SUNDAY, JUNE 9
Another day that began with “What (the hell!) were you thinking, Mom?” I booked us on the 7:30am ferry, which meant we were up at 5, on the metro by 5:45, and walking the already steaming hot dock by 6:15. On the boat, at first we were dizzy from the early morning rush and anxiety as we awaited launch then more miserable because we were ridiculously tired, and the ferry was stuffy and crowded.
But after two hours inside, and a little nap, we moved into the fresh, soft warm air to a covered deck at the back of the boat, and the blue of the sea healed us. Such a blue! Dark and rich, deeper than ultramarine, closer to phthalo, a liquid lapis lazuli.
Ermoupoli, the capital of Syros and of the islands of the Cyclades, is where the ferry docks and is a significant port town. In the 19th century, it surpassed Pireaus in importance. It’s appropriately named after Hermes, the god of trade. Most tourists simply change ferries in Syros as they are en route to other islands like Santorini or Mykonos, except the Greeks. They stop here. It’s a little secret.
The port isn’t dotted with commercial shops catering to tourists. When we disembarked, no one hustled us. It is less developed than Santorini or Mykonos. The “bus station” is a simple, plastic-covered bus stop. The port’s bustling activity is generated by cargo activity and passenger ferries but not by people disembarking.
This would be our place to rest. Idyllic. Perfect.
Syros is a small island, but with a fairly large population of 20,000. It is divided into the newer town, Ermoupoli, and the old town, Ano Syros. One is Orthodox, the other Catholic. We were staying the middle of Ano Syros, which means in the middle of the old walled town. It was built by the Venetians, and rests in the middle of a quite-steep hill. More stairs for us to drag our suitcases up.
The charm of what appears merely a tightly-knit cluster of small, pastel houses, reveals itself upon entering the narrow passageways, much too narrow for cars. The village is similar to Venice, but a Venice with the lights turned on high, painted white and hugging a hill rather than canals. The small two-story homes, trimmed in blue as in Santorini and other Greek towns, can be found here but there are also deep and pastel greens, soft yellows, and various shades and tones of blue on shutters, doors, and in pots along the stairs. Vines cover porches. The stairs and stones are painted with white trim.
The locals, unlike in Athens and Thessaloniki, are extremely friendly and ready to help. When we asked to take our extra food home at dinner, the waiter gave it to us in the restaurant’s bowls, and told us we could return the bowls when we were done. Our Airbnb host not only picked us up at the bus station and drove us up the hill, but showed us around Ano Syros.
The main “street” (passageway) runs on a curving path, up and down stairs, through the center of Ano Syros. It has a small market, restaurants and cafes, and a few small, local (made-for-tourist) shops. Other passages wind up and down the hill, bending with the land and around the small homes. Stairs, maybe another 300 or so, lead down to Ermoupolis. Small and larger churches sit near and on the top of the walled settlement, including a Capuchin Monastery. Thin cats lounge, sprawl and saunter through the passageways, in groups and alone.
Looking down from Ano Syros are the pastel-colored box homes of Ermoupolis, dry and rocky open fields, the busy port, the sea and islands in the distance. The view goes on forever. Stone walls divide the undulating hills surrounding the old town. A horse was grazing below in a small valley. People road their motorcycles slowly up the curving street that stops at the edge of Anos Syros. It’s quiet except for the wind through the shutters, a rooster’s crow, a dog barking, an occasional ship horn and the neighbours voices in conversation.
We spent much of the day inside the cozy stone-walled and wood-ceiling apartment, kept cool by the thick walls and closed, light blue shutters. Dinner was at the top of Ano Syros, on the roof of a small building looking over the town to the sea. The warm dry air caressed our tired bodies and laughter bubbled up in the peace of this ancient town.
