The Long and Winding Road

On Saturday, our last full day in the islands, we found ourselves with a full free day. Having spent the last couple of days on the very quiet island of Antiparos, we decided to explore a little further afield. After an early afternoon visit to Antiparos's famous cave (previously visited by Lord Byron, whose etched his name in the limestone, along with thousands of others, for posterity), we hopped on the ferry to Paros, only a quick ten minute jaunt across the water. From there you can catch the bus to the port town of Parikia.

Usually, the buses are scheduled to line up with the ferries, but at this point no bus was in sight. I checked out the schedule posted, and saw two distinct schedules listed side by side. Handily, the titles of these two schedules were written only in Greek, despite the fact that there was an English translation of everything else. To further confuse matters, the only difference between the two schedules was that one listed a bus departin at 13:25 - coincidentally the time of our arrival - and one did not. Hmm...

After waiting around for fifteen minutes, I grew impatient. No one else loitering around the stop was Greek, and they seemed to have complete faith that a bus would come. But me, I don't always like waiting. As usual, I decided I'd rather walk, and convinced Michael we should make a go for it.

"How far away is Parikia?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know. But it can't be that far. It was what, maybe a fifteen minute bus ride?"

Thus we found ourselves walking along a road with no shoulder, clearly not meant for pedestrian traffic. But we had scarcely gone two minutes when a van pulled to a stop alongside us.

"Where are you going?" asked the driver. "Parikia? I can get you half way there."

We clambered aboard, joining the two other passengers, who, it turns out, were on their way to the Paros tennis club.

"It's the finals today. Romania against Croatia. Who are you for?"

When I paused to think, the driver encouraged, "Go for Romania!"

"He likes the Romanian best," the man sitting next me informed us.

"And you?" I asked. But it turned out our fellow riders were the referees for the match - no favorites allowed.

Before long we had reached the club, and waved good-bye to our Good Samaritan driver. Ahead of streched the long, winding, shoulder-free road. Thankful for the ride, we realized we would have had wuite a long walk had they not come along.

Almost an hour later, after much grumbling about dodging the traffic, not knowing where we were, tired feet, and hunger, we made it to the old town of Parikia around 3:00. Famished, we sat down at a waterfront bar for fantastic dolmades and souvlaki pitas. It's amazing what a good meal can do for one's mood.

Going Greek

Traveling off season in Greece can be a delight. For around 20 euros per night we ended up with a deluxe room in Antiparos complete with a large terrace overlooking the harbor. Not bad!

Of course, this is Greece, and luxury can have a different meaning here when away from the four star hotels and glitz of the high end resorts. In our bathroom, a sign kidly posts in Greek and English, "Do not put paper in the toilet". Instead, one should toss it in the garbage, so as to avoid clogging the plumbing. Our hotel proprietor, Vassilas, also made sure to let us know that we should not drink the tap water. And our shower is little more than a showerhead that hangs waist high on the wall next to the toilet. There is no curtain, only a small raised tile border to let you know where the theoretical shower walls would go. Of course, the spray covers almost the entire bathroom floor when showering, nevermind the tile border. But since the entire room is encased in tile, it doesn't seem to much matter.

The town of Antiparos itself is in process of shutting down for the winter. While the weather is still lovely, tourists are few at this point, and a walk through town finds entire streets devoid of any life other than the occasional cat. A select number of tavernas open in the evening for business. Last night we did dinner the Greek way, and headed to a place far off the waterfront that Gary had recommended. As we enjoyed our mezes of Greek salad, tsatziki, and saganaki, Vassilis and his wife came and took a table across the patio, and not too much later Gary and his Bulgarian girlfriend also stopped by for a leisurely meal. On the way back, we spotted Andy and Leonie, our diving buddies, at another bar. Here, in the course of one night out, we managed to run across every person we know on Antiparos without even trying.

It is nice when most of the people out and about are locals rather than tourists, though. Late this afternoon, we watched as the old men of the village made their way to the tables outside the cafe of the town square. Talking loudly and playing backgammon, this appeared to be the Friday night ritual. Or - who knows? - perhaps it's every night's ritual. The pace of life is slower here, and I could easily see the Greeks taking the time for a regular chat in the evenings.

In the mid-afternoon, all but a couple of small markets and waterfront restaurants are closed tight. It's siesta time (the Greek equivalent, at least). In the heat of summer, of which I've been fortunate enough not to experience personally, I'm sure this is a welcome respite from the overbearing sun. Everyone age two to ninety-two can be seen out after the sun goes down, as late as midnight and beyond.

We've adapted pretty well to the laid-back lifestyle, I'd say. After today's dives, we took in a slow lunch, showered, and ambled down the road for a walk around the northern tip of the island. Other than reading on our terrace and heading out for another two hour dinner, not much else is on the day's schedule. We are temporary Greeks; all we need is to learn how to play backgammon, and I think we're set.

New Depths

"Can you make out that thin white line there on the shore?" our dive instructor asked.

We squinted across the waves while our boat rocked in the breeze. "Yeah, I think so."

"That's Tom Hanks' house," he told us.

"Really?" I was a little incredulous. But apparently Mr. Hanks had the house built last year, and the family spent seven weeks there this summer, including some time spent diving with his sons and your truly, our dive instructor, Gary, from Blue Island Divers, the only dive school on Antiparos. And it seemed that we were about to dive in one of the same spots the famous actor had tried.

It was our second stop of the day, between two tiny, rocky island between Antiparos and Paros, both uninhabited, but one with a tiny white chapel perched on the shore. Weddings have been held there, no doubt due to its impossibly scenic location, with the wedding party being transported by boat for the ceremony. While windy on the surface (typical for the Cycladic Islands), once submerged the water is calm and clear. How clear? I'd guess at least fifty feet, probably more. Even without the help of contact lenses or glasses, I was awed by the world of craggy orange rocks carpeted in delicate white and green seaweed, dotted with plush purple sponges, sea cucumbers, and the occasional urchin or seastar. We found a shy octopus at home in his tiny rock cave, doing his best to blend in with the scenery, and a moray eel peeked its small head out from its hole hesitantly as we swam our way around the island with the chapel. Small fish, including wrasse and pork fish, swam to and fro in the aquamarine sea.

It was Michael's and my first time diving together. The previous time we'd tried, about four years ago in Kauai, a cold had prevented him from doing anything more than snorkeling. This time, we both made it below, although I had a momentary panic attack when I first entered the water. I couldn't seem to get a good grip on the regulator with my mouth, I lost a fin, and my mask was taking in water. Back when I first learned to dive I found myself facing unexpected fears when it came to breathing underwater, and in a split second I felt those old fears come flooding back. But with a different pair of fins, kindly lent me by Leonie, our boat mate who was spending today's trip at the surface due to an especially sore back, and the realization that I simply needed to tighten my mask, my fears evaporated and I was floating down into the magical blue world below.

"Oh, yeah," I thought to myself. "This is why I like diving!"

"Maybe we should have done six dives," Michael told me when we were back at our apartment, washing up. I could tell he was enamoured, having had his first chance to dive in warm water.

I smiled. Six dives? Maybe. But right now I still have two more to look forward to tomorrow, and I can hardly wait.