Peter and I crossed a broad swath of the Peloponnese on Thursday, stopping in Nauplion, Greece’s first capital, for a brief tour of that city’s imposing acropolis called the Palamiri. Built by the Venetians in 1714, it was completed by the victorious Ottoman Turks, who themselves were ejected by an elite force of Greek revolutionaries in 1822. This vast and seemingly impenetrable edifice is emblematic of the struggle for modern Greek statehood.
Our trusty VW carried us through the eastern Argolid and down a steep descent to the port town of Kosta, where we caught a high-speed “taxi” across the narrowest stretch of the Saronic Gulf to the small, pine-clad island of Spetses.
Much has changed since I first arrived here in 1979, a young student of the classics and archaeology living alone in Athens. Spetses was my weekend refuge from one of the world’s great cities. Today, regretfully, it is a refuge for Greece’s jet set—my grandmother’s quaint, underpopulated island is now a heartlessly bustling place, replete with $100-million-dollar yachts, astonishing villas, fancy bars...and the locals, who endure it all stoically. This is someone’s idea of “progress.”
And yet much of the island’s special character and beauty—which is so nicely described in John Fowles’s masterpiece The Magus—remains in evidence.
We were warmly received by my uncles Kyriakos and Yianni, treated as guests in their oceanside hotel. Through the years I have maintained a special relationship with my mother’s younger first cousins, who treat me in a princely fashion.
——
The object of this visit is my participation in the Spetses Mini-Marathon, a highly competitive 25-kilometer road race, 5000 meter open-ocean swim, and festival of endurance athleticism. The island’s population will increase by nearly 10,000 souls before it all ends on Sunday.
A lack of sleep and too much eating has resulted in a slight reversal of my “edge” but otherwise I’m ready for this incredibly hilly course on Sunday morning. The last time Peter served as my support team, over twenty-five years ago, I won my first marathon in a very credible sub-2:40 performance. My goals are less lofty on the cusp of age sixty—and yet the competitive juices are already flowing.
We spent the day on tour, circling the island on scooters, stopping at several of my favorite beaches. We swam inside the famous cave of Bekiri, where your skin glows in luminescent blue; passed the evidence of the devastating 2017 forest fires; viewed Goldfinger-like villas with heliports and super yachts; and ended our day at the island’s highest point, the Old Calendarist nunnery, where I lit a candle for my dear sister Dyan who is struggling in a battle with cancer. I think she would take some comic pleasure in knowing that her baby brother is praying for her at a “heretic”institution.
An early dinner and a vain attempt at sleep in the din of the town, where the restaurants serve patrons until 2 am or later.
No comments:
Post a Comment