Greece

Only a short, two-hour ferry ride from Athens, Poros was the perfect island to linger at – we stayed a month. From here, I took an adventurous train ride across mainland Greece to Istanbul to meet my mother for a two week tour by bus around Turkey.

In growing light, we awakened to the sound of church bells, and began our morning walks with Bella. Being late spring, sheep pastures were still dusted with wildflowers: red poppies, milk thistle, and yellow daises. In the backdrop rose hilly slopes, terraced in silvery olive groves. Wandering down isolated country lanes into lands owned for generations by the same families, we stuck our noses into thick rose bushes that spilled over stone hedgerows, flanking large family compounds; whitewashed tiny chapels with bright blue cupolas supporting giant bells, rested at the driveway’s end. We picked wild mulberries and baked fresh berry pies, ventured into the quaint island town for gyros in sidewalk cafes, and hiked up the mountain road for scenic views while pausing to gather fallen oranges and tangerines alongside the road to stuff into our pockets for a later snack.

Our passage from Marmaris, Turkey, to Simi Island in Greece was a very pleasant, short day hop, sailing under a light north-northeast breeze.

Simi is a rather barren island, once famous for its sponge-diving, and their divers were the best in the Aegean. In a menagerie of shapes, the natural sponges dangled from the rafters of the many kiosks that lay scattered along the harbor quayside. It took us two hours to hike across the large hill from the anchorage to clear-in with Customs officials. After hunting down three sets of officials, we lingered at a quaint sidewalk-cafe for killer lamb gyros and to-die-for baklava, taking in the interesting cultural scene that unfolded before us. Near sundown, we peeled ourselves away to wander back to the boat, getting hopelessly lost along the way when trying a short-cut. We ascended and descended a dizzying labyrinth of vertical stairs that bordered each whitewashed dwelling. During war, the villagers used these as a guise to escape from invading raiders. Sure worked on us! We finally headed for the ancient castle at the top of the hill to get a view of our boat, then bee-lined straight down before the sun plunged into the sea.

We explored the cobbled-stone alleyways of Paros Island under the shadows of Mt. Zeus (3308 ft). Dry valley slopes were terraced with olives trees. From the fallen citrus we collected from alongside the earthen roads in the countryside, we made lemon cakes and fresh juice. Morning breezes were scented with the aromatic cypress tree. We took a bus into Naxos to see the ancient Byzantine church. Inside, magnificent frescoes adorned the well-preserved granite walls. Afterwards, , we sipped mint tea and read the local paper across the street at a sidewalk-cafe, watching as Greek women entered the ancient church to offer prayers of thanksgiving with the Greek Orthodox priest. here to edit the text.

To see the Acropolis, we took the 5am ferry ride to Athens. On the fore-deck, we sipped hot tea with fresh croissants, gazing at the horizon as a nuclear orb rose; fishermen crossed into its nuclear band of light, gathering in their nightly nets.

The Acropolis is a fortress of vast temples, dedicated to Athena - Greek goddess of Wisdom. The Parthenon and temple of Athena stand proud in the acres of organized, dated rubble. Built in the 5th century bc, the Acropolis is constructed entirely of marble, and its structures are considered the greatest masterpieces of Greek architecture, though they have suffered enormous damage from sultans, rulers, and earthquakes. As we alighted from the metro-train outside of Athens, we gasped up at the stately columns standing sentinel over us. Ascending the hill took some time, but it was fun peering in museum windows, at boutique antiquities for sale, and into house gardens of the academia who worked on restoring the great Acropolis. Classical music wafted on the morning breeze, and I was filled with mirth when a bearded professor in boxers appeared in the back doorway singing opera - the homes are very tiny, and packed close together, you realize. At the summit, we wandered amongst soaring temple columns, and sat in rubble, imagining its former glory.

In early morning light, we began our transit of the canal, after first tying up at the docks to pay a fee. We followed close behind a red fuel tanker, minding his prop wash. Being 3.2 miles long, it only took two hours to transit, as we had to maneuver slowly, careful not to scrape the sides. The canal is very narrow – 81’ wide – and the fuel tanker barely seemed to scrape through. Looking up the 250’ sides, we could see partial rubble protruding from the limestone walls from an earlier construction. In ancient times vessels were frequently pulled to and from the gulf across the Corinth isthmus. It was completed in 1893.

Sailing into the beautiful harbor of Ithaka is like none other. Hills rose close on both side of us, and a footpath bordered the hillside to port, leading to a small chapel. Ithaka, it’s told, is the likely site of Odysseus’s palace. Adam took a bike and Peter jogged behind, heading out into the countryside hills to find it, but the road deteriorated into rubble, and they returned without success.

Grapevines were just beginning to swell into plump green and purple lumps. Swelling bunches were suspended from rafters that shadowed tea gardens and home patios. Families gathered in late afternoons to gossip, as young children scurried around playing ball and riding little bikes. Whenever I strolled by, breathless once again from ascending steep stairs, they shouted out to me, Bon sera! Ciao! Often, I throwing good-natured insults at one another, gesticulating wildly, but it was all in good form with much clapping on the back afterwards.