Syros

Traveling Classroom^™

Queen of the Cyclades

It is a beautiful morning: lots of sunshine and a breeze that offers some hope of filling our sails. The fishing fleet left very early, and some of the boats are already returning as we sit on the deck drinking our coffee. Fishermen offload a catch of small white fish, and toss a few skates into the harbor (these small ray fish have no value in the local market). We watch and wait, because we cannot leave the harbor. The charter boats tied to Zoe Zoe prevent us from moving. This is a good opportunity to do some more exploring, so Duane and I follow the shoreline around to the next inlet, where there is another sandy beach. The water is perfectly clear, and we can see a scuba diver working his way across the bottom not far from us. He has a net suspended on an inner tube float, to which he regularly returns with whatever he is collecting. I cannot see what he is placing into the net. In these waters it could be anything from ancient artifacts to small octopuses that live among the rocks in the shallows.

By the time we return to the quay, the boats tied to Zoe Zoe have departed and we are free to leave the harbor. It doesn't take long to throw off the mooring lines and motor into open water. We hoist our sails and catch a moderate breeze as we clear the inlet, then turn southeast towards the center of the archipelago. We are sailing to the island of Syros, to the place known as Queen of the Cyclades.

According to mythology, the first inhabitant of Syros was Coeranus, who arrived on a dolphin after his ship sank near Paronaxia (dolphins seem to be very good about rescuing sailors). If Coeranus was a Phoenician, then the myth may be true. Archeologists say the first to settle this island were probably sailors from Phoenicia, a coastal land that once was where Lebanon and Syria are now. The name of the island comes from the Phoenician word "usyra" meaning happy or from "syr" meaning rock (the island is very rocky). It was a long journey from Phoenicia to Syros, much farther than our trip, but the Phoenicians were great sailors. In very ancient times their ships controlled the trade routes.

There is a fair wind from the north and we are making good time. As we sail, I think about the Phoenicians and the Ionians who colonized the island later, and the Venetians who lived there in the 13th century. These different peoples thought Syros was a good place to settle and, during the passing centuries, they all became known as Greek. But when we talk to island folk, we find that they identify with their heritage and place. They are Keans, Kythnians and Syrians, with many subtle distinctions that make them unique.

After several hours in the sun and a nice lunch, I begin to get drowsy and go below for a nap. The wind and waves make for a bumpy ride, but I manage to get some sleep. When I climb topside again, clouds are screening the sunlight and Syros is off the port bow. Like the other islands we have visited, Syros has rocky hills and steep cliffs that plunge into the sea. There is deep water near the cliffs, so we are able to sail close to land as we approach the southern tip of the island.

As we come around the point into the lee of Syros, the wind dissipates and our speed over ground drops to about 2 knots. There are no harbors at this end of the island, but we slide past many small inlets. A few have beaches, but most are rocky and forbidding. Every once in a while we see a small house on the slopes above us. Although we see no evidence of crops or livestock on the land, there are stone walls extending from the hilltops down to the edge of the cliff. Perhaps neighbors are defining property lines or the walls separate pastures to avoid overgrazing. Judging from the sparse vegetation, grazing livestock would probably have to be moved regularly to preserve the pastures.

At the next headland we turn northward into the wind, and can make no headway by sailing. Dark clouds are gathering and the air has turned colder. We do not want to be caught in a squall along this rocky coast, so the engine is started. As we motor along the coast, we begin to sight small fishing boats heading in the same direction. Perhaps they are also concerned about the weather.

The coastline softens as we move north. The hills flow smoothly down to sandy beaches, and there are homes along the skyline. There are developed areas which appear to be suburbs rather than the little villages we have seen on other islands. It appears that we are nearing the port of Ermoupoli. We motor past Didymi, a small island with much vegetation and one village. Near the north end of the island, we sight the entrance to the harbor on the port side. As we turn into the channel and drop the sails we can see a large harbor with the city of Ermoupoli wrapped around it. The main part of the city rises up from the waterfront on two big hills, each of which is topped with a large church. It is not a typical Cycladic town. Most of the buildings along the harbor are neoclassical and Venetian-style architecture.

Passing the breakwater into the protected area of the harbor, we get more direct evidence that this is a metropolitan area. The harbor water is dirty and smells of diesel fuel and sewage. Directly in front of us, in the southwestern section of the harbor, is a large shipyard jammed with big freighters and tanker ships in various stages of repair and refitting. North of the shipyard there is moorage for commercial vessels and, on the city waterfront, the ferry terminal. One ferry is already tied up at the terminal, and another is coming in behind us and moving fast. Paul steers out of the path of the ferry and Duane slows the engine. Bobbing in the wake, we wait until the ferry swings around and docks before we resume our course towards the quay to the east of the ferry terminal.

There is plenty of room at the quay. Except for a few commercial boats coming and going, there is only one large sloop side-tied (against the rules) in the best area, along a broad promenade across the street from some beautiful old buildings that house shops and cafes. We decide that is where we want to be, so Paul brings the boat into position and Jeanette drops the anchor as we reverse into the quay. There are plenty of mooring rings, and a passerby stops to help when Duane tosses out the lines. Within a few minutes Zoe Zoe is securely moored and the gangway is lowered to the sidewalk. We are all anxious to begin exploring. Before any sightseeing, however, there is a more important task to accomplish. Duane wants to find a place to purchase medications for his burned hand, which is still causing him considerable discomfort.

We set off in search of a pharmacy and an exchange office (we are all short on drachma and must cash some travelers' checks). Crossing the promenade, we walk up a street leading away from the waterfront and into the city. The first thing I notice is that most of the buildings have marble facades, the curbs and sidewalks are marble, and even the roadway is paved with marble slabs. Coming from a country where marble is rare, I find it difficult to imagine such extravagant use of this expensive stone. I must remind myself that marble for the great monuments of Greece was quarried in the Cyclades islands. It is almost as common here as sand on the beach.

