ENCHANTING HYDRA
Of donkeys and mules, monasteries and convents, bougainvilleas and baklavas
Hydra, curiously pronounced as ee-dra, is a 64 square kilometer picturesque isle by the Aegean Sea, off the coast of the Greek capital city of Athens. The landscape consists of a single mountain range, with towns and villages at its base, all lorded over by the mystical Mount Eros.
Though reachable in an hour by hydrofoil from the seaport in Piraeus, we opted for a more leisurely two-hour boat ride to get into the relaxed mood. As we sluggardly sailed going into the crescentshaped port, we spotted in spotless berths after berths multiple multi-layered yachts of tycoons and titans—some complete with helipads—sturdy catamarans of the adventure seekers, spacious sailboats of merchants and traders for their goods and wares, sleek motorboats of water-loving visitors and practical rowboats of the residents.
Excitedly, we were all set to explore and discover as many eye-catching sights as there are heads from Hydra, its namesake a multiheaded serpentine monster in Greek and Roman mythology.
Our first pleasant surprise: absolutely no vehicles on the island—a hundred percent engine motor free! Hydriots get around via bicycles, pushcarts, and trolleys. As a supplement, there were over one thousand mules, horses, and donkeys, where we learned mules have bigger ears than horses, but donkeys have the biggest of them all.
The seaside hamlet was so laid-back that children unhurriedly hopped and skipped on the way to school, workers were ambling around, dawdling with no hurry en route to work and senior ladies steadily plod in pairs arm in arm for support, for their daily purchases and errands. In shaded pockets, men who have paid up their daily dues now chit-chat while playing tabletop games, enveloped by know-it-all onlookers. Visitors and tourists sat crossed legged, some slightly reclined in verandas as they savored their piping hot coffee or the all-too-early cocktail.
There was absolutely no sense of urgency here—it’s as if time took its precious time, and we gladly adopted the contagious relaxing vibe.
In the good old days, word had quickly spread around on what the island offered. It became a favorite retreat for artists and writers, where they completed their obras, inspired by its sheer beauty and tranquility.
The list included the legendary musician Leonard Cohen of Hallelujah fame and author George Johnston famous for his literary classic
My Brother Jack. Among the frequent guests would be Pablo Picasso, the Rolling Stones, and the Italian film actress of Hollywood’s Golden Age Sophia Loren, known to have said, “One of the most beautiful places in the world, a place I will never forget.”
As we walked on cobblestoned alleys, we were attracted to the blooms and blossoms, primarily giant bougainvilleas in a variety of hues, the circular fringy Hottentot Fig creepers, and the delicate prickly pears with flowers.
“You must at least visit a cathedral, as there are over 300 chapels and churches, monastic monasteries and cloistered convents,” our tour guide implored.
Prefaced by the town’s Clock Tower, we entered a gated area collectively known as the Komiseos Theotoku Monastery, a spiritual complex of white buildings with its own orchard and outdoor gilded altars.
We soon found ourselves at the Byzantine marble-floored Church of Dormition, likewise called The Monastery of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, a former site for religious activity and now a favorite meditation area.
A huge chandelier hung from the 18thcentury frescoed ceiling, while the walls kept up with the artistry with its own majestic murals. There were several icons of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Maliki, the Annunciation of Our Most Holy Lady—the Theotokos—the martyr Saint Constantine of Hydra and Saint Spyridonos, patron of the potters.
Being a Greek Orthodox Church, there were absolutely no pews. Instead, there were several stations where devotees lighted up candles as offerings for their petitions and intentions, supplications and exhortations.
An accompanying mini-exhibit nearby displayed relics and preserved artifacts from the 18th and 19th century such as valuable manuscripts and books.
More than just a religious destination, this was likewise the venue for several historical events that led to the Greeks gaining independence over the Turkish rule, as shared by our well-informed guide.
We wandered into a public courtyard with dwarf blood orange trees amidst memorials of the Balkan War. There were statues of historical figures who were key players in the Greek War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire, such as England’s King George I, Greek senator and revolution funder Lazaros Kountouriotis and Greek admiral and commander of the naval forces Andrea Miaoulis.
A few blocks away were rustic homes, and even further up were impressive mansions, all washed in porcelain white like clouds, topped with roofs in touches of blue. There was no shortage of cemented stairs that mysteriously led to undiscovered paths.
We took a steep trek to the Bell Tower, arguably the best vantage spot in all of Hydra.
The view provided a breathtaking vista of interesting rooftops and the Peloponnese region and its waters. It was described by our tour guide as “worth the hike by itself!”
We almost missed the bayside Historical Archives Museum of Hydra, disguised by its unassuming brick façade. It housed artifacts and approximately 20,000 books, documents, and manuscripts that logged the history and heritage, culture and traditions of the island.
There were definitely no street signages— the residents probably all knew their town by heart—so we roamed around just in search of the engrossing nooks and crannies we could see from the peripheries of our eyes.
We noticed a huge white jar with an embellishment that read part of the Philippine National Hero Jose Rizal’s words from Mi Ultimo Adios. Upon asking around how it ended up there—believe it or not, there was not a single Filipino in sight—no one could give us any leads. All they could say was “It’s written in Spanish.”
Observing the local scenery, we couldn’t help but notice that the best selling items were postcards, for this low-technology village valued the power of pen to paper and of snail mail, as there was a queue of tourists wishing to share these mementos with their families back home.
Just as the sun was about to set—another one of Hydra’s many charms—we realized that we had entirely skipped lunch, perhaps due to our excitement. We eventually settled in on a welcoming taverna which was old and known enough to not have signs anymore, for an early dinner of lamb chops, grilled shrimps, salad greens bathed in olive oil, yogurt and cheese dressing, and generous servings of the Greek Baklava.
We took in the warm chatter and laughter of the residents, the droning sound of the sea crashing into the baywalk and the wind whistling into our ears, as we found genuine joy in this island away from our very own islands back home.