Stavros and I spent last weekend on Andros Island, in the Greek Cyclades. Most of the island is terraced with beautiful stacked stone walls, zigzagging up and down and across the hillsides. The landscape is mostly mountainous, with cute villages clinging to steep slopes, the slopes gently rolling down to the sea and encircling coves with fine sand beaches. The center of the island is lush and green, with many trees and springs. Spring water spews from old fountains and drinking spouts, and winds through the villages down little gullies.
We had dinner one night at the Balcony of the Aegean, a taverna in Ano Aprovato, high on a hill overlooking the sea, a truly spectacular view. The food was solid Greek taverna food, everything fresh, tasty and nicely prepared and presented, served with local cheeses and housemade wine.
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We drove inland one afternoon for a late lunch at another beautifully situated taverna, this one surrounded by tall trees, across from a burbling fountain from which our table water was procured. We were the only guests, the town empty. The proprietress appeared, a kind witchy looking woman with a crooked nose and big moles on her face, and told us that there wasn’t much available—a rooster, skewered livers, Greek salad, cheese pie, eye of newt… We ordered it all. Half of the lunch was delicious, the cheese pie of tangy local cheese, the village salad fresh and tasty, but the rooster, which looked spectacular when brought to our table, smothered in grilled tomatoes and peppers, was raw, the inside chilly, red, and with a pulse. We sent it back, and it was thrown back on the grill, as served, and returned to us quite well done, the delicious sauce and vegetables now forming a solid black crust on the bird. The poor bird that gave its life for such an unsavory fate. And the liver thingies were like leather hockey pucks, probably left over from the previous night’s grill, inedible. Not wanting to offend our hostess, Stavros slipped them, one at a time, to the cat under our table.
Just outside Gavrio, the port of the island, is the tower of St. Peter, a 65-foot tall circular stone tower from the Hellenistic period. There are other towers around the island, dovecotes, leftover from the period when the island was under Venetian control. The architecture in general is a mix of traditional Cycladic stucco houses, 19th century mansions, built during the heyday of Greek shipping, Venetian era buildings with elegant porticos, and the remains of medieval castles. In Andros town, the capital of the island, there’s an elegant old Venetian mansion opening onto a large square at the edge of the town, overlooking the sea and the remains of a medieval castle, destroyed during World War II. In the center of the square is a Social-realist sculpture of an Unknown Worker, a fabulous Soviet-era presence. Bag slung over his shoulder, one arm waving, jauntily sauntering towards the sea, this guy’s happy he’s got a job.
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