When I first arrived at the cottages in Azalas Naxos, I wasn’t in the best of moods. We had just left Folegandros, and I had loved it there. Now in Naxos, everything was beautiful of course, and the cottages that I had booked months ago were amazingly charming, but our location had Jessica and I both wondering what in the world we were going to do for eight days. Azalas is a teeny tiny town….ok, I don’t even think you can call it a town….maybe not even a village. It’s more like an area by the sea consisting of a few homes nestled between mountains, accessible by dirt roads that only the toughest of vehicles can traverse. (Our taxi driver wouldn’t even attempt them). It’s basically in the middle of nowhere, and I suppose we were just kind of scared. And, being the planner of the trip, I was also feeling just a little bit guilty for picking a spot so out of the way from civilization….I really hadn’t thought this through. So like I said, we weren’t really in the best of moods. (I wrote a pretty nasty blog, that wasn’t even publishable- although sort of funny now).

When it came time for us to leave, you can just imagine how strange it felt to be so sad and depressed. In eight days time we had come to love our little cottage with the mountains and the private beach, but even more than our beautiful surroundings, we had come to love the family we stayed with and their friends. What a difference eight days makes.

I’d have to say that in a lot of ways, this trip has really played with my emotions. It seems like ever since day one in Athens with the delayed flight and the metro strike, there have been many moments where I’ve thought, “gee whiz, how are we going to get out of this mess?”, only to have it all turn out just fine. I’ve had moments of being super stressed and worried, only to be completely surprised, usually by someone’s kind generosity, or an unexpected event that had a way of making everything instantly ok. I’ve felt many moments of relief on this trip, and many moments of extreme gratitude. Our transition from Naxos back to the mainland of Greece is a great example of this.
Let me give you an idea of the emotional rollercoaster that Jessica and I rode a few days ago….

The plan was to leave the cottages at 12:00. Astrid was going to take us to the bus station in Moutsouna (only 10 minutes away by car- a life time when walking). We would catch the bus to Naxos town (Hora) and spend the day in civilization. After our eight days of lovely serenity in Azalas, our sightseeing day in Hora felt a little like a chore, or an obligation. We both would have rather spent another day at the cottage, but we figured we’d make the best of things, and explore a little more of the island. We packed up our things the night before, cleaned out our refrigerator, ate the last of the Nutella, and geared up to leave the islands of Greece and head back to Athens.

*Feeling a little excited for our trip to the mainland, but mostly just sad to be leaving the cottages.

Knock Knock….It was morning. Jessica and I had managed to wake up on time (something that has occasionally caused some of the emotional stress I talked about earlier). It was Astrid at the door. She had checked the bus schedule and told us that the bus left at 3:45 not 12:30. Crazy Naxos busses, who can ever really tell when they leave or return? Does anyone actually keep a schedule around here? Oh well, and Yippy, we get to stay longer at the farm, and have lunch outside with the family.

*Feeling a little curious about those dumb busses, but mostly super happy to be staying a bit longer.

We took advantage of our extra time in Azalas. The morning was spent playing solitaire (a dangerously addictive card game), as well as drinking some “sipping chocolate” while we wrote and read. Oh yeah, and occasionally killing some pretty giant flies- it’s really quite a fun challenge. In the afternoon we took an hour or so and laid out on our favorite rocks, admiring the views of the cliffs, blue waters, and tiny church one last time. It was perfect. As we walked up the path towards “home” our German friend (one of many) invited us to lunch with the “gang,” so we got cleaned up and headed down to the mini pavilion. The pavilion is covered in grape vines- with actual grapes, and looks out to the water. It houses a very comfortable hammock (just ask Jessica) and a giant stone table. Every time we come to lunch with our friends we never quite know who will be there, or what will be on the menu, but we always know that we are in for a very special experience, and we will be treated like family. It sounds a little like an Olive Garden commercial, but the fact that it’s true makes me smile. Our final meal had us feasting on greek salad of course, homemade bread, and freshly caught fish (Nikos made more especially for us) with the skin still on. And yes I did eat it, and enjoyed it! The company was wonderful as usual, and despite language differences it felt relaxed and comfortable.

* Feeling so grateful to be included. Feeling overwhelmed by our new friends and their generous hospitality.

3:20 came faster than I would have liked. And after exchanging hugs, taking some pictures, and accepting the two giant water bottles filled with Nikos’s wine we hopped into the jeep and left for the bus station.

* Feeling sad

What did you say? The bus will leave at 4:20 instead of 3:45? Hmmmm? Ok, I guess we’ll sit on this little cement stoop.

* Feeling slightly irritated, and a little bored, that is until the little girl with the chocolate ice cream cone, and a guy with a blow-up air mattress showed up…. both pretty entertaining.

Yay, the bus has arrived. It’s a nice bus with super comfy seats. The mountain views are exceptional and it feels great to be sitting for an hour in air conditioning

* Feeling relaxed

The bus dropped us off at the port, and we waited for a while before boarding, but it was a great place to people watch so I didn’t really mind. Eventually we were herded onto the ferry. With my backpack on, now a tad heavier do to all the rocks I’ve been collecting, I followed the crowd of people through perhaps one of the narrowest stairways found on this planet, certain that I would indeed burst into flames at any moment, and really regretting the grey top I was wearing. It was a little maddening, but we finally made it to the upper decks where Jessica and I were both thrilled with our excellent seating, and amazed at how spacious our traveling quarters were. Although soaked in sweat, we sunk into our seats, completely at peace, wishing airline travel could be as nice. This was the life.

