Emporios Bay to Mesta

Mesta, small walled village a few kilometers from the southwestern coast of Chios, is only about 13 kilometers from Emporios Bay (which is on the southeastern coast).  Milo having been all swimmed out, had fallen asleep on his bed at our hotel while we packed up, so we had to carry him into the car and strap him into his seat.  Once in Mesta, we were met by Vasilio and Rula, a young couple who own a business called masticulture; we had rented our apartment from them.  We drove as far as we could, until the town became pedestrian only and the streets too narrow for cars, and found our place.  It is a bit more, shall we say, “rustic” than the other places we have stayed, but charming in its own way.  It has thick stone walls, a kitchen and bath dating from the 60s or 70s, and a nice little terrace and courtyard.  We’ll be just fine here for the week, but it’s a far cry from the Jacuzzi tub, crisp sheets, fluffy towels, and comfy couches we had in Drosopigi.  Then again, it only costs 78 euros a night.

After we unloaded, Alec went out for groceries.  The kids were too lethargic to go for an explore in town, so we cuddled up on the bed and watched Night at the Museum.  And then ensued a well-rehearsed scene that has played itself out over and over in my relationship with Alec.  Here’s how it goes:

Alec goes out to do the grocery shopping.  Although I actually like grocery shopping, and find it to be a really interesting activity when in other countries, Alec has more of a need to do it.  And, truth be told, he does more of the cooking these days.  So he goes off, and it takes him longer to do the shopping that I can possibly imagine, at least double what it would take me.  He studies labels, considers every aspect of every product—where it’s from, how much it costs, how much sugar, fat, wheat it contains.  I can’t really explain it.  I can’t even explain it when I shop with him. I can lap the entire store and return to still find him in the produce aisle, or wherever it is he started.

And then he returns, hours later, with a mind-boggling amount of stuff.  He is excited at his finds—local goat yogurt! Olive paste! A tin of stuffed grape leaves! (they are on all of the menus, but no one seems to have them when we ask.  I stand there speechless, wondering how we are possibly going to eat all of this food in one week.  There are only four of us after all, two of us are children, and we will likely eat some of our meals out.  I try to suppress my negative comments—“Do we really need another jar of peanut butter?” “Wow, that’s a big bag of spinach!” “Two kinds of rice and two jars of pickles!”  But I am largely unsuccessful.  Alec’s enthusiasm is dampened, my anxiety rises.  In the end, I must admit, that we do not generally have much waste.  But this time, I swear, he’s gone too far!

We unpacked the perishables and walked into the village square for dinner.  Vasilio had told us that there would be a big dance performance starting at eight, with several groups from Chios and a few from Chicago!  How random is that?  As we approached the center, we could see the dancers gathering, all in traditional costumes, from as young as 2 or 3 to very old.  Musicians playing drums and fiddles strolled around, too.

As we settled into a table at a restaurant in the square, the groups assembled and began to parade to the local school, where the performance would take place.  After a really good dinner—stuffed tomato and pepper for me, a spicy pork stew for Alec—we got some ice cream, picked up a jar of local honey, and made our way over to the school.  A stage had been set up nearby, and the performance was in full swing.  It was quite beautiful—the starry night, the live music, the earnest, joyful dancers.  We stayed until the kids got tired, and then headed home to bed down for the night.

Photos from Along the Way

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.

* * *

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?

The Amazing, Well-Packed Citroen C4!

The Mani, Part 2

We had planned a day of touring for Friday.  Alec maintained that he would not feel as though he had really been to the Mani unless he had gone to some of the typical hill towns, and set foot on the very tip of the peninsula.  Feeling lethargic and rooted where I was—and none too excited about any extra time in the car—I thought I might skip it.  But since we had had a complete day at the house already, I decided to go. Which meant we all went.  We started out at the caves of Diros, an incredible example of stalactites and stalagmites.  We went through on a rowboat steered by a guide, sometimes through very narrow spaces and ducking our head to avoid being beheaded by a rocky spike.  I’m not much of a spelunker myself, but the kids loved it.

