Friday, June 1
Today brought quite an epiphany. We finally learned, after weeks of wondering, why our beautiful, huge apartment is so affordable. The cute little adjacent street where our weekly laiki is held is well-known in Athens as the brothel street. We live in the brothel district. Slowly, many previously discarded observations came into clear focus. The handful of peculiar empty storefronts, with painted windows and closed door, old man stationed out front, suddenly made sense. For the first time we noticed the oddly-named "Cafe Taste Me," located next to the cute little shop where we bought all our household supplies, that only seemed to open after midnight. And just last week, when we walked the entire length of the street on our way home one day, I had sensed something off in the way the sidewalks were populated with a disproportionate amount of young men who looked as us strangely. We had also thought it odd that every taxi driver in the city seemed to know exactly where we lived, even though it is a tiny street.
Coral was thrilled to find this out from her friend, Iason, when he came to pick us up for a movie. It is a funky wrinkle in our adventure, I suppose. And it doesn't really affect us directly. Any activity that goes on is very discreet, and seems to occur further down the road, not in our immediate vicinity. The street is still rather quaint, lined with trees and full of nice-looking old buildings. In fact, after learning of the brothels, we took another walk, trying to figure out which balconies belonged to legitimate apartments and which did not, but it was very hard to distinguish. And our street still seems very old-fashioned. It is stocked with families of all shapes and sizes. There are young couples, whole extended families and a never-ending supply of old ladies who hold conversations across the way with each other as they water their plants or hang up laundry. The old men gather at the cafenaio at the end of the street. And there is a young girl in our building who, in the traditional way, is forced to have trysts with her boyfriend on the entrance steps, for it would be improper for her to leave the building alone with him and she can't very well stay with him in the apartment. It's all very cozy, really.
Sunday, June 3
Yesterday we went to Psiri, a newly-revitalized area cushioned between tourist-ridden Plaka and market-driven Monastiraski. It was fantastic! Coral said it used to be a sketchy area, and I certainly don't remember it being touted as anything remarkable when I was here three years ago. But now it transforms at night into an adorable, hip area with suprisingly sophisticated and inventive restaurants. It may be my new favorite spot in Athens. We ate at a place called Oineas, where Coral had gone a few nights before for Iason's birthday. It was delicious food, more sophisticated than typical taverna food, but with many of the same super-fresh ingrediants.
Today we ventured to Kaisariani Monastery. It's not too far, practically in the city, but is set off against a hilltop in a beautiful natural area. It's a great escape. Unfortunately, as such it's also difficult to get to without a car. Last time I went there, I took a bus that dropped us off about a half-hour hike away, but we set off in entirely the wrong direction. There are no signs to guide you until you're practically on top of the place. This time, we took the trolley, which dropped us off nowhere near the monastery.
Fortunately, I had my trusty city map. Unfortunately, it ended at Kaisariani. We started walking in the general direction of the mountain, and had a lovely tour of some tiny neighborhoods perched precariously on steep hillsides. But we were still lost. Eventually, some old ladies pointed us in the right direction, and two hours later we were on the monastery grounds. Needless to say, we were exhausted, hungry and hot, and our first visit was to the shade of a tree, where we rested and ate some bread and fruit. When we went to explore the monastery, we found out it had closed half an hour earlier! Ah well. At least we got some exercise and escaped the city for a few hours. We had planned to hike some mountain trails behind the monastery, but were too tired to venture any further than a tiny, makeshift outdoor church of sorts.
Monday, June 4
It was a holiday today, and after yesterday's hot hike we were looking forward to taking full advantage of the time off to go to a beach. So we headed out to Sounio, a cape on the southeast corner of Attica with a famed temple to Poseidon, perched atop a dramatic cliff. It's proportedly the best place in Greece to see the sunset. And the rocky terrain below the temple makes for some great beaches. The beaches were the first thing we visited, and we almost immediately dove into the clear - yet freezing cold - water. The coastline was full of little caves and rocky inlets, and we swam to two of them, covering an exhausting distance only to be smashed against rough sandstone rocks as we tried to come ashore. But it was worth it for the amazing scenery. We laid out on some rocks to dry off and decided to try to scale the cliffside and hike, rather than swim, all the way back. So, barefoot, we climbed. It was painful, but very satisfying when we reached the top. Then began a slow, painful journey along a path of tiny, sharp rocks that lodged into the bottom of our feet. I gave up about a third of the way back and waited for Coral to return with my shoes. What can I say, I'm a wimp.
