Orthodox Christian, widowed in 2015; mother, grandmother. Love to read, garden, cook, write letters and a hundred other home-making activities.
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Long, long ago, I lived in Turkey for most of a summer as an exchange student. My host family lived in a house in an older neighborhood of Izmir, the district of Bayraklı. Three years later when I visited them they had scaled up and moved to a high rise apartment at the other end of the city.
The New Waterfront in Thessaloniki
One thing that was the same both times I was there was the custom of strolling along the wide walkway next to the sea that is called the Kordon.
On summer evenings especially it was the place to be, refreshed by the breezes off the Aegean. But at any time of day you might run into friends, or intentionally meet up with them there; it was a simple pleasure for families. Street vendors sold snacks from their carts, such as roasted corn and nuts. As the sun was setting we’d buy a cup of the pudding-like warm drink called salep.
Thessaloniki
Over the years since I have often thought about how that city had so wisely made the most of its setting for the health and prosperity of its inhabitants.
I saw in advance that Thessaloniki had a similar recreational strip, called The New Waterfront, and last night I walked there for an hour.
I learned this morning when looking for a picture of Izmir’s promenade that some people have called these two “twin cities,” because of various historical and demographic aspects they share, besides their seaside location and pleasing waterside parks. Wouldn’t it be fun to spend time in both cities for a year or two while researching and writing a book comparing the two? Hmm… I should have thought of that about twenty years ago, but I suppose I was busy with something else.
Alexander the Great
Well, it felt very strange and dreamy to wander along that walkway last night, like going back to a different life in a different place that was somehow the same place, an existence that belonged to a different person. But no, it was me, and it is me. It’s a mystery for sure.
My first day in the Greek city of Thessaloniki has been splendid — even though I went to the “wrong” church for Divine Liturgy. What brought me here I will tell you later, but I wanted to report back briefly to everyone who’s been waiting with bated breath to find out where the plane was taking me Saturday.
Hagia Sophia Church in Thessaloniki
I was told that the Sunday morning Matins service was at 7:30, Liturgy at 8:30. As I had crashed utterly spent into my hotel room in the evening, I didn’t have it in me to go to Matins.
I made the short walk in time to arrive a little early for Liturgy, before Matins had ended, and was immediately translated to ancient Christianity by the nine deep and strong voices rising into the heights of the space, amplified by the bare marble floors and stone walls. It really hit me then, that my prayers had been answered and I had made it to my second and last destination of this trip. Thanks to God ❤️
Ascension of Christ – Dome of Hagia Sophia Thessaloniki
After the service the person I was planning to meet didn’t show up… I texted her and we still couldn’t find each other, until she figured out that I was not at the church she had given me Google directions to, which was the Panagia Archeiropoietos. What happened was, the wrong church was pretty much on the path I was following to the other, and I just stopped looking at the map on my phone, and went into the first really old temple I came to. To be safe, my friend came and retrieved me herself from Hagia Sophia Church and took me to the right church briefly.
Acheiropoietos
Surely I will have at least a little more to tell you about these churches and others I’ll be visiting, and about the several people who have already been so hospitable to me. But right now it’s time for bed; I hope Byzantine chanters will sing in my dreams.
Yesterday morning Pippin went out early to explore up the hill from our house, and discovered a carob tree.
She took me back to see it, and later when everyone was up and sipping coffee on the terrace, she read to us about the uses of carob throughout history. Just the night before we had eaten spring rolls that incorporated “carob rusks” for a little crispiness in the wrap of greens and feta.
But the carob pods the tree produces have traditionally been used primarily for feeding livestock — Until the 1960’s, when some of us started using carob flour in bread and candy, and for medicinal uses. I still have carob powder in my pantry, though it’s been a while since I opened the jar. My daughters vaguely remembered the Captain Carob Bread I baked, that was featured in the Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book.
We walked to the Aliki beach for a last swim and bask in the sun. The goats that live in a dry corral came close to the fence this time and let Maggie and Pippin pet them and take their pictures.
In the afternoon we drove to Parikia to see the Byzantine church of the Panagia Ekatontapiliani, where we spent an hour in wonder and wondering over the ancient architecture and marble carvings, and the way later renovations incorporated broken slabs and pieces into their also tasteful structures.
This last day provided the most challenging parking situations for Kate. In Parikia our maps app directed us to a narrow street near the church, along which she nervously and skillfully, with the aid of several more eyes among us, snugged the car against a stone wall.
