Come for the bins...

Life on the Greek island of Aegina (including places you can go to that aren't packed with tourists)

I was once filmed by Greek TV saying that whenever I want to lift my mood or spirits, I just go to the bins. I was living on a Greek island, and ERT was doing a feature on digital nomads and remote workers who had come to Greece. It was during the COVID lockdown, so they were pretty hard up for a story, which is why they ended up filming me.

I spent half the day with the crew, during which I said that one of the benefits of living on a small island was when I got bogged down in my work, I simply had to go to the bins. The context of this being that we don’t have curbside recycling, and so the nearest bin was by the sea, which was a beautiful walk where I cleared my head, and quite often came up with the creative solution that I was looking for in my work.

“Come to the Greek bins” she said

I was musing over this moment as I went again to the bin today. I’ve moved house since that interview. Five years later, I’m living in the village of Souvala on a hill where I have a clear view of the ancient Paleochora, the rocky outcrop adjacent to it, and the old mill to its left. It was a warm evening at 7pm, where the sun is angled to perfectly capture the shapes and buildings on the hill so clearly at Paleochora. It made me smile that my trips to the bins were still captivating.

As much as I complain about how Greece is unbearable during the summer of the Anthropocene, with soaring temperatures, fires, and a poor commitment to green energy, and as much as I am maddened by the political corruption that is the fabric of everyday life here to the point that people don’t even think of it as corruption, I’m not immune to the charms of my life on a Greek island.

So here are my ten favourite places on this tiny island I call home, as pondered at the bins:

The ancient olive trees

The ancient olive groves in a valley between Marathonas on the coast and Pachia Rachi on the hill are simply referred to as Eleonas. People say they are 1,000 or more years old. I read that recent DNA analysis has confirmed that at least one olive tree in Aegina is 2,700 years old, making it one of the oldest known olive trees still alive today. The first time we walked there from the less obvious east coast, and I kept wondering, “Is this an old tree? How about this one?” But when you get to them, you know. They are old, grand, and stately, like aged ballet dancers frozen in time. You can stand inside them: one of the largest trees, apparently, measures 13 metres in circumference. I’ve tried to wrap my arms around it in an embrace before. They sit in a clearing amongst a lunar landscape of rock and shrub, with wild vegetation including juniper trees, wild asparagus, wild lavender, and felty germander.

One day I spread myself on a rock to rest like a lizard in the winter sun near these ancient trees. I was woken by the sound of bells, music made by sheep wearing old tin bells. They surrounded me, only interested in the water gathering in the smooth hollows of the vast rock. I looked up and saw their tiny shepherd dog and the timeless shepherd Dimitrios Borgis, himself a national treasure that should be preserved.

Walking from the olive trees up the valley, there is a spot I like to sit where I can’t see the sprawl of Marathonas village or the electricity lines. I can only see the ocean, this wild landscape, and birds of prey flying overhead.

Photos don't do justice to these beautiful trees.

Paleochora: the ancient capital

Paleochora is the kind of place I used to go to almost daily, then weekly, and yet I still met people who have never been or think it is a difficult or challenging place to get to. Locals think it’s impossible that I walk up from sea level in Souvala, but it’s only 5 km uphill, and an even shorter walk from the often-visited Monastery of Saint Nektarios. But perhaps it’s better that the faithful stay at the monastery, and we have this place to ourselves.

Paleochora is our island’s ancient capital, established around 820AD as a refuge from Saracen pirate raids. Just the idea of pirate raids is so evocative. It was the island’s capital until 1820 and the Venetians who also came here put a castle on the top, but there’s little of that left now. When you visit it, you can imagine coming across it and thinking, “This is a place where I can keep my citizens safe.” It’s on a mound, with views to all sides of the island, and the charm of this mound is that it still houses 40 churches from its original 365. These remaining churches, many of which are intact with walls and roofs, push open their doors to reveal amazing frescoes. There is always a broom, a chair, evidence of someone taking care of each church’s maintenance, putting oil in votive lamps, sweeping the floor clean. It’s an incredible treasure for European Byzantine history that is open for all, and I think it’s a priceless treasure.

Fascinating interior frescoes and the churches in winter (yes snow), full of spring blossoms and in summer heat

The ledge in Souvala

There’s a small alley, a cut-through between houses on Odos Tartanas, near Hotel Mistral. It will take you through to a small path overlooking the bay of Souvala port, where I watch the sunrise. In winter, this is part of my everyday routine. Sometimes, if the weather is typically wintery, this may be the only breathtaking light show you get from the day, and people wouldn’t believe a great windy day starts with an explosion of colour. At sunrise, the water goes the kind of blue that you might find in a sci-fi movie, tinged with purple. It plays with the sky above, from dirty dusk over Athens to celestial blue over sea, sometimes streaked with cotton wool stretched across the vast sky. Sometimes it’s neon pink and orange, and the sun is a fiery ball. Other times it is golden rays reaching out with a Midas-like touch. An overgrown fistiki tree frames my view, a wild rosemary scents the air, and seagulls whirl above while the motors of the fishing boats drone into the distance.

