I know that I have a tendency to fall in love with the places we visit, but this time I really mean it. I can not recall a single place in the last forty years that reminds me of this one. Before then, I do remember some time spent on a very quiet ranch my grandparents had in Oklahoma. You see, there are no motor vehicles on this island. No wheels, no motors, no horns. Not even the high-speed whir of a motorcycle engine. Donkeys do the heavy lifting. There’s a parked ambulance near the harbor. I’ve read that there are maybe garbage trucks. But the real bosses of this place are the cats and dogs and roosters and donkeys. This quiet Sunday morning you can hear the children playing, the church bells, and even some of the service being held just a few doors down.
This weekend in the small island town is a trail run. We were caught quite off guard yesterday by loud whistles and then a young boy – not yet a teenager – running his hardest with a huge smile on his face. He was the lead in the race for his age. Later, when we’d joined some locals on the steps of a local tavern for an afternoon drink, we caught the group running the main race through the streets of Hydra. Just after they passed, the bar’s manager set up the traditional tables and chairs. It finally clicked as to why that street, touted in guidebooks as one to stroll for lunch or beverages, seemed so deserted.
Instead of being a resort community, this feels like a small town. There are a number of families, and many children. Two of them, about 4 and 7, were playing hide and seek in the street last night near our table at dinner. Counting in both English and Greek, they’d often converse in both. The little girl had to spend more time searching than her older brother. She’d talk to herself a bit in Greek looking under tables and behind open doors. The she yelled, “I see you!” Tom and I were pretty amazed by how often these two slipped between languages.
Dinner was fresh fish and other starters. The fish arrived whole and we were taught how to flake the meat from the bones. It was served with an amazing emulsified sauce of lemons and olive oil. After dinner, we shared a small bottle of ouza near the harbor. Here we watched the teens in the equivalent of dragging main street, only they did it by foot. Greek teens exhibit the exact rituals of those we held in our youth.
Hydra is not quaint. That word trivializes what this town has made for the families here. Hydra is what life is supposed to be. Slow and fresh (the air is actually perfumed with the flowers everywhere) and deeply genuine.
So, I’m not planning to ever leave. Well, at least until tomorrow.
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So far we’ve managed to have a wonderful breakfast and get cleaned up. Tom took a brief self-guided walking tour. I’m catching up with you. Later well walk around the edge of the island to one of the beaches. It’s a bit cold for swimming, but there’s likely still an umbrella and a couple of beers with our names on them. We’ve already picked a place for dinner.
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