First off, I realize it's August, and that I haven't written in a long time. This is because the last few months turned into such a travel frenzy that I didn't feel I had much time to write. But now that I'm back in North America, I will try to finish my record of my time in Greece. Here goes:
Mykonos is named in honor of Apollo’s grandson, Mykons. But visiting the island, you wouldn’t know it – as the “ultimate party island” (although perhaps Ios has now surpassed Mykonos in wildness) it doesn’t have much to do with mythology anymore. It’s a pretty strange place.
Sure, I like to party, but it’s not usually my priority when traveling. I was interested in Mykonos because along with its rager reputation, it was also supposedly really, really beautiful. Greeks raved about its beaches and its main town, and told me it was a must see. “Such beautiful bitches” they say, meaning, of course, beaches (this never got old).
On a sunny Friday afternoon (June 10th), Whitney and I caught a cab from school to Piraeus. Because it was a long weekend, (Pentecoste or Holy Spirit day on the Monday), there was heavy traffic and it took us about an hour to get to the port. Our cab driver, a young Albanian named Tony, blasted Jay Z, sped 160 km down the road once it opened up, and insisted that that the three of us would later go out for coffee and get married. We made it to Piraeus just in time.
The ferries almost never fill up completely, so lots of people just sit wherever they please. When I found my seat, it was already occupied. After I’d politely asked the woman in my seat to move and sat down, I heard “Hi miss Claire” from the seat directly across from me. One of my students.
The ferry (of the superfast variety) took about three hours. Upon arrival at the port, we found the sign for “Paradise Beach Resort” and were promptly herded into a large van. Along with us on the bus was a group of McGill student who had just been on birthright in Israel. Our usher was a Serbian Torontonian. Small world indeed.
I hadn’t chosen the spot – but apparently hostelworld.com had given “Paradise Beach Resort Mykonos” pretty rave reviews. The upside was that it was on the beach. The downside was that this beach is one of, if not the, most popular beaches on the island.
There was nothing even remotely Greek about it. Most of the employees were Australian, it seemed. The “resort” was more like a giant factory of a youth hostel, a compound of different structures (ranging from “beach cabin” at the lowest end to apartment at the highest) spread over a large area. I opted for “room” at the higher end of the accommodations strata, and was very glad I did, especially when comparing my room to the beach cabins: tiny, noisy, cramped little huts with no air conditioning and swarming with mosquitoes.
To save my energy for the Spring-Break-in-Cancun style weekend I knew I was in for, I went to bed early on the first night (around 1 am). In the morning, I woke early (9:30 am) and went to scope out the beach. At this hour I was the only person on the beach, and in its emptiness and quietude it looked quite picturesque.
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| Our Beach |
The water felt refreshing, but about 30 feet from the shoreline, a giant shelf rose up from the ocean floor to about a foot below the surface. It looked to be about another 20 feet long (to pass over). Lengthwise, the shelf extended almost the entirety of the beach, blocking swimmers off from the rest of the ocean. However, I figured I could clear the shelf by swimming right over it – I pulled myself over by grabbing onto whatever seaweedy/rocky/corally thing I could get my hands on. Once cleared, the shelf dropped off and I found myself in a turquoise sea of bliss. I kicked around for a while and explored the very limited sea life (there’s not much to see in the water in Greece) and then made my way back over the shelf. On the way back, I wasn’t so lucky – I scraped my belly along the coral and it ripped my bathing suit. When I got out of the water, I saw a lone couple sitting on the beach. The girl looked at me with disdain. She turned to her boyfriend “Already?” she said, as if it had been criminal of me to swim so early.
After breakfast (because I’d opted to stay in a room, I got a free breakfast of stale toast and lukewarm instant coffee and powdered orange juice), most of the morning was spent lounging on the beach. At around noon, Whitney and I left for the old town port, to get to the tiny island of Delos, 2 km off of Mykonos. To get to the old town, we crossed the island inland on a small bus. Mykonos is mostly made up of granite, but driving through the interior it looked like it was mostly made up of sand, dotted here and there with cacti. It’s like a big desert out in the middle of the Aegean. There isn’t much fresh water on the island, so they desalinate the sea water to drink. Compared to the other islands, it’s also relatively flat.
Delos marks the center of the circular ring of islands called the “cyclades” (sik-la-deez) –the cyclades are named as such because they are “around” (kuklas- κυκλάς) Delos. It is considered a sacred island, and is one of the most important mythological/archeological/historical locations in Greece. The island was inhabited since the third century BCE, and was a holy sanctuary for one thousand years before Greek mythology made it the birthplace of the twins Apollo and Artemis. Between 900 BC and 100 BCE, the island was a major cult center, where Dionysus and Leto (mother of the twins) were worshipped. Delos was initially a religious pilgrimage for the Ionians, until it gained religious significance throughout Greece.
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| Ruins on Delos |
Beginning in the 6th century BC, the city-state of Athens (under the tyrant Pisistratus) undertook a number of purifications of Delos so that it could be fit for proper worship of the gods. Pisistratus ordered all graves within sight of the temple to be dug up, and to move the bodies to another island nearby. In the 5th century, during the Peloponnesian war, the Delphic Oracle instructed that the island be entirely purged of dead bodies. So that no one could claim ownership to the island through inheritance, no person was to die or give birth on the island.
