A Mishap And A Mining Museum

After all of those wonderful experiences I had on Friday (which I described in my previous two posts), the night ended, not in tragedy, but in a way not befitting of the goddesses.

After returning to the hotel, I dozed off for a bit.  When I woke, I was hungry.  It was past ten, and my mind told me not to eat at such a late hour.  But I ignored my mind and walked down to the waterfront.  I bought a soulvaki from Yanko's, where everything is fresh and cheap, and a small salad with olives goat milk cheese from Gregory's, a place next door, and took them down to a park by the water.

After reveling in the tastes of that moment, and the other sensations I experienced during the day, I started my walk back to the hotel.  The apartment in which I stayed the previous night was now occupied by a couple on their honeymoon so, as Irini said, I was moved to another room.  While not as spacious, I hardly felt cramped:  It's bigger than apartments in which I've lived, and had a balcony of its own.

But the doorstep stood a few inches above the ground, with a "step" carved of stone in between.  I wasn't looking for it:  I entered as if the doorstep were level with the ground.

I let out a howl not usually heard in Milos.

My left foot struck that "step" and pushed my big toenail back 45 degrees, pulling away the skin.  One of the hotel staff members ran up to me and, seeing the blood spurting from my toe, called Irini, the owner, who drove me--up the winding road I pedaled earlier in the day--to the tiny hospital in Plaka.  

There a medic splintered and bandaged my toe.  He didn't remove the nail; instead, he told me to go to a doctor in Athens, where I was headed Saturday, the following evening.  And he prescribed an antibiotic.  

Irini stayed with me the whole time and, the next morning, went down to the port, where my prescription was filled in a pharmacy.  When I went to the courtyard for breakfast, she gave me the pills.

I have to admit, I was tempted to change my plans and stay in Milos.  But I had a boat ticket to Athens (Piraeus),  where I am as I write this,  for Saturday night  and another ticket back to New York for Tuesday morning.

So I went to a place I never imagined I'd go:  a mining museum.  (Last year, I went to the Landmine Museum in Cambodia. I never thought I'd go to a place like that, either.) Turns out, Milos and other Cycladic islands are rich sources of minerals. Why do you think such beautiful pottery and jewelry were made there?  Even today, a few minerals are extracted for use in everything from paper to cement.  The exhibits also include films in which old miners were interviewed.  

What I found really interesting--and encouraging--is that the museum makes a real attempt to show that women did at least their share of the work.  Many worked as sorters and packers, but some actually worked the mines.  I have a hard time, though, imagining how one would carry so much equipment and bear the heat of those mines in an outfit like this:

Oh, Irini took me to the museum and back to the hotel for lunch--and to the ferry.  With hospitality like that, I'm going back to a place where an orange guy tells the world there's no room left in his country?

How I Became Aprhodite By Sunset

No, I'm not in Paris again.

After climbing to the castle (see yesterday's post), I descended back into Plaka's Archaeology Museum.  There, among pottery and other objects found on Milos and other islands, is this replica of Venus de Milo.   In the Plaka museum, it's called Aphrodite de Milos.

When I left the museum, I rode along another winding road to the place where a farmer, while digging for stones, came upon Aphrodite/Venus.   So how did she end up in the Louvre?  Well, as it turns out, some French naval officers were doing some digging of their own in a nearby area and took notice and, after some negotiations, bought the statue and bundled it onto a ship to France.  It was presented as a gift to Louis XVIIII, who in turn gave it to the Louvre.

How she ended up armless in France is another, much longer story, which I won't get into here.

Anyway, I continued along the road to a Roman theatre in Trypiti

and catacombs, which I didn't photograph because it was too difficult and, well, some of those people just might not like being photographed.  

From there, I pedaled up another widing road to a Klima and onto another rocky winding road to Areti, where an elderly couple leaving their house saw me and applauded. "Bravo!"

Of course, after all of that climbing came the descents to the sea, back to the port at Adamas, where I turned south and rode along the coast to Papikinou and the hot springs of Zefira.  By then, it was late in the day, and I wanted to swim before the end of the day.  After all, I'd brought my bathing suit with me and it would have been a shame not to use it, right?

So I stopped and descended the stairs to a pebble-sand beach with the clearest water I've seen in a bathing area.  Ahead of me the blue (yes, it really is!) Agean spread between volcanic islands.  I  started to duck behind this rock and was about to change into my swimsuit when I noticed a young boy and girl wading from the water.  Both were as naked as the day they were born.  So were their mother and father.   

Just past them, I saw the sign:  Nudist Beach.

They say that whatever happens in 'Vegas stays in 'Vegas.  Well, I figured the same holds true for Milos.  I probably would not see that family, or any of the other people--clothed or unclothed--again.  So I decided my bathing suit would have to wait for another day.

In that water, I became an acrobat and a ballerina.  I moved with the waves; my arms, my legs, even the rest of the body, became waves.  Maybe that is what our bodies really are, rather than the hard, straight lines we are taught to strive for in a commodified society.  Even the slender men and women in Greek sculptures were not composed of sinews and pistons; they move, fluidly, through time and light.  

