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!)

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.

Doing As The Athenians Do

When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

We've all heard that bit of advice.  Yesterday, I followed it.  Well, sort of.  I scheduled my cycling day as an Athenian might.  Then again, the vast majority of Athenians don't go anywhere near a bike.

Anyway, I spent the first part of my day wandering around the neighborhoods at the base of the Acropolis.  One thing about this city:  Just because some place is at the base of a hill, that doesn't mean it's flat, or anything close to it. Not that I mind.

After wandering, I sauntered into the streetside flea market in Thissio, which is connected by a path just wide enough for three or four people to another, much larger flea market--in a series of arcades, like the one in Saint Ouen--and one of those "can't miss" monuments:  the ancient Agora.  

As you probably know, "agoraphobia" is a fear of being in public or simply exposed.  The agora was a marketplace, but it was also the most public space in ancient Greece or Rome.  Many a planned or impromptu debate took place there.  I can only wonder how the philosophers of that time might talk about some of our current leaders or celebrities.  

Anyway, the Agora wasn't just a place to shop or argue.  On its site were also altars and temples, at least one of which was added by the Romans.  There's even evidence that synagogue occupied part of the site around the third century A.D.

I came to understand very clearly why people who don't want to go outside are called agoraphobics.  On the site, you are exposed physically as those ancient orators were intellectually.  So, after a couple of hours wandering around the site, I could feel the effects of the sun and I ducked into one of the cafes.  It was a tourist trap, but I had only an iced espresso, so my finances didn't take much of a hit.

One nice thing about Greek, Italian and French cafes is that the wait staff are paid decently and thus don't have to rely on tips.  So, even though I ordered only that iced espresso--a double--nobody was rushing me out of that place.

Then I wandered along the pedestrianized street that leads to the Agora, which had a fair amount of shade and cool mist spraying from the canopies over the cafe terraces. After a few minutes, I did an about-face and walked back to the streetside flea market and crossed its path into a leafy little park.  There, I miraculously found a spot on a shaded bench:  It seemed like all Athenians and more than a few other tourists had the same idea!

Around 3:00 pm, I got back on the bike and rode down a few winding streets lined with graffiti into what seemed to be Athens' Inida-town.  I had a destination:  the National Museum of Archaelogy, a bit removed from the other major museums and monuments.  I had time:  the Museum remains open until 8 pm, even on Sunday.  

For most of us, "Ancient Greece" means the time from Socrates to the Roman invasion.  At least, that's what most of us are taught, if we learn anything at all about it.  But, to an archaeologist, "Greece" is almost as old as the human race.  Even if it's older than most other civilizations in Europe--or the West--it's even older than most scholars, let alone the general public, realized until about 50 or so years ago.

If nothing else, you could come away from a visit to the museum thinking--with justification--that nowhere else does pottery-making have more of a history.  Vessels made of clay were used for literally everything imaginable, and were even funerary offerings.  

There was also a great variety of jewelry-making and other kinds of metal- and bead-work.  Given how advanced their techniques, and the level of intricacy of their work, it's almost surprising that nobody built anything resembling a bicycle--unless, perhaps, they used wood or some other material!

Hmm...Maybe they used some of the obsidian rock found on Milos.  Yes, that's the island from which Venus, now found in the Louvre, came.  The particular variety of obsidian found on the island is harder than most any other rock, or metal, and takes on a sharp edge when broken or cut.  So it was used for knives, swords and other instruments.  Even today, it's being used experimentally in surgical instruments.

I wonder if any of those really ancient Greeks took siestas in the middle of scorchingly hot summer days.