* Feeling great, and stoked with our great seating. Athens here we come!

Around 45 minutes later the dialogue with two woman and a boat steward (is that what you call them?) went something like this:

Ladies- “Um, I think these are our seats” (ok, they didn’t speak English, but we knew what they meant.)

Jessica, getting out ticket thinking, “Ummm, sorry ladies, these lovely seats belong to us…step aside.”

Enter the steward who looks at the ticket and then says, “This ticket is for tomorrow.”

You’ll notice I ended that sentence in a period and not an exclamation point, because our steward was kind of nonchalant about the whole thing. My response was anything but. I think it went a little more like this:

THIS TICKET IS FOR TOMORROW??!!!!!

This was followed by us being kicked out of our great seats, and sent to a not so helpful front desk helper, who pretty much stated the obvious: Yes, you got on the boat on the wrong day. No, you no longer have a seat for tomorrow (no kidding?), and good luck finding a seat for today.

* Feeling- well, you can pretty much imagine the thoughts going through our minds now, and they are not good.


So we spent the next 30 minutes trying to figure out what just happened, and also trying to scrounge up some leftover seats.

Turns out we left our cottage a day too early. (you know the really great one I just got done writing about. The one we were so sad to leave) Yep, we had a whole other day coming to us…… ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
*Feeling- pretty stupid- also wondering why no one else caught this error?

The good thing about traveling with someone in a country where you don’t know anyone, and you don’t speak the language is that you can’t really stay upset with each other for very long, otherwise your trip would be really lonely. So I’m grateful that Jessica chose to forgive this minor blunder of mine, and look on the bright side of things. Now we had an extra day in Athens.

*Feeling- a little better

Um, did I mention we aren’t exactly in Athens but the rather seedy port town Pireasus? And we don’t arrive until 12:30 in the morning, and we have no accommodation.

*Feeling- a little worse

Now, if you are still reading this, you’ve probably gotten a sense of just what I mean about the emotional rollercoaster. In the interest of time (mine and yours) I’ll just let you know that we ended up finding a place to stay that first night thanks to some helpful people, and some people that were really trying to be helpful, but weren’t really (p.s.- Greeks always try to give directions even if they have no idea where you want to go). After a good night’s sleep, we took a bus into Athens and spent a fantastic day in the Plaka area, a highlight being the open air cinema, where we watched an English film about Leo Tolstoy under the stars. I never would have believed that things could turn out so well, given our circumstances, and I’m happy to say that my final feelings about this two day ordeal were- Relief, and Joy. I also must say, that as our trip is winding down, I feel pretty proud of the two of us. We’ve gotten into some interesting situations during this trip, and I think we’ve handled everything quite well. We’ve been resourceful, and smart. We’ve stayed calm and positive for the most part, never completely freaking out or losing our heads, and overall we’ve been a pretty great traveling team. We should totally be on the amazing race…..maybe next year.

A Recap List- I apologize for the lack of pictures on these next two posts. It's 2am and I have a flight to catch soon. No time to wait on blogger to learn how to download pics.

1. Everyone knows Nikos and Astrid, and the location of their cottages. You don’t even need a last name. Small town perks I guess.

2. The route to the next biggest town (area), Mountsouna is a dusty long path with beautiful mountain views, but no shade. This was a running route twice (I don’t recommend this during the heat of the day, which is pretty much all hours here in Greece- I nearly died twice). This route was also walked numerous times, once for the sole purpose of purchasing more Nutella (like peanut butter, but chocolate), which Jessica and I devoured in the first two days of our stay.

3. Internet access at the cottages is limited to the main house. Every time we came up to use our computers, we were offered homemade desert, coffee, and wine. Occasionally we would have a conversation with the father, Nikos…mostly about politics which tended to be somewhat hard to follow, but very entertaining given Nikos’s passion for seemingly everything. We also witnessed a special interaction between Nikos and the youngest son. This little boy could be one of the cutest kids I’ve met (second only to JJ), but he’s a wild one. Once while walking up to our house we were almost nailed with flying rocks. In an effort to calm him a little (at least this is our impression), Nikos calls his son up for coffee every afternoon, and the little boy brings his book and sits quietly with his drink and his dad, and reads. It’s so adorable.

4. We had laundry at the cottages. It was a German washing machine, which was a little bit different than what we were use to. We haven’t come across any dryers here in Greece, which makes sense given the fact that clothes can dry so quickly here out in the hot sun.

5. I attempted to make the popcorn I brought from home twice…both attempts failed, both because of my own stupidity….it was a low point….better not to talk too much about it.

6. There was a hotplate in our cottage. Never thought I’d be so impressed with a hotplate. The water heats in about a minute….it’s pretty amazing, and I was happy with my hot chocolate in the morning. (Never thought on my trip to Greece I’d be blogging about popcorn and a hotplate…hmmmmm, reminds me that I wasn’t vacationing, but really living life here.)

7. At the cottages we had a lot of good relaxing time. We played solitaire, read, watched Harry Potter, which we borrowed from the family, and laid out on our favorite rock spot. Jessica also tried to teach me how to braid, and I helped coach her on her swimming stroke.

