Part 1: Athens to Amorgos

Those who wish to know about the world must learn
about it in its particular details.

-Heraclitus (Greek philosopher, c. 500 BCE)

When people ask me why I want to visit a particular place, I never know how to answer. I might say, “There’s so much history there!” or, “It looks so beautiful,” or, “I’m a fan of such-and-such writer from that region.” While not false, these aren’t the whole story.

In truth, I don’t know why particular places call me. I just know I feel drawn. That’s why I spent the better part of a year in West Africa almost thirty years ago, and it’s why I traveled to Greece last month.

I’d been hearing the Grecian siren song for years. In 2018, I’d started researching avenues for leading a retreat there. So when I finally developed a plan for a women’s writing retreat on the island of Amorgos, I made sure to allow myself extra time to explore.

ATHENS

I arrived in the morning to pouring rain.

After a ten-hour flight, an hour-long subway ride and a bit of urban trudging, I hauled my suitcase up the narrow stairs of the Hotel Tempi, where I’d booked a room. The man at the desk looked up in surprise.

“Not ready yet,” he said brusquely, though not unkindly. “Come back one hour.”

I stowed my suitcase and wandered the narrow, cobbled alleys of the heavily-touristed Monastiraki district in the rain, gazing blearily at store after store of colorful tchotchkes, puzzling over the ubiquitous penis-shaped bottle openers (who buys these?!), and gasping in wonder every time I rounded a corner and came face to face with crumbling columns, thousands of years old. Sometimes the ancient structures were fenced off. At other times you looked down and they were beneath your feet, covered in plexiglass, so you were literally walking on top of them.

I noticed, as well, a ubiquity of cats. They were everywhere! Surprisingly, they didn’t look scraggly and starved, but rather well-loved. I soon discovered sites where people collected donations and put food out for them. I later learned that the locals count on these cats to keep the mouse and rat populations at bay.

I eventually hauled my soggy self back to the hotel and asked my laconic front-desk pal, “Has it been an hour yet?”

He gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “Okay.”

I paid €100 cash for my three-night stay. He told me the shared bathroom was down the hall from my fourth-floor room.

“No private bathroom?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You buy cheap room.”

I asked if I could upgrade.

“No. Full.”

I hiked up the four steep flights of stairs. The room was tiny but clean. A single bed, a desk, a sink and an armoire. Just enough space to squeeze by my suitcase and lie down on the bed.

I smiled that, on the eve of my fifty-ninth birthday, I was traveling in much the same manner I had in my wild, untethered youth. But what did I need, really, besides a roof, a shower, and a place to sleep? How lucky I was to encounter this city for the first time, with its fascinating juxtapositions of old and new. How lucky that my legs could still carry me up these stairs without undue strain. That my heart still thrilled to adventure.

I immediately fell asleep. For two hours, I slept like an unexcavated tomb, until the alarm I’d set to avoid sabotaging my nighttime rest went off. I slapped blindly at it until it went quiet. I fell back to sleep.

👉 [Read the full story on Substack: My Greek Island Dream – Part 1: Athens to Amorgos]

Part 2: Santorini & Crete coming soon.