There were rainbows everywhere following the storms of the previous day that had flooded the cobblestone streets and brought me a sense of satisfaction, being that it was the first rain I had seen in two months.
Hydra (Idira) was breathtaking. It had the old-world charm of the Cinque Terre --- without the stairs. My hydrofoil docked in Hydra on Monday after an uneventful 90 minute crossing from Pireaus and two lovely but uneventful days in Athens. In Athens, there had been no strikes, no protests, and the smattering of riot police around the city is becoming rather par-for-the-course in Europe in these uncertain times. Athens was gorgeous, bathed in Autumn light, the leaves just beginning to turn to shades of orange and red while the air was warm during the day and crisp, and bootworthy, at night. The tzatziki of Athens had been thick, the wine had citrus and fruity notes, and the pea veloute at Alain
Parodi's Eat-At-Milton's was the smoothest most gentle bowl of 'soup' I've ever had, topped as it was with raw spring onions and chorizo - the perfect contrasting but complementary bites to a smooth, creamy indulgence of a bowl....I know, I know, it always ends up being about the food with me.
Anyway...erm...Hydra. Right.
The hydrofoil docked on a pleasant, warm afternoon into the 18th century port town. The island has no cars, no vehicles at all to speak of beside 2 trucks (1 garbage, 1 small flat-bed) and a tractor (there may have been other tractors, but I only counted one). Instead, all transportation is by horse and donkey. Despite the equine transport, the paths and streets were impeccably clean - when we commented on this to the owner of the coffee shop, he APOLOGIZED for the mess! (apparently, it was dustier than usual because it was garbage day) The cobblestone streets were a narrow, winding, sloping labyrinth that climbed up and around the hillsides surrounding the harbor; each turn offering a new burst of color, tiny taverna, or tiny kitten to smile at.
I explored two paths going out of Hydra Town. On the first day, my travel buddy and I went West toward the "Sophia Loren Windmill", and along a gentle, beautiful cliff-side path to the next town. The sky was a perfect blue, it was warm (but not too warm), and only happy little clouds puffed past. A few wildflowers still clung to the hillside and whitewashed and stone houses appeared in small clustered bunches between the towns. It was my favorite kind of holiday excursion, walk-hiking along beautiful seaside vistas without a care in the world.
The second day, my travel buddy and I walked East, around the fort and up a deserted pathway, dotted with ye-olde streetlamps and benches that stretched on for ages. Again, there was a beautiful blue sky, but behind us a steep, rocky incline that went to the top of the island's small mountain. There were fewer houses and buildings along the walk, scattered and shuttered. About 40 minutes or so of walking along we came to a cluster of homes that could only barely be described as a "village". The incline to our right had become more gentle, but sinister. We could now see dark clouds approaching from the South that had previously been hidden by the hill. About the same time, we came upon a patch of burnt trees (apparently the wild fires a few Summers ago affected Hydra as well as the main land), brown grass, and dozens of cats hiding among them; a perfect Halloween scene.Still the sky was growing darker and a recommendation made to head back. We had been walking nearly an hour at a slow amble. Seeing the first crack of lighting over the hill, and noticing that, besides street lamps, the road was also lined with tall electrical poles that were the only objects of any height, the trip back to town was halved to about 20-30 minutes.
A stormy, lazy day ensued; something I miss from living in the land of weather. The storm added a sense of drama to my last day on Hydra...
and rainbows to the sky on my departure.
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