Ikaria

Ikaria.  The place of legends and myths. Both where Icarus fell into the water when his wax wings melted by flying too close to the sun (or so says the myth), and where all good things originate (or so said my Papou).  Ikaria is an island that has recently come into some fame for being one of the "blue zones" where people disproportionately live to 100 or older.  It is a rocky island in the north Aegean, close to Turkey.  Its history is dotted with conflict with Turkey and political resistance by the people.  It is a quirky place, many small towns isolated from each other by the rough terrain and buffeted by the wild winds.  Despite its notoriety for longevity Ikaria is not highly trafficked by tourists, with most visitors having some tie to the island via family or history.  In the height of summer it is filled with Athenians escaping the heat and North Americans back to connect with their ancestral villages, but in June, when we were there it was still a bit sleepy. Robust tourist infrastructure is limited and that is both its charm and its curse.  After our epic day travel day through Mykonos we arrived, tired but invigorated, in the port of Agios Kirikos, where our Papou was born.  The original plan had been to land on the other side during the day, on the earlier ferry, and our lodging was a 90 minute drive away. With plans a bit askew, under the pitch black night sky, we crammed into two taxis and were ferried up and over and around the craggy mountainous road to the other side of the island, to Gialiskari, near the picturesque beach of Armenistis.

We arrived!

We spent the next five days wandering from our guest house to the beautiful crescent beach where we spent lazy days playing in the sun and the surf.  The "shortcuts" through the fragrant sage and scrubby pines were part of the adventure, and stopping to look at fishing boats and spear fisher's catch were highlights.

  

  

We punctuated our time at the beach with delicious meals, walks along the water, exploring the little town, making friends with a local potter, and playing tavli (backgammon).

The food in Greece is a highlight. It is fresh and flavorful.  There is usually something that everyone will enjoy and it is meant to be shared.  We were reminded, once again, what a wonderful destination Greece is for families.  There is an ease of travel while still being delightful and "different".  Despite decades of tourism the pace is relaxed and the people are warm and friendly, the beauty of the land and sea is undeniable, and the white washing of the buildings lends an aesthetic of beauty and communicates pride of ownership that encourages others to take care of the surroundings.

Playing Tavli

Just as the somewhat harrowing early morning drive over the mountain was fading from memory, it was time to load back up to spend our final week in the town of Agios Kirikos.  My brother and his family took the direct route back, while Leo and I loaded our kids and my parents into a mini European van, along with all our stuff, and took "the scenic" route.  The route was rough, remote, exposed, high.  Add any scary adjective pertaining to a road and it will fit.  The only thing missing was crowded (it was deserted) and wet (it was dry and hot).  It wasn't really that horrible, but has grown in retelling to epic proportions.  We spaced the day with stops in mountain towns and a traditional winery, but the dominant memory is of the driving, and YiaYia's white knuckles. 

Traditional earthen wine jugs.

Traditional gourd carafe with "straw"

Goat skin backpack. Is still a thing on Ikaria and we later saw it in action.

Yup, that is a goatskin bag hanging from the bike.

We had to drive across the top of the mountain which, we discovered, was still being constructed.  We think it was maybe still being constructed when we were here last 13 years ago.  The road got bumpier and more narrow as we headed further and further away from the last town.  The landscape was different than anything we had seen on the coast.  It was pine forests punctuated with just enough trickling water to nurture patches of lush green.  Eventually we came to the "other side" of the mountain and there was rejoicing. One riff that generated hysterics was the idea that Yia Yia's fitbit was recording her heart rate and as the roads got more and more remote and more and more sketchy the heart rate went higher and higher.  Another favorite part of the day was that our rental car came with a mixed CD of local music.  We quickly adopted "Gia ta matia sou mono" by Theologos Kappos as our theme song, subbing in our own lyrics to fit the moment.  Laughter cements memories. And these are good memories.