8. We also had some great adventures. We went on a hike in the dark (accidentally). We also went kayaking. Our German friends who were also staying at the cottages offered to let us borrow their kayaks whenever. I had my heart set on swimming to the cliffs. Jessica was going to go with me on her dog raft (although I don’t really think she was that thrilled about the plan.) Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it was far too windy and wavy so we decided to kayak there instead. The way out to the cliffs was fun, and just enough of a challenge to make me feel tough battling the waves. The way back was impossible, and just enough of a challenge to make me want to give up and cry. The winds were so strong it felt like we weren’t making any progress at all. Jessica was a small yellow dot way out in front of me. It was just me, my blistered hands, and my negative thoughts. I contemplated jumping out and swimming the kayak back…the paddling thing just wasn’t working. Then I thought about just ditching the kayak all together. After spending considerably more time in that little kayak than either Jessica or I had planned, we finally arrived home. We were welcomed by the kids, and the Germans, and Nikos….seemed like everyone was just a little bit concerned for those dumb American girls (so glad I didn’t go through with the swim to the cliffs). All in all I’m glad we had this experience. It was an awesome workout, and gave us all something to joke and laugh about over lunch. Funny how easily stupidity translates. I think it somehow bonded us just a little more with our Greek and German friends.

9. One night we walked to Mountsouna for dinner. We thought we’d have a few options in town…nope, just one, but it ended up being really great. We had good homemade food recommended by the waitress who also took us in the back to look at the fresh fish selections. We walked back from dinner in the dark, (you’d think we would learn.) Surprisingly this wasn’t the least bit scary thanks to good conversation with Jessica and the overall sense of peacefulness and safety we feel in this small little area on Naxos. I think it has so much to do with the kindness of all the people we’ve met here.

10. Nikos and his wife are very generous (incase you haven’t already noticed). We were given all kinds of fresh vegetables and shown where we could pick our own. Strawberries, grapes, figs, tomatoes, cucumbers….it was wonderful. Nikos also makes his own wine, and showed us the cellar where he keeps it in a giant barrel complete with easy to use spout. We were welcome to have as much as we wanted.

11. There’s a teeny tiny church on Nikos’s property. I assumed it was just for looks, but one evening there was a wedding. We later learned that Nikos’s grandfather built the church and it’s named after him.

12. The bus schedules on Naxos are pretty unpredictable (I think we’ve mentioned this before). This was made very clear to us our second day on the island when we went to Apeiranthos. Apeiranthos is a small charming village 20 minutes by bus from Mountsouna. We caught the bus at 12:30. Once we arrived at our destination we asked the driver specifically when he would return to take us back to Mountsouna. He assured us he would be back at 4:30. Perfect. This would give us plenty of time for our planned “café crawl.” We took our computers and books and spent the afternoon at four different little cafes. We took turns ordering small things until it was time to catch our bus back home. It was a great way to spend the day, doing what we love best.

At 4:30 we waited for the bus. It came, but the driver told us he would be back in 10 minutes. We waited some more…..and a little more. Finally the bus did come back. There was some confusion on how to get a ticket, but the driver hurried us on with all the other passengers telling us more than once that he was going to Mountsouna. Five minutes later I got off the bus to get a ticket at a mini mart. It was then that we were told that this bus doesn’t go to Mountsouna, it goes to Hora. What? No time to question, the bus was pulling away with Jessica still on it. Stop the bus! Yikes, that was a close one. So we were both off the bus, thoroughly confused, and had no idea how we would make it home. Luckily a guy who just happened to be making a delivery at the mini mart offered to give us a ride. We were a little reluctant, but really had no other choice…no more buses were going to Mountsouna that day. We got into the back of the car, and talked long enough with the guy to realize he wasn’t a crazy killer or anything….in fact, quite the opposite he seemed like a great guy, and given the fact that he was willing to give us a ride all the way to our cottage doorstep (he knew Nikos of course), made him a saint. He picked up another girl who he obviously knew well (maybe a daughter), and Jessica and I spent the ride being entertained by their exuberant conversation…all in Greek of course. It was after that incident that we decided we didn’t want to go anywhere else. We chose to spend the rest of our time at our stress free cottage. It ended up being one of the best decisions we made during this trip.

3 days before: Sarah and I had arrived at the farm on Naxos and began settling into our cottage. We barely spoke to each other. Sometimes this happens between us…and sometimes it stems from that kindergarten adage – if you don’t have anything nice to say…In retrospect, I think we were in shock. We had just come from the island of Folegandros, where we had spent our days living in a studio in the center of the island’s largest town. We’d grown accustomed to walking down the steps from our studio and landing right in the middle of peaceful, but nonstop, hubbub. We’d sit at a café each morning, watching people begin the day, and we’d end up at another café late at night, when travelers and locals and lights and sounds and the aroma of Greek cooking cluttered up the town square. I’m in awe of Greek socializing – these people are completely exuberant, and embrace life late into the night, yet somehow remain peaceful and just plain make you feel cozy. It was the perfect setting for a couple of girls who want to hold on to the excitement of youth, but are so over raucous crowds and really just want to turn in at a reasonable hour. We sure could get used to that life. But now we were on Naxos, a whole new cup of tea. This island is large, and our bus ride from one side to another revealed very few towns, each being just a cluster of houses and businesses. You can only rent a car or moped in the port town, which is the farthest point from where we were silently unpacking our bags. The bus schedule seemed confusing and only offered a stifling few pick-up and drop-off options. We tried to focus on the breathtaking scenery around us, but these thoughts were continually interrupted by, “Oh my gosh we’re so far from any form of civilization,” and “Where will we eat?” and “8 days of this? Are you kidding me?” We were moping around big time, and we just wanted the day to pass so that we could wake up and try again. We had some moments of hope – Astrid invited us up to their house. She had some leftovers in the oven and realized that we probably hadn’t eaten in awhile. A home cooked Greek meal…it was a new pleasure that hadn’t been available in our busier locations. And it was just what I needed to keep me from crying myself to sleep that night. The family seemed charming, our cottage was clean, and the sea was in view of our front window. As I closed my eyes that night, I thought, “Well, we’ll see.”

