Naxos, Round 2

So I'm going to try a couple of new things with this entry - mostly brevity and a lack of minute details.  I'm going to focus on descriptions and reflections rather than overviews - let me know what you think.

So I spent this past weekend (11/6-11/8) on Naxos for the second time since arriving in the Cyclades.  My first visit here included my 21st birthday and a bus ride from Hades - this time the approach was a little different.  Amanda and I rented a car and drove around most of the island on Saturday, an experience that I think will be impossible to replicate even if I spend every weekend I have left here on Naxos.

Our goal was to climb Mount Zeus (Mt. Zas to the locals), the highest mountain in the Cyclades at 999m.  A few minutes into our drive I started to notice the clouds, gathering rather ominously around the top 1/3 of most of the visible mountains.  By the time I pulled away from one of the small reservoirs, the tops of most of the mountains were completely obscured by clouds. 


By the time we reached the tiny village of Mesi (or maybe it was Skado, or even Koronos - I failed to write it down or photograph a road sign) we had driven almost to the border between cloud and clarity, and the clouds hanging literally just above the roofs of the buildings there created a very "Lord of the Rings" feeling, the diffuse light and odd hillside architecture adding to the feeling.  I halfway expected a  hobbit to scamper out of one of the small houses built into the hillside.


Driving about 2km farther, we crossed the threshold into cloud, and everything become even more surreal than before.  As I drove in silence, the silhouettes of roadside objects appeared and disappeared with unsettling abruptness.  I took the opportunity to snap a photo of a mist shrouded Cycladic style windmill - perhaps my favorite picture from Greece so far, other than one I took later that night (more on that in a bit).  Knowing that my senses were limited to an almost tangible boundary that I could almost touch, but that offered no shelter from what lie beyond it, was an experience I doubt that I can adequately describe.  Imagining that I was alone in the car, it wasn't hard to imagine myself completely alone in my little world (not in a despairing sense) that extended only a few feet in each direction. 

As we came back down the mountain, the car emerged from the cloud almost instantly.  Going from a world of soft, diffuse light and murky shapes in muted tones of gray into the world of bright lights and sharp contrasts was another truly unique sensory experience.  I suppose it's similar to cleaning a window you didn't realize was dirty until you wiped it off - the suddenly crisp images you see through it seem especially striking because you took their blurriness for granted and accepted it as reality. 


After dinner I walked alone from the hotel to Apollo's gate near the harbor - the same place I had visited on my first visit to the island over a month prior.  At night the leeward side of the monument is brilliantly (perhaps excessively) lit, and is visible for quite some distance at sea.  I spent a few quiet minutes photographing and examining the monument in the dark, and wandering around the small peninsula it sits on.  The Greek habit of using their finest bits of land for temples/churches clearly has a long lineage.  The view from this point is incredible - Aegean sea almost surrounding, with the town and overlooking Kastro (castle) on the other. 

Round 1: Mt Zas v Charley - Mt Zas wins!  But wait, I still managed to get an awesome experience out of the deal, so perhaps it was merely a draw?  The mountain doesn't stand a chance in Round 2, anyway.

Back Post - Santorini, one month in hindsight (9/25-9/27)

Unfortunately for Greece, the first thing most Americans think about when someone says Greece is either “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” or “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” Despite the fact that I haven't seen either of these movies, I resent them to some degree, because I think they short change Greece massively. But what these movies do show (or at least what I'm told they show) is the absolutely beautiful island of Santorini. This island sits about 4 hours' ferry from Paros. It is geographically unique in the Cyclades in that the entire island is the direct result of a single volcano. The island (actually, it's closer to a mini island chain than a single island) has the remnants of a volcanic cone, surrounded completely by a deep caldera. Nearly surrounding the caldera is the main mass of Santorini, consisting of several islands that were formerly united. A massive volcanic eruption destroyed the island, its Minoan inhabitants, and deepened the massive Caldera sometime in the Bronze Age.

What we're left with is one of the most supreme landscapes imaginable. The inner rim of the outer islands are up to 1000 foot sheer cliff faces, sloping slightly toward the top. Into this precarious slope, towns have been built, each building seeming to rest on the one below it. Looking at the island, I get the impression that one slip and it will all slide cleanly into the sea, another victim of the island's unforgiving geography. We stayed in the main town, Fira, during our 2 night stay.