Of course, the rejoicing was before we saw the coastal road that led us to our destination.  It was high, twisty, narrow and exposed. We were flabbergasted when we looked at the steep hillsides that spilled down to the sea and noticed mile after mile of carefully stacked rock walls running along the barren soil.   We could not imagine how, or why, someone took the time and the effort to demarcate what looked to be unusable and undesirable land.  But this physical effort and life lived on the rocky hills is partly what has made Ikarians so healthy.  The blue zones are scattered around the world and there are some common themes, such as social connectedness, good food that is mostly plant based, and physical activity built into daily lives.  In Ikaria, by virtue of the physicality of the rocky mountainous island, but also due to the fact that it was target for marauding pirates, and frequent attacks from Turkey, locals built their homes up in the hills, despite depending on the sea for sustenance.  Consequently the environment requires constant walking up and down hills as you go about daily life.  Perhaps for this reason people, many, many years ago, thought nothing of toiling under the hot Aegean sun to painstakingly stack rock after rock in a serpentine line along their precipitous slice of land.

Only once home and looking at photos did I realize I did not take many pictures from the day, which sometimes is a great sign of being in the moment, or just too squished in a car.  But this gives a sense of the road, cut into the side of the mountain, with the sea far below.  

Agios Kirikos.  The town my Papou was born in in 1896, when it was under Turkish rule. The town where, as a boy he helped his father light the street lamps. The town from where he fled as a fourteen year old, travelling to Alexandria Egypt, to avoid being involved in conflicts with Turkey. Agios Kirkos is the commercial "hub" (I use that term loosely) of the island.  It's focus is less about tourism and more about regular life, but as everywhere on the island, its population swells and the energy sparks with the influx of Athenians and North Americans returning to the family town.

The bustling metropolis of Agios Kirikos.

Leo, working from his "office".

The "center" of town is on the main street on the water's edge. There there is a smattering of tavernas and restaurants where you can sit and sip your coffee or ouzo and visit with friends or play a game of tavli.  The kids played as the sun set and the town woke up.

A highlight of our time in Agios Kirikos was meeting up with Koula, my dad's first cousin.  Koula is the only cousin of that generation who lived in Greece.  My Papou along with all his brothers, except for one, made their way to America or Canada and created a life and had their families there.  Koula's dad stayed in Greece, as has Koula.  She spends her winters in Athens and summers back on the island.  Koula is in her eighties, swims in the ocean every day, speaks barely a world of English, has strong opinions about most things involving food, exercise, children, driving ... I suspect most things in fact.  She is also delightful.  Seeing her with my dad and my dad with her, the family resemblance in appearance and mannerisms strong and clear, was wonderful.  Koula took us to her favorite beaches, directed us to her favorite eating spots, and added a rich dimension to our time on the island.

Cousins two generations apart.
Check out the worry beads that V is handling like an old pro.

This is one of the beaches that Koula took us to. It was beautiful and we had it to ourselves.

On another day Koula shepherded us to a little seaside village of Faros that has restaurants perched on the beach.  We sat back as she directed the show, ordering dishes, turning her nose up at the quality of ouzo on offer, and fussing over the children's comfort.  Watching my brother choke down tiny bony fish, in fear of Koula's scolding, was worth every minute of effort to get to Ikaria.  The hilarity of seeing his face when the second course arrived and it was more "little fish", only slightly bigger, was amazing.  Time was expansive this evening.  The kids were happy to play on the beach and at the water's edge, we watched the sun set and the moon rise, we ate little fish and plates of salads and greens, and we laughed and talked and were grateful.

Koula led us to another destination that none of us had explored in all our prior visits to the island,  the Drakano Tower.  Perched at the north-eastern tip of the island, the Tower is a well preserved military watchtower built during the time of Alexander the Great in the 4th century BC! Makes our local fortress and towers built in the 1700s look positively infantile.  The Drakano tower is made of limestone and juts up into the sky, allowing for a high point from which to see all the Sea traffic sailing the channel between Ikaria and Samos.  We were amazed to learn, especially given the contemporary quality of wine, that Ikarian was once noted for its wine production and was a target for attacks, this tower part of the military protection.

That is Samos in the near distance and Turkey further off.

Our time in Agios Kirkos was spent tootling around with Koula, going to different beaches, exploring the town, going to the small homespun museum, and then the newer official museum that beautifully explains Ikaria's fascinating history, and taking an afternoon to walk to Therma.  Therma is a small town that was a bustling destination for centuries, renowned for its thermal hot springs, touted to cure many ills.  Now it is a bit crumbling and run down, but still a lovely walk from town and a relaxing place to spend the afternoon.

