Our memories were hazy as we stepped off the ferry in Parikia, the port city on the isle of Paros in the heart of the Aegean. It had been thirty years since my wife and I walked down a similar ramp amidst a group of travelers scanning the lot for taxis, cafes, or just a place to stretch. As we made our way past the windmill in the roundabout and headed toward the town center, we serenely drifted back into our past, all the while holding hands with our daughter’s future.
The impetus for our summer trip to Greece started for our daughter back in middle school when she and a friend began planning their European trip for the summer after senior year. As seven years flew by, and they entered the last year of high school, the plan narrowed to the Greek isles, and soon we were researching plans to rent a house, serving as home base for the girls to island hop. And, then, we were back in Greece, thirty years after our first trip.
In the summer of 1992, my wife and I moved abroad following our college graduation and spent years working and traveling. Living in southeast Asia, we knew many young expats who regularly headed to the beaches of Thailand or the Philippines or Indonesia. But during a lull between two work contracts, we instead headed west to Europe and Paros, which we heard was “where the Greeks vacation.” Initially planning to island hop, we rented a small villa on Paros fifty feet from the beach and stayed a month.
This summer, as in 1993, we began with a couple days in Athens. The city is noticeably different, following the 2004 Olympics which greatly extended the infrastructure. Yet it’s still a quaint European city filled with delightful cafes, inviting restaurants and bakeries, endless galleries and shops. As I stood one evening on our balcony, looking at the Parthenon rising from the Acropolis, I was struck again with the historical magic. I then grinned, glancing down on the Plaka, wondering if it was the same place where we had divine moussaka while also getting scammed as we struggled to mentally convert our drachmas to dollars.
These days, the euro makes things much easier, and once we reached Paros we were comfortably home again. Paros is centrally located and perfect for island hopping, but we spent weeks there before and chose to again. With more than forty named beaches, there was more than enough to keep us busy, though relaxing was the goal. This time we stayed outside the fishing village of Naoussa where our host Kariakos has several villas surrounded by his vineyard. He produces a wonderful boutique Greek white wine, light and refreshing with hints of lemony citrus and mellow melon accents, and gifted us a bottle.
The gem of the trip came at Golden Beach, near the village of Drios where we’d lived. Curiously walking along the coast, I spotted a vaguely familiar villa. As I walked toward it, a voice came from behind me. “Can I help you?” A young man, mid-twenties, had come from the restaurant. I hesitated, then turned around. “Hi, I, uh, think I rented this place thirty years ago.” He nods, as I go on. “The owner’s name was “George?” A huge smile comes across his face, as he places his hand over his heart. “That was my father! “Come, come inside.”
As we chat I realize, Paros thirty years later is really me thirty years later. A return to Paros is a return to myself as I sat on the cusp of becoming the person I would be. This time, sitting in a cafe as my daughter logged on to her university website to schedule fall classes, I rested in a sense of contentment. As I’m embraced by my past, she’s getting ready to move on with her future. It’s with fond nostalgia that I listen to my daughter’s desire to travel and live internationally, and I couldn’t imagine a better plan.
On our last day, as we spent an evening picnicking on the beach and watching the sun melt into the Aegean, I think Paros has given us again a serene reminder of what life really is. Vacation at times can feel like real life, an escape from the dailiness that distracts us from who we really are.
It won’t be another thirty years before we return to our Grecian dreams.
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