It was early. Very early. Sun just cutting the sky early. And Robyn, Whitney, James, Greg, and yours truly were sitting on the curb at the bus stop waiting for a bus to Lavrio, the "other port" near Athens. Our objective was to take a weekend hiking trip on Tzia (aka Kea, but I prefer Tzia because it is far more fun to say. It sounds like a violent sneeze or the war whoop of an attacking ninja), a nearby island. We were sitting on said curb because we were waiting for a bus whose marquee would herald a termination point of "Lavrio," but none had shown themselves to us. After over a solid hour of waiting, we finally received information that we needed to take a different bus-- the company that works the Lavrio busses was on strike that day. We climbed aboard the substitute bus, but by the time we got to Lavrio, it was too late. In short, we had missed the boat. Quite literally.
Since Tzia is not a very heavily trafficked island, the next ferry wasn't until 5,30 that afternoon, and it was currently a little after 9 am as we stood there. We debated for a while as to what we should do. Do we bail and go home? Do we take the 5,30 ferry? Do we try to rebook our hotel for another weekend? In the end, we decided that since we had reservations and all of Sunday for hiking that we may as well hang out in Lavrio and wait for the next ferry. But, as I'm sure you have all done the math by now, we had a lot of time to kill in Lavrio. And if you've ever been there, you know that it is a small, sleepy little harbor town, but there we were.
We decided to begin our time killing adventure by having a leisurely breakfast and coffee and play some card games to go along with it. This we did in a little harbor-side cafe that had delicious food and cold, iced coffee, which was good since it was surprisingly hot. Our venture had taken us a little farther south in Greece, and apparently this made all the difference in the world. We were shucking coats and scarves almost instantly. After we had enjoyed ourselves thoroughly at breakfast, we decided to take our card playing closer to the water. May as well enjoy the sunshine and the sea while we were there, right? So, we asked our server if there was any sort of beach we could camp out on for a while, and we were directed to one around the corner but warned that the beaches were not that big or exciting; Lavrio is mainly a port town.
Our server was right. The beach was very tiny, but it was gorgeous. The water was clear and turquoise and inviting. The sun was heating up the sand nicely, and we made a make-shift beach scene out of sweatshirts and hand towels and shorts and sports bras. We attempted to go into the sea, but even though the sun was hot, the water was anything but. Wading up to our knees was as far as any of us dared to go, and we would scamper back to the hot sand as soon as our legs went numb, which only took a minute or two. But we were content to watch the sea and nap and read and play rock throwing beach games, etc. for a good long while. A day at the beach was an unexpected but delightful turn of events. And then all of a sudden the day went from pleasant to amazing.
You see, we were not the only inhabitants of this beach. There was a group of happy-go-lucky pensioners set up nearby. Some of them were lounging under umbrellas, and a few crazies of the group were actually swimming in the frigid waters. One of the men returned to shore and walked over to our group. As we are so clearly American, he addressed us in English and asked what on Earth we were doing in Lavrio. We explained our missed boat situation and that we were trying to take a weekend hiking trip as a little escape from Athens, where we were all currently living in order to teach at Athens College. Wouldn't you know it, the man turned out to be an alum of Athens College and was also an active member of the Board of Directors. We chatted, then, with him for a good long while, and he regaled us with hilarious stories about his adventures of swimming with the Great White sharks and other fine tales befitting an old Greek man. He also explained to us that the group we were sharing the beach with were actually part of the winter swimmers league, which explained their nonchalance with the water's coldness. To them, this was warm water. Apparently, they come down to this beach to gather and swim every day. What a life.
As we observed the winter swimmers, we noticed that one man was swimming with a big yellow tub held above his head. When he brought himself back to the beach, we saw him take an octopus out of the tub. He had just caught it! He promptly began bashing the octo against a rock and then just smacking the crap out of the thing over and over. This, I have learned, is how you kill and tenderize an octopus to prepare it for cooking. We were riveted. Pretty soon after the destruction of the octopus, an old man walks over to our group carrying a stone that had little battered and fried fishes on it, and he offered them to us. In broken English he explained that the fish had been caught mere hours ago, and this would surely be the freshest fish we had ever had. He was not wrong. This simple little fish was one of the best things I've ever tasted.
Moments later, another man approaches our group carrying another stone. On this one is a sliced up tentacle of the very octopus that we just saw get caught, smashed, and prepared. It had been grilled and marinated, and this only topped the fish in deliciousness. Never would I have thought I would have enjoyed octopus so much, but it was so tasty and fresh that it surpassed anything I have ever eaten before.
And it didn't stop there! A different man then brought us a plate of flavorful beans and vegetables, and then another man brought us a soft, sesame-d loaf of bread, and then we were given potatoes, and then we were brought cups filled with sweet, rose wine. Each dish was more unique and exciting than the one before it. We were beside ourselves. We had a fantastic little picnic on the beach, and before we knew it, we were being waved over to the group itself. We thanked everyone profusely, and they brought us crates to sit on, and then the party began.
There was singing and clapping and dancing and jokes-- some in Greek and some in English-- and stories and more singing, and then there was ouzo. And then more ouzo. Which led to more dancing and more jokes. It was pure, unadulterated joy and fun. Kosta, the fisherman of the group, had a little more ouzo than everyone else and took the lead on every song and dance that was brought up. He kept trying to turn over the chair of a woman named Maria in order to get her up and dancing with him. He would walk over to Robyn, Whitney, and me, and check on our ouzo cups, and if they were empty, he would grab the cup, smash it, yell, "KAPUT!" and then hand us a new cup and more ouzo. If our cups were not empty, he would take off his shoe and whack our feet in disdain and urgency. He was quite the character. If little tidbits from the beach had somehow wandered into the cup of ouzo, that was also grounds for a "KAPUT!" and cup smashing. No need to keep sand in your ouzo-- there was plenty.
They loved having us there. In fact, they all but demanded we return in a few weeks to do it all again. We were promised fresh fish (unless Kosta has a bad fishing day in which case they promised us grilled meat) and more songs and stories. Needless to say, we are planning a trip back to Lavrio to do just that.
We spent the whole day on the beach with the winter swimmers. As it turns out, killing time in Lavrio was no problem at all. We met vivacious, fascinating people, had a a day of sea and sun, and partook in some of the best food I have ever eaten in my life. Thank goodness we missed the boat.
1 comment:
Did you go back?!? =D
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