Lagada, Tholária, a Hidden Beach and.. Gratitude

Gratitude. I’m feeling a lot of it lately.

Kind of difficult to talk about gratitude at a point in my life where there's a lot of sadness and change and uncertainty. But in my attempt to live in the moment this summer and to try and experience joy when it presents itself, I can say that I have definitely felt a lot of gratitude during my travels my so far.

Often the gratitude comes in the form of stopping to think about where I am. And how I got here. And how lucky I am to be experiencing places so unique, so far from home. Other times the gratitude comes from people. And time spent laughing together, learning about one another, learning from one another, getting to know people - that if not for this trip - I would have never had the pleasure of encountering. Gratitude. I feel it. I’m embracing it. Never a day goes by that I don’t reflect on, and feel appreciation for, just how lucky I am to be here, living this life and being open to its gifts.

Yesterday, the immense gratitude I felt came in the form of an all-day hike into the hills of Amorgos. David and Mameaw, normally hugely avid walkers, were forced to resign themselves to a day of rest due to David’s unfortunately-timed bum knees, and they encouraged me to take the day for myself and explore. Don’t let his injury stop me from having a full day, was the thought. So, on their advice, that’s what I did.

My apartment is just up the hill from the main harbor village of Aegiali, and from my road there begins a circle trail route labeled “Trail 4” with red and white markings that takes hikers up further into the hills and through the tiny villages of Langada and Tholaria before returning down to the coast just north of Aegiali. Starting out, around 11:00, with the sun high in the sky and temps approaching the upper 80s, I knew I’d be in for a workout, and the potential for some over-exposure from the sun. The hills around this area are very rocky. And sparse. Just some scrubby bushes from time to time, and the occasional small grove of olive or other fruit trees. Not much shade to speak of. So, I bathed myself in sunscreen, packed the biggest water bottle I could find, and set off up the rocks.

My first stop - about 30 minutes straight up from Aegiali - was Langada. I was already a sweaty mess when I slowly marched my way into the pedistrian-only narrow, curvey lanes of this peaceful hillside village. Soaked shirt. Arms and face a watery mixture of white sunscreen and dust-coated perspiration. My Rick Steves backpack soaking up seemingly liters of excess sweat from my back. When I popped my head into a cafe and asked for a cold coffee, the woman shooed me to an outside table in the shade and promised to also bring me lots of water. “You need it,” she said. She wasn’t wrong.

At my table, seated across from me would be my coffee date for the day - a beautifully soft-looking and completely contented sleeping cat. Arms draped over the sides of her chair, she barely noticed when I sat down with her. Speaking of gratitude. I hope she was feeling it. As I sat, I contemplated my upcoming journey. I was hot. And a little weak. And a little concerned about heatstroke. Was this hike actually a good idea? Especially at this time of day? Should I enjoy my coffee, cut my losses and return home? Get up early the next day and knock off the walk during a more sane hiking hour? Instead, I asked my friendly new caregiver if she had any sweets on her menu. I figured I’d load my belly with some sugar and calories, sit for a time, and see how I felt. Reassess. The woman beckoned me back into the cafe and showed me the two pies they had that day. One was a vanilla pie, the other, orange. When she mentioned they top the orange pie with a generous scoop of some locally herb-flavored ice cream, my decision was made for me.

Back outside, the moment was complete. Orange pie with ice cream, a frothy, cold cappuccino, my lovely feline companion and a view of a cobbled lane in a shady, Grecian hilltown. Gratitude. I felt better, so I decided to carry on.

The journey to Tholaria took me down from Langada, then up and down and up and down a few more times. The occasional “wall lizard” darting away from my next impending step, unknown birds gliding in the currents above me, a rare fly stopping on my arm and swarms of cicadas perched on tree leaves, were the only life forms I encountered on this stretch of the hike. More accurately stated, the cicadas weren’t really seen, but most definitely heard. Their chirping and buzzing were ever-present on my hike. I’m actually listening to their choruses now, as I write this at a table on the terrace in a seaside cafe. These little guys are everywhere. Rarely one would drop from a tree and buzz my face - causing a little alarm for I have no idea of the little buggers bite or sting or do something even more feared - but mostly they kept to themselves in the trees. Feeling the need to constantly give off this very loud, almost scratchy sound. Amorgos has cicadas. That’s for sure. Apparently it’s an island of 10,000 goats. And maybe perhaps 10 million cicadas.

Tholaria was equally as charming and atmospheric as Langada. Upon entering the picture-postcard, blue and white village perched high on a hill, I lost the trail. Oh well, no matter. I was up for a little wander. I was happy to be lost. Letting my ears guide me, listening for the clinking of dishes or the chatter of lively conversation, I went in search of a cold beer and a hearty lunch. I passed a couple of places - cute enough but void of any customers - so, I continued deeper into town. Then I began to hear the sounds I was listening for. Just ahead of me a small cafe unfolded onto the street, tables nearly completely full. That’s the spot. No need to keep looking. Upon taking a seat and asking my server - most likely the cafe owner - for a menu, I discovered something David and Mameaw later told me was quite common at restaurants in the out-of-the-way villages of Amorgos. They had no menu. Instead, the man showed be back to the kitchen. “Look,” he said. In the kitchen, along with a somewhat stooped-over older woman I assumed was the man’s mother preparing heaping plates of food, were 6 or 8 pans filled with already-prepared dishes.

