Old bones, a plastic tide and the queen of Spain

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  Chios, Greece
Tuesday, May 13, 2008

The ride kicks off around noon today as we thread our way through busy Chios Town and take the western fork toward the monastery of Nea Moni. Perched high in the forested hills in the middle of the island, it's stone buildings dating back to the 11th century are remarkably well preserved and getting even better all the time, judging by the amount of scaffolding on view. It's a UNESCO World Heritage site and at half past noon on a Tuesday, largely free of visitors. A bearded bear of a black-robed monk is talking to a small party near the door of the cathedral and the only other people I run into are an elegantly dressed middle aged couple and two young men in white shirts and ties inside the narthex which turns out to be an ossuary. A large glass case along the wall contains maybe 50-60 skulls and piles of human femurs. A sign explains that these are the relics of the approximately 100,000 Greek residents of Chios massacred by the Turks one warm spring afternoon in 1822. On the Orthodox Good Friday, in fact. Many of the skulls clearly show the impact of the axe and sword. The monk enters and speaks a few words to the couple. The woman crosses herself and they all withdraw. We take a quick look around the grounds and head back to the parking area where we notice that there are two police cars and a motorcycle cop -- the smartly-dressed couple's motorcade. After they all pull away, I ask the monk who was getting the VIP treatment. "This is the queen of Spain - Sofia. Here we get many VIPs. You are also a VIP, " he smiles. Our brush with royalty and we didn't even get to say hello.

Lesser luminaries in the form of French President Sarkozy and his bride visited Chios last week, arriving secretly from Turkey one evening to spend the night in a 14-room/1000 euro-a-night hotel just a cut or two above our own.

Everyone who's anybody comes here.

On up the road we come to the lonely village of Anavatos, perched on the top of a tall escarpment, home now to only two permanent residents. Back in those grisly days in 1822, over 400 of its residents threw themselves to their deaths from a cliff to avoid the Turkish sword. Tough choice.

From there it's a three hour drive up into the arid, scrub-covered mountains where villages are scarce, the turns tight and the drop from the road always sheer. Spectacular views out to the sea stolen nervously while down-shifting through endless curves. Impossible to describe the sheer expanse.

We reach the north shore of the island and begin our circuitous descent to the sea, arriving finally in the village of Nagos where the guidebook mentions a good swimming beach. Having promised Bella her daily two or three hours in the sun I found us an empty taverna on the shore and after a less than memorable Greek salad, we made for the beach. Not a soul in sight, or a beach chair for that matter, along the pebbly shore, but an astounding number of plastic bottles, bags strewn across its entire length. More plastic bags floating like white and blue jellyfish in the waves. Garbage everywhere you look. It wasn't easy, but we have found Greece's single spoiled beach. Looks like the tides and winds collect the worst of the Aegean and toss it ashore here. A strong wind is blowing in from the sea and Bella abandons all hope of courting melanoma.

Back to Chios 24km away. Approach the town from the south and you're on a relatively wide one way avenue along the seafront. Approach from the north and you're instantly swallowed by a maze of narrow one way streets clogged with cars, motorcycles and pedestrians with a death wish. After running the gauntlet, we park along the road out of town and walk back in, Bella to browse the shops, me to find an ATM and tap this entry.