Can you see why I get up for this view?!

The church in the pines

Everyone has their favourite church. Walking away from Aphaea Temple and the tour buses, you might notice a sign to a church beyond the Minas Monastery and this is where you will find mine. Agios Ioannis can be reached by foot only and is nestled in the elbow of a descent into Agia Marina. I love to just lie in the courtyard of the church surrounded by the sound of the pines, haunting in high winds, soothing in the summer heat. The brashness of Agia Marina is far out of sight and hearing, and I fantasise about hosting a (respectful) Greek gathering here with cheap wine, mezze, and music one night. Dimitri from the Corner Creperie told me that his ancestors came from the Mani to escape a blood feud and built the church to give thanks. I’ve never seen any evidence of anyone else using this church, except for graffiti in the stone from the 1960s.

Turquoise amongst the trees

Pine trees also set the scene on the coast near Danae Hotel. This area probably has a name; every part of the island does, but many are not written down, just known, and I haven’t spent long enough talking to the old people to learn them. Find your own trail from anywhere near the Yiannis Moralis statue to the corner near Danae and find a place to call your own. I have a sitting spot above the sea, perfect for winter, where I can look down on the turquoise water, across to the single remaining column of the Temple of Apollo. Someone else likes my spot; I’ve collected more than 80 cigarette butts and countless sunflower seed shells, but this doesn’t detract from the tranquillity one bit. If I want to swim, I take the steep steps down right across from the Danae Hotel (sometimes these are hidden behind a truck) There’s a certain tree along the coast that forms a natural umbrella where I can be found with my books, occasionally stepping out to the sea to cool down, often startling people who don’t see me under the pines until they are on me.

Fisherman watching

Watching the fishermen at Souvala port is one of my favourite morning pastimes. Scorpions is a business run by Olga, whose father ran it before her, husband Dimitris, and now their daughter too. You come here to sit outside in the morning shade and watch the Bessis family boats come and go, and untangle piles of yellow nets. They clean the fish there and then, and we watch people making their morning purchase, the cats ever hopeful for scraps, the ginger one bolder than the others, approaching the brothers Yorgos and Stelios striding around topless in plastic overalls! Sometimes the village’s resident white geese come along to see what is happening and what scraps are being thrown back into the sea and if Roko the dog passes by then it’s an entire village outing! Olga’s regulars are there early; before she opens they sit in the chairs or in their car waiting for her to swoop into the port on the scooter. When she isn’t there, the regulars have sat there still but ordered coffee to be delivered from elsewhere. If you’re not a morning person, the regulars return in the cool of the evening, when Dimitris can be known to play the music of our youth and serve a wicked cocktail.

You only live once…

The coast along Aeginitssa on the west coast was once planted with notoriously fast-growing eucalyptus. This is a treat for me as an Australian, and it lines the coastline and views to Moni Island beautifully. It’s hypnotic cycling along here, with the slow flicker of the smooth eucalyptus trunks passing your eyes, and it is impossible not to stop at least once. My favourite winter swimming stop I call the You Only Live Once swim club. A small white building was once the only landmark; though now the area nearby has been concreted and benches planted, this swim spot can be more easily found. In the courtyard of the little-used building is the YOLO sign and the words mia zoe tin exoume, The older women who swim there year-round, carefully hang their towels on lovingly installed hooks before taking their dip along the tree-lined coast. This part of Aegina is magic for sunset too (the best view is technically Perdika), but you will get sun-streaked skies between the eucalypts here.

Island moons

The sun is not the only celestial figure that dominates: moons are also fantastic on the island. An everyday full moon can be swum under in Agia Marina. The Ocean Beach Bar has been known to play Neil Young’s Harvest Moon as it rises and casts its silver pathway along the black sea. In Vagia, the moon rises at the back of the simple home taverna that is Michaelis, nudging past Aphaea Temple, as you listen to what I assume is old Michaelis himself rattling off the day’s menu, because like all good tavernas, there is nothing written down. At this year’s recent eclipse and blood moon, the man in the moon rose from the sea above Vagia, surprising us all, hanging like a misplaced ornament, so close to touch and so clear we could see the craters - or, as our friend said, the shadows of its navel.

The wild east coast

And then there is the magic east coast, a part of the island that I could list ten favourite places itself. It’s remote and harder to access, especially in our beat-up car whose engine will not last the hills there without overheating. There are no buses, the roads have been in terrible condition since we lived here and there are few places to restock for water or food if hiking. You might see the goat shepherd on his Harley-like motorbike somewhere around the east coast but you won’t actually spot many villagers. The best way to get a taste of this coast is to walk from the village of Anitseo with its old stone windmills and hearty tavernas, then walk out to the former village of Vlachides and feel like you’re alone on the island as you walk amongst souvala, old stone water vessels and reservoirs for catching water.

If those places aren’t magic enough for you, you should come and check out our bins…Here’s the view from the one in Chloe that was my reference point for the TV interview!