Day-to-day life on Serifos was smooth, warm, and moved along at the pace of the sun. In the morning, I rose and made breakfast in the kitchenette, windows open, music wafting away in the breeze. Usually, breakfast involved pita, scrambled eggs, fresh tomatoes, fresher feta, and kalamata olives. Unpitted. Always. Then we would lazily meander to class at the taverna down the beach or, on days off, to town, hoping for an exciting excursion or a relaxing afternoon alone to gather writing material.
This little Greek bundle of cuteness (above) lived down the road, his home marking the corner which would take us either into the hills or down to the blue and white port town of Livadi. This day, like many days, we would all walk to town for to decide between a sea kayaking excursion in the Aegean Sea, a four-wheeling adventure into small beach towns and abandoned mines on the island, or up and around the side of a mountain to our special place, the secret cove. The beauty of Serifos is that it was impossible to feel like a tourist--the nature of the island is to build community and live in peaceful solitude.
A mountain slowly rose along the edge of our cove, and on the other side of the mountain waited the secluded nudist cove I introduced in my last post. Over time, and a few hikes too late, we learned of this breezy, breathtaking path up and around the mountain, leading to the secret cove and eliminating the need to travel through the chaparral desert death ravine that we had frequented so many times before. Below, an epic ladies excursion begins.
After we arrived at the cove, we jumped our usual cliff (running start, slight angle to miss the jutting rock), swam across the cove, and wandered around the cliffs of ancient sea coral. Then we planned the next island excursion: another ATV road trip.
Above, Sarah, Hannah, and I rev the engines of our rundown rides, hopeful that they would last us throughout the day. We had until the sun went down to explore the island and certainly wasted none of our time.
We explored unfamiliar roads, passing by white stucco homes and rows of wild lavender, sage, and thyme, picking handfuls for dinner later that night.
After stopping at the top of one of the highest peaks we could find, we sat quietly, absorbing the energy of the island, the simplicity in its quiet, rugged aesthetic. Even the quiet had a noise--a low rumble, a mixture of heavy mountain winds and brisk sea breeze carving through the canyons. As we sat, we noticed beneath us, in the shadow of one mountain walked a herd of goats, one by one in line on their way back to the farm. Only after did we notice a shepherd walking behind them, staff in hand, quietly meandering through his mountainside. I could feel his hard work, his pride--his long robes told a tale of many generations of goat herder on the very mountain atop which we sat. It was a beautiful moment I'm sure none of us will lose track of in our memories.
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And so, onward we drove. Somehow, unmarked backroads led us to the same road that wound down the steep hill into Mega Livadi, the port town Scott had taken us to for our class outing. We sat at the same table on the beach, our feet in the sand, and listened to the waves slowly breaking on the shore.
Unlike last time, this particular afternoon we were not alone. The precious Italian toddler in the photo below sat with his parents and a large group of friends or family at a table behind ours, having a boisterous, happy lunch filled with laughter and energetic conversation. For much of the meal I watched and listened to them, wrapped in each other, arms slung over shoulders, heads leaning against on heads, and pure human emotion radiating from their smiles. The bonds of friendship and family in European countries defy societal stereotypes that, in America, keep friends from being physically connected. Men will hug without underlying discomfort or shame, women will walk holding hands or wrapped in each other's arms--the best of friends enjoying each other's company. This group was no exception.
As we watched this little one as he stood in awe at the waves coming in, his Poppa walked up next to him and knelt in the rocks. He began picking up rocks and skipping them across the choppy water. His son would laugh and jump up and down, urging him to throw rocks again and again. Finally, the little boy caught on to what his Poppa was doing and picked up a smooth, black rock from the beach. He raised his arm, pulled it back behind his shoulder, and sprung it forward. Then, he brought his hand back to his chest, opened his little fingers, and looked at the rock still in his hand, frustrated and confused as to why it too didn't go flying into the sea like his Poppa's had. He didn't understand to open his hand and let go of the rock in mid air. Eventually, after many failed attempts, he opened his hand and watched the rock fall right in front of his feet.
He looked at the ground, searching for his rock. He caught sight of it, and his expression changed--a smile broke across his face and he jumped up and down, laughing and cheering himself on. We all began clapping, so proud at his success! He might not have skipped any rocks, but he moved forward one baby step--or baby throw--at a time.
Myself, Alice, Hannah, and Sarah enjoying lunch on the beach.
How can anyone say no to this cake? Not eating dessert on a regular basis might have been my biggest challenge while living on this island. Tough life.
On our way back to town, the sun began to sink lower in the sky. As we drove along the mountaintops, we noticed that the surrounding fields grew increasingly burned, black and charred. After stopping to examine the ground, we concluded that a huge fire had blasted through the mountains, burning someone's old farmhouse; giant red onions were bulging from the blackened earth, having continued to grow beneath the earth's burnt crust even after the fire. At this point, the sun was really low in the sky, and the temperature on top of the mountain began to drop.
