Athens Aglow

The Greeks love the nightlife. Any day of the week, they can be seen strolling the streets, stopping in clubs, sipping drinks at sidewalk cafes, and heading out for dinner as late as midnight, with the entire family in tow. And Athens, at least in October, is the center of it all. In the islands I felt languid in the evenings, happy to dawdle over a slow-paced meal at a local taverna. In Athens, I felt energized, surrounded by hundreds out for a Sunday night on the town.

Michael and I wound our way through the ancient streets of the Plaka as dusk settled over the city. Without even trying, we found ourselves on top of Mars Hill, a glorious view of the Acropolis and the incredible urban sprawl of Athens at our feet. It was almost enough to take one's breath away.

After drinking in the view, we set off for a three course dinner on the move. First stop: gyros on the go. On traditional and one pork, along with a Coke 0 for Michael, for less than five euros. If only cheap, fast food in the U.S. could be so delicious!

Next up: gelato in the Psyrri district. Disappointingly, the gelato was not up to Italian standards. Plus, it cost more than our gyros! But we strolled the streets nearby as we ate every last lick, peering into clubs blasting house music from what looked like an English pub on the outside, to restaurant floors carpeted in carnation petals while the staff tidied up for the night, to ultra mod night spots where it was evidently still far to early, even on a Sunday, for a crowd to have gathered.

Wandering the back streets, I let Michael take charge, but not without first speculating, "Where are we going?" Instead of streets lined with stings of twinkling lights and crowded cafe tables, we were surrounded by dilapidated buildings dark alleyways.

But then, rounding a corner, we saw the perfect little bar for our final course - ouzo for Michael, campari for me. With orange walls and crazy lamps strung together out of bits of glass, old silverware, and curling scrap metal, we took our seats on tall stools at the open window. In the corner, a jazz band set up to play, and Athenians in their thirties gradually packed in the tiny spot while the DJ spun a variety of songs. We were, in fact, the only non-Greeks there. As the band played, we nodded in time with the music, drinking in the scene. You never know what you might find around a dark street corner.

We got back to our hotel around 10:45 - very early for an Athenian, but just about right for us. Monday would be a long day, full of more discoveries in the incomparable Athens.

Athens Ahoy!

After a relaxing ferry ride (note of advice: when riding Greek ferries, bring card games, books, and bakery treats from town to make the time pass quickly) on Sunday, we left the laid back islands behind for Athens. From the moment we stepped off the boat, it was clear we were is a different world. Far from shutting down for the season, the port of Piraeus was hopping with black market vendors, cab drivers soliciting the new arrivals, and swarms of dazed-looking tourists. We headed straight for the metro station. Hotel Tempi, where we would be staying for one night only before joining the Rick Steves' tour, was an easy, direct metro ride away on line one, and we were eager to get settled in.

But, as with many of our transportation experiences in Greece, it wasn't quite so simple. Point in case: for two days only, most of metro line one was closed. We arrived on one of those two days.

After checking the advice of a ticket counter clerk and a random man-on-the-street, we decided to hop the metro and take it three stops - the end of the line for the day. According to man-on-the-street, from there we could catch a bus to Monastiraki Square, a short walk from our hotel.

Things started off well. We managed to fit (but only just) on the bus heading into the center of town from the last metro stop. When I literally fell into the back door as the bus rounded a corner, I was kindly offered a chance to squeeze in to the one remaining seat in the back. Now all I had to do was keep an eye out for Monstiraki; how hard could that be?

Dang near impossible, it turns out. It finally dawned on me we must have overshot our mark, so I asked the woman sitting across from me on the now half-empty bus, "Pou ine Monastiraki?"

My Greek was apparently good enough to encourage the woman to discuss with me, and then another woman one seat up, in great detail about the location of this place in relation to the bus. Throughout the conversation, I could occasionally make out the word, "Monastiraki," but not another syllable. Fortunately, I did correctly deduce that we should get off at the next stop, which turned out to be about a mile down the road from where I'd first asked the fateful question. No doubt about it, we were far, far away.

But the fates were on our side! The next stop was conveniently located at an entrance for metro line two, and before long we were on a speeding underground train, emerging at Omonia Square, and walking down the pedestrian street to our hotel. Athens, here we come!

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.

Rebuilding the Ruins

After our eventful day arriving in Athens, we were extremely thankful to be "home" on Santorini and have a full say to explore. Taking the bus, we traveled from our hotel in the beach town of Perissa to Fira, perched on the cliffs high above the caldera. The present day island of Santorini is the result of an ancient volcanic eruption, so violent that much of the former mountain collapsed into the sea, leaving behind the stunning crescent that is Santorini along with a few smaller islands, including the volcano itself in the center.