The highlight of the trip, for me, was the hike on day 2. After resting the first afternoon and evening, we got up bright an early for a hike from Fira all the way to Oia (pronounced ee-uh). If you've seen one of those movies I mentioned earlier, you'll recognize that name. Oia is located on the far Northwest side of Thera (the biggest island), only a few km from Fira. Those few kilometers, however, hold some of the most incredible views I've been privileged enough to see. I'll let the photos do most of the talking – but the depth of caldera leaves the water a deep azure, darker than the water immediately surrounding most of the other Cycladic islands. Combined with the inescapable but pleasant sea breeze and the views of both Thera's cliffs and Nea Kameni (the volcano), and the word 'sublime' suddenly seems appropriate.

In Oia we took a massive flight of stairs down to the waterfront (not really a beach – it's all stone and no sand). On the way down, Kara and I discovered a huge abandoned house just off the trail. The volcano here hasn't been dormant very long – the last major activity was a series of huge earthquakes in the 1950s, which led to the temporary evacuation of the entire island and the permanent exodus of thousands of residents. Despite the unimaginably beautiful scenery, many still haven't returned, and their former homes lie dormant, mouldering and collapsing on themselves. Nea Kameni, in full view of many of them, seems to have gotten the last laugh. The home we explored was 3 stories, and must have been quite a sight in its heyday. Along the ceiling were intricate dental and decorative moldings, with some evidence of colorful paint in the areas less exposed to weather. The plaster that used to cover the walls has slowly snowed down onto the floor, coating it in up to 3” of extremely fine dust, the consistency and color of powdered sugar (and what I imagine the surface of the moon is like). Many of the walls are slowly falling down, and there is even what remains of some abandoned furniture in the basement.

The waterfront itself proved to be almost as exciting as the journey to reach it. After a short walk along the sea, there is a collection of large boulders sitting near the water's edge. Perhaps 50 meters into the caldera is a tiny island, taller than it is wide, home only to a small chapel and a dock to facilitate visits. In front of the chapel is a perfect platform, perhaps 15-20 feet up, for jumping. The water beneath is 25-30' deep and crystal clear – absolutely perfect conditions for jumping. I jumped perhaps 7-8 times over the course of the afternoon, and everyone who climbed up to the platform was eventually coaxed into taking the plunge.

Our final day in Santorini was much more low key – we visited the archaeological museum and caught the ferry home. In the museum were several examples of the famous Cycladic figurines (famous in this area – I had never seen them prior to coming to Greece). These marble figures are peculiar little representations of people, mostly women, whose significance isn't well understood. The faces are very simple, the only obvious feature is the nose. There are depressions for eyes but no attempt at detail – and no mouth at all on most. They all carry the same haunting, empty faces and odd gestures. All that I have seen in museums are the color of worn marble, but most of the museum placards seem to agree that many would have been intricately painted. It seems almost symbolic of history in general, and Cycladic history in particular – where there used to be very individual, unique faces 2500 years ago, we now see only outlines, all of which look strikingly similar, just like the people who created them. Where there were very unique and individual people living here, we now see them all as the same, 'Ancient Greeks' or 'Early Cycladic peoples.' Very poetic – and depending on your outlook, either very depressing or very uplifting.

Santorini might be on the most geographically striking places I've ever seen (and I've seen a few beautiful places since I left home!). Despite the fact that the architecture there is incredible, I had a hard time appreciating it, because nothing humans can do can even pale in comparison to the natural beauty of it. Being so close to what is obviously such a powerful force (the volcano in the center annihilated the island and its civilization during the Bronze age, and it is still active) is truly humbling. Nothing anyone on that island does can have pretensions of permanence, the volcano could wipe it all out tomorrow and not a shred of evidence would remain.

My final offer is 10 Lira and one pomegranate.

Although I intend to eventually play catch up with the last 3 weekends' island hopping adventures, I am going to go ahead and stay abreast of my experiences in Turkey.

We arrived in Selçuk (pronounced sel-chuk), Turkey via Samos island Thursday evening.  Our nearly 20 hour odyssey of ferries, 'layovers', and more ferries had worn the best of us down - personally I was running on 1 hour of sleep for 48 hours' wanderings.  Despite our exhaustion, we received a wonderful Turkish welcome in the form of a mind-blowing dinner.  We got to sample the various appetizers and dishes the restaurants here specialize in - hummus, baba ghanoush, eggplant salad, spicy tomato salad, yogurt with red peppers, cheese pastries, stuffed vegetables, and kebabs, to name a few.  As we were eating, I could see through the window one of the cooks rolling and baking fresh pita.  I have to say, other than the rabbit from Naxos, Thursday night was one of the best meals I've eaten since I left home.  Turkish food tends to have more spiciness than Greek food, something I must admit to missing.

Back at the hotel, we were all reminded of the contrast between Turkey and Greece when the mosque behind the hotel started evening prayers.  Naturally, I don't understand a word of Arabic, but the chants are beautiful, and even calming.

Friday was a free day, meant mostly for recovery.  Despite my inability to rise before 1:00 PM, I still managed to experience more in one day than I experience in an average semester.  I started with more great Turkish food, this time a Pidé, Turkish pizza.  After lunch, I visited a barber shop and paid 5 Lira (about $3.50) for a straight razor shave and massage.  I have never been shaved by a barber, especially not a Turkish barber, and I didn't actually realize I got a massage with the deal.  If such barbers existed in the US (and were as cheap), I would be clean shaven every day.

My next series of wanderings landed me outside a mosque at around 4:00 - just before one of the afternoon prayers.  Friday is the Muslim Holy day, and I think most of the men go to the mosque for at least one prayer session on Fridays.  An older man was quite insistent that Moshe, Ben, and I come in for prayers.  After ditching our shoes and bags, we gave in.  To someone who speaks no Arabic, the service inside sounds very much like the chants broadcast over the loudspeakers every few hours, with the added element of almost rhythmic variations of standing, bowing, kneeling, kneeling with your head to the floor, and back up.  I was perhaps overly worried about offending someone, or unknowingly doing something wrong - but no one seemed phased by the appearance of 3 clearly non-Muslim men in the mosque.  I really enjoyed the experience, actually.  The service had a very strong calming effect, and the long breaks between chants provide plenty of time for reflection or prayer (here I am showing my ignorance of Muslim tradition).

As if I hadn't already had a full day, a small contingent of students and professors decided to walk to the outskirts of town, following one of the main freeways.  Strangely, this freeway is paved entirely in brick.  The road is lined with palms trees, and one portion runs beside a huge orange grove.  The road seemed mostly abandoned - I'm assuming because it was Friday.

We stumbled upon a ceramics studio after a few kilometers' walk, which we took an opportunity to visit.  My wallet will probably regret that decision until the day I die.  We were greeted by a very friendly man named Kemal, who offered to give us a demonstration of the production process for the ceramics made there.  The master potter turned out an egg dish and a small pot in about 3 minutes' time, and then proceeded to make a perfectly fitting top for the pot without taking a single measurement.  The seam between the top and the pot were literally almost invisible.  He then offered to let one of the group try their hand at the wheel - an offer I was more than happy to accept.  To make a long story short, I won't be a master potter in the foreseeable future. It definitely did give me an appreciation for what it takes to make the intricate and beautiful shapes that are quite standard there, though.

Running down the middle of the same room was a line of tables, a woman at each table, painting different elements onto fired 'bisks'.  The master painted hand paints each outline, and each progressing painter fills in a couple of colors (all by hand).  The pieces they were working on were designed by the master painter, and resembled an extremely colorful and intricate peacock feather design, repeated over the entire surface of the plate and bowls.

Kemal demonstrated how defective pieces are detected - a strong flick should produce a bell-like ringing sound.  Any piece that makes a dull 'thud' when struck has a void or bubble somewhere in the clay, or one of the 3 layers of glaze and paint.  This test must be done on each piece after it has been both painted and fired - the only work left to do after testing is pricing.  Kemal said that approximately 20-30% of completed pieces are defective and will, given time, crack even without use.  Nearly 1 in 3 of the painstakingly painted and glazed pieces is destroyed.

Out next stop was the showroom, which was absolutely cavernous.  Kemal said they had 'over 10,000' pieces on display - and I think that is a very conservative estimate.  There were probably 15 rooms, walls and tables completely packed with beautiful pieces.  Each room had a theme - for example, one contained turquoise glazed pieces, another Hittite style, another peacock feather patterns. I left with three plates, costing me more Lira than I should post online.  I will post photos of two - the other is a surprise for someone, so it won't see the light of day until its box arrives in the US.

Dinner, again, was amazing - since we were paying for our own meals, there were considerably fewer appetizers.  Being on the up end of an exchange rate is really handy - eating suddenly becomes affordable, and I can eat like a king for maybe 15 TL, which is about $10.

I expected dinner to signal the beginning of the end of the night - I couldn't have been more wrong.  As a small group of us walked toward the hotel, we happened to run into a group of men we had met earlier in the day.  We set to talking, and somehow ended up deciding that Ibrahim (Ibo) and I should do some Turkish wrestling in the middle of the square.  Turkish wrestling isn't unlike sumo wrestling - it's a pushing game rather than grappling.  Ibo trains for Turkish oil wrestling, which is apparently a serious sport here (the national championship is actually in Selçuk).  I was quite sure he was going to destroy me, but I somehow came out the victor, despite the fact that we both ended up on the ground after I pushed him back 4-5 meters.  I guess the old linemen's drills from football finally came in handy!  He wants a rematch, and Ali has wagered one day's use of his scooter if I win again.

The men in the group we were with are all related - their family owns 5 shops and a restaurant near the beginning of the market street, all bunched together.  Marco runs a rug shop, Musa the textile shop, Ali sells lamps and souvenir ceramics/ibriks/ odds and ends, and Ibo works in the leather shop.  The other names are escaping me at the moment, and I'm certain I've butchered the spellings of the ones I can remember.  But it's really something to see such a close knit family, doing business part of the day and playing backgammon the rest of the day.  One would think they are just a group of 5 friends who happen to work together.  They are very friendly to all of the HISA students, and Musa has promised to teach me to play Backgammon - all in all, wonderful and welcoming people.

Today (Saturday) has mostly been spent in the market.  The streets for several blocks around the mosque and market street are blocked off each Saturday for a massive open air market.  It's like a Turkish flea market on steroids. There is a massive (maybe 1 entire block) area devoted entirely to produce, meat, and cheese - every fruit you can imagine, twice as large as you've ever seen it.  I picked up a pomegranate that was literally 2/3 the size of a basketball.  The rest of the market is clothing, purses, etc - mostly name brand, all knock offs.  It was here that I found the inspiration for the title of today's post.  Kara was haggling quite aggressively for a wallet.  Originally the seller said 30 Lira - Kara worked him down step by step.  She insisted she would pay no more than 10 Lira.  He went to 25, 20, 15, then even 12 before giving in.  Just before we left, I offered the pomegranate I was munching on to the salesmen - and he actually accepted it.  Thus, her wallet cost 10 Lira, and one pomegranate.

On my way to the hotel after lunch, another man stopped me in front of his shop.  He asked if I was with the school group, and if we were studying art.  He then offered to give an explanation of the symbolism and methods of making Turkish rugs and textiles, and explained that we were more than welcome to hang out in his new shop any time, even if we weren't buying anything.  I think some of the students have gotten explanations from the merchants they purchased rugs from, but I am definitely going back to hear Aiden's version.

I can't post photos right now, the internet here is running at a slug's pace.  I probably won't be able to post photos until I get back next Friday - but I plan to keep trying.  Unfortunately I don't have any photos from today's market excursion - I was told that many of the women here don't appreciate being photographed, so I sided with caution and kept the camera in the pack.

My address, for those interested

I finally have an address for my current location.  I will be living here until December 10th or so.

Charley Helms
c/o Barry Tagrin - HISA
Box 11
Parikia, Paros, Cyclades 84400, Greece

Keep in mind that the combination of international shipping and Greek island post means that it can take anywhere from 3-5 weeks for packages, and probably nearly that for letters - so if you intend to send something, do it before mid November to make sure I'm actually here to get it.

If you want to cough up the international phone rate, I have a Greek cell phone number as well - email me and I'll be happy to send it to you.  It's free for me if I'm receiving the call, so I can talk as long as your wallet holds out :)

Delos and Mykonos - from the birthplace of Apollo to Petros the Pelican

Although I'm a few days behind in posting my last couple of entries, our class took a trip to the islands of Delos and Mykonos, for a combination of historical site seeing (Delos) and plain old tourism (Mykonos).

