Stacey Seaside

It is that time of year again.

I can feel the pull deep within my gut.

I haven’t been there for months.

The weather is calm.

The skies are blue with intermittent clouds.

The seas are losing their winter turbulence.

I can only go there by small boat.

Private or public boat service doesn’t actually begin there until early April.

When this island opens.

It opens to the public because it is an open-air museum.

The entire island has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Delos is the birthplace of Apollo, the god of music, prophecy, healing, and more.

Apollo’s mother, Leto, sought refuge on Delos after being pursued by the jealous goddess Hera.

Delos was once adrift and untethered.

The barren island became fixed to the seabed upon the birth of Apollo and his twin sister Artemis.

Transformed into a sacred island, for those who worshipped Apollo, Delos became a major religious centre in ancient Greece. And hand in hand with the worship, the island grew as a commercial hub across the Mediterranean. It has been compared to a contemporary Wall Street of the ancient world.

Delos flourished with grand temples, statues, and monuments erected in honor of Apollo and other deities. Isis is venerated there; there was once a Jewish temple and today the Greek Orthodox Chapel of Agia Kyriaki celebrates an annual divine liturgy.

Delos was also enchanting for its natural beauty, with its picturesque landscapes and stunning vistas over the Aegean Sea.

The island’s tranquil atmosphere and sense of timelessness have inspired poets, artists, and travellers throughout the ages, adding to its mystical allure.

No one is born there and no one is allowed to die on Delos for the last several millennia.

Its archaic stones and carved marble lie in state for more than 2000 years.

A home and a homage for immortals it now explodes with life.

Every spot of earth, every crack in the pavements, every crevice between the stones has life pushing through.

From the moment I tell myself, “I am going to Delos,” a magical aura seems to surround me.

The island carries a mystical and mythical energy.

Imagining the day

I contemplate the journey as I sip my early morning coffee–wondering what new image I will spy on this crossing. Because even though I have been at least 100 times during my 4 decades living on its neighbouring Mykonos, with each voyage I make a new discovery.

I drive down to town, leave the truck at the municipal car park facing the town and walk along the sea front.

After passing the waterfront cafes and many others headed for the kiosk selling the boat tickets excitement overwhelms me. I hurry my steps, even though I have plenty of time.

I have a seat at one of my favorite cafes and have another coffee, taking in the additional caffeine as well as surveying the parade of people headed for the quay where the Delos Express is docked.

I finish my coffee, make a trip to the loo and walk to the ticket booth.

I greet the young girl, already haggard from answering early morning questions from curious tourists about the island. She smiles at me with recognition and I joke with her about the daily “lessons” she has passed on to travellers thirsty for information about this place of myth.

As I turn to head toward the boat, I spot Franz–an unlikely captain of the entire enterprise that sends boats to Delos. We exchange “Kalimeras” and I stop briefly to warn him that I will be contacting him about the next new performance project scheduled for Delos in the Autumn.

I walk the gangplank to board the vessel and head for the steep stairs of the top deck. I always choose an outdoor bench because it affords the best views of departing Mykonos and arriving at Delos.

Today is warm and sunlit with clear azure skies.

I choose a seat at the end of a bench and smile with anticipation and satisfaction.

I find myself between two groups–some American couples, Midwesterners from their dialect, from the cruise ship docked at Tourlos are to my right. Across from me are some 20 something Spaniards–the girls are wearing open strappy sandals and long flowing skirts. I make no eye contact with either group thinking to myself that the girls are going to soon regret their fashion choice this morning.

Journeying to the mythical island

Whenever I travel alone, I remain silent and remote from fellow passengers. I try not to interact so as not to spoil my own journey by accidently becoming an un-official guide.

I silently absorb the conversations around me; my dark sunglasses and hat help me hide the glint in my eye and my subtle smile as I hear self-appointed experts dispensing crumbs of island information. Some of it is correct, gleaned from the ubiquitous sources via the internet; some of it is just wrong. Unless the information is outright dangerous to those descending on Delos, I keep my mouth shut and remain a reticent fellow traveller.

As we make the crossing I often stand to take photos of the back side of Parportiani and the Windmills.

I also like to capture images of the sea as it colors go from aqua marine to deep blue.

At some point, the craggy shores of Delos come into view. My poker face explodes in a huge smile. I always feel so joyful when I make this first sighting. The next heart patter comes as we round into the harbor; my eyes go straight to the top of Mount Kynthos, surveying across the breadth of the island.

As we disembark my excitement is palpable. “I am back!” I scream inside myself, now grinning from ear to ear. Once I am off the plank and touch the hard-pressed earth on the dock I can feel my step change. The energy passes through me slowly; my body can sense something different.

I watch other voyagers scurry to the ticket booth to purchase their entry tickets. I stand back, grounding both feet to the earth and slowly doing a 360 turnabout to take it all in.

At the ticket counter I find Stella, a veteran on Delos. She and her husband Thanasi have spent the better part of the last 6 years living on the island, winter and summer, as guards. We exchange greetings, ask about the winter that passed and how far she is from retirement.

Now facing Mount Kynthos, I have mapped out today’s journey. My path will take me through the Villas, on to the ancient theatre, up the “hotel,” passed the “Dolphin House” and the protective tanit, up the “steps” of Kynthos, a good survey from up top, back down to the Temple of Isis, passed the museum to the phalluses, on to the Italian Agora and the Naxian Lions. It is 11 am I have 2 hours and 15 minutes before the boat departs at 1:30.

Today’s path is prioritized not because of the archaic ruins but because of the flora and fauna I want to see.

Spring explodes in color

In early April, all the Kikladhes islands are an explosion of wildflowers: red poppies, purple hyacinth, white and yellow daisies, camomile, anemones, miniature orchids.

Today’s journey is meant to breath in the aromas of the beautiful buds — even more defined without the smell of car exhausts or the millions of machines we have working and casting off fumes in “civilized” Mykonos.

Both a cornucopia of smells and sights, the wildflowers are symphony to be enjoyed briefly. Soon enough, the temperatures will rise in this naturally arid climate and remove any moisture that these plants cling to. By mid-May, it will all have transformed into a beige brown wasteland of dried buds and grass, crackling with each gust of wind.

Mounting Kynthos

I set off for Kynthos, capturing poppies that push through rocky crevices.

Each break in the climb includes a deep breath to savour the surrounding aroma of flora and fauna. The second deep breath comes with eyes wide open to take in the vista of land, sea and rocky ruins.

Atop of Kynthos, first I stand and turn full circle to take it all in. On clear day, you can see all the islands that circle Delos–hence the ancients named this set of islands the Circle Islands–the Kiklades. In Greek the word for circle is “kiklos.”

20 minutes later I am climbing down from Kynthos as others make their way to the top on the narrow path.

My trek will take me past the Temple of Isis descending down the hill to the Agora of the Italians to the Naxian lions.

All along the way I stop to breath in smells and sights of the vista before me.

It is 1:20. I cross the ancient marbles of the slave market and make my way to the boat.

On the dock, I turn to gaze upon Kynthos.

I put my hand over my heart and bow in gratitude and humility.

I have enjoyed the day, energized by the ancients and the immortals who have gifted me seeing what remains of their relics and the beauty of their spirit.

Delos is Divine

Today, Delos continues to captivate visitors with its archaeological treasures, including the ruins of ancient temples, theatres, and houses.

Its status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site further underscores its importance as a cultural and historical gem.

Whether exploring its ancient ruins or simply soaking in its serene ambiance, Delos remains a place where myth and reality intertwine, casting a spell of wonder and enchantment upon all who visit.

Take a dive into the divinity of Delos.