Fira is well known as tourist trap central, but the nice thing about being there in October is that the crowds have shrunk to a manageable level. Even as first-time visitors, we could tell that we had missed the usual crowds; while there were certainly many others out walking the winding streets and snapping photos of the fabulous view, street upon street of nearly deserted bars, restaurants, and hotels attested to the fact that this was a place geared for serious tourist traffic. We walked long and hard through the entire town, stopping for lunch at a place far from the town center for a sit down meal of delicious chicken souvlaki for only two euros apiece.

Our favorite town, however, was definitely the lovely Oia. While it, too, is a magnet for travelers, especially for the famous sunset view, Oia managed a charm that escaped the more commercialized Fira. Out on the ruins of a castle overlooking the tip of Santorini, we took in breathtaking views of Oia in the golden glow of the evening sun while the wind whipped around our heads.

By the time sunset was nearing, the entire western edge of town was lined with people hoping to catch a view of the famous sunset. Never have I seen so many professional-looking cameras in my life; many made my dear little Nikon D5000 SLR look like child's play. Tripods were set up upon the rocks, their owners desperately clinging to them to keep them from toppling in the violent gusts of wind. The people watching was just as entertaining as the sunset, if not more so.

Michael and I had other plans however, so we slipped out from the masses early, before the sun had finally sunk below the horizon. We headed straight for the restaurant 1800, a slow food place recommended in the Lonely Planet guidebook that sounded like just place for a romantic splurge out to celebrate our first "real" night in Greece.

The meal did not disappoint. Our beautiful servers and hostess graciously showed us to a table on the terrace, where we were soon greeted with an amuse bouche from the chef - a shot of Greek salad in a minuscule cup - pureed, creamy tomato topped with a dollop of smooth feta and olive oil. It was our first taste of the evening, and it boded well for the meal to come. An elegant take on the traditional Greek salad came next, with thin ribbons of cucumber mixed with sliced fennel, capers, cherry tomatoes, mild goat cheese, and a crisp pita for embellishment. Michael enjoyed tender pork with fig sauce, sweet pepper relish, and herbed canellini beans, while ordered the sea bass. It came with perfectly crispy skin topped with lemon "caviar": beads of light lemon aspic piled like caviar atop the fish, alongside tender cooked fennel and a puree of fava beans. Our wine, far from the Greek stereotype of sweet retsina, was an excellent accompaniment.

Tired and happy, we took the bus back to Perissa. The trip may have gotten off to a rough start, but things were definitely looking up.

Our Trip in Ruins

Saturday night found me in bed, tossing and turning, convinced that I had forgotten something important regarding our impending trip. I had, in fact, recently discovered that the flight I had booked from Athens to Santorini was mistakenly for a morning, rather than an evening flight. The result? Nonrefundable tickets that could not be used. We decided rather than pay the exorbitant prices for a later ticket we would take the ferry. Everything seemed now to be under control, but I couldn't shake my paranoia.

Sunday, everything seemed to be going smoothly. We relaxed on the long flight to Amsterdam, and made an easy connection to Athens. From there, we caught the hour long bus that heads to the port of Piraeus. Tired and hungry, we disembarked at the port and headed to the closest travel agency to buy our tickets.

"There is no ferry to Santorini today," the agent informed me.

"What? But - but, I saw it online, there must be!"

"No, only at seven in the morning, and one now, at four. But it is too late."

Don't panic, I told myself. It wasn't quite four. Michael and I decided to make a run for it. We had only to cross the street to the dock, but there was no ferry to be seen. I stopped by the Blue Star Ferry office, hoping they had information the travel agent didn't.

"There is no ferry to Santorini today," the desk clerk at Blue Star said.

At this point, I began to cry. As I turned my face away, big tears rolled down my cheeks, and my countenance crumpled. Here we were in Piraeus, with a reservation that very night for a hotel on Santorini, and no way of getting there. And I had checked, double-checked, triple-checked the schedule online. How had I gone wrong?

"Hey, don't cry," Michael told me. "I could have done the same thing."

"But you didn't," I sobbed. "I don't see how I could make two such huge mistakes! First booking the wrong flight, now this!"

We took a moment to regroup. And before long we were back on the bus, heading back to airport, another hour spent in transit on top what was already a very long day. Despite the considerable expense, we booked a flight for 7:20 that very evening, and made it to Santorini without another hitch. In the end, we decided that it was better to get to our destination where we could relax and enjoy a full day to ourselves today, rather than spend the evening seeking out reasonable lodging in Piraeus or Athens, and spending nine hours on a ferry the following day.

When you travel, expect the unexpected. Ultimately, I am happy to be safe, healthy, and enjoying a beautiful warm day in Greece. Was I happy to pay almost $500 to get here? No, but that's way I plan a large emergency buffer into our travel budget. Up until now, I haven't really had to use it.

So, hello Greece! Our three weeks with you have only just begun, and we hope the best is yet to come. Stick around, I'm sure the adventure is just beginning.