We then drove south, down the west side of the peninsula, through the tiny towns of Dryalos, Briki, and Mina, all of which are set high on the hillsides.  The Mani is not the Greece of bleached white houses and terracotta roofs.  Tower houses are the iconic residential types—they make each town look like its own castle.  Each town also has a tiny church, most from the Byzantine era.  Unremarkable from the outside, every inch of the interior is covered with painted figures in jewel tones, and gilded.  They sparkle in the dim light.

We ate lunch on the beachfront in Gerolimenas—Alec picked out his fish, a fresh red mullet, and I ate a dish of cheese, tomato and egg.  We shared a thick square of saganaki, a cheese that is grilled and served with a drizzle of olive oil.  The kids swam before our food came, and then while Alec and I lingered. 

From there we drove to Vathia, another hill town—the one that graces nearly every post card of the Mani.  We arrived during the heat of the day and found it deserted.  Although this area is not devoid of tourists, there aren’t too many.  We haven’t heard a single American voice since we arrived.  Which means we are the loudest family anyone here has encountered in a long, long time.

The drive from Vathia to Cape Tenaro, at the tip of the peninsula, was breathtaking.  The road started high up, with stunning views of the sea, and then curled down and around, affording amazing views of the tiny towns that have dotted these hillsides for thousands of years.  The remnants of ancient stone walls snake up and across the hills, and it is hard to imagine people inhabiting this isolated place so long ago. 

A lone taverna marks the entrance to the car park at Cape Tenaro.  We stopped for an ice cream to fortify the kids for the walk to the tip.  The wind had started to kick up, and it was a few kilometers from the car park to the lighthouse at the end.  We gave the kids a pep talk, and off we went.   A small footpath winds its way out of the car park and toward the tip of the peninsula.  On the way you pass the remains of an ancient building, it’s wave motif mosaic floor still largely intact.  As we climbed higher and edged closer to the end, the wind became stronger and stronger.  We got close to the lighthouse, but after walking for about 40 minutes decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and turned around in order to ensure that the kids could make it back.  They loved it—their hair whipping around.  We all felt as if we had arrived at the end of the world.

We were hot, dusty, and sticky, and all I could think of was the small cove near the beginning of the path, with a perfect beach of turquoise blue water.  Alec obliged me by going up to the car for my bathing suit—I would have gone in naked were it not for the other family on the beach.  There seems to be much less toplessness in Greece than in the rest of Europe, so I’m guessing it’s a more modest culture.  The water was so perfect and such a spot on antidote for the hike—it was one of my best swims ever.  We drove home full of the spirit of the Mani.

We decided to go to Gythio, the closest relatively large town within a half hour’s drive.  The drive was just long enough for both Milo and C.C. to throw up on the way—we had rolled the dice and decided against giving them Dramamine.  I had a fabulous gyro sandwich made with grilled chicken, tomatoes, lettuce and tzatziki.  Have I mentioned just how amazing the tomatoes are here?  And that means something, coming from a Jersey gal.  We walked around, and found an ice cream shop with wifi so that Alec and I could both get on the internet and get some business done.

The only business in tiny Drosopigi, where we are staying, is the taverna, which we had not yet tried.  We decided to give it a go for our Saturday night dinner and, when we got there at about 8:30, the place was hopping.  We got one of the only outdoor tables remaining.  The kids ran outside to hunt for bugs and play with other kids in the town square, which made us almost feel as though we were having a date.  When their food arrived, the kids landed in their seats long enough to wolf down their meals.  C.C., spying that a large grasshopper had landed on a man on the other side of the restaurant, pointed and shouted, “Hey mister, there’s a huge bug on your shirt!”  She could not have been louder.  Everyone turned, but of course the man did not understand what she was saying.  So she walked up to him and flicked it off.

On Sunday, our last, we decided to try a new beach—at Kotronas, about a 15 minute drive away.  But it was crowded and near a road and a dock full of fishing boats which, I think, explained why I encountered a couple of dead bait fish in the water.  The fish were the last straw, and soured me on the place. I wanted to go back to Skoutari, so we did, and passed our last afternoon swimming, reading, getting a bit of sustenance in the beachfront taverna, which is packed with families whenever we are there.

We spent the evening packing up and loading the car—we had to leave at about 6:30 the next morning for the four hour drive to our noon ferry.  I never sleep well on nights when I know I have to get up early, and that night was no exception.