Sarah and I agreed that we wanted to chase the sunset, hoping to head to the western side of the island just in time to catch the saturated orange star sinking below the horizon of the Aegean Sea, blazing in deep fuchsia and burnt orange, bright yellow with pastel hues; our cove was on the other end of the island and, unfortunately, the sun set on the opposite side of the mountain behind our bungalows, blocking its most magnificent moments. Hannah and Alice decided to head back to town, drop off their ATV, and meet everyone else for dinner, leaving Sarah and I on top of the mountain, happily gathering red onions.
After half of an hour meandering around the charred farmhouse remains, we made our way back to the ATV, hopped on, and turned the key--click, click, click--to no avail. We didn't panic. It happened so often, we practically felt like mechanical engineers, mastering the art of kicking the front of the ATV while simultaneously turning the key and jumping up and down on the kickstart. In the past, this trick had worked like a charm. But as the sun sank lower, we got colder, and our hopes turned to desperation as we realized we had waved off our friends, one of which had the only cell phone--our only way of contacting help. We tried reading the instructions on the side of the ATV but, heck, it was all Greek to us. So, we kept doing much of the same--kicking, jumping, yelling, turning, pushing, swearing--until we heard a little dirt bike put-putting its way along our road.
As the bike neared, we saw that the old, electric blue clunker was being ridden by an old chubby man with along, white beard billowing past his shoulders and wearing a blueish-gray robe tied around his waste with rope. We flagged him down and I tried to explain what had happened, rambling in English between chattering teeth. He stared at me, then at Sarah, and all three of us realized we weren't going to be able to communicate.
"A-T-V... oh-hee no work-ing... kal-lah [motions the turning of a key and thrust of a kickstand] START?" I tried to communicate in broken Greeklish. He looked at the machine and shook his head. Then he swung his leg around the seat, pulled a lever in the center console, kicked the starter, and just like that, the engine coughed and gargled and begins to rumble. Sarah and I jumped at each other, hollering and shouting while gravitating to the old man, hugging him and thanking him all at once.
"Ohxi, ohxi!" The old man begged, pulling his arms up across his chest, refusing to hug us. We stepped back and looked at him, confused. He pointed down the hill toward a twinkling town off in the distance. "Livadakia, you?" He asked. We shook our heads yes, and he motioned for us to follow him down. Clearly, we were two lost travelers who didn't know what we were getting ourselves into, and he made sure that we at least got off the mountain safe and sound. We pulled onto the gravel road and slowly followed his electric blue dirt bike to town. Once there, he waved us off, and we hung a sharp left, darting up the western mountains as fast as we could to catch what was left of the sunset.
(Later, we told our mentor Scott about our mystery hero atop the mountain. "You hugged him?" He asked, with a smirk. "That's the Orthodox Priest who lives at the Hora. Wearing a robe tied together with a rope?" We nod. He laughs. "He was saying 'No, no!' because he didn't want you to hug him--he's not supposed to touch women! Instead, you kiss your hand, touch it to the ground, then raise your to his!")
The sunset wasn't difficult to chase. We climbed a string of steep, winding roads until we landed on the top of a low-lying mountain with a deep inlet far below and to the left, hiding another secret beach we had yet to find and explore. We were driving down the driveway toward a farmhouse with a few befuddled boys standing on their porch, probably wondering what we were doing in their neighborhood.
We drove past, smiling and waving, our eyes on the perfect peak lying about a mile in front of us. That was the sunset spot, and we weren't going to stop until we got there. When the road ended we left the ATV and began on foot, walking along a wall of rocks stacked about three feet high. On the other side of this wall, a mule had been grazing and we noticed her just as she noticed us. She raised her head from the dry grass, curiously watching us from the other side of the rock wall. The legs on her right side were tied tightly together with coarse rope, the same way many herds of goat and sheep were tied. Apparently, it prevents the livestock from escaping the property, but from my perspective, it was inhumane. The rope was much shorter than their actual leg span, so the two tied legs were cinched close to each other.
Mulan wobbled over to us, her large ears flicking forward, then to the side, then slightly back, unsure of what to think. I clucked to her the same way I would cluck to my horse, Leo, and she creeped closer, holding her nose out to catch our scent, smelling our energy and deciding whether or not we were safe to encounter. I held out my hand and her soft muzzle met my palm. She rested her head in my hands and then reached her nose out toward my mouth. I breathed in her flaring nostrils, two short breaks and one long one; in herds of horses, breathing into the nostrils is a commonly used form of communication, and the younger, submissive horses use a pattern of two short breaths and one long to passively accept the other's dominance. Mulan accepted us, and we her, and the three of us became good friends.
Walking along the stone wall, we carefully tiptoed around the prickly chaparral brush and, Mulan at our side, watched the giant sun set the sea ablaze with color for the first and last time on the island.
