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The secret life of Greeks
Savor your Greek salad - and so much more in this seaside heaven
Yes, they have Greek salads! And hidden clear-water coves, pebbly European beaches, and seaside tavernas with blue wicker-back chairs overlooking the Aegean. ...
“You are a silent killer. A ninja,” I whisper to Dmitri. The fisherman, although he doesn’t understand much English, reacts to the word “ninja” and laughs.
We are bobbing in a boat in the Aegean Sea in the darkness, the warm September evening lit only by a thin sliver of moon and the flashlights of fishermen on a half-dozen small wooden boats known as psarovarka. Armed with a fishing hook that looks like a torture instrument, Dmitri has filled his plastic bucket noiselessly with squid. He’s very effective — the ninja-calamari man.
It had been prearranged that I’d meet Dmitri in the tiny seaside village of Agnontas, on Skopelos, at sunset. I had ambitiously wanted to earn my dinner. After a few beers at the taverna, Dmitri and I motored out into the sea.
In the old days, he tells me as we drop our lines, the men used fire to attract squid. They would start a blaze in a bucket and then balance the flaming container, using poles, over the water. I get the story in broken English from Dmitri, but I notice that along with a sardine for bait, his hook has a fluorescent tip. I had previously been told that, when they are ready to mate, female squid glow to attract suitors, and I relate this to Dmitri. But he guffaws at the tale and says it isn’t true. I reel in my lightless 90-foot line: “Tipota,” I say, shrugging. Nothing.
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Then, as if the night couldn’t be more heavenly, a shooting star blazes across infinity. And the faint lights of Evia Island twinkle from just across the bay.
Back on shore at Pavlos taverna, Dmitri pulls three squid out of his pail and hands them to the chef, who disappears in the back. Minutes later, the air is scented with citrus, sizzling olive oil and charbroiling fish. OK, so maybe I haven’t exactly earned it, but I did go the extra mile beyond the supermarket fish section — I came to Greece. And now, as I dunk thick pita in salty taramasalata (carp roe dip) and cut into my tender calamari steak, I feel that I have truly arrived — in a place I almost didn’t find. Simply put, I was looking for an Aegean paradise that no one had heard of, but on an island that had the typical Greek amenities: seaside tavernas, blue-green waters, village life. Out of the roughly 169 inhabited Greek isles, there must be a find. No one had heard of the Sporades chain, of which Skopelos is a part — at least no one in the United States. Turns out the Sporades island of Skiathos spills over with the chips-and-egg package crowd. But Skopelos, an island of 4,700, lacking an airport, was less convenient and therefore quieter.
I had to land in Skiathos and catch a ferry, which after 40 minutes deposited me in one of the most well-preserved harbor towns in Greece, Skopelos Town; on the east side of the island, the village was built on a hill in maze-like fashion, supposedly to confuse pirates. Its sloping stone walkways wind by whitewashed houses and 123 churches, the oldest dating to A.D. 1000. (The entire island has 360 churches.) Mules ambling through Skopelos Town are stacked high with deliveries: slate roof tiles, flats of beer, tins of olive oil, jars of honey and almond paste.
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