An evening in Parikia
When I step down the ferry, the clamour of human greetings, car honks and impatient mopeds hits me all at once. “This feels like home”, I think as my mind goes back to the sounds and smells of my coastal hometown in Italy.
The chaos, evening humidity and smells of the sea welcome me as I take in my surroundings. Paros greets us with its prickly, arid arms and its unapologetic, disorganised beauty.
The shiny, pebbled streets lined up with bougainvillea, a landmark of withstanding charm, lead us to our hotel*. As we make our way, sleep deprived, sweaty and hungry, the lesser known inhabitants of this island study us with diffident eyes. The biggest community of stray cats owns the streets of this little gem in the Aegean Sea. Undisturbed by the continuous back and forth of humans from across all borders of the world, quietly they observe. Approach them with food and even the most hesitant ones will get their soft paws closer to you.
Our accommodation is exactly as you would imagine. Straight out from a postcard or the set of Mamma Mia, its white rounded walls resting from the day’s heat. And then there’s Georgios, the funny, flirty owner who’s waiting for us. “Finally, you’re here! How was the journey"?” he asks, his thick Greek accent lingering in the air. He takes one look at us and immediately hands us two freezing bottles of water. Becky does the small talk, always better at speaking with strangers than I am. The residue of my childhood shyness reappearing in instances like this.
Once we’re in the room, the aircon blasting, and every cupboard has been opened and its contents examined, I run to the shower. As the freezing cold water hits me and I scrape off the day’s heat, dust and sweat, I feel myself coming back to life. The adrenaline rush of someone who has not slept in over 24 hours invading me all at once. We change in our clean, wrinkled best clothes and set off to explore, Parikia, Paros’ capital. It’s 11pm by the time we leave the room and we have been awake since 2 am.
We decide to ditch any sort of maps and just let ourselves wander around the streets. After literally walking below a house, a low bridge holding its weight, we come out into the heart of Parikia. A bar full of people winding down after the day just on the other side.
Among the numerous shops selling evil eye bracelets, coasters and kitchen towels, typical Greek orthodox churches make an appearance. Their white walls with cobalt blue cupolas are half-hidden by orange, purple and fuchsia flowers permeating the air with their scents, uniting with the incense coming out in wafts from the opened doors. The bells are lazily cooling down from the day’s scorching heat, preparing themselves for a much deserved sleep. Impossible not to be left in awe of such simple, yet breathtaking architectures.
Becky starts walking in most of the shops with her genuine curiosity keen to examine all the memorabilia, while I try to run away from the overly enthusiastic vendors following my every step. Eventually she finds me outside a gelateria, “Do you fancy some gelato?” I ask her, and I don’t need to wait for her answer as we have already walked in. I decide to go for peach and dark chocolate, while she tries some yoghurt and pear flavour. We might be bias due to the extreme tiredness and hunger but that gelato feels like the best thing we have ever tasted. We mmms and humss our way through the food, and we’re ready to start exploring again.
Too-many-stops-looking-at-shops-for-me-and-not-enough-for-Becky later, we run into two men sitting on the pavement playing their bouzouki, a typical Greek instrument resembling a mandolin. Their warm voices echo through the pebbled streets and they feel like a much needed balm for my anxious thoughts.
We finally arrive by the promenade, walking side by side linking arms like an old couple, and within two seconds we spot a souvlaki place. One look at each other and we make our way to the waitress standing outside. “Is it too late to order?” we ask, she smiles “I’ll check with the chefs”. She disappears inside and when she returns she’s nodding her curly head, “We can make you some souvlaki. Chicken or pork? Regular or large?”. We go for chicken and order a large one to share, and once she hands it to us, the smell is so delicious that I start salivating. We sit on a wall by the beach, our legs dangling over the sand as we carefully unwrap our prize. It takes one bite for me to have a small orgasm. The chicken is so tender and as a lover of fries, I just can’t get over how good this combo is. As we take turns in eating it, two of the many stray cats decide to join our little picnic. As they circle us, ready to jump on any bits of souvlaki escaping the foil, the sound of the waves acts as our background. We witness a stand off between the two cats over who gets to eat whatever fell off our hands. The lights of the island are reflecting on the dark, calm waters as we make plans for the day after.
Finally full, the adrenaline wearing off and our eyes struggling to stay open we start making our way back. Our eyes glimmering with the raw beauty of the island.
*Ammoudi AirBnB