One round of ATV adventures later, we became the stranded victims of mechanical difficulties once again. Fortunately, I wasn't on top of a mountain without a phone this time. We had become stranded along one of the island's rocky coasts with a beautiful view of Sifnos, a smaller island in the distance (above).
JT (above), the resident Mr. Fix-it, tried the beloved kick-jump start trick to no avail. After a few unsuccessful phone calls and a few hours of sunbathing, our boredom got the best of us curious adventurers. Although Meredith (below) was getting some serious tanning checked off the bucket list, we decided it was time for yet another epic adventure, so we left the ATV's behind to think about what they had done and took to the roadside cliffs to see what kind of fun awaited.
It didn't take long for us to find something to explore; a gentle, rocky slope degraded from the coastal side of the road and led to mouth of a large, abandoned cave. The cave was used for the mining of iron-ore, once the island's main export and source of revenue. These caves also reflect beliefs in Greek mythology--the Cyclopes were said to have lived in these caves, mining iron to create the famous lightning bolts used by Zeus.
The exposed iron-ore along the walls of the cave created beautiful splashes of blue, burnt orange, burgundy, and green hues in the rock. We entered with caution, unsure of how the ground would hold up. The drop-off to the left of our group plunged into a seemingly dark, endless abyss, with shallow ledges along the wall disappearing into the depths. I assume men used these ledges to mine deep into the abyss, probably connecting them with ladders. The ingenuity and strength of the islanders astounded me; I so badly wanted to travel back into the cave, curious as to how far their courage led them, but we were quickly distracted by a breathtaking view just behind us.
The mine went far back, deep into the rock wall, but it also went along the side of the cliff, with window-like holes (below) and beautiful rock pillars offering views of the blue sea. As I stood there, I imagined men and donkeys hauling bags of minerals hundreds of decades ago, and felt a wave of humility and honor to be in a place with such history and importance.
The inside of the cave led around an inlet in the island's wall that was otherwise inaccessible, opening up a playground of cliffs, caves, waterfalls, slides, and crystals--all naturally occurring--just waiting to be admired. So, after absorbing all that we could of the incredible energy inside the abandoned mine, we left the darkness and walked into the sunshine.
Just outside the cave openings were incredible van-sized boulders of quartz, marble, and other crystals, crammed together by hundreds thousands of years of history. These crystallized rock formations are incredible examples of the natural wealth to be found in Greece. The photographs do not do these giant crystals justice--I was standing on top of the formation above!
The opening of the cave led to an incredible grotto, hidden very low along the side of a tall, rocky island's edge. In the photo above, you can see me with a red bandana near the top left climbing a staircase of sea coral, while Hannah and Sarah stand at just in front of the mouth of yet another cave, along a tide pool that creates gentle waterfalls as the waves pull back into the sea. We found these cliffs worthy of jumping and swam, smiles beaming from ear-to-ear, along the wavy coastline.
Some of the caves along the island's cliffs were partially submerged by crystal clear tide pools during the day. At night, the moon draws the water level higher, and these caves become alive with creatures swimming the dark seas.
An old stone pillar, or even a dilapidated wall, acted as reinforcement for the cliff walls.
As we ascended up the hill to meet our valiant ATV mechanic, I stopped to admire the stone wall and abandoned mine, the cliffside playground, and centuries of history we were leaving behind. Life gives us opportunities to learn about ourselves in the most elusive ways; an afternoon that, to some, would be considered a failure, sending them back to the hotel pool and an early dinner, sent us on a seemingly pointless quest that uncovered secrets of the island's history. Always true in life (and no exception to this situation) is the old saying: the raft is the shore.
Many homes on the island were built one story at a time, often appearing unfinished, with jagged cable wires stemming from the four corners to allow for additional levels to be built as the family grew larger. Unlike what I've seen of much of America, in Greece families are not only incredibly tight-knit, but they are so involved with each other's lives they often live in the same home. In a community as small as the one on Serifos, though, it seemed that everyone was considered family.
The view from the roads leading back to our cove of Livadakia was incredible, with saturated fall colors and low-lying clouds that threaten gloomy weather, overpowered by the bright blue sea and sky off in the distance. Clouds appeared to hover over the island as if suspended by fishing wire, bouncing atop the sea breeze like cotton balls in the wind. Serifos seemed simultaneously vast and condensed, expansive and just one short drive from end to end. Depth was blurred by a lack of trees and the magnificence of the quiet landscape.
The Hora is a beacon overlooking Livadi, the port town along Livadakia beach where we lived. At the top of the highest visible peak from our bungalows, the Hora is an incredible maze of stucco homes, artisan craft shops, and breezy tavernas connected by narrow stairways decorated with vibrant patterns of tile. At night, the restaurants come alive with dinners lasting from early evening until late into the night; friends and family would gather, slowly dine, and drink to the good life, one of happiness, humility, and Greece.
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