I was sitting next to Sarah on a concrete bench. In front of us was a large table filled with dishes, now nearly empty, stray bread crumbs, carafes of wine. Above us was a lazy canopy of grape vines shading us from the intense afternoon sun. Music, strummed from across the table, danced its way up into the clear blue sky. This was one of those experiences in life that had me thinking over and over - It doesn’t get much better than this. Let me explain how this started. We’d spent the morning and early afternoon on the rocks across from the farm that we had quickly come to love. The sea’s waves crash onto these rocks, spraying us with a refreshing mist. We’d figured out a routine of reading, swimming, climbing back out to read some more or look at the clouds or play some cards. Then maybe we’d swim some more. So on this particular day we had just returned to our cottage when Nekos, the Greek farmer, stopped by to extend an invitation. His English is…well it’s a mental workout to understand him. But we knew there would be a goat and friends and music. We headed down to the small pavilion perched right above the sea and took a seat. Astrid and the kids were there, the German man and his son who were staying next door to us were there, and maybe there was a guy with an instrument that was stringed and Greek-looking. At this point there were two Greek salads on the table and the most gigantic jug of Nekos’ wine. I’ve always dreamed of going to a woodland feast, tucked away amidst enchanted trees, dining with friendly talking animals, eating food that is hearty and soothing, and sipping drinks that warm you to the core. This came pretty close. The rest of the afternoon is the most magical blur in my mind. As we were eating our salad and bread, dishes of new and enticing food kept showing up. I don’t even remember who was bringing them, but the table steadily became filled with so many things hearty and soothing. Salad, bread, potatoes, goat roasted by the very exuberant Nekos, some things from the sea still in their shells…And as the food trickled in, so did lots of new faces – friends, neighbors, relatives. At one point I thought, it’s a Wednesday afternoon…this feast just happened to work out for everyone? I didn’t know if this was a special occasion or if this is just how they spend the afternoon every now and then. I never found out, and I like not knowing.

We ate and drank and talked and laughed. Some of the faces around the table spoke a little English; some didn’t speak any. It was the perfect way to take in an authentic Greek feast without the social pressures of say the right thing, and ask good questions, and please come across like you stay up on American politics. We had some short conversations, but mostly just sat back and absorbed. Europeans have a keen awareness of the wine glass. As soon as it neared empty, someone was reaching for a carafe to give you a refill. As we continued to pick at our food and wine glasses were filled again, the musicians pulled out instruments that are in the guitar family, but seemed much cooler at the moment. There was no sheet music, but everyone knew which chords to strum and which notes to pick and which words to sing. Before long, one of the cutest old men I’ve ever seen (who turned out to be Nekos’ father-in-law from his previous marriage, evidently they’re still close friends) had been overtaken by the jams and got up to dance. It was too much. It was like a scene from a movie, and when you’re watching the movie you wonder if this stuff really goes on, or if they just make it up for the movies to make a culture seem interesting and exciting. And three days before I’d nearly cried myself to sleep? Sheesh.

Before we came to Greece I’d had hopes of eating and drinking well, meeting the nice people, hearing some Greek music, maybe seeing some dancing. I’d expected that this would happen in a restaurant, maybe a place that’s geared toward tourists who’ve come with these hopes. I love that we got all of this in such an authentic context. I love that we’ve been able to slip into the lives of people who live here everyday. I love that we’ve been extended such grace and hospitality. What an inspiring example of living well.

And three days later I felt like crying as we packed up our things to move out of these people’s lives.

Life is funny. I know I’ve said this before, but it really is true. I currently have a bruise on my leg, the size of a small state. It’s red and blue, and painful, and really has stolen the thunder from my otherwise amazing tan…(I’m pretty vain I know.) So the thing is, this injury is a result of nothing more than what was meant to be a simple hike. Not a challenging hike…not a death defying, hair raising, can we really do this hike…nope, just a regular, after dinner stroll up a mountain. I brought my camera (of course), and Jessica brought her tin whistle (after I mentioned she really needed to be practicing more). Things started out ok. I saw some goats in the road, I took some pictures of the beautiful sea below us, Jess obliviously followed me, playing her D scale up the mountain… you know, just regular stuff. We had a goal. We were heading for this small little tree at the top of this mountain. Easy enough…we had surely conquered greater feats than this before. This was a walk in the park. And truly this was the case.

The injury occurred as we neared our summit. We had been sort of switchbacking up the mountain, dodging the prickly bushes that have become a familiar fixture here on Naxos. The last part of our ascent involved climbing some fairly big rocks up and over to our tree. No problem, I love climbing stuff. It’s actually my favorite part of the whole thing. So I believe my words to Jessica were, “well, we can either switchback along this route here, or we can just climb this rock up and over to the top….I want to climb.” Jessica didn’t stop me, and was thinking of doing the same, so all in all it seemed like a pretty good plan. I grabbed ahold of the seemingly sturdy, very large rock, and attempted to hoist myself over it when the rock decided it had had enough, and broke apart in my hand. Not just one little crumbly piece…no, I’m talking the entire front face of the rock. For a split second I held that rock face in my hand, I may have thought…oh crap, this isn’t good, and then it fell, and luckily I didn’t, but it managed to hit me on the way down, and leave me with a pretty decent scratch. Now I usually know when I’ve made a poor decision, and I think I deserve most of the injuries I obtain along the way, but seriously, I really don’t think this was my fault….I mean, come on people, it’s a rock, a big rock, fully capable of holding me up…I suppose it was just bad luck.

