Mediterranean Meditation

The ferry from Athens to Paros takes about three hours to cross the Aegean and the journey is most notable for the glorious blue of the water seen out the windows and the calmness of the passage. That we are on water is not noticeable until standing, when the quite significant sway of the vessel becomes apparent.

On reaching Paros, several hundred tourists, including me, as well as many cars, motor bikes and supply trucks, are disgorged from the belly of this huge boat into the area surrounding the port. It is the quintessential blue and white Greek village of Santorini or Mykonos fame, a little smaller, a little humbler, pretty, and utterly chaotic in a way I have come to associate with Greece and particularly Greek traffic. In central Europe, bicycles add the frission to the pedestrian’s path. In Greece, every other road user holds the potential for harm. Other tourists walk over you shooting selfies on their phones, looking only at themselves and the small glimpse of boats and sea in the backgrounds of their shot. Motor bikes are driven at great speed, revving loudly and seemingly directly at me, and vehicles stop and start randomly depending on the task at hand. Sometimes that stopping is in the middle of the road. And the starting seems only to occur after shouting and tooting takes place. A lot of it.  I approach the pedestrian crossings with some, not misplaced it often comes to pass, trepidation.

All that said, the sun sparkles off the water, there is a gentle wind blowing, and blue and white buildings climb the hill behind the port, promisingly. I like islands and have lived on several. Immediately I begin to feel the relaxation I always associate with these small self-contained land masses, particularly those located in warm climates.

Our lovely hotel, cool, white, and scented with a delicious fragrance reinforces the summer holiday feel. Maroon bougainvillea, an old plant from the thickness of its trunk, climbs across balconies and shades the courtyard, adding a perfect accent against the white walls and the cloudless, turquoise sky.  It is these colours that I come to associate with Paros.   

It is hot on the island, warmer than expected, the locals say. In Athens, authorities are considering closing the Acropolis site due to the high temperatures and Dr Michael Mosely, a celebrated British health commentator, is missing after taking a walk on another Greek island. Here, where the beauty and aridity of most Greek islands is also evident, the heat brings with it, a sense of threat. It is too early in the season for it to be this hot and the local’s dependent on tourism, are concerned that people will stop coming. COVID gave them experience of a world without tourism. It is not an experience they wish to repeat, and they are palpably anxious.    

I feel tired and defeated by the dialogue around climate events such as these, which are continuing to be described as unseasonable. It is apparent across the part of the world that I have been travelling in, and in the Australia that I left, that seasons departed from the “usual “some time ago and that there will be no new “normal”. Weather will remain inherently unstable, unpredictable, and its consequences, will be unsustainable. I have no doubt that climate change is a real and present threat, to the health, wellbeing and continued existence of human beings.  I am so aware of being in this idyllic place, watching a continuous stream of black smoke belching ferries coming and going, knowing selfishly, that I have increased my own contribution to the mess by taking this trip.

There is some justice therefore when the temperature on the day I take a tour of the island and its near neighbour, Antiparos, with a local guide, is a punishing forty degrees. It is draining walking the crazy paved streets but learning the ancient history of this place, renowned for the quality of its marble, used to honour the gods when gods ruled Greece and these islands, is a powerful reminder of the depth of the community that lies behind the tourist tat. It is important to note here that Paros does lovely tat of the gorgeous linen, jewelry and resort wear variety. The many small stores lining the inner alleyways of the old village are often beautiful. The remains of the Frankish Castle built by the Venetians in the 1200 `s from pieces of old sanctuaries on the island is also beautiful.  Local residents are scarce in this area due to the small ness of the original buildings and heritage orders which prevent significant alterations for heating or cooling for example, of the structures. Our guide advises that now only a few old people remain, whilst other buildings have become air bnb`s, suitable for short stays. Wandering these alley ways which stretch along the beachfront later in the week, I find it easy to get lost and be confronted with dead ends and cute Banksy like additions.

It is not difficult to be lost in Parikia, as this, the capital of Paros, is known.

Our guided tour takes us down the coastline to a port where a ferry transports us to Antiparos, a small island lying off the coast of Paros. Known for being the island on which Tom Hanks and his wife Rita own a villa and six acres of land, Antiparos has the same blue and white charm of its larger neighbour.

Like its larger neighbour however, at least in the port area, its beaches are small rocky bays with little charm particularly for an Australian, spoilt for choice in the beach department. This has been the biggest disappointment of the islands to date. Unless a car is hired, access to beaches promising sand and reasonable solitude is minimal. Most beach locations, even those accessible by car, seem to have been colonised by umbrellas, loud music and access payments. Irrespective of my doubts about swimming reasonably close to the port area of Paros, during the following days I do venture into the water and delight in the bobbing about and thoroughly enjoying the unmistakable fact that I am on a Greek island. If I add Greek Beer to the mix, life is summertime sweet.   

Lefkes, is a traditional village in the heart of Paros. A young woman from whom I bought a hat in Parikia, advised that a visit to Lefkes was an essential element of a visit to Paros, particularly to taste its locally made sweets and cakes. Lefkes adds yellow to the blue and white palette of the island and is post card pretty. And yes, the orange cake, one of the recommended sweets, it too was pleasant.

Our guided tour ended in Naoussa, described as the cosmopolitan village of the island which I think was a euphemism for being most suited to the young who like to party. Naoussa adds pink to the island palette, however due to the now scorching temperatures I do not do its enticing charms justice, sojourning for most of the visit in a small orthodox church at the gateway to the harbour. It was cool inside and they have chairs with high arms for old parishioners to lift themselves up and be supported as they stand during a service. For a welcome time, I am an old parishioner. 

It is easy to relax on Paros, particularly in the evenings as the light fades and the breeze off the water cools the air.  The flotilla of yachts moored in the harbour are pin pointed by their mast lights and the more modern inflatables which ferry people to the island`s far beaches and bays to swim and dive are lined up at the wharf, scrubbed down and readied to cruise again the next day. The waves are sighingly gentle. Restaurants along the foreshore cater to a steady evening trade, as tourists stream from hotels in their holiday finery. A scarlet sunburn sets off many an outfit.

I leave Paros as I came, via a behemoth of a boat. It has shuttled into the bay as part of the continual ferry movement between these Cyclades islands. As I stow my bag in the bottom of the ferry and make my way up the stairs, I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in a window. A very dark-skinned woman looks back at me. I too have been touched by the sun.