A Trip to Greece – First Time For Everything
Arrival
I don’t really think that anyone would accuse us more of the the same when we go on overseas trips together, with a recent Puglia road trip, Lake Maggiore with the wives, trekking in Japan, Bruce in Barca and the granddaddy of all trips, The Vietnakim in Vietnam, to name but a few, over the years.
We hadn’t been to Greece before, but then again, there are about 175 countries in the world we haven’t been to. Take out a few rogue states here and a few banana republics there, there still remains about 70 countries that might be good candidates for one of our trips. But at least for me, despite having lived in Israel for forty years, and Greece being so close, it was actually my first visit.
And that isn’t the only first. We were five people on this trip. The usual number is three or four; Yoni, Garry and I have been the nucleus and Mark or Phil have joined us when they can. This time, Mark and Phil are both coming. Mark and Phil don’t really know each other so well and Yoni, Garry and I were curious, if not really too worried, how it would go. But more of that later (teaser…it was great)
Israel has a brand-new airline, called Air Haifa, which unsurprisingly flies out of the tiny Haifa International Airport. In this case, “International Airport” means occasional flights to and from Cyprus and Greece. But flying from Haifa airport for the first time (see the theme here?) saved us about three hours, not having to go all the way to Ben Gurion and the bun fight there. The flight itself did take a bit longer as we were flying, for the first time (sorry) on a propeller plane. I didn’t know there were international flights on tinpot propeller planes, but there you are.
Just an aside, the departures board at Haifa airport was relatively full with transport to a few more destinations, slightly less glamourous than Lanarca and Athens – helicopter flights to places known as Shark, Whale, Alligator and Tamar. Can you guess what they are?
In any case, whilst Garry and I propellered from Haifa and Yoni, Mark and Phil jetted from Ben Gurion, we all arrived, as planned, within about fifteen minutes of each other. Our first meeting with Greece and its renowned (in)efficiency was at passport control. An hour and a quarter in line to get through, where many countries have biometric passport booths that take 5 minutes to complete entry. We’d see this less developed, retro time warp in other aspects of our time in Greece, but to be honest, it was quite endearing.
By the time we were travelling along the highway towards Arachova, the ski resort we would be staying in for the next four nights, it was way past both our breakfast and lunch hours. Greece is famous for its pastries; spanakopita, bourek, kalitsounia and more. So what better a way to start our culinary journey than with a selection of fine baked goods from a local bakery in a local town? Unfortunately, there appeared to be good reason why this anonymous bakery in an unknown town has remained anonymous and unknown. I guess the baked goods were fresh once, but it wasn’t today. And even back when they were fresh, there seemed to be something undelicious about them. But the ambience was supreme. The shop next to the bakery was abandoned, and looks as if its been that way for a while. The ramp outside the empty shop hasn’t had anyone sitting and munching on dry stale pastries since Greece won the Euro soccer tournament in 2004. So there we were, for the first stop of our trip. In its own perverse way, it was a fun, if not satisfying start to the hoilday. We were so captivated by this particular ramp that we returned to it fifteen minutes later. Phil thought he’d left his man-purse, with his passport and money there, but after 20 minutes of panic it was found on the floor of the car.
Arachova was a far more successful destination than our unnamed lunch stop. It’s a large village or small town, etched into the side of a mountain, with the snowy peak of Mt. Parnassos above, valleys and other mountains on the not distant horizon. A 1000-metre-high mountain village as our base was another exciting first for us.
Our hotel, like most of the buildings in town, was made of stone and wood and whilst I had never been to Greece previously and certainly not to a Greek ski resort, looked like what I might imagine a Greek ski chalet would look like. Not flashy or ostentatious, but warm and cosy. Perfect for us five ski bunnies.
After a slow meander through the picturesque town, a late afternoon rest and pre-dinner ouzo shots in the lobby lounge of our lodge, we were ready for an improvement on our lunch. This time we were not disappointed. Theo, our man-mountain maitre d’ served delicious regional delights, including lamb chops, tzatziki, pastries (fresh and delicious this time), Greek salad and Dacos salad for the Collingwood supporters amongst us, home made sausage and locally foraged winter greens. The local wine for €5 for a half litre was slightly better than €5 value, but when you don’t have high expectations then you’re not disappointed. The only let-down was the free desert he gave us, which was an unappetizing lump of hardened pudding thing, which we think he gave away because he couldn’t sell it. In keeping with our own tradition, we had vastly over-ordered and equally ensured that there was nothing left on the table when we left. This was not a first.
