Travel Journal
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Finding the Footprints of the Gods in Greece, Part I
January 2021
By Sandra Bertrand
If and when you go to Greece, you must do one thing - leave the world behind. What you will find by freeing your mind is so much more than you could have imagined.
If I sound like an amateur philosopher, it’s because this is my second time around. Five years ago, I convinced my partner Joanne I had to return, to feel those ancient breezes on my face and the inscrutable eyes in those kouros (the modern term given to free-standing ancient Greek sculptures that first appear in the Archaic period in Greece and represent nude male youths) that follow your every step. Retracing the journey that I’d made decades before was a risk for me; for her it was the first time to put her foot on that sacred soil and make her own discoveries.
Athens
If I sound like an amateur philosopher, it’s because this is my second time around. Five years ago, I convinced my partner Joanne I had to return, to feel those ancient breezes on my face and the inscrutable eyes in those kouros (the modern term given to free-standing ancient Greek sculptures that first appear in the Archaic period in Greece and represent nude male youths) that follow your every step. Retracing the journey that I’d made decades before was a risk for me; for her it was the first time to put her foot on that sacred soil and make her own discoveries.
Athens
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The Hotel Metropole is clean, modest in size and price and, above all, close to everything you would want to find - the market bustle of the old Plaka, the wide stretches of Syntagma Square with its grand hotels, the National Gardens and Hadrian’s Arch, but most importantly, within shouting distance of the Acropolis where the Parthenon sits atop its hilly mound like a glistening white mirage.
Still bleary-eyed from our red-eye flight, Makriyianni’s, bordering the footpath to the Acropolis, was the perfect solution. We grabbed an outside seat just as the proprietor flipped his “Klistos” (closed) sign. Strong Greek coffee, the grounds heavy on the cup bottom, and rich yogurt laced with honey quickly revived us. The August heat at 8 a.m. had not yet set in but already stray tourists began to line up for the climb. With no time to dilly-dally we headed out, passing two young boys playing “Never on Sunday” on their accordions and the occasional cat peering out from the bushes. With the ancient theater of Dionysus hollowed out of the nearby boulders as a background, a teenaged tourist teetered on the precipice, lifting his iPhone for one more “selfie.” |
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Entrenched behind our guide for the march through the Parthenon’s columned majesty, I realized my old memory of the site at sunset was better forgotten. We trudged onward, the sun gaining overhead. Those towering Doric columns - diminishing in diameter as the eye travels upwards - still dazzle, especially in the wake of the brutal bombings in the 15th and 17th centuries by the Turks then the Venetians. Comfortable shoes are a must, as the loose gravel on marble slabs threatens a misstep at each turn.
Not to be missed: The Acropolis Museum, completed in 2009 to protect the original caryatids, those proud daughters of Athena that line the Erechtheion, and other marvels from the further ravages of time. But first, a stop at one more open air taverna, where a watermelon salad of feta, arugula and artichokes satisfied our rumbling stomachs. The Greeks are masters at commercial enterprise and a neighboring eatery God’s Restaurant boasted, “We have beer as cold as your ex’s heart!” With the museum’s formidable collection awaiting, we decided to forego that temptation for the time being. |
Even considering Lord Elgin’s 19th century heist (or purchase from the Turkish government, if you prefer) for the British Museum’s collection, there are inestimable treasures left to find in this 4,000 square foot glass and steel structure. Its wide sweep of windows allows easy viewing of the Acropolis and an impressive glass floor with ample view of the ancient marketplace, reason enough to linger. Heroes, gorgons, kouros with their trailing braids or battling centaurs, they’re all here for the taking.
While sipping our gin and tonics on the 8th floor rooftop bar surrounded by pots of golden marigolds, a stray pigeon was shooed out the sliding doors by a solicitous waiter - where else but the Grande Bretagne Hotel? The white city lay before us with a perfect view of the Parthenon. I found it the best way to experience such a hotel - our own budget accommodations were just fine as long as we could have our five o’clock hour in the same room that had entertained Greta Garbo and assorted disposed kings once upon a time.
Dinner close to our lodgings followed with a friendly waiter who spelled out the name (Tzitzikas Kai Mermigas) in my journal. Tzaziki, with mounds of yogurt laced with garlic and fresh dill, was followed by grilled mussels, calamari and lamb, all consumed in a noisy, jovial, overlit room. Contentment reigned.
While sipping our gin and tonics on the 8th floor rooftop bar surrounded by pots of golden marigolds, a stray pigeon was shooed out the sliding doors by a solicitous waiter - where else but the Grande Bretagne Hotel? The white city lay before us with a perfect view of the Parthenon. I found it the best way to experience such a hotel - our own budget accommodations were just fine as long as we could have our five o’clock hour in the same room that had entertained Greta Garbo and assorted disposed kings once upon a time.
Dinner close to our lodgings followed with a friendly waiter who spelled out the name (Tzitzikas Kai Mermigas) in my journal. Tzaziki, with mounds of yogurt laced with garlic and fresh dill, was followed by grilled mussels, calamari and lamb, all consumed in a noisy, jovial, overlit room. Contentment reigned.
