Yes, This Is A Love Letter To Greece!

A week after my Greek adventure, I am still reflecting on it.  And my toe is still healing.

Despite that mishap, my Hellenic holiday is one of the best I've ever spent.  I know I will always return to France because it's become a part of me, but, of all of the countries I've seen, Greece is the one to which I most passionately hope to return. I didn't do as much cycling as I'd hoped, in part because of the injury.  One day, though, I hope to return and do some more cycling--and, of course, to experience more of what the country and its people have to offer.

First, let me say something about the people.  If any of you are Greek, I hope you won't take offense to this:  In all of my travels, I've been to only one other country where the people were as effusively yet genuinely friendly as the Greeks:  Turkey.  A friend of mine once described me as an "extroverted introvert."  Yet I did not find the Greeks, as outgoing as they are, intrusive.  Perhaps it has something to do with being in a country that produced philosophers who wrote about balance and harmony:  Who better to understand the introspective soul within the effervescent, demonstrative personality?

If this view isn't worth pedaling up a road with five hairpin turns, what is?

Then, of course, there is the sheer physical beauty you encounter throughout the country, whether on the islands, or in the interior or Athens.  The Aegean Sea really is as blue, and its beach waters as clear, as what you see in photos all over the Web--and in postcards!  Seeing the temple to Zeus and the sanctuary of Athena in Delphi is even more awe-inspiring than I ever expected.  And, finally, even in its grittiest alleyways, Athens has a beauty very different from any other city I've seen--in part because you're never more than a few steps from a view of the Pantheon, and a subway ride can take you through an archaeological site.

That combination of classical balance and harmony with the large, wild bursts of line and color in the graffiti that adorned abandoned villas (and, in a few cases, defaced others) paint a portrait of a people and culture who have endured difficulty--whether from the economic crisis of 2009, the military dictatorship of the '70's or the Nazi occupation--but have not been broken.  Although I still love New York, so much of what I first loved about it has been co-opted or even destroyed by the pursuit of profit, always by those who already have much.  I don't know what the future holds for Athens, or for Greece, but I sense that Greeks young and old, contrary to what you may have heard, work hard but are still working to live, not living to (or for) work.

Finally--since this a blog about cycling, after all--I will say something about cycling.  I greatly enjoyed the cycling I did, although (or perhaps because) cycling in Greece was a very different experience.  Riding in Athens is different from riding in New York because the streets are narrower and there are almost no bike lanes.  (In fact, the only lane I encountered was the one I rode to the marina.)  Also, motorists are different:  A cyclist needs to be careful because most Athenian motorists aren't accustomed to seeing us.  This is in contrast with the open hostility one too often encounters from drivers in New York and other American cities, and is an even starker contrast to the relative bicycle-friendliness of, say, Paris or Montreal, let alone Amsterdam.

There is, as Manos at Athens by Bike told me, "no bike culture in this city, at least not yet."  Along the route to the marina--which parallels the #1 (green) Metro line, I did notice a shop in the process of opening, and there were a couple of stalls in the Flea Market that were as well-stocked (albeit with local brands) as shops I've seen elsewhere.  But in the city, or on the islands, you're not going to find the lycra-clad cyclists on carbon-fiber bikes.  They may show up one day, but I didn't see them on this trip.  On the other hand, in the countryside between Athens and Delphi, I did see a few cyclists who looked like they were doing some serious training on late-model, high-quality road and mountain bikes.

But as much as I like bike "culture," cycling is all about riding.  And people.  And places.  And history and culture.  Oh, and food.  Greece has all of that, which is why I want to return.  Maybe, by then, there will be more "cycling culture"--or I will help to create it!

Off The Island, Onto Another

I stayed on Santorini long enough to see the sunset I showed yesterday.  The island, with its volcanic rock faces dropping directly into the sea, is beautiful.  But it's also full of tourists.  And expensive.

When I got to Oia--the place you see in all of those Instagram photos of Santorini sunsets--it was like being in an older and more beautiful version of Times Square on New Year's Eve.  It's was so crowded that with people taking selfies that you can't do much more than take a selfie--which, as you've probably noticed in this blog, is something I don't do.

It's odd that another New York analogy comes to mind: the road that winds (and I mean winds) its way down to the port of Athinios in a similar way to the Route 495 spur to the Lincoln tunnel.  The difference is that the road to Athinios is about a tenth as wide (or so it seems) and its turns are sharper:  hairpins in a couple of places.  To complicate matters even further, the port itself sits on an improbably small shelf of land in front of a rock face.  So, only one vehicle can reach it at a time and people spend more time waiting in that line of traffic than they did in getting from wherever on the island they came.

One more thing about Santorini:  I saw mules.  Some, it seems, are for tourists while a few others were being used by families who have been living there for generations.  In a day and a half, however, I saw one bicycle.

Anyway, it is worth it to visit Santorini, however briefly, for its natural beauty and, of course, its sunsets.  And, away from the tourist traps, the food is actually quite good, often made from local produce.  Still, I was happy to go to Milos, which the world knows because of Venus de Milo(s).  I took a "Sea Jet", which really is more like riding in the cabin of a plane than a boat, except that you get to see the blue (Yes, it really is!) Aegean and some islands instead of endless clouds.  And the port of Adamas isn't just a port:   There are other things to see and do, which I'll talk about in my next post.  The best part, though, is that it spreads across the shoreline and is not nearly as claustrophobic as Athinios.

From Last Year's Sunrise To This Year's Sunset

Last year, it was about a sunrise.  This year, sunsets.

I'm trying not to read too much into that.  I am being quite literal:  Last year, one important reason I went to Cambodia was to see the sun rise over the Angkor Wat.  This year, I wanted to see the sun set at least once in one of the Cyclaides Islands, though it didn't loom quite as large among my reasons for coming to Greece.

But a sunset I wanted, and a sunset I got.

Yesterday, I got to Santorini later than I expected and my hotel was further from Oia, that village you see all over Instagram, than I thought.  

Then again, the Hotel Santa Irina is right by what some believe to be the nicest beach on the island.  Better yet (or worse, if I am going to wear the bathing suit I brought), there's a great bakery, also called the Santa Irina, on the premises.  

The hotel's receptionist--Georgia, a sweet woman about my age--suggested another nearby village for a sunset.  "The one in Pirgos is unique," she said.  A few local people echoed her belief.

I must say, it certainly is unlike any other I've seen.  And yes, it's beautiful.  

All right, I'm going to "come out" about something else. (Believe it or not,  even after you've revealed yourself as transgender and begun to live as who you are, there are still all sorts of other ways in which you can "come out.")  It's something you may have already figured:  I am a romantic.   There, I've said it.