And when we returned to Aliki for dinner, we ended up parked on the other side of the bay, and walked across the stony path, which gave us new views of the neighborhood we’ve spent so much time in this week.
It was another sweet and companionable meal together, and our last for this trip.
I’m standing at the tiny Paros airport right now, the next morning, typing on my tiny phone. My daughters dropped me off before taking the ferry to Athens; they will all return home soon, but my stay in Greece is not half done.
Our days continue with the lovely relaxed feeling that comes from being just the right temperature and humidity. It’s dry here, but not harshly so.
The sun is bright, but not too bright, and the air seems constantly re-freshed by the winds, though evidently perception is not the full reality:
Our first morning here we wondered about the red dust on the car and the stone terraces. In the town many people were washing down their outdoor spaces though it had recently rained.
“It’s raining dust from Africa,” our host told us. Soon we heard from others, “It happens every May, the red dust from Chad blowing north.” Who knew?
In the picture below, that I took when Kate was navigating the twists and turns of the narrow village streets, you can see the dust on the windshield, but it’s not red, so maybe we are at the end of the African dust season, and the air is now carrying the paler local dust.
One day we swam at the closest beach, Aliki. It wasn’t crowded at all. Some Greek boys were very boyishly playing with a ball in and out of the water and providing good entertainment, especially for Pippin who was catching Greek words and phrases in their shouts; she became much more comfortable with the language than I after our months of Duolingo lessons.
Kate and Maggie on Golden Beach
After I walked out through the waves up to my waist, it still took me a few minutes to finish what I had started months ago, when I told my daughters how much I was looking forward to swimming in the ocean.
I knew it wouldn’t be as perfect as the other times I’d been in the Aegean, on the Turkish coast so long ago, but without a doubt it would be much warmer than any of our northern California beaches whose currents flow direct from Alaska.
Once I did dive in, it didn’t seem too cold at all, and I swam as lazily as one can, for (what I perceived to be) a long time. That felt so good. I hadn’t swum in the ocean at all since Maui, thirteen years ago.
Another day we went to Golden Beach, in the evening, and I don’t think any of us swam, but three of us brought the others drinks from the bar, and we sat and told stories from the last years or from our childhoods and anytime in between.
Pippin and I walked slowly along the shore looking at the smooth and many colored stones, and chose our favorites.
I have a lot of favorites. One daughter asked if I were going to take sand for my collection at home, and I realized I had forgotten to bring along a bag or bottle for that. In my purse I found a pill pouch with a few Tylenol tablets in it, so I dumped those in another place temporarily and scooped a tablespoon or so of golden sand into the tiny bag.
When we returned that evening after a long day on the other side of the island, we realized we were fresh out of drinking water. Our hosts simply stated on the website, “The tap water is not drinkable.” I had drunk a pint of it before I heard that, and thought it tasted good, but we have been buying water in quart bottles from the grocery store across from the beach.
Pippin wanted to walk down there to buy more water, and I went with her. It’s about a ten minute walk, and was very pleasant in the fading light, with the village sounds changed from the daytime. People were walking their dogs, and it seemed to be the hour for dogs to bark.
The doves that fill the airwaves with their constant urgent cooing had not stopped, but fewer people were on the beach, and the beachside restaurant tables were quiet.
We browsed the store a bit and in addition to water bought linden tea and rice cakes flavored with oregano. I would not have bought them if I hadn’t learned this week that Maggie likes rice cakes. That makes two of us.
For today our group split up, three going to the nearby island of Antiparos and two of us staying here for a Home Day. I washed some laundry — it dries in a flash on the rack outside — and wrote a postcard; Maggie swam in the pool. I’m lying on a day bed on the terrace that overlooks an olive grove with the ocean just beyond:
The owner of the villa was here earlier skimming the pool, and when I came out he was in the middle of telling Maggie that at her age she should be going into Naoussa to enjoy the night life. She was reading a book, and he said only two in ten Greeks ever read a book. He doesn’t favor the quiet life such as Maggie and I were having this morning, and prefers to be busy with “business.”
But as he was leaving he said he regretted building several such villas as we are staying in, it is too much work keeping up with the hospitality and maintenance on all of them.
He also said he comes from Crete, but it is too big, he likes Paros much better, and it is a better life than Naxos, too. I’m thankful he built this house we are staying in, because it’s the best.
Gladsome Lights 