Uncover the five top things to do on the secret island getaway that celebrities don't want you to know about.
Nestled in the Saronic Gulf, Spetses is a short distance from Athens and close to other picturesque islands like Hydra and Poros. It's a haven of tranquillity where you can truly escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It's
This island gem is also famous for producing the most exquisite almond sweets, so without further ado, let me give you a taste of the top 5 things to do and see in Spetses.
Explore the Old Harbour: The heart and soul of Spetses, the Old Harbour is brimming with charm and character. Wander the narrow, cobbled streets and admire the traditional architecture of the elegant mansions. Grab a coffee at one of the quaint waterfront cafes and watch the world go by.
2. Visit the Bouboulina Museum: This fascinating museum is dedicated to the heroine Laskarina Bouboulina, who played a significant role in the Greek War of Independence. Discover her incredible story and more.
3. Relax on Agia Marina Beach: A trip to Spetses would only be complete with some beach time, and Agia Marina is the perfect spot to soak up the sun. The crystal-clear water is ideal for swimming, and there are plenty of sun loungers and umbrellas for a relaxing day at the beach.
4. Take a scenic bike ride: With its relatively flat terrain and stunning coastal paths, Spetses is perfect for exploring by bike. Rent a bicycle or e-bike and enjoy a leisurely ride around the island. Stopping at hidden coves and charming villages along the way, it's a fantastic way to immerse yourself in the island's natural beauty.
5. Join a traditional Greek cooking class: What better way to immerse yourself in local culture than learning how to create mouth-watering Greek dishes? Participate in a cooking class and discover the secrets behind classic recipes like moussaka and souvlaki.
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Peter and the twenty suits and somehow that story contains tomato aspic? Color me intrigued
No, the aspic was an accidental confluence. But there was definitely tomato juice involved. (Also: not twenty. But a dozen, anyway.)
...So let’s turn our minds back to those thrilling days of yesteryear (i.e. 2008...). The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators kindly asked me to come be a keynote speaker at their yearly get-together, which that year was being held on the island of Hydra, in Greece. Leaving the honor of even being asked to one side, I’d never been to Greece, so I more or less instantly said “Yes!”
(Inserting a cut here. WARNING: this post contains: business travel, alcohol, and lemon zest.)
...Getting to Athens was going to be just a tiny touch complicated because at that point, none of the major airlines serving Ireland offered a direct DUB-ATH service. I thought about this for a while, and (since I’m on a frequent-flyer program with them) it seemed the most sensible way in and out of Athens was to take a Swiss flight to Zürich, stop there overnight if necessary, and catch the next convenient ZRH-ATH flight onward.
So Peter and I did that, and we went to Athens, and from there via catamaran ferry to Hydra; where I had a fabulous time conferring, confabulating and otherwise hanging out with my fellow wizards writers. And when that was all over, we regretfully started the process of heading home. (During the first leg of which process I cut an unexpected notch on my webmastering belt by actually doing website maintenance using a Nokia phone cabled to a laptop, while in the middle of the Saronic Gulf, on a hydrofoil.)
...Anyway. Back through Athens to the airport, uneventful flight from ATH to ZRH, train from the airport to Zürich Hauptbahnhof (the city’s main train station); did check-in for our morning ZRH-DUB flight there, while also checking our non-carryon bags through to the plane. Then, dinner at Hiltl Vegi, crash-and-burn at the favorite little hotel that’s about three minutes’ walk from Zuri HB, and up early the next morning for the train back to the airport: straight through security, and airside.
This version of “airside” was going to be a little more interesting for us than usual, because we’d been flown business class on this run. As a result we could get into one of the Swiss lounges, which are justly famous for their general poshness. More than that: since we were flying to a non-Schengen country, we would be leaving from the (relatively) new and shiny Terminal E.
So we did the underground people-mover underneath the runways and came out in the new terminal, and headed upstairs for the business lounge.
It was large; it was gorgeous. And the view out across the runways to the Alps was amazing. (Though that view was slightly impeded by what was, it was then said, the longest lounge bar in Europe.)
