It was my third trip to Greece. I had been to Corfu twice. Spetses twice as well. I had already toured the majority of the Peloponesse and visited the island Odysseus was said to have come from. I had already seen every single museum in Athens , even the war museum. There were still many places in Greece I had not visited, yet. A couple of them major tourist attractions such as Santorini and Delos . However, there was one site of up most importance, at least to my family, I still had not visited. The village my grandfather came from. So on my third visit to Greece I was finally going to visit the village my Grandfather had come from. And unlike all of my other trips to Greece I was going to start with this village instead of attempting to get there from the western side of the country.
I literally arrived on the island my grandfather came from fresh off the boat, taking the night boat from Pireás (Athens) sleeping startled between two lounge chairs. I had arrived in Athens the day before and stayed with my Aunt and Uncle. My aunt was really happy I was finally going to Lesbos and the village of Agia Paraskevi the island and town of my Grandfathers and her father’s birth. Traveling by boat, even at night was nothing new. I had done so numerous times. In fact I am now quite comfortable with a big diesel engine rumbling underneath my head. Sleeping with my head propped up on the back of a chair, with my neck at a 60 degree angle and my feet suspended on another chair was a different matter. Needless to say my bottom sagged slightly, though it did rest on my backpack.
Before taking off to Agia Paraskevi I had two orders of business, first to find a hotel and second to find a rental scooter. I was a little shocked. On the Ionian islands and even the Hydra and Spetses had several hotel owners on the dock waiting for people the second they stepped off. I actually had to wander around a little bit before I found a gentleman pawning off a room. I was a bit surprised that there was only one hotel owner as well. This was the very beginning of the season and most people do not stay in the main town. I then had to rent a moped. One of these days I am going to write a story about my experiences renting these bikes. This story fits into the middle of the pack in terms of moped rentals. There was apparently only one place open at eight in the morning. It was located in between two cafes facing the quay. I had taken the precaution of getting an international driver’s license for the express reason of renting mopeds. Of course the owner of the moped shop had never seen one. So we walked to one of the bars, Faces I believe, and he asked the bartender, a lovely Aussie lady, if it was “O.k.”. She said yes it was, winked at me and everything was up and up. So he rented me the “bike.”
Having take care of those two items in short order, I head out for Agia Paraskevi enjoying the lovely hills of Lesvos. I was surprised at how green and lush the island was, which was stupid on my part because the Turks knew this island as the garden island. I discovered that this was not the norm for many of the eastern Aegean islands. The Angola coast acts as a rain Shadow so many of the islands get little rain. However, I really enjoyed the olive trees and then the pines as the road wound up and down the mountain sides of the third largest Greek island. The island is really quite monotonous and my moped was a little .25 cc model that struggled up each pass. But it gave me time to admire the passing scenery, as cars sped past me.
On my way to Agia Paraskevi I did manage to get lost, once, not because I couldn’t read a map but because I didn’t trust it. My map said the “village” was a fair size town with a “major” road going up to it. From what I had heard my grand father had come from a “village” so it should be small and remote. So when I saw a sign, written only in Greek, saying Agia Paraskevi, I turned on to the road. The dirt road. It was quite a scenic road. Nice lush pine trees lining it as it wandered through the hills. It reminded me a lot of the dirt trails I have been on in the Seirra Nevada Mountains. No wonder my grand father liked the Sierras so much. After about 45 minutes on the road, I figured that this was not the main road but a donkey path of some kind. Donkeys are still in some of the remoter areas of Greece for transport. (It most likely was also a fire road to help combat the ever present Greek arsonists. So I got back onto the main road and I arrived in my grand father’s village about lunchtime.
There I was in the town my Grandfather came from. The village was quite a bit larger than I envisioned. The “village” was in reality a regional capital on the island. My map was indeed right, it was a major town on the island. The town had a central market place (agora) with homes extending from it. There were the customary taverna and cafes lining the streets as well. I spent about an hour or sow wandering around the town. Many of the town people stopped and staired at me, wondering what this forigner was doing walking around THEIR town. It appeared that I was the day’s entertainment.
I had been given the name of a relative to ask for by my Athenian Aunt with the added words of wisdom, my relatives on the island did not speak ANY English. My original plan to ask at the taverna for my aunt and uncle because everyone knows everyone else in Greek towns, or so it seems. I had also assumed that this town would be the size of Ermioni (2 blocks wide and a mile long). I began to question this plan when I realized that this wasn’t a little town but a major city for this part of the island. I was convinced that no one would know who my relatives were or remember my grandfather. Being a bit timid, I decided to buy a few post cards, to prove I was here, and have a quick walkabout then eat lunch. During the lunch I scribbled in my best Greek (Greek that a three year old native would be ashamed of) a quick note incase I was not able to locate my aunt and uncle, figuring I could always drop it off in the local post office for delivery (it turns out my uncle is the post master.)
The moment of truth was upon me. When the waiter came by I showed him the paper my Athenian aunt scribbled asking him if he knew my uncle. He sent an Aussie over who’s English was better than his own and I gave him my whole long story about trying to find my remaining relatives. The Aussie then conferred with a couple locals, in machine gun Greek, as to who the person was and then they told me to wait. During this time I was attracting quite a gathering, I take it that the town doesn’t get tourists very often, especially American ones who had relatives still living in the town. As I was waiting, several locals asked my what my exact relationship and I explained that I was John Chraralampos’ grandson. Many of the older locals recognized the name; after all, my great grandfather was the village priest, and were ecstatic I came back and visited. Some commented that it was commendable that I came back. One old gentleman even remembered my Grandfather visiting about 20 years ago. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was about 50 years ago).
My aunt and uncle finally descended upon me, ecstatic that I had made it. They had advanced warning of my arrival and greeted me with open arms in the Greek way. They asked where I was staying and I swear they were about to drive into town and get my belongings so I could stay with them. The hotel having my passport saved me. They were extremely happy that I had traveled a few thousand miles back to my grandfather’s village of birth.
Over the next two days they showed me talked with me, took me around, showed me a picture of my great grand father along with all of my other relatives. Conversation was interesting since my Greek was nonexistent. SO they taught it to me as they tried to communicate. They used different methods, unconsciously, that I had learned about in my linguistic classes in college.
I was extremely grateful for this generosity they showed me. They left me with the number of their daughter, my cousin, in Athens, yet another relative I have yet to meet. When I left the island, I had been taken in by my extended family, by complete strangers, welcomed warmly in my Grandfathers village and got an extended tour of one of the last, Untouched Greek islands.
Guide Books | FAQs | Photos for Sale | Travel Essays | LinksContact info: