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.