This street leads us to the central square, Platia Miaouli, named for a hero of the war of independence. A statue of the admiral stands at the entrance and across the square is a large and impressive town hall flanked by palms. There are fine buildings with shops and restaurants on all sides of the square, and we are happy to see an OTE (telephone company) office next to the town hall. On a side street we find a pharmacy. Duane and Paul go in, while Jeanette and I walk to a bank a few doors down the street to get some cash from an ATM. Although the machine has instructions in English, we can't get it to work for us. Duane has been more successful. He returns with a medicated ointment that has already soothed the skin on his hand.

Now we must see if the OTE can help us make a computer connection to the Internet. Jeanette and Paul decide to explore elsewhere, while Duane and I walk across the square to talk with the telephone people. When we enter the OTE building, we find a row of old-fashioned wooden phone booths and a service counter. The woman at the counter speaks no English, so she calls another woman from the back office. We explain the sort of telephone jack we need in order to connect a computer modem and access our Internet service provider. The OTE worker says the telephones in the back office may have that type of jack, but we will have to return in the morning during regular work hours. This sounds very promising, so we thank her and leave to resume our search for a place to cash travelers' checks.

The banks we pass are closed. Most banks are not open in the afternoon, let alone this late in the day. As we walk back towards the waterfront, we continue to look for good dining prospects. A man sipping coffee in front of a small kafenion has heard us talking, and he asks if we are Americans. We tell him that we are, and he asks where we live. When we answer, he becomes very excited and tells us that his son who lives near Seattle. We chat for a while with the man and he tells us where to find a good taverna. As we part, he writes his son's name and telephone number, and asks us to relay his regards we return home.

After connecting with Jeanette and Paul near the quay, we discover a tour office with an "exchange" sign over the door. We enter the office just as the travel agent is preparing to close. After we explain our desperate situation, she opens the cash drawer and exchanges our checks for drachma. Now we can pay for dinner.

Jeanette says that there once were public showers in the old ferry terminal building on the east side of the harbor. She and Paul go off to ascertain the prospects for a hot shower, while Duane and I turn westward to explore the waterfront. Walking along the promenade, we see some large motor yachts coming across the harbor towards the quay. A huge charter yacht already docked has attendants helping passengers off and on. What a life! We continue past the new ferry terminal to the commercial waterfront and then cross the street and walk up the hill. Wandering up and down narrow cobblestoned streets and alleys, we note the locations of bakeries, markets and produce stands where we will come to shop tomorrow. We peek into tavernas along the way to sniff the air and decide whose cooking smells the best. There are many choices and they all smell wonderful.

When we return to Zoe Zoe, we find Jeanette and Paul enjoying a glass of wine with a guest on the deck. A deeply tanned and handsome man in his mid-thirties, Peter is the owner of the big sloop moored next to us. At first I think he is Australian, but it turns out that he is a German who learned to speak English in Australia and now lives and works in Key Largo, Florida. Peter is on a two-year sailing adventure. He tells of how he single-handed his boat across the Atlantic Ocean, sailed through the Suez Canal to the Indian Ocean and down the coast of Africa. He defended against pirates near Mogadishu and lost the boat's dinghy to thieves in the Red Sea. Now he is stuck in Ermoupoli, having lost his autopilot to a storm during the return trip through the Mediterranean. From his account, I suspect it was the same wind storm that covered us with dust in Mikrolimano.

Peter invites us to see his boat and we quickly accept. It is a 55-foot Tiger Marine sloop which he purchased from a Kuwaiti prince who could not keep it properly maintained. We find it to be huge in comparison to the Zoe Zoe. There are several cabins (two with large beds), two heads with showers and plenty of hot water (a generator provides electricity), a spacious salon area and a galley nearly as large as my kitchen at home. Duane is fascinated by the electronics. The boat is equipped with a fully computerized GPS, autopilot and radar system which Peter can monitor from a console next to his chart table. With this system, the boat can actually sail itself while Peter eats or sleeps. That is why the damaged autopilot is a major emergency. Without it, Peter must remain at the wheel continuously ... an impossible situation in long crossings. He expects to receive the new parts from Athens tomorrow or the day after; then he can sail to his next destination.

We talk for some time, until the conversation turns to food. Everyone is getting hungry. We decide to adjourn for now and reassemble on the promenade at 9:00. After washing up and changing our clothes, we meet Peter on the quay and walk towards Platia Miaouli. Unable to locate the taverna recommended by the fellow we met, we survey the prospects near the square and choose a place to eat. We are pleased to find English subtitles on the menu, and proceed to order some of our favorite Greek dishes. Peter admits that he does not like Greek food and settles for a rather plain meal of broiled meat and and vegetables.

Even though it is after 11:00 when we finish our meal, we are ready for some music. Peter asks if we like jazz. He knows of a place on the other side of the square, up the hill behind the town hall. After a few minutes we arrive at a place called "The Piano" and enter. It appears to be an old church with high ceilings and ancient stone walls. There is dim lighting and small tables and groups of people circulating and jazz playing on the sound system. After a round of espresso and music, Paul and Jeanette decide to leave and explore the night city. We stay with Peter to soak up more music and watch the people come and go.

When we finally leave, we take a different route back to the waterfront -- a street we have not seen before. Even at this hour in the morning there are many people strolling and talking. The schedule that Greeks keep is fascinating to me!

At the quay, we chat with Peter for a while longer and then walk back to the Zoe Zoe. The clouds have completely obscured the stars and a light rain has started. If the weather turns bad, sailing will be messy. We will have to see what the morning brings.