Nia and I began the penultimate leg of this fall’s journey in Greece, setting north through the Peloponnese, traversing the high mountain ranges separating Messinia from Arkadia via the new (2004) National Highway. The highway itself is a story: built for the 2004 Olympics, it eliminates what was once an arduous track of hairpin turns, narrow roads, and steep drops largely unprotected by guardrails or signage.
The little shrines on
so many corners, their burning candles illuminating the victim’s patron saint,
dot the landscape. In the old days, the remains of burned out vehicles--cars and busses--could
be observed hundreds of meters down dizzying embankments, a testament to poor Balkan roads and its reckless drivers.
Today’s highway hazards are mostly limited to one’s fellow motorists. Nearly all Greeks assume they are contestants in some kind of fatalist auto rally, that they must pass the vehicle ahead of them at all costs. And for this reason, Greece has among the highest percentage of road fatalities anywhere in Europe.
And, of course, it is easy to get drawn into the competition, taking risks one would rarely entertain back home, wherever home is.
Thankfully, my daughter’s breathlessness engendered a higher level of caution in me, the driver--for which her mother, siblings, and friends are all appreciative.
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We exited the National Away at Sterna, north of Tripoli, proceeded past miles of citrus plantations, and made our way into the grimy market town of Argos. The general area of Argos is said to be the original home of the Argyitis family, hundreds of years earlier, and hence our (maternal) family name. Family lore says that two children who survived a massive earthquake in the village of Astros were adopted by a Spetses family. The family, therefore, has two names: Argytis e Yamari. (The Yamari family adopted the child
We through and past Nauplion, which was Greece’s first capital in 1832. Nauplion is itself a lovely place, with the Palamidi, a fort atop a rocky citadel that has been occupied through the ages, with its 999 steps, which hangs over the modern city.
And, of course, the Bronze Age sites of Mycenae and Tiryns, with their Cyclopean walls and their long legacy of Homeric tales.
From Nauplion, the road deteriorates into a winding track through an impressive range of mountains, past massive sets of windmills, and then down-down-down to the Saronic Gulf, in which pine-clad Spetses lies, along with several other notable islands: Hydra, once home to Leonard Cohen and other children of the 1960s; Poros; and a few sleepy coastal towns of particular note--Methoni and Ermioni.
We parked the car in a secure lot in the village of Kosta, then dashed to catch the old rusty, slightly-listing-to-portside clunker car ferry. Although, theoretically, there are no cars on Spetses, the ferry brings construction vehicles and ever more godforsaken mopeds, motorcycles, and the like. And the exceptions to rule: Mercedes and BMWs that are owned by the super-rich. The ferry ride, lasting all of 15 minutes, brings this beautiful, verdant island into focus slowly and gracefully.
The first thing one notices are the super yachts anchored just offshore. These are not your run-of-the-mill million-dollar vessels; rather, these are $100+ million dollar behemoths: massive ships that demonstrate the unmistakable wealth that circles these eastern Mediterranean islands. They are owned by shipping magnates, sheiks, kings, and mafioso types.
It was a relief to land, to walk the village streets that I first came to know in 1979 as a young archaeology/classics student living in Athens. I spent so many weekends on Spetses. Surely, I have arrived at the Dapia, the small town harbor, more than 50 times in my 62 years of life, first as a bright-eyed 19-year-old.
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My Uncle Kyriakos, a former tanker captain and one of my mother’s first cousins from a large family, greeted us and showed us our accommodations. We are staying in a lovely, private downstairs villa that is but a ten-minute walk from town.
In true Spetses fashion, Nia and I were fed copious amounts of food. All we should have done was nap after lunch, but instead we walked through the warren of tiny streets and alleyways, down through the Old Harbor, to my nearest, favorite swimming spot called Garyfalos.
A fellow swimmer asked if a small blob in the aquamarine might be a jelly fish (tsoukras) but I assured her, with full authority, that in my 42 years of visiting the island, I had never encountered a jelly fish.
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| Just after a jelly fish sting |
I was promptly stung by a jelly
fish. But I was no worse for the wear--and fortunate not to have been stung in the face.
Spetses Mini Marathon Weekend
This marks the tenth
running of the Spetses Mini Marathon, which is much more than just the 25km
race that I'm entered in. It includes 5K and 10K runs, kids runs, and variety
of swimming events--500, 1500, and 3000 meters, and the ultimate: a 5000-meter swim to the
mainland and back.
Athletes are arriving in
droves--with a mandate that only the vaccinated can participate. The main venue
is set up on the waterfront, in front of the 19th-century Poseidon Hotel, an
elegant Victorian structure.
Here are some images from around
the gathering area, near the port.
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| The Dapia, with sea taxis |
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| My grandmother's favorite sweet shop, since 1858 |
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| Signs of the coming race |
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| Dapia harbor |
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| Poseidon Hotel, staging area for the race |
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| Medical tent...to avoid |
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| Ambulance...to avoid |
A
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| Ain't afraid of no Turks |
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| Cannons from the 1820s |
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| Morning rain, clearing afternoon |
The Monastery—Αγια
Μονη Παντον
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| Entrance to the walled monastery |
We woke this morning to a steady
rainfall, the first significant rain on Spetses since last year. We headed off with a set
of broken umbrellas up the mountain to the nunnery with which my family has had a long,
multigenerational relationship. The Argytis family are long-time patrons and protectors of the 28 nuns and their community.
We were greeted by the abbess, who recognized me from my many years of visits there. We were left alone in the chapel, which was illuminated by a single beeswax candle, allowed to explore the far corners, including a small adjoining vestry and a mini-chapel within the chapel. The frescoes and the hand-painted icons are distinctive works of religious art in the Byzantine tradition. They tell the stories of both Old and New Testament.
The abbess asked Nia (in Greek), “Do you speak any Greek” to which my daughter answered, without a moment's hesitation, “I speak very little Greek.” The abbess smiled and made a pronouncement: “So, you do speak Greek! Bravo, child.”
We were treated to coffee and loukoumi (so-called Turkish delight) and were off for a coffee date back in the village. Is was the third of six coffee visits.
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| Local fruit and vegetable market |
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| Narrow village streets |
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| First rain in 13 months |
On the way down, we were passed by a man on a moped, riding at a good clip, with a donkey tied off to his back seat, running to keep up with him. Alas, I fumbled for my camera, but man and beast were gone in a moment, disappearing into a line of cypress trees.
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| One special kid and her Baba in our mountain village of Akritohori |
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