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Mornings are preferable for museum going, and the National Archaeological Museum was no different. Agamemnon’s gold death mask is not unlike discovering the Mona Lisa without the Louvre’s crowds, but for me, the Cycladic frescoes were the highpoint of our visit. The other-worldly remnants of this prehistoric Aegean civilization of 3500 years ago are one of the world’s great mysteries. Another afternoon visit to the Museum of Cycladic Art, housed in the Stathatos Mansion, confirmed my belief that this abstract female statuary was inspiration for Picasso and Modigliani. And for the more imaginative among us, the result of alien visitations long ago.
A glimpse of Hadrian’s Arch and library from 132 A.D., with its Corinthian columns competing among a stand of pines, and we were ready for a meditative nap in the National Gardens. An overhanging arbor and a well-stocked turtle pond cooled our tired feet. The trendy Kolonaki district awaited and a healthy climb up the slopes to the vehicular that would take us to the top of Mount Lycabettus, our final sunset destination. |
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Greek Flag Over Athens
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There is no better place to say farewell to Athens than the restaurant terrace of Orizontes Lycabettus. Resting 277 meters above the city, the view extends beyond the Acropolis to the Port of Piraeus and the Saronic Gulf. If the gods favor your arrival, a fresh breeze will sing in your hair and the Parthenon will exude a rosy glow at the magic hour. Legend has it that the goddess Athena dropped limestone on the spot, creating the hill. Another myth has the site home to wolves, hence the word “Lycos” for wolf in Greek.
At 5:40 a.m. the next morning, a short, beefy woman cabbie with a wicked smoker’s cough and a no-nonsense determination got us to the Jet Stream ferry on time. The dark deserted streets winding out of the Plaka and a rumbling stomach still sloshing from last night’s risotto and wine couldn’t dampen my spirits of the place. I knew that where we were headed next was the real test of time’s tricks. |
Santorini
With ticket assignments ignored, humanity in all shapes and sizes was strewn across the ferry’s interior like a poorly shuffled deck of cards. I knew any attempt to describe what awaited was ill-fated, so hours later, when the towering volcanic cliffs of Santorini rising out of the watery depths of the caldera finally appeared, I could only nod a quiet ascent. Yes, it was still here, my magic isle.
As the bus chugged up the 885-foot precipice to the capital village of Fira, I pointed out the two volcanoes below, Nea Kameni and Palia Kameni, which were once part of the now crescent-shaped island before the 1450 B.C. eruption blew it to smithereens.
With ticket assignments ignored, humanity in all shapes and sizes was strewn across the ferry’s interior like a poorly shuffled deck of cards. I knew any attempt to describe what awaited was ill-fated, so hours later, when the towering volcanic cliffs of Santorini rising out of the watery depths of the caldera finally appeared, I could only nod a quiet ascent. Yes, it was still here, my magic isle.
As the bus chugged up the 885-foot precipice to the capital village of Fira, I pointed out the two volcanoes below, Nea Kameni and Palia Kameni, which were once part of the now crescent-shaped island before the 1450 B.C. eruption blew it to smithereens.
Santorini Lookout with Volcanoes
After dumping our bags at the Roussos chain hotel within yards of the bus depot, we headed for one of Fira’s best cliffside views. At Assyrtico, a smoked trout salad and the cherry tomatoes unique to the island, with a plate of deep-fried zucchini fritters smothered in a gruyere and lemon sauce revived us in no time. This was aided by a sparkling white Gavalas wine that our waiter explained was cultivated by weaving the vines into a nest or kouloura. Vineyards had grown like wildfire once the word of the rich volcanic soil spread to the mainland and beyond.
Navigating the labyrinthine alleyways is part of the fun. A plethora of shops offer footbaths and finery to dazzle all ages. We passed a widely popular massage boutique, where tiny schools of Garra rufa fish “suck” and energize weary toes. We opted instead for a more lasting purchase of red and charcoal beads inspired by the lava-colored hillsides.
That incomparable silver sheet of sea lay far below, but we were hardly the only ones longing to linger. Scores of Asian girls bumped into passersby, jumping up and down the stone steps, their frothy white dresses blowing about them like so many snowy peteloudes or butterflies. Consumed by the crowds, we stopped at Lithos, the nearest eatery with a view. More local wine was followed by eggplant appetizers and swordfish. The sky turned a dark phthalo blue and the moon rose high in greeting.
Navigating the labyrinthine alleyways is part of the fun. A plethora of shops offer footbaths and finery to dazzle all ages. We passed a widely popular massage boutique, where tiny schools of Garra rufa fish “suck” and energize weary toes. We opted instead for a more lasting purchase of red and charcoal beads inspired by the lava-colored hillsides.