We lunched on a small, semi-hidden beach that had been previously occupied by some male nudists who seemed to have gone. They returned, however, a little while later. I collected sea glass while Coral read, then went for a short hike with my camera. We left at around 6 p.m., climbing to the temple to watch the sunset, which was quite nice but a bit obstructed by gale-force winds that consistently pelted us with sand. As soon as the sun sank behind a mountain ridge, we ran down to the bus stop. I had heard that the final bus left right after sunset, and that there was often a mad rush to get a seat. But there was no bus. In fact, it appeared the last bus had left half an hour ago. The only options were to walk to the nearest town to get an overpriced hotel room, rent an expensive taxi to take us to the next biggest town, or beg one of the large tour buses full of Germans to give us a ride back to Athens.
Naturally, we did the latter. Coral, bless her, approached the leader of the tour group, a German teacher with hardly any English, and managed to get us a seat on the bus, wedged among remarkably fashionable German high school students who pretty much ignored us the entire way to Omonia, where they so graciously dropped us off.
Monday, June 18
THESSALONIKI - Our grand three-week tour of the hinterlands of northern Greece began today on the midnight train to Thessaloniki. We sat around all day, twiddling our thumbs, waiting until the late train so we could get a sleeper cabin, only to find out when we arrived at the station that the cabins required reservations and were full. Fortunately, we were able to sweet-talk our way onto the train anyway, and the conductor who let us on was actually a very nice man. He put us in a cabin with two other young girls, and when a sketchy old man tried to join us, he quickly came over and whisked him away. Coral and I slept on the upmost beds, although I use the word sleep lightly, for it was hard to do with the overhead light on and the sweltering closeness of the cabin. I think eventually I managed to sleep two or three hours of the seven-hour ride.
When we arrived, we lugged our stuff to a cheap hotel and fell onto the beds for what was meant to be a short nap but evolved into a much-needed three-hour rest. We ventured out for breakfast at a cafe then headed for the city's acropolis, wandering through the old town and stopping at a church along the way, Agiou Dimitriou. It is a fantastic church. We visited each icon, climbed the balcony and explored the underground crypt. The church was built atop the ruins of a Roman bath where St. Dimitrios was imprisoned and killed, and where secret Christian gatherings were held. The old town around it was also quite nice. Steep, winding streets and plenty of Turkish architecture to keep me happy. We reached the ancient fortress walls and explored within.
Famished from the climbing and heat, our first stop as we made our way down again was a taverna right across from the fortress walls. It barely looked open, but they sat us outside and fed us with the best taverna food I have ever had! Greek salad with sweet onions, fried eggplants with heavenly garlic dip. Mmm. Everything was cooked fresh by the owner's wife, a gracious woman who chatted with us briefly. After our feast, Coral went to the archaeological museum and I returned to the hotel to shower and rest again.
At about 10 p.m. we ventured out again to Ladadika, a trendy little cobblestone neighborhood, formerly run-down and filled with industries of ill-repute. It was quite quaint and beautiful. We ate at a quite disappointing taverna - Coral ordered something random that she had never heard of and it ended up being some fried meat byproduct, arranged tastefully on a pita surrounded by whipped yoghurt and topped with onions like some disgusting cake. The only redeeming part of the meal was the very large bottle of wine we ordered to go with it. After eating hardly anything and spending hours in the sun, we got quite tipsy and sat there chatting for hours. Then we moved on to a tiny bar blasting Greek music. It was quite cozy and dark, with tall red candles illuminating an old faded mural on the wall. We each had a drink then returned to the hotel and fell into a deep sleep.
Tuesday, June 19
FLORINA - The best part of the day was the train ride to Florina. Before that, nothing much happened. We took a walk along the waterfront and I went to hang out at a cafe while Coral interviewed the director of Arkturos, the wildlife organization that works to track and rehabilitate bears. The bear sanctuary is on tomorrow's itinerary.