The man began to describe them, using words mostly unrecognizable to me, and I began to make my choice. When he was finished I decided on beautiful red and green stuffed peppers and some small fried dough balls that looked enticing. I asked the man if those two things were a good choice together. “Sure?” he shrugged. I pointed at the bottle of beer in the fridge I wanted, then retreated to my table. The meal, presented to me just moments later, was heaven. One of those meals only truly appreciated after a long travel day, or upon completion of a back-country camping adventure or, in this case, following a vigorous, sun-baked hike. I gorged myself on the peppers stuffed with rice, cheese and vegetables and the doughballs that were salty, herby and satisfyingly greasy.

As I ate, the place began to clear out around me, and by the time I was finished, it was just me, the family who served me eating their own lunch a few tables over, and a couple of older locals tucked into a shady alcove behind me, drinking glasses of some clear liquid, smoking cigarettes and scrolling on their phones. I ordered a big water bottle for the next portion of my walk, paid my 15 Euro tab, then before leaving asked the owner for the way to a path toward a secluded beach I’d seen on the map and that Mameaw had earlier recommended. I spread the map out in front of us on the table, and pointed to the umbrella marking the location of the beach. He shook his head. He seemed unaware of this particular beach. “Straight,” he then curtly stated, gesturing down the path from the restaurant. “Yeah, just straight that way?” I asked. His body language didn’t give me confidence he knew where it was I actually wanted to go. “Is it marked? Does it have a trail number posted?” I asked. “Huh?” he grunted. He glanced over at the locals. He seemed to be looking for help, as if one of them must know more English than he did. I repeated my question. “Does the trail have a number?” “Four,” barked one of the men. “Four?” I answered back. “Okay.” Trail 4 was the only one I’d really seen so far that day. This trail I was looking for, I thought, veered away from Trail 4. Resigning myself to the fact that the directions I’d just been given were about as clear and detailed as any directions I’d get from these gentlemen, I thanked them, gathered up my stuff and set off once again.

The entry point to the beach trail proved simple to find. However, still doubting my whereabouts at the edge of the village, I consulted Google Maps on my phone and realized I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Just head straight. And down. No worries at all.

The trail was rugged. I met a family - I believe from Italy - who was climbing up from the beach while I was on my way down. “Is it good? Is it worth the climb?” I asked. “Oh yes,” said the dad. “But it’s quite difficult,” said his preteen son. “You’ll be fine,” reassured the dad. “It’s a lovely beach.” I thanked them and felt assured that my quest for a hidden treasure of a beach would be worth it. Scrabbling down the rocks, I lost the trail a few times. There was little distinguishing the trail from scatterings of boulders, small rocks and gravel. But, I was going down, so I had to be moving in the right direction. As I twisted myself into the canyon, the beach finally presented itself in front of me. Gorgeous. But still a long way down. I carried on.

Just a few more turns and lots of clomping from one boulder to another, keeping sure my footing didn’t cause me to come crashing down in a bloody, mangled mess, and I was there. It WAS worth it. Besides one family tucked into the shade of the cliff, I had the beach - Ormos Mikri Vlychada -  to myself. Shirt off. Shoes and socks off. Bag nestled into the crevice and shade of a boulder, and I was in the sea. Wow! There I was, floating in the Aegean, steep cliffs jutting into the water, sun shining between the cliffs, and only a small glimpse of horizon in front of me as the protected bay opened up in the sea perhaps just one kilometer from the beach. Gratitude. Immense, joyful, peaceful gratitude.

I stayed on the beach for perhaps 90 minutes longer, swimming a few more times, splaying myself on the rocks, allowing my sweaty gear - including my journal - time to dry in the sun. It’s in moments like this that I often wonder, “Will I ever be back to this place in my lifetime?” That question has always made me a little sad. With such appreciation of a moment - and place - like this, the joy of being there is fleeting and it’s easy to get a little melancholy at the thought that my life may pass, I may live and die and never see this beauty again. But, it was in that moment that I thought to myself, “No. I may never be here again. That’s right. But…if I’m lucky, I will be in other places just as stunning, just as soul-filling, just as life-fulfilling. Just as magical as this one. I suddenly realized that my life isn’t a quest to find ‘perfect’ places and then return to them over and over again to avoid the pain of never seeing them again. My life should be a journey of discovering a collection of places that together form one, beautiful whole. One whole in which - when finding a new place - I can return to the feelings I feel in these places. Of thanks and appreciation and joy and gratitude. I may never return to “this” place, but I’ll return to these feelings. That’s what matters most.

On my hike up I passed the family that had been on the beach with me and who had left moments before me. They were from Italy as well. Milan. She was a psychotherapist and this was their last day on Amorgos before heading home the next day. Quite a nice, friendly family of four. We chatted along the path and again after returning to Tholaria. They frequent Greece, but this was their first time on this island. They like it, they said, but prefer the vibe and feel and surroundings of smaller islands. They offered me a ride back in their car, but I politely told them I like the walk, so we said our goodbyes, I found the path back to Aigialis, and another 40 minutes of hot hiking had me back in my home harbor beach. Another dip in the sea and, like that, my journey was over. As hikes - and travel days - go, it was one of my best.