That was, granted, interesting enough. But our attention wasn’t primarily on that. What we were both most interested in when we first got there was a little something to eat and drink while we waited for the 11 AM-ish departure.
Now, this was long before that lounge had been renovated to contain a live open kitchen with hot and cold running chefs. In 2008 there were, however, free snack stations with assorted junk food—chips/crisps and pretzels and nuts, etc—and (that time of day) casual breakfast makings: cereals and milk, and mueslis and yogurts, and breads and butters and jams and cheeses and cold cuts and so forth.... such as you’d normally find in a central European breakfast buffet. There was also a coffee island nearby...
...and a drinks station with juices and sparkling water and soft drinks and beer and wine. Next to that one was a selection of basic alcohols and mixers.
...The lounge was pretty full of people that morning: a lot of business folk were apparently getting ready to board pre-lunch or lunchtime flights. A lot of them were up at the bar for coffee or whatever, and the bar staff had their hands full. We’d had our coffee and our breakfast, and then Peter looked over his shoulder at the juice-and-drinks setup, and said, “You know, I might have a Bloody Mary.”
“Okay,” I said. “Make me one too?” Because we were in no rush, and this whole situation was looking rather brunchlike. Why not complete the picture? “...And if they’ve got something like V-8, do mine with that.”
So over to the drinks installation P. went, rolled up his sleeves, scoped out the available supplies, gathered together the necessary ingredients, and started making Bloody Marys with his usual air of proficiency. (If you’ve ever been at a convention where he happened to be doing bartender duty—such as a Minicon or similar—you’ll know what I mean. A careful eye for appropriate ingredient amounts, and great thoughtfulness about seasoning.)
He made mine first, and brought it over to where we’d been sitting. And then he went back and started making his. I wasn’t paying much attention to that: I was mostly drinking mine and gazing at the Alps. (If you put me within sight of mountains, I’ll be staring at them. It’s what I do.) ...And eventually I turned around to see if he was done making his, because I was thinking maybe I might want another one.
Except I couldn’t see him. He was surrounded by suits. (Or, more accurately, people wearing them.)
He was making them all Bloody Marys.
Yeah, okay, the bar was busy. But apparently somebody had seen Peter using the bar measures at the drinks station to get the shot sizes just right, and saw him teaspoon-measuring the Worcestershire sauce, and doing the dash-of-Tabasco thing, and employing the lemon zester, and and and... They got suckered in by the air of expertise, is all I can suggest. Guys in suits (and a couple/few very well-suited ladies) had begun surrounding him and asking him questions, most of them apparently beginning, “Sir, what are you doing? What is that?” and “What are you putting in there?” ...and eventually, “Would you show me how?”, and/or “Would you also make one for me?”
...And so he did. What can I tell you? ...I couldn’t see him well, except when someone in the surrounding group moved aside a little. (They totaled ten or twelve people, finally, as they drifted in and out.) ...But there he was at the core of that group, surrounded by an extremely complex comics-style talk-balloon of queries in several languages (it was Switzerland, after all; just in-country, you’ve got five or more to choose from...). Some of those people were translating for other ones. And celery and tomato juice and Ireland and science fiction and Tabasco and Star Trek were being discussed (and V-8: turned out there wasn’t any...) and God knows what else. And all these nice people in suits, one after another, were being equipped with Bloody Marys.
Eventually the crowd thinned out to nothing, and finally Peter came back with his own Bloody Mary, and sat down, shaking his head. Then he showed me a little sheaf of business cards.
We went through them. Futures traders and a couple of publishing execs and a guy who worked sales at the company that builds Irish pubs for international export and the lady who brokered high-end underground rare-cheese storage and the guy who did logistics on worldwide custom transport of organs for transplant. And a lot of offers to “Call me/us when you’re in town and let me/us buy you a drink to thank you.”
I shook my head. “Networking?” was all I could find to say at last.
Peter shrugged. “With tomato juice.”
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