The train ride began auspiciously. After more than a month od constant sunlight and blue skies, dark clouds gathered overhead and burst open in rain just as we left the track. Across from us sat a man weathered with age, his face like knarled tree bark. He attempted to speak to us, kissing his fingers repeatedly in some odd gesture. I'm hoping he was saying something to the effect of "your shoulders are kissed with sun," but you never know. He didn't bother us again, though. He simply settled in with a cigarette and a can of Amstel. Behind us sat two rowdy groups who seemed to know each other, throwing around playful insults. The train was packed, but gradually emptied as it stopped at tiny villages, the stops marked only by rough slabs of concrete and small whitewashed huts with timetables painted on the side in red. It was a pretty small train, with shiny red leather seats and a muted grey metal interior. There are signs warning passengers not to jump out of the windows, and no smoking signs, which are promptly ignored.
The landscape is mesmerizing. Even the old man moves closer to the window to take a look. It is a landscape of lush valleys surrounded by yellow stark hills dotted with outcrops of rocks and the occassional green bush. In the background rise the majestic Pindos mountains, several shades of blue and grey, fading into the distance and the darkening clouds. Rounding a corner, the sun sets brightly behind a purple peak. Soon the clouds descend on the mountains, enshrouding them in a rolling mist. The only sound is the rhythmic click and roll of the train wheels against the track. The whole scene is mystical. The train disappears into tunnels, hidden behind rocks and trees, only to re-emerge into a new, beautiful landscape. The hillsides turn green, thick with trees. Olive, cypress, pine, and many more that I cannot name. It begins to rain again, and someone in another part of the train sings.
We soon reach the lakes. The water is the palest blue. Behind it rise the dark blue mountains. A cloud catches the setting sunlight and it eminates from within, reflecting back on a mountain which glows brown. Then the light falls across the lake in one wide beam, like moonlight. When we finally arrive in Florina 3 1/2 hours later, the sky is dark and overcast. The first thing we see is a huge white cross illuminated on a mountaintop overlooking the town. It is quite eerie, and apocalyptic. One of the train conductors leads us to our hotel, which is fabulous and quite luxurious compared to our Thessaloniki hotel. There is even music pumped into the elevator! After settling in we went to eat pizza and pasta in what was apparently THE hangout in town. Half the town's youth was congregated there. We had a delicious filling meal for a whopping $6. Then we slept cozily beneath heavy comforters in the cool mountain air.
Wednesday, June 20
FLORINA - We explored the town a bit this morning before venturing out to the bear sanctuary. We bought some bread and fruit then waited two hours for a bus to Amyntaios. There was plenty of activity at the bus stop to keep us occupied. We watched some amazing-looking traditional yia yias mingle with Orthodox priests while their worry-bead toting husbands sat on park benches. It was laiki day and people came from all around to stock up on fruits and vegetables. Then they loaded their things on buses and settled in for some serious gossip sessions. It provided for some good bus-ride entertainment, not that much was needed, for once again the scenery was fantastic. We passed fields of golden hay and other grains that extended for miles, interrupted by the occasional green trees and the blue peaks towering above.
When we got to Amyntaios, we had to wait another half an hour for a bus to Aetos, the small village where the Arkturos information center is located. With all this waiting and travel, it was growing quite late and Coral was getting anxious. The center closed at 5 p.m., and by the time we arrived it was already 3:30 p.m. But they were waiting for us and kept it open until we were finished. We got a tour of the information center, which had some ingenious educational exhibits for kids. Afterwards, a taxi took us up the mountain to Nymphao, where the actual sanctuary is located. When we arrived, we were very late and the biologist who waited for us, Demetrious, was very curt and prickly. But later he warmed to us and became one of Coral's favorite people from the trip.
First we visited an area that didn't look much different than a zoo, with all its wire fencing and roughly-hewn wooden fence. But there were quite a few bears who came right up to the fence. In fact, by the time we left we had seen 12 of the total 13 bears there. And Demetrious warmed to us so much that he took us off the visitor's path. Along the way, he explained the characters of them all. There was one female bear that kept pacing in a disturbing manner. She was a newcomer, he explained, evacuated from a zoo in Belgrade during the war, and still frightened and unaccustomed to her new freedom. Although the bears are still fenced in at the sanctuary, they have acres to roam around in and do not have any direct contact with humans. Their environment simulates the wild as much as possible, and the biologists try to train the bears to live in the wild and do things like sleep through the winter, which they never did while in captivity.
