Life is fast. If ever there was a truism that captures the reality of our modern existence, this is the one. Life is fast, it is hectic, it is so much to handle, to juggle, to comprehend, to balance. It is constantly online, with seemingly the entirety of human information instantly at our fingertips, with the endless scrolling whose ultimate doom is the normalization of a mindless banality, the unnoticed departure of awe and wonder from our lives, the fixation on devices and virtual worlds at the expense of a connection with the world around us.
The stresses and anxieties imposed on us by the pace of our lives intrude even on our holidays. Time for vacation is limited, leading to pressure to optimize everything or at the very least make sure, make absolutely sure, that we are enjoying ourselves. This leads to checklists and packed itineraries and hours of sifting through reviews of tour operators and hotels – and that’s before we find ourselves struggling to disconnect from work email or spending valuable time formulating the social media post that shows the world what a good time we are having. We have turned boredom into a sin that must be avoided at all costs instead of embracing it for its qualities of peace and restoration. I wonder: am I also so afflicted by modern, digital life that I do not know how to unplug and disconnect?
Enter Leros, an island in the Dodecanese in the southern Aegean, less than an hour away by ferry from the port at Turgutreis near Bodrum. I visited this charming Greek throwback to decades past with my cousin this summer, spending a few days swimming its wonderful waters, feasting on its glorious food, and absorbing its relaxed and unhurried vibe. The customs house on arrival is an introduction to a laid-back attitude: a small building, a shack really, whose officers were at best sleepy and quite possibly actually asleep. The queue was long and slow, provoking peevish complaints from a few people, who unfortunately had lost the plot on the first page during their very first moments on its shores. The point is to embrace and bask in the slowness, to appreciate it for what it is: the refutation of that pernicious truism that Life is Fast.
The morning, and throughout our short three-day stay, strong winds buffeted the island with some gusts so unexpectedly strong they pushed you over without warning. Whenever I visit the Aegean I find myself pondering the ancient sailors of this beautiful sea. The more time you spend in the area you begin to understand not only how connected the islands and the coast were but also how easily each island and peninsula could develop its own intrinsic cultures. Each place is but a hop, skip, and a jump away from another but even in our modern world our large ferries and ships struggle with adverse conditions in the sea. (Our own trip was rescheduled for an hour earlier to avoid the worst of the wind though it seems no one told the customs officers, who showed up to process the original time and received sardonic applause from the crowd upon their arrival.) For the ancients, no matter their expertise and experience, navigating the seas in these conditions would have been impossible. So you stay at home, rely on the fruits of your own land and seas, and over time build a culture both connected and unique to the world around you.
Thankfully the geography of Leros is craggy, providing several coves sheltered from the wind by hills and bluffs. The beaches are busy but uncrowded: these are not wide stretches of beach off the beaten path but nor are the chaise longues packed like sardines. The beaches are small and pebbly, lined by restaurants that provide sunbeds as long as you enjoy (and enjoy you will) their food and drink. Large hotels, and hotels in general, are absent and lodging is more on the order of guesthouses and hostels. Aside from Greek of course, Turkish is the prevalent language, as Turkish visitors are drawn to the beauty and affordability of the island to escape the never-ending cost-of-living crisis in their country.
We visited three beaches, each with its own character: Panteli Beach, a short walk from our lodging, the most crowded of the lot but lovely with its white-on-turquoise aesthetic; Xirokampos Beach in the south of the island, the most peaceful, serviced only by two restaurants, its waters calm and wonderful for swimming; and Lime Beach, the trendiest one with fancy sunbeds and incessant (and unfortunately just a touch too loud) lounge music but waters where I most enjoyed my long swim.
Many visitors rent cars, small things really, to traverse what is not that large of an island – probably less than 30 minutes from tip to tip. My cousin and I took taxis. My cousin has been learning Greek and not only is it more than passable it is very impressive, impressive enough that she became fast friends with Stella, who soon became our go-to taxi driver. Oh Stella! What a vibrant personality! Never learning my name, she simply called me signor, which was lovely indeed.
