Milos rocks

“This was the start of Western civilization,” he proclaimed while holding it up to the sunlight. “And this,” he said, waving his hand at all the dirt and rocks, “is where Milos started, the first settlement on the island.”

Over here, he said, stepping near a roped-off area where three dirt-stained archaeologists were on their hands and knees, is where the Lady of Filakopi, a terra cotta idol, was found in the West Shrine. “She is now in the archaeological museum here in Plaka,” Leonidas said.

Upon hearing the news, my aunt wanted to go see the Lady. But I reminded her of our priority: beaches. So on the way to Milos’ main town of Plaka we stopped in a fishing settlement called Firopotomas that also happened to have a beach. The village is nestled into a rocky cove with the bright blue sea serving as its front yard. We drove down a hill into the cove that contained Firopotomas. It is a two-level village: Half of it, including the domed church, sits atop rock, and the other half is at sea level. I got out to explore both, taking stairs down to the sea where before me was a unique type of Milos architecture, syrmata, dwellings carved into the rock walls. Melians, as residents of Milos are called, use the syrmata to store their boats away from the harsh north winds in the off season. In the summer, local fishermen live in these caves by the sea.

What would it be like, I wondered, to live in a rock with no electricity on this dramatic beach? Quiet, a little scary, but wonderful because of the possibilities that silence holds.

We continued our drive toward Plaka with my aunt doing what she does best: spotting the tiniest of botanic samples at 40 miles per hour. “There is artemisia,” she said, pointing to a blur of green out in a field. “It’s what is used to make absinthe.”

OK, now, I knew something botanical: “Wormwood,” I declared confidently, “is used to make absinthe.”

“Right, that’s it’s other name.” I scribbled a note to myself to look that one up when I got home (she was right).

As we wound our way up to Plaka, passing its sugar-cube houses, I could see Castro above us (a village last populated in the Middle Ages when pirates were a worry) and Adamas and the wide bay below us. We parked near two elderly ladies whom I dubbed the Pied Pipers of Plaka: they wore simple floral dresses and handed out scraps of fish to a clowder of cats. The museum was across the street.

Inside the neoclassic-style museum an approximately 6-foot-tall faux Venus de Milo stands guard, her arms missing, her body made of plaster rather than the marble of the real statue (which is in the Louvre in Paris). In a room to the left is the Lady of Filakopi, decidedly less of a presence at about 17 inches high. Her features remind me of Russian nesting dolls, but she is thought to have been an idol to the prehistoric culture of the island, a divine being representing a wish, such as fertility. I stared at her terracotta body, literally thousands of years old, understanding that there is much more to Milos than the beaches I had sought.

There are no beaches to mention in the village of Tripiti -- only windmills -- and I was now OK with that. The northern hillside town, not far from Plaka, was the starting point of another period in Milos’ history: After the city of Filakopi disappeared (possibly due to an earthquake in Santorini), a new settlement was established around 1100 B.C. in the area that stretched from present-day Tripiti to the seaside village of Klima, about 550 feet below it. Between is believed to be a necropolis that has yet to be fully explored. So we parked on a cliff overlooking this steep hillside. Beneath the ground where we stood, Leonidas told us, was an intricate system of catacombs, the largest such system in Greece. We walked down several stairs to the entrance.

“These catacombs prove that Christianity had an early hold on Milos,” Leonidas explained as we stepped into humid Catacomb B. The people worshipped here out of sight of the pagans. Three chambers have been excavated, but only this one is open to the public. There are believed to be about 600 feet of hallways carved from a soft rock called tufa. Artificial lighting exposes the graves carved into the walls, some of which have ancient markings on them.

After exiting the catacombs, we headed down a steep hillside. Goat bells clanged nearby. We turned a sharp corner and into view across the bay came Chalakas, the western half of the island. The Aegean sparkled below and, looking out onto this gorgeous vista, we saw the ruins of the Roman amphitheater with its 2,000-plus-year-old marble seats still intact. The theater is set within a beautiful meadow of olive and cypress trees, and we noticed shards of pottery (just waiting to be catalogued by archaeologists) sticking out of the soil. I couldn’t sit in one of the amphitheater’s seats because they were roped off while excavation continued, but I could feel the history here. It seemed apropos that in Greece I sought beaches but ventured instead into a land of rocks and ruins, into the very foundations of civilization itself.

That evening we drove to Paleohori on the southeastern coast to witness the sea burbling up from the hot earth. Our plan was to have redfish cooked in pots under the sand, which reaches a temperature of 199 degress F, but the taverna Pelagos was closed that Sunday night. Instead we sat on the deck of another waterfront restaurant, Loukis, while the sun began to set, turning the rock face that was in my view brilliant reds, greens and yellows. After dinner, Karen and I walked down to the beach and I picked up a stone fallen from the cliff face. As a serious student of the rock now, I balanced it in my hand and wondered how old it was. I wondered if it had a bigger purpose yet to be realized, or if it was a chunk of something past. Within this rock were so many different possibilities. Even in the present it had a purpose: It added to the beauty of this beach. I dropped it and, as I walked on, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a wild onion. “Greeks gather them for the new year for good luck,” Karen said, following my gaze. I wondered, if I were to travel with my aunt again, how much more interesting and wondrous the world would become. First rocks. Next plants.

Each issue of ISLANDS Magazine explores the most beautiful island destinations in the world, from tropical island outposts to the sophisticated gems of the Mediterranean. Our top-rate photographers and writers discover the quiet beaches, boutique hotels, and unique cultural experiences that make island travel unique.

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