Emporios Bay, Chios

We arrived at the ferry with plenty of time and without incident, until I nearly scraped the roof of the car off driving it onto the boat.  We’ve learned that, even if you have assigned seats, which are sort of like airplane seats, it’s a good idea to board early to scope out a nice, comfy place to settle in.  Personally, I wanted a couch long enough to lie down on—it had been a short night and I had a good nap planned.  We found a table with a couch and two soft chairs pulled up around it, and staked our claim there.  Unfortunately, it was right below a television blasting out inane Greek programs, including one that seemed to be the local version of Top Chef.  There was no apparent way to turn the volume down, or to turn it off.

One critical item I neglected to pack was my sleep mask.  My sister Jody gave me the perfect one as a gift a few years back and it is invaluable for just these types of daytime napping situations.  I had to make do by stuffing earplugs into my ears, then donning my noise canceling headphones, and pulling a fleece blanket up over my head.  I managed a good, hour-long nap.

The ferry was supposed to arrive in Chios at about 9 pm, or so we thought.  By chance, Alec learned, at about 6, that it would be arriving at 6:30.  We still can’t figure out if we had completely misunderstood the arrival time, or whether it really did arrive 2 ½ hours early. 

Chios is a small island.  Although the port is located near the middle of the island, and we were staying near the southern tip, it took us less than a half hour to drive from the port to Emporios Bay.  We got to our hotel in time for the kids to have a quick swim in the pool before dinner.  This is the first—and only—place we are staying that has a pool (unless you count the tiny ferry pool), a huge asset when you have kids.  Our kids are good enough swimmers at this point that they do not require constant, eyes-on vigilance while swimming in the pool.  You can actually sit poolside and read a bit, as long as you glance up frequently.  The ocean is another story.

Emporios Bay has a real island feel—it’s right on a small harbor fringed with a handful of tavernas sporting thatchy umbrellas and open fronts. It’s hard to believe it ever rains there.  We had a now familiar taverna meal—I eat a rotating diet of Greek salad, or tomato cucumber salad (which is the same as the Greek salad only with no feta), stuffed vegetables, vegetable stew, chicken kebabs, and sometimes beets or tzatziki or saganaki.  I can’t complain—the food has been consistently fresh and good.

We spent the following day mostly on the local beach, which consists of rather large black rocks—really hard to stick an umbrella into.  We tried various configurations, building rock structures around our umbrella posts, but to no avail.  We swam, and retreated into the shade in between dips.  The water was delicious, but a bit deep for the kids, necessitating constant vigilance.  We ate a late lunch at another of the tavernas, which had the exact same menu as the first place, implying that they are in cahoots.  A man who was born on the island but raised mostly in Philadelphia was hanging out there—it was odd to hear that familiar accent so far from home.

On Wednesday we decided to check out a beach that the Philly guy had told us was sand and “like a swimming pool” for the kids.  It was about a 10 minute drive, with a slow climb up and then a quick, incredibly steep descent to a small parking lot with a cantina overlooking a gorgeous bay.  We were still pretty high up, and had to descend a flight of concrete stairs to the actual beach.  Incredibly, though it was nearly noon, we were the only ones there.  The kids started chanting “Skinny dip! Skinny dip!” so slipped out of my bathing suit and dove into the water, managing to get in a delicious little swim before I spied our first intruder, a lone woman, making her way down the steps.   I got out and put my suit back on, mostly out of respect.  Greece is more conservative than much of Europe when it comes to topless and nude sunbathing, and explicitly so when a beach is in sight of a church.  Don’t get me wrong—I have no desire to expose my whitest parts to hot sun, gritty sand, or strangers.  But there’s no feeling that compares to skinny dipping.  When I was younger and spent my summers on the jersey shore, two of us would swim out to deep waters and swap bathing suits before coming back to shore.

Thursday was departure day from Emporios Bay—we got a late checkout and let the kids spend the entire morning at the pool while we took advantage of the internet and worked poolside on our laptops.  Then we packed up the car, yet again, and headed out for the short drive to Mesta.

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If you have followed this blog at all or know our family personally, you may be wondering how we are managing on a 6 week road trip in a not so big Citroen C4.  Packing light is not one of our strong points.  We own a Chevy Suburban in New York City.  The answer?  My husband is a really good packer.  He has turned our trunk into a virtual puzzle, each item fitting precisely into its allocated space.  In addition to the two layers of bags in the trunk, fitted over the kids’ two scooters and my rolled up yoga mat, we have dirty laundry and extra toiletries under the front two seats, sunscreen packed around the spare tire in the wheel well, and a backpack full of kids’ activities sharing the legroom on the passenger’s side.  As it turns out, there are a lot of things you feel you have to bring on a trip as long as this one that you do not actually end up needing.  A few examples of things we have not used—umbrellas, long pants, sweatshirts, rain gear.  The kids’ scooters win the prize for items that take up the most space and have been used the least; all of the places we’ve been have had streets too bumpy or too hilly for them to get much use out of them, but how could we have known?