That incomparable silver sheet of sea lay far below, but we were hardly the only ones longing to linger. Scores of Asian girls bumped into passersby, jumping up and down the stone steps, their frothy white dresses blowing about them like so many snowy peteloudes or butterflies. Consumed by the crowds, we stopped at Lithos, the nearest eatery with a view. More local wine was followed by eggplant appetizers and swordfish. The sky turned a dark phthalo blue and the moon rose high in greeting.
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My mind danced with thoughts of the long hike we would undertake the next morning to Imerovigli, resting over the giant mound of Skaros - once a Venetian castilli or fortress jutting into the deep Aegean waters. It was here that I had spent three months as the guest of an American friend who insisted on showing me the wonders of Greece. She had long since suffered an untimely death, but my own memories stubbornly remained, longing for release.
Even with a family inheritance to build a home in such a mythical place, Penelope spent years “getting it right” - from the timber to the tiles, workmen scooped out cave-shaped rooms from the limestone foundations. When we finally arrived on the narrow pathway to the house, my brain was in a jangle. Hordes of hostelries and apartments jostled for space where her terrace once skirted the precipice. Minutes passed while my gaze fought for any hint of that ancient past. Then I saw it. A lone swallow, swooping over one of the cramped plots below. No mistake…it was her own design set in the tiles. My eyes blurred over. Heraclitus said it best. “There is nothing permanent except change.” But her swallow was there for this moment. |
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Seaview Near Akrotiri
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Akrotiri, the archaeological site of this ancient island of Thira (a.k.a. Ancient Thera), was next on our must-do list. I couldn’t have been more surprised. Where I had made my way in the late seventies through the dust and upheaval of this great Minoan civilization - buried under those tragic cataclysmic eruptions - I now found myself in a sophisticated warehouse of three-story dwellings amidst traces of the frescoes we had visited in Athens.
The Cave of Nicholas was just around the bend. It was the late Professor Marinatos (who discovered Akrotiri in a 1967 dig) who suggested that Nikos turn it into a taverna for his workers. Today it remains as one of the most picturesque spots to be found, with traditional fare of shrimp in red sauce and feta, with grilled cuttlefish. “Just imagine,” I pondered. “Lost Atlantis. It was Plato himself that had seen the Egyptian scrolls that described this as the site. He was certain.” |
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A boat trip to the red and black beaches named for their volcanic rock deposits completed our afternoon. On another day Kamari Beach was better suited for sunbathing with a view of Anafi, another island remnant from Thira’s original eruption. Oia was to be our final stop, a white wonderland of Yposkafa, the carved dwellings dotting the hillside that once belonged to the early shipbuilders. Agios Georgios was the first church encountered (there are 70 in this hilltop town for those inclined), but the main attraction is the sunset, a glorious viewing experience from the bordering walls and windows of a neighboring taverna. Lotsa offered “walk-in” dining with Bella, a sweet pointer dog that kept us company while we waited for a table. Our coming departure was leavened by a visit to the Pelikan Laundry. Toy birds were propped in baskets near the entrance, but the real attraction was a live pet bunny resting atop the washers. I didn’t find any droppings, which would have been a deterrent for that line of business! |
Palm Tree in Oia
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At dawn’s light the Palace of Knossos with its resident ghosts was awaiting us in Crete, which made farewells to my favorite island less painful. A strange new adventure awaited.
Stay tuned...
Sanctuary's February issue will include Part II of Sandra's Greek adventure - with her experiences in Crete, Greece's largest island.
Sanctuary's February issue will include Part II of Sandra's Greek adventure - with her experiences in Crete, Greece's largest island.
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ATHENS: Places of Interest Hotel Metropole 54 Mitropoleos, Athens 73007 Makriyianni Taverna Makriyianni 3, Athens Grande Bretagne Hotel 1 Vasileos Georgiou A Syntagma Square, Athens 10564 +30 21 0333 0000 Acropolis Museum Dionysiou Areopagitou 15, Athens 11742 National Archaeological Museum 2815 Oktovriou 44, Athens 10682 Museum of Cycladic Art 4 Neofytou Douka, Athens 10674 Tzitzikas Kai Mermigas Restaurant Mitropoleos 12, Athens 10563 +30 21 0324 7607 Orizontes Lycabettus Restaurant Aristippou 1, Lycabettus Hill, Athens 10676 |
SANTORINI: Places of Interest Roussos Pension Hotels Firostefani and Kamari Beach Santorini 84700 +30 228 6022611 Assyrtico Restaurant Fira, Santorini 84700 +30 22860 22463 Akrotiri Archaeological Site “The Pompeii of Greece” Akrotiri Beach, Santorini 84700 +30 2286 082303 The Cave of Nikolas Akrotiri Beach Akrotiri, Santorini 84700 +30 2286 082303 Lotza Restaurant Oia, Santorini 84702 +30 2286 071357 |
Sandra Bertrand is an award-winning playwright and painter. She is Chief Art Critic for Highbrow Magazine and a contributing writer for GALO Magazine. Sandra was Sanctuary's Featured Artist in May 2019 and is also Sanctuary's columnist for "Travel Journal."