And I guess the same could be said for our way down the mountain. How were we suppose to know that the way down would take just a tad bit longer than the way up…and oh yea, that the sun would set, and maybe it would be just a little bit dark, and maybe the moon that has been shining so brightly the last few nights would just decide to not show up on this particular night…again, not really our fault.

So we started down, and just like I said, the sun went away, and we managed to get ourselves just a little bit lost. Soon it was really dark. Jessica just continued to say how pissed she was for not knowing where we were (on account of the whistle playing), and I didn’t really say much, mostly because I didn’t feel like hearing my voice do that cracking thing, when you might just cry, but are trying to still play it tough. In my head though, I was a little bit freaking out, wondering how we were going to make it home, and hoping that we didn’t just walk over the edge of some ravine by accident. At one point, I contemplated what it would be like to spend the night on the mountain…Oh yea and my leg hurt from that stupid rock falling on it, and because we were no longer able to see the mean prickly bush things, we just kept walking right into them… We were in bad shape. Nothing really looked familiar, and we seemed to just be aimlessly wandering…sometimes hiking down towards the water where we would encounter impassable thick plant life (with thorns of course), other times hiking up to higher ground so we could assess the situation…hmmmm, yep, still pretty lost.

Props to my friend Jessica though who was a navigational wizard…or maybe she was just pretty damn lucky, because eventually, we found the road home, and all was ok, and I was able to appreciate the starry sky, happy that I wouldn’t be sleeping under it. The pasta with veges, oreos, and homemade wine never tasted so good, and watching a few Friends episodes before bed seemed like the perfect reward for conquering yet another challenge here in Greece….A challenge that was never really meant to be one…. See, like I said, life is funny, or maybe just ironic, or unpredictable, or exciting, or scary, or….well you get the idea.
Oh, and one final thought…. if you ever go on a hike, I think it would be wise to bring your flashlight with you, you know, just in case…and maybe, just maybe, leave your tin whistle at home.

Here’s one theme of our trip: When we have a task to accomplish (ordering dinner, catching the bus, making it to a new island…) we just can’t be completely certain that things will work out the way we expect them to. We’ve been fortunate to come across people who speak some English at times when we need help, but honestly, we’ve met very few people who speak English as a first language. So the language difference has been one obstacle. Another has been existing in a new culture. A couple examples – We’ve finally realized that when you ask for water in a café, you will typically be brought a bottle of water you’re expected to pay for…it is not a bottomless supply as I’m used to. This ended up costing us more than we’d bargained for, especially on Santorini where everything costs a million dollars. And you’re only expected to tip 10%, which always feels very piddly to me. I’ve finally come to understand, though, that dining out is so different here. In the states it’s all about being taken care of if you’re the one dining, and it’s all about turnover if you’re the one making tips. Not so at all here. You better make sure that when your food is dropped off you have everything you need, because you’re likely to not see the server again. Even when you’re ready to pay the bill…we still haven’t figured out how this is supposed to work. Another difference we LOVE – many times, when you’ve finally tracked down someone to bring your bill, they’ll also deliver a plate of something sweet and a small jug of raki (a strong alcoholic spirit, says the dictionary), and say, “On the house.” USA – think about it.

Also, there’s something we’re learning about called Greek time. Timetables and schedules function more as general guidelines than binding contracts. From an American point of view, I think this could create lots of problems. But if a whole country is on board, maybe it’s ok. The morning Sarah and I left Santorini, we did not budget enough time to make it to the port. After some confusion with checking out of our place and getting behind a very slow moving truck and 2 failed attempts at the ATM, we realized that it was very likely we’d miss our ferry and need to spend another day on Santorini (which was a tough reality to swallow...see “Santorini…Hmmmm…”). When we got to the port, however, there was no ship in sight. We joined a mass of waiting travelers and found out that the ferry must be running on Greek time. So we waited around for nearly an hour and talked about how we’ll never learn our lesson if we don’t suffer consequences. So we vowed to budget more time in the future. Incidentally, when we left Folegandros, we arrived at the port with loads of time to spare, which was fortunate because our ferry arrived and departed a half hour ahead of schedule. We just can’t figure out how this works out for people.

So our arrival on Naxos is what got me thinking about this theme. We knew that there was a bus that could take us to a town near where we were staying, but we weren’t sure if the bus would be running since it was a Sunday. We also weren’t exactly sure where we needed to end up – our new friend Astrid (her family owns and runs the farm where we’ve been staying) said that she could pick us up in one of two towns and that we should let her know where we’d be. Because of all of our adventuring on Folegandros, we hadn’t finalized plans with Astrid. So there were lots of unknowns on the journey from Folegandros to Naxos. The first, as mentioned earlier, was that our ferry departed a half hour earlier than scheduled. No idea why…but we sure were glad we’d left time to spare for once. It turned out that this got us to Naxos in time to catch an early bus and to meet the first of a long string of some of the most wonderful people we’ve ever encountered. With all of our bags strapped to us, we headed away from our ferry and toward the buses. We stopped at the first one we came to, asking if it was headed to Apeiranthos, hoping we were pronouncing it correctly. A man who was not the driver but seemed to be in charge told us that it was, but that we needed to purchase our tickets in a nearby building.

