Cage is an Italian for crying out loud. At least John Hurt, who played Cruz’s father, got it right, mostly by not trying to overdo it.
The Corelli story is of the period during World War II when Italy somewhat successfully invaded Greece, but failed miserably in the occupation department—sound familiar? The Greek resistance on Cephalonia and other islands ultimately caused a stalemate that embarrassed Mussolini. Mussolini because he couldn’t even conquer Greece, and Hitler for choosing such an insufferable ally. Hitler sent in his best troops to fix the situation, which they did by butchering not only Greeks, but Italians too. Somewhere in that mosh pit of changing loyalties, Captain Corelli (Cage) fell in love with the daughter (Cruz) of a local doctor (Hurt). She was already engaged to a resistance fighter which only made matters worse. Actually, it’s a pretty good story, but you might never know it from the movie. People say read the book instead, which I intend to do.
But not now.
Cephalonia is a beautiful island. Green. Great beaches. Wonderful little villages. Incredibly hospitable people who treated us with kindness at every turn. Especially at our hotel, the Athina Beach, where Athina and her irrepressible son Makis make certain every guest is treated like family. Makis remembered everyone’s name and had a warm hello or a kiss for each guest every time he encountered them. As evidence to the effectiveness of his charm, we met at least four other guests who were on return visits to his little hotel, some for the tenth time. We committed to a second, but I can’t predict when.
Despite wanting to return to Cephalonia, there is still so much of Greece to see. This is my fifth visit in four years, three of which have been for at least a month, and I feel like I haven’t even scratched the surface of Greece. For example, the island of Ithaki was just as stones throw away from us, right across the bay from Sami. Daily ferries left for there, but I never found the time. I wanted to go as Ithiki is the reputed home of Odysseus, who as Homer reported centuries ago, took ten years to get home after the Trojan battles, giving us the word “odyssey”. Lately, though, some scholars are saying his home was actually Cephalonia, or that perhaps Ithaki and Cephalonia were once connected. So maybe we were already there.
If you ever go to Cephalonia, besides the fine beaches, you must try the local wine called Robola. It’s unique to the island and is a very special wine, a perfect match for Greek food. I think Cephalonia is the only place you can get it, as it’s apparently not exported, despite it winning a second place in an international competition of some sort. The other food of note on Cephalonia is their famous meat pie. It’s famous because they say so, but we ordered it three times and twice there was nothing special about it, basically being dry and tasteless. I guess people put it on the menu and wait for dumb tourists to buy it. However, one order we had, at the Melissani Lake Taverna, the pie was succulent and delicious. Too bad they don’t pass their recipe along to others—theirs is worth bragging about.
Must go now. If you’re keeping track of tourist opinions of America and Americans it didn’t improve on Cephalonia. Although President Bush was just up the coast in Albania—getting rave reviews, I hear—folks down this way are more stoic. We met mostly Brits on Cephalonia, with a smattering of Belgians and lots of Germans, who were mostly mountain biking all over the island. Note to Holly Mullen: if it’s biking you want, this is a great place for it. Anyway, our good president didn’t score any points with those people I met, especially the Brits who were dismayed equally by their own Tony Blair. (John Saltas)
