Aegean Fare
/
When we first started dating, Mark was traveling a lot for work, but had never been out of the states. Having spent a great deal of my youth in Europe, I let him know that that was something we should have to remedy. We picked the Greek isles for his first venture abroad; he wasn’t quite a foodie yet, but I credit my little shove for putting him on that path.
I can’t remember how many times we’ve been back since that first trip, but it’s been a few. I could go on and on about the beauty of the parched landscape juxtaposed against a vista of wind-whipped sea; tiny, humble, whitewashed chapels perched on the side of a craggy hill; tentacles of marinated octopus, fresh off the grill at some no-name taverna, bowers of bougainvillea climbing over the rickety table, bottles of wine that need pouring again. But a thousand travelogues have already covered that territory.
Instead, here are some “rules” we’ve learned about how to best enjoy what the Dodecanese have to offer. Not exactly standard advice, but it’s served us pretty well.
Travel by scooter – our first stop, after settling in, is always to the nearest rental shop for some island transportation. We prefer lodging in town, for the walk-able dinner options it provides us in the evening. But having wheels enables you to hit the road during the day, exploring length, breadth and shoreline for that perfect, isolated beach with its own mom-and-pop taverna. Where, after a dip in the water and a little reading, you will sit down to your 2-hour lunch of mezes and wine, finished off with a little galaktoboureko and Metaxa.
Don’t worry – something will always go wrong. Stuff just doesn’t work there the same way it does in the US. Somebody’s always on strike; once we were told we might not be able to fly out of Santorini because the pilots were striking. Turns out they staged their protest between 1 and 2 PM, during which time no flights were scheduled to leave anyway. We never have reservations while we’re there (beyond bookend nights in Athens); travel by ferry when you feel like changing islands, and find lodging when you arrive.
Restaurant rule #1: The fancier the place, the worse the food. Some of our best meals have been had at places that seemed to be nothing more than a wood-fired grill with a few tables scattered around the sidewalk.
Restaurant rule #2: If they don’t have a menu, by all means stop and eat!
The first time we discovered rule #2, we had just sit down for lunch in a ramshackle room, off some side street with a handful of tables, most of which were full. Out came our waitress: a stooped, ancient grand-mama who spoke only Greek and asked us – presumably – what we would like to dine on this fine day. When we mimed menus, she looked toward heaven with undisguised exasperation, then grabbed us by the hand and marched us into the kitchen, instructing us, in no uncertain (Greek) terms, to just point at whichever pots looked good to us. My, oh my, what a delightful lunch that turned out to be.
And though rule #2 wouldn’t have needed any further reinforcement, we later had chance to invoke it again. At the black beach of Santorini, we found a tiny house, all on its own, whose sign proclaimed it to be a taverna. We seated ourselves at a table on the front porch, no one else in sight, and waited. And waited, and waited some more. Perhaps we were too early? Perhaps it’s not open today? Then, from out of the sea directly in front of us, rose a head. Wearing mask and snorkel. Followed by a wetsuit, carrying a large plastic tub. Discarding flippers, this apparition marched the tub up to our porch and dumped its contents – a dozen newly speared fish – onto the center of the floor, and disappeared inside. Within moments, his 12-year-old daughter (waitressing, as a means to practice her math lessons) emerged to take our order, accomplished by pointing at the particular fish that we most fancied. You can only imagine how wonderful that one tasted.
My husband says: I have one other rule when we visit the Greek isles – we always take a ferry to the first one. Karen is not a fan of this rule; it is, I admit, a ride that is long and crowded – sometimes with livestock as well as humans. But after escaping the dusty, smoggy sprawl of Athens, I love that calm that comes with traveling over the water – and the deep blue of the Aegean makes for some truly beautiful water. Watching the other islands drift by, wondering what we’re missing by not stopping on them, scanning the horizon to see if ours is in sight yet… For me it’s a wonderful way to ease into a state of vacation. And if Karen starts grumbling about the chain-smoking grandmother sitting next to us, we can just get up and go to the Σνακ μπάρ for some πίτσα.