So the plan, not at all airtight, was to find a café in Apeiranthos with wifi. We’d come across these on all other islands, so we were hoping to check Sarah’s email one last time to see if Astrid had confirmed plans with us. Apeiranthos is an incredibly charming area, and by charming, I mean very old school. Some of the people we came across probably don’t know what wifi is. We stopped in one of a cluster of cafes and met two more wonderfully helpful women. They told us that there are no internet cafes, but the guy around the corner has internet on his own computer. Because I was carrying 50 pounds through 90+ degree heat, I was certain I could smooth talk my way into some computer time. On the short walk around the corner, we decided to ask for a phone instead, hoping for a quick conversation to figure out our plans. Enter the next woman, personality similar to a bulldozer, but completely kind and helpful. We asked about using a phone, she asked if we had a phone card, we told her that we didn’t, she ordered the man behind the counter to hand her his phone. To paint the full picture, Naxos is where we’ve come across the least amount of English and the most confused and apologetic looks when we try to speak with people. So this lady, as well as the two who sent us to her, was a relief. We told her our ultimate need – to find a way to our cottage. She told us that she’d call us a cab and that we should call Astrid to find out where to meet up. She did the dialing and I did the talking. Astrid speaks a fair amount of English, but is soft-spoken and has a thick German accent, so the conversation, which took place in a narrow entryway of a café with 50 pounds still strapped to me, was a bit exhausting. We got cut off once, so the bulldozer called her back. I had a memory of being a kid at school, making plans with a friend to get together and saying something like, “Have your mom call my mom.” And that’s what I desperately wanted. This strong Greek personality was taking such good care of us, two complete strangers, but I just wanted her to take the phone from me and then tell me what to do. But I powered through and made our plans. The Greek woman did call the cab for us and told him where to pick us up and where to drop us off. She pointed us in the direction of the cab, and we tried our best to humbly express our deep gratitude. We were realizing that we really would have been up a creek without her. As we passed the first café we had stopped at, the two women asked us if everything had worked out. The genuine kindness we have encountered has been a real inspiration.

The cab picked us up and we relaxed. As usual, we weren’t exactly sure if we’d get to where we needed to be, but it seemed as though we were at least headed in the right direction. Sarah showed the driver the address and he seemed to know the farm. We drove for quite awhile through the winding switchbacks. At one point my timing was just so lucky that I looked over the edge of the mountain to see a small white car, very smashed up, tucked down in the valley. I think I’ve figured out how it got there. The driver told us that he couldn’t take us all the way to the farm because the road was too rustic, so he asked for the number of the farm. And my childlike wish was realized. He called Astrid and rattled off lots of Greek. They were making our plans for us, leaving me to sink further into me seat, thinking that things might just work out. Not long after their conversation, he pulled over to the side of the road and dumped us off. He was kind, but that’s what it felt like. Back in the suffocating heat, strapping our bags to us once again. Here’s hoping the plans were set because our last connection with a phone and a set of wheels was about to drive off, leaving us in totally unfamiliar territory, mostly mountains and very few buildings in sight. Before I had much time to fret, Astrid pulled up and took our bags from us. I really feel like we came to this island with a very shaky plan and lots of hope that we’d find our way. It humbled and encouraged me to be at the mercy of so many people – genuinely kind and helpful – who didn’t think twice about stopping what they were doing to help out a couple of sweat drenched backpackers. We’re so grateful to have come across all of them…it’s been quite a week here on the farm.

I’ve been pondering the word “sweet spot.” The word reminds me of my softball days. For all you non-sporty people (mainly you Jessica) the sweet spot is the optimal part of the bat where you want the ball to hit. If you hit the ball directly on the sweet spot, you’re more likely to have really great results. You will have hit the ball solidly, connected perfectly…. it’s a pretty great feeling. The same term can be used when catching a ball. Failing to hit the sweet spot often has varying results…usually it just means the ball doesn’t go as far, but sometimes it could result in a decent amount of pain…catching a line drive in the middle of the glove, or hitting the ball off the end of the bat really hurts.

I’ve come up with my own meaning for the word “sweet spot” today.

As you may already know, Jessica and I have spent a fair amount of time on this trip in the sun. We’ve gone swimming, we’ve hiked, we’ve snorkeled, and of course, we’ve “laid out.” A rather funny term I guess, that really just means we’ve spent hours in a horizontal position reading, sleeping, working a crossword, listening to music, talking, or just watching the steady motion of the waves. One would think that this “laying out” doesn’t require much thought or skill, but there is a bit of a science to it. First there’s the application of sunscreen. How much is too much? Using a higher SPF may be the healthy choice, but if you’re going for that great tan you really need to stick with the lower numbers. Where is the best place to lay out? Back at home my options are pretty basic. Backyard on a towel, backyard in a chair, or on the roof, which to be honest I’ve never tried given the fact that I value my life, and the roof easily lends itself to a fatal fall, or more likely, a fatal heat stroke…although I’ve come close to the latter with both backyard options. Greece is different. There are beach options, boat options (see previous blog J), and rock options. Jessica and I prefer the rocks. I know, I thought I would pick the sandy beach too. But we have found that rocks are a lot less messy, they tend to be way more secluded than the beach, and they offer easy access to the water. (The best rocks are those actually in the middle of the water, but they require just a little more work).
The only negative with using a rock is sometimes the comfort level. You really need to find just the right rock…flat and smooth…You also need to position your body in just the right way, so as to become one with your rock, fitting perfectly with the indentions of the rock. This is a rare thing. Usually at least one leg or arm is in pain, and you have to tough it out, but every once in a while, it will happen, that special moment, the moment when you forget that you are laying on a hard, bumpy, piece of nature, and instead, think that you’ve just sunken into the softest bed….that’s when you’ve found it… your sweet spot.