It was through Stella that I realized that life itself was not necessarily idyllic on this idyllic island. One of only two women taxi drivers (her friend picked us one time and admonished us to buckle our seatbelts), her life was one of hustle and bustle, driving hours each day transporting tourists to and fro. There are certainly worse places to hustle than Leros but it is still the type of hustle that most of us can understand. Bills must be paid. She was a lovely person and gave us a hug after our final ride back to the marina.
Even with the hustle, the atmosphere of the island is one of tranquility. It is one of those places, those few remaining places, where people just sit. Whether on their balconies or in front of their home, some people sit, either alone or in company, and pass the time observing the world around them. I noticed this as I tried out balcony-sitting myself, easy enough as the view from the lodging was incredible: the old castle on a hill straight ahead, the village with its homes and their clothing lines, its many multi-colored churches, and its winding roads traversing the hill’s slopes; and, to the right, beyond a small football field where children played for hours in the evening, not too far into the distance, was Panteli Beach, its blue waters entrancing from the morning sunlight to the twilight of dusk. The soundtrack was a general quiet with occasional movements of birdsong and church bells.
Across the way, I saw a family sitting on their own balcony. My eyes are not the sharpest but they seemed to be unmoving, sitting there not with a particular purpose but for the sake of sitting, in each other’s company and I assume in conversation, sparse though it might be. Like a junkie with a hankering, I was soon drawn inside because the WiFi signal was weak outside but returning some time later I saw them again on the balcony, seemingly not having moved at all.
Likewise, on our way down to Panteli one afternoon, my cousin and I passed by a woman sitting in front of her home and exchanged a Kalimera and a smile. Several hours later, she was still there, and the Kalimera had become a Kalispera. Since then I have thought much on the art of sitting, with your own thoughts, unbothered, unbored, a part of the environment around you. It is like meditation but not really. There are no trappings of a practice. It is simply something that one does. I tried it myself but found it difficult, growing antsy, reaching for my phone or (more wholesomely at least) my book. Perhaps one day I will more easily attain the utter peacefulness of sitting without purpose and simply letting life flow around and through me without agenda.
There are of course other ways to relax and enjoy a holiday than simply sitting. Spending unhurried hours on the beach and in the water, with no real pressure except perhaps a reservation for dinner that feels rather malleable anyway, leaving your place in the sun only to feast on fresh seafood, served with cool and tart white wine or a bit of ouzo… this is a perfect setting, where the stresses of quotidien life seem a lifetime and a world away. It is a lovely existence on Leros and long may it continue as such, both there and on dozens of other islands in the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas that have avoided the throngs of selfie-seekers that many of their counterparts have fallen prey to.
Alas, the day has but 24 short hours and the world is governed by schedules and appointments. The relaxed approach to island living can be intoxicating but also frustrating when actually pressed for time. My cousin and I sat down for a late lunch with plenty of time before our embarkation for the trip back home but the slow life has no respect for departure times. A simple lunch order, acknowledged by a brief nod, had not even been started to be prepared a half hour later, everyone in the cafe seemingly unhurried and unbothered by it all. If anything, the young waiter seemed startled that I had interrupted his own extended spell of sitting. I can’t blame him.
Instead we made do with a gyro, which itself took quite some time to prepare but was nevertheless delicious despite having to wolf it down under an angry sun while waiting for the unbothered customs officials to process our queue. It was in retrospect for me an ideal final touch to cap off previous meals of fresh and delicious yogurt bowls with local honey and fruit and tahini, seafood and roasted meats of the highest quality, and at Serza Leros one of the finest meals I have had in quite some time. Not to mention a very lovely breakfast hosted by my cousin’s friend, who she quite serendipitously ran into while waiting for our ferry to depart at the beginning of the trip.
My visit to Leros was halfway through a month-long trip to Turkey and it somewhat ironically turned out to be the transition from a lazy vacation, where my only concern was tanning without burning, to a whirlwind of activity. Two days later I was in Albania, where I pondered the nature of my identify, and soon after that return, I was in Istanbul, sandwiching a trip to the slopes of the Kazdaglar, known to the ancients as Mount Ida, from whence Zeus observed the Trojan War. Ah, this lovely world and its never-ending wonders!