As important as Delos is historically, at this point in my travels around Greece I’ve begun to view rocks as rocks, so I wasn’t exactly blown away by the ruins. That said, there’s a spectacular view of the Aegean and the surrounding islands from the island’s high point, which can be reached by a steep hike.
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| Top of Delos |
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| Back in the Old Port |
After about two hours on Delos, we returned to Mykonos, and Whitney and I ventured into Mykonos town. The town is a a classic, picturesque example of the Cycladic architectural style – the white and blue houses you see in postcards of Greece. The island has retained this traditional style because of strict building regulations. Winding through the whitewash, you notice bright pink flowers above and their pettles scattered over the stone streets below. But while a classic example of Greek architecture, the town is also completely overdone for tourist benefit, and has a very cosmopolitan, highend feel. While the buildings appear ancient, they contain such stores as Sephora, Louis Vuitton, and Mui Mui, which seem bizarre out in the middle of the Aegean.
We ate lunch in Little Venice, where colorful buildings are constructed right at the water’s edge, their walls hanging almost into the sea. I met (and petted) Petros the Pelican, who I later learned has been the island’s official mascot for over 50 years. He’s enormous.
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| Little Venice |
We had a very nice chat with a gay couple from Texas at lunch, who told us which beaches to check out. Mykonos is one of Europe’s hottest gay destinations, by the way, which was later further evidenced by the nude beach a few steps from our own.
We also saw the windmills, which are quite famous, though I’m not sure why.
When we returned to our hotel around 5 pm it was still blazing hot out, so we returned to the beach. By this time, though, the beach had turned into an outdoor club. Music blasted from all down the beach, and at our hotel’s bar, 3 professional dancers in mini shorts, 3-inch heels and bikini tops danced provocatively atop 5-foot high platforms. Similarly clad waitresses took drink orders.
The beach was really crowded. I’d thought June would be a great time to go to Mykonos because it wouldn’t be too hot or crowded yet. Apparently by mid July, the island is crawling with tourists, and you can barely find a place to put your towel down on the bitch. I mean beach. But alas, it was a long weekend.
I saw more tattoos in Mykonos than I’ve seen in a while, and I think I was convinced once and for all that I won’t get a tattoo. I’ve seen about two tattoos in my life that I actually like, but the rest I’d say look pretty trashy. Sorry, tatted friends.
For that night, the party everyone was talking about was to take place at “Cavo Paradiso,” which was luckily within walking distance from our youth-compound. But we were told not to show up until at LEAST 3 am. After a 10 pm dinner of souvlaki, we played stupid drinking games with some Australians/Irish/French Canadians we found at our hotel bar. By 1:30 am, we were getting pretty restless and decided to just go.
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| Petros |
The cover charge was 20 euros, which included one free drink. At 2 am, it was true, there wasn’t much happening at this club. This club’s claim to fame was its “amazing view of the ocean.” At first I was a little confused as to why this view would matter in the dark. Then I realized that the whole point is to stay up until the sun rises. There was also a pool in the club. The DJ, up above the rest like a god on his platform, spun trancey-house music which I’m sure would’ve been really awesome had I been on a lot of drugs. I’m sure all of Mykonos would’ve been really awesome if I’d been on a lot of drugs. Anyways. I just couldn’t make it that long, and went to bed around 2:30. Not the proper Mykonos experience at all.
I spent most of the second day just lying on the beach. In the afternoon a group of us set out to find another beach, which a guidebook had deemed the most beautiful beach on Mykonos. As we walked to the far end of our own beach, I had to stifle a squeal when I almost tripped over two fat old naked men, one lying on his front with his butt cheeks spread open in the sun, the other on his back with his junk displayed for all to see. And then I looked around and noticed that everyone on this part of the beach was naked. I haven’t been to many nude beaches before, so I can’t generalize about who populates them at large. On this beach, however, it was the people you’d least like to see in the nude.
After the nudists, we had to traverse some rough terrain. We stumbled through strange rock formations and past many lizards (who scuttled away), past cacti and along the edges of cliffs. When our beach came into view, disappointment set in, because the sand of the beach was barely visible beneath the swarm of people upon it. Loud music untzed across the water towards us, warning us away.
That night I didn’t go out. Truthfully, I probably would’ve enjoyed my time in Mykonos better if I hadn’t been stressed about staying healthy and rested, because I knew I was going to Israel the following Thursday, and to Spetses the weekend after that. (Once the weather got nice and I began to near the end of my time in Greece, I went on a bit of a travel frenzy, trying to pack it all in).
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| The Infamous Windmills |
I left on the same ferry as James on Monday morning, at 11:30. Because I’d bought my ferry tickets at a travel agency, I already had them with me. James, however, had ordered them online, and needed to pick them up. When we arrived at the port at 11:12 am, James asked a ferry official where he might pick up his tickets. He was told through cigarette smoke that he couldn’t get them here. He would have to go to the old port (not close by). Having a place for tickets to be picked up in the same port the ferries left from would be far too sensible and convenient. Luckily, James was able to chase down the cab that had brought us to the main port, get to the old port, and make it back to the main port just in the nick of time (because he had a Greek driver, who drove really fast). But seriously, Greece.