An 8 AM boat ride in marginally rough seas normally sounds terrible, at least to a land-lubber like me.  Although I sometimes wish I was a fisherman or sea boat captain of some sort, the truth is that I will probably always be a mere passenger.  If the appearance of the sea wasn't enough, one of the professors was handing out Dramamine (or something like it) to anyone even slightly concerned about motion sickness.  Despite all of that, most of us were actually in good spirits.

The ferry we took to Delos was considerably smaller than the car ferry we took from Athens to Paros.  This boat was perhaps 70' long, and held maybe 150 or 200 passengers (assuming all the seats are ever filled).  I thought smugly when boarding 'this boat is a catamaran design, it doesn't matter what the ocean is like, we'll be fine!'  Somehow Greece has a way of working any hubris right out of me, because that boat rocked like a bucking bronco.  From the lower (inside) deck, the keeling was significant enough to fill the view from one side's view entirely with sky, while simultaneously filling the other side with a view of waves.  The top deck, maybe 15 or 20 feet from the surface of the water, we were splashed on multiple occasions.  Amazingly, despite the fact that I didn't take Dramamine, and that all but perhaps two of our group are certified land lubbers, only one person out of 30 got seasick.  Most of us actually enjoyed the ride, as long as we didn't try to walk while the boat was under way.

Arriving at Delos was a strange experience.  The place has been uninhabited for centuries, yet miles of low stone walls still criss cross the extremities of the island.  As we neared the sacred harbor, dozens of ruins of buildings and temples came into view, extending from the base of mount Kynthos all the way to the sea (there are actually some columns whose bases are still lapped by the surf).  There is a significant ancient neighborhood, remarkably intact, near the debarkation point for the ferries.  Within the walls of the homes, interior plaster is still visible in places, and a few of the more opulent homes still show beautiful mosaic floors. One displays some rather devious looking dolphins, others resemble rugs, and others have various nautical or religious themes. 

The effect of so many remarkably intact ruins is eerie.  It would seem more appropriate for the island to have been abandoned 50 years ago, not several times that number.  Some of the streets and alleys still seem to cling to the liveliness and bustle they held when Delos was a trading city, filled with rich merchants and foreign travelers.  I almost expected to see a child duck his head from one of the doorways, or to see someone draw water from the cisterns located in each home. 

Since the 5th Century BC, two specific acts have been forbidden on the island - birth and death.  Due to the sanctity of the island, as the mythical birthplace of Apollo and (sometimes) Artemis, much of its most ancient history is purely religious or ceremonial.  Thus there is a disproportionate number of temple ruins on Delos.  It has also been the site of pilgrimages for centuries - Homer even composed his "Hymns" here, on the top of Mount Kynthos.  The spot is marked with a short concrete pillar, which also happens to be my favorite part of the island.  The view here, ruins aside, is astounding - and the intensity with which the wind buffets you there is both entertaining and frightening - it almost seems as though an angry god is attempting to cast you from his mountaintop.

The island is as barren now as it was in ancient times, but it still carries an odd beauty all its own.  Looking over the Aegean to Mykonos from atop Mount Kynthos, I can begin to understand what inspired Homer so many centuries back.  It would be hard not to at least try to write hymns to the deity responsible for such a sight.

Mykonos was somewhat more typical of the Cyclades - a beautiful island, a picturesque town, filled to the brim with tourists.  Mykonos features a harbor deep enough for massive cruise liners, and there were three there on Sunday.  Like Naoussa on Paros, Mykonos seems to have at least something of a fishing community still thriving, and seafood was definitely prominent on every menu there.  After lunch, I conned a few fellow students (Marissa, Drew, Alex) into wandering in the general direction of 'up, and away from the tourists.'  We got to follow a mountain road with a view of the sea the entire way - and along the way we saw homes with what must be some of the best views in the world.

I believe that's about enough for now, it's nearing 6 AM here and I have noticed that there is an exponential relationship between sleep deprivation and stupid typos/grammatical errors in my blogging.

Pictures will be added soon!