Among the other bears, there was a couple - a 7-year-old female brown bear and 16-year-old male American black bear rescued from a circus. The two of them spend all their time together, a very rare thing for bears who are usually solitary figures. Demetrious said they have a mother-son relationship, although "mother" is nine years younger than "son." Then there was Irini, a very curious young female bear who stood next to the fence on her hind legs, sniffing the air to check us out. And our final visit was to a 36-year-old blind male bear, the oldest in Europe. The fence near him was twisted in places, evidence of the wild bears who visit and try to fight with him.
But our greatest adventure of the day came after we had visited the bears. We had planned to hike down the mountain to Florina via a path marked on our maps. But because of the hour and the perennial fear of threatening Albanian immigrants, we were dissuaded. So Demetrious, along with a mysterious old man waiting in the sanctaury, gave us a ride down the mountain trail in his fume-laden four-wheel drive vehicle. It was INSANE yet fabulous at the same time. The dirt trail was barely wider than the vehicle, and he sped around corners at at least 60 miles an hour, over rocks, ruts and bumps. Once he barely avoided hitting a flock of goats which scattered just in time. It was so dangerous and crazy but, as he explained nonchalantly when he saw Coral and I exchange horrified glances in the rearview mirror, it is his daily commute and he knows the road well. The old man came in handy, calmy pointing out new road hazards and suggesting when to switch gears. Meanwhile, we got peeks at beautiful scenery, and occasionally he stopped to point out the mountains of Skopje, where guerillas lurk and lead their war, and Florina, instantly recognizable by the enormous cross.
Our fabulously terrifying ride ended in a little village famed for its old school house, Flambouro, where he screeched to a halt at the sight of a parked taxi and woke up the owner, who had been resting and showering at his father's house. We explored the village a bit while the taxi driver got dressed, drawing stares from everyone in sight. Then we had another beautiful ride back to our hotel in Florina. Tired and hungry, we barely had time to visit the bathroom before grabbing our cameras and running out again, searching for any photo opportunities in the fleeting sun. No rest for the roving reporter!
All day it had been raining off an on, and chilly with more dramatic apocalyptic clouds hovering close to the mountain tops. The effect was even more striking when we were in the old town along the babbling brook they call a river. The area was full of run-down Neoclassical buildings from the 1920s, advertised as the old "mansions" of Florina. We noticed a quaint-looking little taverna with a cheery yellow paint job and a sophisticated interior and stopped inside. At first we were the only customers and we had a horrid new waiter who wasn't too bright. Then people started streaming in, bearing plants. Priests arrived and as we were figuring out that it was the restaurant's opening night, the priests started a complex ceremony. What are the chances? The food was quite bad, but it was quite exciting to be a part of the blessing of a restaurant. There was a photographer there, so Coral felt free to take photos. And the photographer later took pictures of us, probably because we were the random American tourists. In fact, I think we were the ONLY tourists in Florina. We caught sight of a young German, but he left this morning.
Thursday, June 21
AGIOS GERMANOS - We got up at the crack of dawn to catch the 6:45 bus to Agios Germanos, but it turned out there was no bus today. Only every other day. So we ended up taking a very expensive but beautiful taxi ride through the mountains with a chatty driver who doubled as a tour guide. When we got to the village, which boasts a breathtaking location nestled between two mountains overlooking the Prespes lakes, it was 7:30 and the place was deadly quiet, very strange for a village populated by farmers and fishermen. We wandered forever searching for rooms, but the few that we found did not seem to be open. Eventually we went back to the first hostel we found and called several phone numbers listed on a business card taped to the door. Coral spoke briefly to a woman who said she would send he father-in-law, and almost instaneously an old man who had been watching from the shadows of a nearby door the entire time emerged and let us in. It seemed like it was all a test - he was waiting to see what the tourists would do. In fact, wherever we went in the village, people watched silently but offered no advice. We don't mind much. We figure the least we can do is provide entertainment.