When I stopped and stood, for a few moments, with those blue waves lapping up to my neck, I felt something silky and gelatinous, at the same time, against my legs.  I looked down through the clear water and saw little coral-colored fish with black stripes on their tails nibbling at me.  Were they feeding on some mineral my body exuded?  Or were they merely curious?  

Whatever (if anything) they were thinking, those fish didn't care that I was naked.  Neither did the other people, naked or otherwise, on that beach.  A guy in a swimsuit and googles made for racing pumped past me and didn't give me a second glance.  Everyone, it seemed, was there just to swim or wade as they pleased.  

After that swim, a few more things made sense to me.  To the ancient philosophers, life was about balance a balance, and the body was central.  And that is the reason, I realized, why there doesn't seem to be any body-shaming here:  Each of us is born with our own shape, size and other characteristics, and all we can do is make them into the best they can be. Venus/Aprhodite, however she is depicted, is simply the best version of herself. What the capitalist/materialist media in America and other places teach us, instead, is to strive for other people's reality.

I stayed in that water, swimming, dancing, or simply waving my arms and legs, until the sun started to descend between two hills.  Then I started pedaling along the road back to Adamas, and my hotel.

The sunsets on Santorini were beautiful.  But this one was, by far, the most rewarding I've ever experienced.

Did I become Aprhrodite, just for a moment?  Could it be that when you experience beauty, when you feel beauty, you become your own beauty?  

Now I'll confess that after I got back to the hotel and had dinner, I did something entirely un-graceful.  More about that in my next post.

Hills By The Sea--And Kastro

Whenever I travel, I tell people I'm going for culture, nature, food or some combination thereof.  They believe me, and there's no reason why they shouldn't.  I also tell everyone--again, truthfully--that at the end of a day, I'm usually ready to sleep.  So, when it comes to accommodations, I care only that they're clean and quiet.

But it sure is nice to wake up and sashay onto a balcony offering views like these:

and to take a dip before going to sleep:

or to have a choice of whether to sleep on the upper or lower level:

I had not made arrangements for my accommodations before coming to Milos, knowing full well that it's the high season.  But high season on this island isn't quite the same as high season on Santorini.  So, I figured that I'd find something, somewhere.

There are a number of hotels, modern and cozy, around the waterfront of Adamas, the island's port, and within a few blocks.  After a bit of walking, I saw a rustic-looking sign for Thalassitra Village hotel, which stands at the end of a path and contains spacious rooms as well as apartments.

The owner, Irini, is practically a force of nature.  She's lived on the island all of her life, has seen other places and wants to live nowhere else. (I can't blame her.)  The place was full, she said, except for one apartment for one night.  She understood that, traveling alone, it was far more than I ever would need.  I agreed to let her show it anyway.  

I have to admit, I was thinking, "Just this once."  Perhaps she sensed it. She told me the price, knowing full well that I would never spend that much.  But, since it was available for that one night, Thursday, and a couple on their honeymoon was coming in for a longer stay, she was willing to give for half of the normal price.  And, if there was a vacancy for the following night, for a standard room--which she found later in the evening--she'd give me a discount on that, too.

Up to that point, I really hadn't spent much, so I thought, "Why not?"

What would I tell my younger self who stayed in hostels for a few dollars a night, or camped? I still haven't answered that.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe I don't need to.

Really, it--and the room in which I stayed the following night--felt more like spas than any hotel, hostel, pension in which I've stayed, let alone anyplace in which I've camped or slept on couches.  Why, there were even those white robes found in all of those pricey spas!

Now I'm going to tell you something that would truly appall the 21-year-old guy named Nick I once was. (Actually, he wouldn't have been as appalled as he would have claimed to be!):  I felt no guilt.  So, the way I spent the day--after seeing that view from the balcony--could have been a "penance," but it didn't feel that way.

I rented a bike:  another Ideal, which seems to be the "national" brand of this country.  This one, though, wasn't nearly as well-maintained as the one I rented from Athens by Bike.  In fact, after a bit of riding, I had to return and ask the mechanic to fix the front brake.

Still, I managed to ride it up the road to Plaka and Tripli, with five turns that looked like this:

Then, when I got to Plaka, a charming hilltop village full of those blue and white houses you see all over these islands, I came to this:

Of course, for a second, I saw "Castro."  I mean, I was riding on a steep hill by the sea and I've seen, well, at least a few gay people.  Of course, those are about the only comparisons one can make between Plaka and San Francisco.

"Kastro" means "castle".  After a while, the path gave way to uneven stone stairs and a rocky path.  I parked the bike and walked the rest of the way up.

The castle houses an Orthodox church.  It seems to be open only for services, so I don't know whether there are artistic treasures inside, or even these views:

The ride and hike were just the start of my Friday in Milos.  I'll tell you more in my next post.

(By the way:  This post is #3000.  Thanks for reading!)