They opened the museum for us, another Koula facilitation.

Looking down towards Therma

At this point we said bye to Andrew, Patty and their kiddos, who were starting the journey back to Canada. Once again, Leo and I, the kids and my folks loaded into our little van, the mixed CD blaring, and headed BACK down the coast, on the nail biting road.  This time, we kept going. And going.  To the town of Manganitis.  To use perhaps the most over-used word of my blog, what an "adventure".

Manganitis. A teeny tiny dot of a village far down the southwestern coast of the island, separated from Agios Kirikos or any other villages by rough mountain passes and rugged coastline.  I have a strong memory of an early trip to Ikaria as a child, leaving the island by ferry in the dark, and stopping not long after leaving the main port, seemingly in the middle of nowhere with only a few twinkling lights scattered up the inky shadow of the rocky island as proof of inhabitants.  And then, hearing voices, and looking over the edge of the ferry to see a swinging ladder dropping to a small boat that was bobbing in the water.  People and their boxes and bags were transferring from the small fishing boat to the ferry, making the transfer a few hundred meters from the rocky shore and what was possibly the teeny town of Manganitis.  Until recently there was no road that connected Manganitis to the rest of the island, hemmed in by rock and ocean.  A few years back, so the story goes, villagers who had moved to the U.S. or Athens, grew frustrated that the long promised road was never built, and took it upon themselves to raise the funds to make it happen.  Making it happen is no small feat given the rocky terrain. The last section of the road is through a tunnel that was blasted through huge rocky bluffs, creating a picturesque frame for the entry to the village that spills down the hill to the small port of Sirtiko.

We enjoyed our couple of days in Manganitis. It felt like we had arrived at the end of the earth.  We wandered up and down the cobblestone roads, preferring to trust our feet rather than maneuver the treacherously steep and narrow lanes in  car.  The village had a flavor of abandonment with pockets of revival.  You could see homes that were being repaired by people who were returning to the village, or making a summer home, other properties were crumbling, starting the slide back to earth.  A small village store was run by a young couple who were making their lives there.  The huge boulders that seemed to be scattered across the landscape, as if a petulant God threw his marbles, begged to be explored and most certainly hid secrets from years gone by.   Pockets of verdant lushness was intermingled with scrubby pine and olive groves.  The church dominated the skyline, backed by the towering wall of mountain, and the small cove that served as the port housed bobbing fishing boats and two restaurants.

We stayed half way up the hill in some rustic rooms with stunning views.  Our host was a retired ship engineer who had returned to his village.  One morning he graciously hosted us on his deck for breakfast, after zipping down on his motorbike to the one store in town to buy more milk.  He then proceeded to warm the milk for the cereal...the kids were good sports and ate it, but with less than robust gusto.  With nothing to do but relax we spent our time playing backgammon, reading, and marveling that people lived and continue to live here.

We would wander down to the sea for our evening meals, once again reminded why people live so long on this island, walking vertical miles in a day.  The cove was a refuge along the island's coastline and there we enjoyed some good authentic food while V tried his hand at fishing as the sun set.

A few kilometers from the village is a beautiful beach called "Seychelles Beach", so named because it is reminiscent of the beautiful water of the Seychelles.  The beach is a secluded cove reached by hiking along a rocky path and scrambling across bolders.  Once at the water's edge the rocks turn to marble pebbles, creating an incredibly clear pocket of water.  

We are heading down, down, down.

The dedicated fisherman hiked with the bamboo fishing rod.

The final part of the walk requires inching around the rock to get to the cove.

Option two was to scramble down and then make a run between waves.

Starting the walk back up.

We finished our time in Manganitis appreciating that we made the effort to come to the end of the earth.  After embracing the quirkiness, the pace, the lack of amenities and wifi, we all felt it was a good experience and certainly forced an even deeper level of  settling into being relaxed and appreciative.  To cap off what felt like an experience that occurred in a time warp, we saw this man on our drive back to Agios Kirikos.  The famous Ikarian goat backpack in use!  Perfect.