Ρόδος

Rhodes (3)

Close your eyes and think of someplace far from home, somewhere different, a little exotic. Maybe a small island, the shape of a chubby dolphin; maybe located in the far east Mediterranean sea; maybe named Rhodes- Ρόδος. The land lavishes with vegetation of all kinds, and its coastlines shine with clean, sparkling water, cold as ice during the winter, extremely warm in the hot summer months. Visualize the beams of the sun as they reflect on its crystalline surface, adjust your focus so that all is clear, zoom in, right to the northern tip of the island, and concentrate your attention on a small section of the capital’s beach, just adjacent to the old harbor. Colorful houses and seaside pubs adorn the site like precious jewels, and as you stroll along its narrow streets, stop for a moment and look around. Study your surroundings as you would study a book, notice how they are, and think about what they were. Travel back to the ancient times, when ships sailed across those waters carrying pottery, olives, figs and wine, when  the sailors looked up and saw two enormous, strong legs standing above their heads- the legs of the Colossus. Many believe it is only a myth, but I like to think it was all true; that a giant brass and iron statue of the god Helios, more than 30 meters tall, stood at the entrance of the harbor and welcomed visitors and the repatriated into this beautiful city.

Walk some more, let the soles of your shoes taste the ancient ground, and you’ll find yourself before massive gates guarding the entrance to the old town, built in limestone and little more. And as you set foot onto the paths of scattered stones, observe the architecture surrounding you, and you’ll notice how extraordinarily unique it is. Founded in the fifteenth century, its walls are thick and soaked with history, its houses are small but hospitable, its people are heartwarming and kind, its air tastes of fresh breeze and freedom. You pass by small boutiques and souvenir shops, most of which are closed for the winter, and, once you arrive to the Grand Master’s palace, the main tourist attraction, as well as the most important cultural site of the town, you are mind blown by its beauty and massive size. Walking on its floors seems unreal- the same, mosaicked floors which were once under the feet of knights in heavy armors, of great Ottoman officers, and of some of the most important Italian architects of the mid twentieth century. Light pierces through the crystal windows and reflects onto the silver armrests of a white and yellow chair, and as you turn your head in its direction, you are blinded by its intensity, but you don’t fail to notice the small rainbow it has formed, refracted through the humidity of the damp, ancient air.

In the next room, you look out the open window in the corner, and stare at the dazzling view in awe. The petite, white houses which crowd the streets seem to project happiness and vitality- you don’t know why or how they do it, but you keep watching and your curious gaze falls onto one lonely pigeon sitting on a rail. You follow its movements and notice its every little detail, from its dark gray tail to its pointed black beak. It’s just about to catch a rosy, juicy worm when suddenly a  cat leaps from behind and scares it away. The furry newcomer looks perplexed (he probably just wanted to play), as he looks into the distance where the pigeon has flown and calmly starts licking his right paw with charm and nonchalance. His black and brown fur gently moves with the sweet sound of the northern winds, and his emerald eyes sparkle under the beam of this hot March sun. You keep looking out the wood-framed window, immersed in the beauty of what you see, and, soon, your mind takes you elsewhere.

Lindos, Λίνδος, the “white maze”. Streets intersect and intertwine surrounded by pale, clean houses, as ivy grows along their walls. The sky is clear and the strong wind is trapped outside the tangled huts; all that’s left is you and your vivid mind in this perfect, safe space just above the limpid, azure sea. Your watch strikes four, and in perfect unison with the numbers on its dull display, the church bells start ringing. You look up to it, somewhat halfway between annoyed and impressed, and can’t help but wonder what the immense structure up far behind it is. Determined, you start walking fast towards the top of the hill. The wind reaches your bare face and legs again, and the sun finally finds its way back onto your delicate skin. Suddenly you stop. A few meters from you you is a closed entrance to what looks like a simple ancient city square- but you know there’s more to that. So you jump over the barred passage, probably only open during the summer, and venture to the open space. There, you notice a steep set of stairs, eagerly climb each and every step, and wow… You find yourself in a Greek acropolis, just like the ones you used to read about in school. You can’t believe your eyes: before you are colossal columns, taller than any you have ever seen, and below you is the wild, deep blue, Turkish sea. Its wind-blown waves crash against the dolomite rocks and sandy beaches, carving through their shapes better than any sculptor.

Your fingertips trace along the wrinkles on the column’s ruvid skin, and the carvings on the ecru stone take you back to the days of Alexander the Great and the worship of Athena, Hercules and Helios. You’re now wearing a long, carmine tunic of a silky, expensive, fabric, and your hands are holding a golden lyre, as you stroll through the pebbled streets of the acropolis. It’s a sunny, saturday morning, and the town’s market is as crowded as a Beyoncè concert, making it impossible for you to make your way in. From outside the yellow tents though, you can clearly see the products exposed for sale, and a bright red pomegranate catches your eye. As you lean in to grab it, the crowd pushes you forward until you trip and fall right on top of a statue of Athena. You get up and contemplate the pearly marble it is made of, but, as you do so, your tired legs give in and you’re back in modern times.

Pink and red and orange brushstrokes paint the bright blue canvas of the sky as the sun slowly starts to set. You are now ambling on the beach, both shoes in hand. Your bare feet sink into the cold, wet sand, and the thin pebbles tickle the tip of your toes. The salty water of the now calm sea gently caresses your tired legs, as you contemplate its beauty and decide to jump in. You either take off all your clothes or you don’t, your choice, but as soon as your body is covered by this wet, crystalline blanket, you forget about all else, and can’t help but smile and laugh. And if you’re with, female, friends (or are a female yourself), you might get catcalled by locals whistling and shouting “Trella!”, and surely you’ll feel the extreme cold from head to toe, but you don’t care: you live in the moment, and you enjoy the beauty of the sea, and the stones, and the clouds, and the sun, and the sky, and everything that’s so wonderful around you.