Even as I write this entry, I can’t help but think of “sweet spot” in yet another way. I’d have to say I’m in a bit of a “sweet spot” right now. I’m sitting on my front porch outside my cottage in Azalas, Naxos, watching the clouds slowly change color as the sun is thinking about setting. Listening to the waves of the Aegean, just a few steps away, hitting the rocky cliffs that jut out into the water (tempting the adventuristic side of me- I see another cliff climb in my future). All is beautiful, all is peaceful. My entertainment though has been the sweetest of all. Four adorable German/Greek blond headed blue eyed children…just being kids. Singing, screaming, laughing. The youngest, dressed in shorts and a bright blue puffy winter coat. A sight to see in the heat of summer. He’s dragging a very large red rubber ball that I believe to be filled with rocks. A Sparta hat with red plume is on his head, and a sword is tucked into his shorts. He’s chanting something in German, and has just stopped to flail his ball into a tree and whip out his sword to attack his pretend enemy. He sees me then, and gives the most heart-melting smile. So that makes three boys I’m in love with on this trip…The cute slightly sarcastic waiter from Folegandros, the sexy from afar surfer dude who also plays paddleball from today, and the four year old little boy who reminds me of JJ.

When it comes to Sweet spots, this Greece trip has not disappointed me. On a daily basis I find myself exclaiming… “this is amazing, or awesome, or I can’t believe how beautiful this is.” Some of the highlights, which may show up in a future blogs, but I’ll just mention them here now to keep with my sweet spot theme, have been:

- The balcony in Athens on the first night
- Sitting on the deck of our first ferry boat waiting to blast off to Crete, reading and talking with Jessica and Susan
- The café in Hania with the sweet old man
- The other café in Hania with strawberry crepes and the high top table
- The middle of the Sameria Gorge
- Standing in the middle of the crystal clear waters of Elafonisi
- Our first dinner in Crete, Tanam, where I ordered shark
- Our last dinner in Crete, the one with the most amazing ambiance, the one where we meant to order something small and split it, but instead, ordered half the menu J
- Sitting on the steps of the Hania lighthouse at night, looking at the moon, the stars, and the city lights
- The view from the top of Skaros on Santorini
- My own personal bedroom…the loft at our place in Santorini
- The restaurant with the Caldera view in Santorini (before they overcharged us for water)
- The café in Folegandros with the cute waiter and the warm Nutella covered donuts
- The view of Katergo beach after the long hike
- The top of the Mountain Jess and I free climbed and then claimed by writing our names with rocks
- The giant rocks we laid out on after the free climb…the ones with the crashing waves, like fireworks
- Watching the sunset on top of the church at one of the highest points in Folegandros
- The first 5 minutes of our mule ride to Ambeli beach
- The bus ride to our current place in Naxos. The winding road…each turn giving better views of our newest island.

Jessica and I like to think of this trip as more than just a vacation, but really just living life in a different location (a pretty awesome location, free from most everyday stress, but still just regular life- it’s ok if you don’t buy this J) With life though, sometimes you hit the sweet spot and sometimes, well, you just hit the end of the bat. I won’t share with you the painful “mis hits”, but I will say that one involved not being able to pop some much needed popcorn. I know, such problems…..I’m happy that those days are very rare, and I’m excited to add to my sweet list…as we continue our time here in Greece.

