Escape to Hydra
WE SAILED OFF ON A BIG SHIP TO HYDRA, PRONOUNCED EE-DRA, SOME 37 NAUTICAL MILES from Piraeus, the seaport of ancient Athens, the capital of Greece. We opted for a leisurely voyage which took approximately three hours. The other choice would have been via a hydrofoil that plies the route on the Aegean Sea in less than an hour. But our destination was a hidden sanctuary, and we were in no hurry.
We were immediately struck by the slow pulse of the port village. Downtempo workers, children casually walking to school and tourists lazing by the seaside cafés.
The island is a favorite retreat of writers and artists for its undeniable tranquillity. It instantly felt like we were in a totally different environment, disassociated from all the hassles and complexities of living. We basked in the rays of the ever-present sun, which touched everything on a completely cloudless morning.
The current population of 2,000 inhabitants is composed of families of seamen, just returned with their early catch, and soon were scrubbing their boats or mending their nets, ready to once again capture what the ocean had to offer before sundown.
We were thoroughly surprised – shocked, really – by the absence of any type of vehicle – no cars, not even motorcycles, no faint engine noises revving up in the background. Their preferred mode of transportation is the donkey – lots of them, some colorfully decorated for visitors.
We passed by the Historical Archives Museum of Hydra, a simple structure with the usual brick facade. Supervised by the Ministry of Education, it gathers and catalogs documents and artifacts which dwell on its history, heritage, culture and traditions. Today, it hosts some 20,000 objects of interest and value such as old manuscripts and antique books.
Our next stop was the Church of Saint Constantine, up on a tree-lined trail midway up a hill. The modern chapel is dedicated to Constantine the Hydriot, their patron saint, and a neo-martyr from the period of the Turkish occupation of Greece in the late 1400s. The altar and interiors were covered in silver and gold, which gave it a lavish yet spartan feel. The concrete terrace gave a stunning view of the cascading roofscribble tops, strategically positioned cannons, the Peloponnese region and beyond. We looked down at the tiny sailboats, luxurious yachts and huge oil tankers crisscrossing the blue, blue sea, each on its own particular mission while we were happily disassociated from it all.
We serendipitously walked into an enclosure near the marina, dubbed the Church of Dormition, or more commonly referred to as The Monastery. Built in the 17th century, the marble-floored holy grounds used to be the center of religious life in the islet.
In a charming courtyard with dwarf orange trees full of ready-to-be-picked fruits, we admired a memorial of the Balkar War, and the statues of King George I, Lazaros Kountouriotis, Andrea Miaouli and Antoni Ligno, all key players in the Greek war of independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1821. Interestingly, where the prison used to be presently stands the quaint Ecclesiastic and Byzantine Museum, where relics, oblations and icons from the era were displayed.
As we passed through elaborate arches, we were amazed to find ourselves back by the coast. But we trekked back up, for there was so much more to see.
The entire vista is increasingly climbing upwards – ending at Mount Eros, its highest peak. The path we followed had narrow cobblestone walkways, flanked by whitewashed homes and palatial mansions, with tinges of the darkest shade of blue you can ever imagine. Prepare to go nuts with this combination of striking colors, as all the structures proudly carry the same trademark hues.
We surrendered to the insistent call of these passageways, with pots of different sizes attached on walls filled with eye-catching bougainvillea, not entirely certain where we were going. There were no street signs, so whenever we reached a corner, we would get sidetracked because we wanted to see every nook and cranny of this lovely hamlet – for each new crossroad presented to us an even prettier sight. Though we would gleefully get lost, we knew we would be able to navigate back, without difficulty, thanks to the constant sight of the sea.
And while the arrangement of these narrow walkways seemed like an absolute mess, it gave the place a sense of authenticity. In many ways, it was aesthetically perfect.
What caught our attention next were the endearing specialty shops, which carried patriotic postcards which depicted their breathtaking sights. Though we have moved on to the digital age, this laid-back village is one of the last few places where travelers actually stopped and found precious time to some lines and mail these mementos to their families and friends back home. A lover of pen and paper that I am, it warmed my heart.
During our walks, we spotted enclaves converted into pocket beaches, with stairs that connected the transformed parcels of land that jut into the sea. With a number of huts and some benches, visitors and locals may just relax and let the day pass by.
As the late afternoon crept in and the sun started to set, we settled in at a homey tavern. Most restaurants here have been in existence for so long that some do not bother to have signs.
Hydra’s fare is an explosive fiesta of flavors and aromas. We feasted on grilled shrimp, lamb casserole, a side dish of greens and tomato salad drenched in olive oil, Greek yogurt and cheese.
These mom and pop shops have been a testament to community and camaraderie, which we certainly felt the entire day. Our stay was brief, but Hydra’s sheer magical uniqueness made it a truly memorable experience.