The hostel room was adorable, traditionally furnished with hand-made wooden furniture and rugs. We rested a bit then went to what appeared to be the only open taverna for breakfast. We were served coffee and "sandwiches" - thick slices of fresh bread with feta cheese inside. Afterwards, we started walking to the lakes. It was a lovely, but long, walk and we had a friendly dog as our guide for most of it. We stopped at the Prespa information center and bought some books, running into the German tourist again. This time we talked to him briefly, discovering we had practically identical itineraries. Then we continued on down the road. The walk soon got tiring, but luckily a man in a floral delivery truck stopped and offered us a ride - going in the opposite direction! He was great, too; didn't even ask where we were from.
He dropped us off at the shore of the little lake, Mikro Prespa, and we walked along a long pedestrian bridge to the old monastic island of Agios Achillious. It was a pretty nice island - part church ruins, part wildlife sanctuary to tons of rare birds, including herons and pelicans. We hiked to a few churches. The best was the abandoned basillica for which the island is named. It had huge arches through which you could see the lake, mountains and uncharacteristically blue sky. Behind the ruins was a dock, the perfect place to watch birds in the reeds. Afterwards we hiked the length of the island to the disappointing ruins of a monastery. We did see water buffalo and cows grazing on the lake grasses, knee-deep in water, and more birds, which we finally managed to capture on film. We hiked back through the tiny island hamlet and met the handful of local inhabitants who were all gathered around the one kiosk on the island. We bought a snack and asked them to call a taxi for us. They could find no taxi. The one taxi number we had was for a driver who had recently died. They couldn't find anyone else, I suspect because they don't get off the island much. There seemed to be about 20 inhabitants and much inbreeding. Luckily, an ice cream delivery man happened to be among them and he graciously offered to drop us off at Psarades. We accepted, and I was stuffed precariously between seats in his cramped truck, our bag freezing in the back among the ice cream. Coral was pressed between the door and the ice cream man's partner, who was quite enjoying our company. Meanwhile, the box I was sitting on was gradually collapsing and I sank further and further down to the floor.
The first thing we did when we arrived at Psarades was decline the ice cream men's invitations to lunch and sneak out to a taverna alone for a quick bite. While we sat at the only open taverna in town, a busload of old Greek men and women dining nearby suddenly burst into song. They sang a traditional-sounding song about the roles of men and women in village life. It was wonderful, and really the only spirit we saw in the unusually quiet place. We later found out a villager had hung himself the day before.
After lunch, we went to the lakeside to get a boat ride on the big lake, Megalo Prespa. Psarades is the only Greek village where you can take a boat onto the lake, which also lies in the territory of Albania and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. As we were heading to a boat, our new German friend, Vorkan, ran down to meet us. We spent much of the ride chatting with him. We also saw cliff paintings of the Virgin and a monastery carved into the cliffside. The boat man, Pavlos, then took us way out of the way to visit a teeny little shrine. He didn't have much editorial comment to provide, except to repeatedly point out the shores of Albania and "Skopje." It was also quite wet and cold, but very enjoyable. We then returned to the same taverna for coffee with Vorkan. We was travelling alone, and glad for the company, it seemed. Afterwards the three of us went for a walk. First we went to take pictures of cows grazing near the lake, which Coral was convinced were the famous miniature cows of Psarades. We insisted they were normal size and that the small ones were calves, but she was unwavering. Whatever they were, they were a strange breed. They were very loud and aggressive - they actually chased us out of the field and fought with a dog that had begun to follow us around. They also seemed unusually adventurous. As we walked along the beach to explore caves we had seen by boat, we saw piles of cow manure EVERYwhere, even on the other side of caves that we had to squeeze through. The cave exploration was great fun, and although we only planned to visit a few, we couldn't stop. Eventually we turned back as the clouds started to get increasingly menacing. We said our farewells to Vorkan - although we will probably see him again - and returned to the taverna for a third time, dodging cows who were wandering loose around town - on the road, in cafes, perched atop walls. We had some dinner then got a taxi back to Agios Germanos. It felt so good to cozy up in our cute hotel room - just as it started to rain outside.