The plan for the day was simple. We headed to the second largest town in Folegandros…Ana Maria. We’d hoped to poke around the town and then head to a beach. We heard that there were several you could either walk to or catch a cique to (that means boat…yes we are learning here.) So the bus let us off and as far as we could tell, this so called town consisted of one, maybe two buildings, and a lot of dirt roads leading to more dirt roads. Our companion bus riders, who appeared to be heading to the same place as we were…sporting the classic beach attire, all exited the bus with us, but in the time it took us to do a quick scan of our surroundings, these people had disappeared, and we were left standing with a Swedish mom, her two kids…..and a tiny little Greek man named Nicholas who wrapped his arms around Sarah and began talking very quickly in Greek, unphased by the fact that we had no clue as to what he was saying…he just continued to ramble on, leaving Sarah and me trying to make sense of the situation. After a few minutes, we realized just what sweet little Nicholas wanted. He was trying to convince us that the best way to the beach was to rent donkeys from him (or were they mules? or maybe hinnies?) and let him lead the way. He promised to take us to the most beautiful beach. We counted, and Nicholas spoke six words in English, so it was a real feat for us to realize that this was the offer on the table. We conferred briefly and realized that this was an opportunity we could not let go. Riding donkeys through the Folegandros countryside, lead by the tiny Greek Nicholas (he was really tiny)…And to be completely honest, what else were we gonna do? We had no idea where the beach was, and now that all the other beach goers had somehow vanished, we couldn’t even follow the crowd. The price seemed fair enough, so we shelled out the euros. And to further validate our decision, we saw that the Swedes were in as well. Even though we had no idea what exactly lay ahead of us, it was nice to know that we’d be sharing this adventure with other travelers. The mom, Monica, spoke relatively fluent English, which was a real comfort, and seemed to have a knack for communicating with Nicholas even though she didn’t speak Greek. So lots of pictures later, we had all mounted our donkeys and set off down the dirt road. Something you should know – Nicholas helped each of us on to our donkey and then lead his over to find a stone or hillside to stand on to give himself a boost on to his. In the time it took to do this, the poor Swedish kids were a quarter mile down the road. They seemed to stay pretty calm, though.
We rode along for quite awhile, really enjoying this excursion. Nicholas jabbered pretty much nonstop, which was a real mystery to us because we clearly weren’t understanding so much of what he was saying. He was a persistent fellow, though. With the added pantomime, we were able to catch bits and pieces of what he was telling us. Most of our brief conversations ended with him grinning and saying repeatedly, “No problemo.”
Many conversations later, we realized that we’d been trotting along on these donkeys for a very long while, and we wondered how we would have made this journey on foot…And where had those other beach goers disappeared to? And how were we going to make it back? Nicholas sure delivered on his promise, dropping us off at one of the most secluded and gorgeous beaches we’d seen. Relieved to have made it, we started a very long and no less confusing conversation about how to get back. It basically consisted of Nicholas saying – bus, 6 o’clock, Nicholas, penta – and then he’d point to some numbers on his watch. And we’d furrow our brows, so he’d repeat the whole routine. We were pretty hot and ready for the water, and realized that the more he repeated these phrases, the more frustrated we would become, and not get any closer to understanding the plans for our departure. We had high hopes that penta meant 5 o’clock, which seemed a likely time to make the 6 o’clock bus. We said good-bye and settled in with the water stretching out before us.
It didn’t take long for us to realize that even though this was one of the most beautiful beaches yet, it was by far the hottest. It’s like the blazing hot sun was allowed in, but even the slightest breeze was forbidden. We stretched out on our towels until we were dripping in sweat, and then headed to the water. Turns out, the water surrounding Folegandros is freezing. It was definitely refreshing, but unless we were swimming, it was almost too cold to bear. We split our time between snorkeling and sweating on the beach until we were surprised by Colin, the Swede, telling us that the donkey man was back. It was only 4 o’clock, and my first thought was that Nicholas was stealing an hour of our beach time. I thought about what to do and lifted my head from where it had been resting on my hand to find that a pool of sweat had gathered in my palm. Nick could take the last beach hour – ain’t no way I was walking back. So we gathered our things and followed the Swedes.
Here’s how the departure went: Nicholas helped Colin and his sister Christine mount their donkeys and then sent them on their way, a different way than we had come. They climbed a steep hill that lead to the top of a cliff overlooking the beach. Monica was next. My heart was beating a bit faster on behalf of the kids who had reached the cliff’s edge. I desperately wanted the rest of us to mount our donkeys so we could save the Swedes. Nicholas walked over to my donkey, but instead of helping me, he reached into the saddle bag and pulled out an unfamiliar piece of fruit. Then he peeled it and ate it. Then he pulled out another and offered it to me. So I shouted at him, “What in heaven’s name are ya thinkin, Nicholas? Forget snack time! We have to save the Swedes from plummeting into the ocean!” (Well I said it in my head.) I declined the fruit, so he ate it, and we finally started our climb up to the cliff’s edge. My heart continued to race as I watched my donkey’s hooves landing carefully on the boulders that climbed the hill in front of us. Sometimes I stopped watching, as it seemed better for my health.
The ride back was beautiful, and we were grateful to be seeing a whole new part of the island, but it was very unsettling following a man we really couldn’t talk to. We rode and rode until finally we reached the bus stop. But we kept riding. Uhhh, Nicholas? What’s the plan man? He just kept leading us toward Chora, where we were staying. I started to wonder if he would take us the whole way home. It’d be great to save the bus fare, but I was certain that our chafing selves were not up to it. Since the sun had sucked every bit of assertion I had previously possessed, I just bobbed along. Every now and then when we passed an oncoming car, I would look at the driver and say, just loud enough for Sarah to hear, “Help. I’m being held captive on a donkey.”
Just when I had mastered balancing my legs up by the donkey’s head and reclining back in the saddle (and by saddle, I mean slats of wood) we pulled over. Not at a bus stop. Not at our home. We were at a watering hole. I guess when you traipse around endlessly in the hot sun, the donkeys work up a thirst. I continued to recline on my donkey, my thoughts darting back and forth between frustrated confusion and deep gratitude for such a ridiculous experience. But mostly I was wondering if we’d ever make it home. Just when I thought we were finally going to start the last leg of the trip, Sarah whipped out her Greek phrase book. She motioned Nicholas over, seeing this as a prime opportunity for a lesson. Are you kidding me?!? I knew that Sarah had been wanting to learn the correct pronunciations of a few phrases, and I recognize this as a completely appropriate endeavor. But are you kidding me? I’d been blasted by the sun, my thighs were about to call it quits from holding me securely atop my donkey, and I was beginning to resign myself to the fact that Nicholas was just taking us home with him to be his farm hands. And I’d seen how easily he was distracted from caring for the Swedes. Remember the fruit incident? It wasn’t until he’d assisted her with an entire page of her book and I had sighed several times that we set off again.
It was indeed the last leg. Nicholas, despite the minimal communication, lead us right to where we needed to be…another bus stop directly back to Chora. And to be completely honest, he did much more than that. He showed us far more of the island than we ever would have seen on our own, took us to a beach we never would have found, kept us laughing with his nonstop charm, and all for such a low price. Here’s to that little Greek man for not selling out to make a killing off the tourists, for staying authentically Greek (and eccentric), and for teaching Sarah several phrases she has repeatedly put to good use. I did have moments of frustration during this excursion, but they were far outweighed by moments of thinking – I can’t believe that this is my life. What a ridiculously wonderful addition to my story.