GREECE AT ITS MOST GREEK

Set between mountain and bay, little Nafplio combines lovability and elegance by Phyllis Rose.

THE NEW YORK TIMES MAGAZINE/SEPTEMBER 10, 2000

I believe that a traveller in a new place should buy something, preferably through bargaining. Buy something, make a friend get information. It's the human contact, not the acquisition, that counts. Consequently, and not to satisfy any low material desires, I was bargaining for a hand-woven cotton tablecloth in Nafplion. Even in Greece, even in Nafplion, even in a souvenir shop where hardly anything sells for more than $40, we had all entered this new May week in a state of anxiety about Wall Street. The store owner while spiritedly taking part in our negotiation, was keeping an eye on the television above the counter CNN was about to report on how  the American stock market seven hours behind us, had opened. The previous week had been disastrous, and this was either a real crash, if the market opened low, or yet another hard ride, if it rallied. When your grins bin sniff  Mr. Roussos, the shop owner, said with a conspiratorial twinkle that suggested. Ι should understand his allusion and appreciate his savvy. Pardon me? What they say: When your Mr. Grins bin sniff  the rest of world go to hospital. When Greenspan sneezes, the rest of the world gets pneumonia and Nafplio's tourist business gets even worse than it is. The armies of tourists from various nations in bus size battalions of 80 have left the field here. This is a blessing for the independent traveller, if hard on local businessmen. Nafplio is the prettiest and most lovable city I've seen in Greece. The setting of the red-roofed Old Town, on the Bay of Argolis, backed by the rocky heights of Acronauplia and even higher Palamidi, is spectacular. For centuries, Venetians and Turks took turns ruling Nafplio, leaving behind palpable layers of elegance and exoticism. At one end of the immense, marble-paved piazza, Constitution Square, is an arcaded brick building constructed by the Venetians in the l8th century (now the Archaeological Museum) at the other end is a converted Turkish mosque. Bougainvillea grows through the wrought-iron balconies of many neo-Classical mansions and spills overhead on narrow streets. In the evenings, taverns put out tables and chairs in these alleys, so you can eat and drink beneath the stars and flowers. Here; in 1821, Greeks won independence by storming the fortress at the top of Palamidi, taking it from the Turks after a siege of more than a year. Nafplio became a centre for philhellenic political activity. The first Greek parliament was here, and for six years, until 1834, this was the capital of Greece. Ι have an easy time here imagining I'm in the freedom-seeking, passionate, semi barbaric, Western, Eastern, silk-and-velvet, early-l9th-century Greece that Byron fought for. Ι am thinking of the famous painting of Byron in what he called his Albanian outfit, a red-and-yellow striped silk bandanna around his forehead. That morning my husband, Laurent, and Ι saw many costumes of even greater splendour at the Folk Art Museum (formally the Peloponnesian Folklore Foundation), dresses to make Christian Lacroix frantic with envy, embroidered velvets on top of silks, silks on velvet, gold embroidered vests, silver embroidered waistbands, coin necklaces, metal breastplates, life-size mannequins swathed, wrapped and decorated as vividly and imaginatively as ever I've seen outside the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Folklore Foundation specializes in weaving; embroidery, clothing and jewellery, making it - along with the Nafplio Archaeological Museum, with its fantastically patterned Mycenaean pottery - a design inspiration. For me, it helped people the city with fantasy figures in colourful clothes uniting to throw off the yoke of oppression. After my negotiation for the tablecloth was completed, Mr. Roussos and Ι advanced quickly from matters of world economy to where to eat; swim, stroll and sleep in Nafplio. For strolling, he recommended the walk along the base of Acronauplia to the beach of Karathona. For swimming, he recommended the Arvanitia beach. For sleeping, he recommended the Pension Marianna. Quiet as the grave.
We, however, were staying at the Xenia Palace hotel, according to my information the only luxury hotel in town, set sensationally atop the Acronauplia, looking over the roofs of the Old Town to the bay and distant mountains of the Argolis. An elevator, I'd read, takes you down from the hotel through the heart of the rock and deposits you in the centre of town. That sounded great. When Ι made the reservation, Ι imagined a grand old converted structure, like the San Dominico in Tao mina. But our arrival was unpromising, even disconcerting. First, few people seemed able to tell us how to find the hotel. When our Athenian driver, Cristos, found the right road and a hotel that said "Xenia," it looked derelict and was, in fact, closed. The Xenia Palace was farther up the mountain, a modern building aging badly. Α thick cable blocked us from pulling up to it. We had to leave the car about 100 yards from the entrance - no porters or bellboys in sight - and walk through an empty, graceless lobby to the front desk. Greeks usually care about the quality of hospitality. A cordial reception has been valued since Homeric times. We'd gotten used to better welcomes. Ι was so unnerved by our reception that Ι demanded to know if there were any good reason we could not drive to the front door. At first the man at reception avoided the question, but finally he admitted there were "structural problems." No more than five cars could be in front of the hotel at any one time without danger of road collapse. They weren't taking any chances. Ι don't want to dwell on the strangeness of the Xenia Palace, where we and our travelling companions, Ron and Joanne, seemed to be the only guests. Joanne and Ι both took a Wildean dislike to the avocado-colored bathroom fixtures ("Either this wallpaper goes or Ι do," was Oscar Wilde's dying quip) and, especially, the sinks, which looked like urinals. The lighting in the rooms was too dim for reading. The elevator down to town deposited us at the end of a tunnel, on the ceiling of which were stuck what seemed to be Styrofoam blocks painted green (to deaden screams?) the walls looked like high school lockers and shelves had been ripped off them. This creepy, until recently government-run hotel, with its spectacular placement and views all squandered, is the town's biggest problem. As Ι was too dumb to understand immediately, no more than five cars at the front door means no buses, and no buses means no tour groups, and no tour groups means few guests. Add the avocado bathroom fixtures and the urinal-sinks and you have α real disaster, a supposedly high-end hotel that appeals to no one. With the luxury-class Xenia Palace empty, the first-class Xenia down the hill closed and the other first-class hotel, the Amfitrion, also closed, it was no wonder Nafplio seemed light on tourists. Groups visiting Mycenae and Epidavros, who might use Νafplio as a base, stay at the Amelia, miles out of town, or in Τοlο, farther down the coast. This situation won't last long. The Xenia Palace, the Xenia and the Amfitrion have all been bought by the hotel group chat owns the world-class Elounda Beach Hotel in Crete. They and the town are ripe for renovation. So if you like the authenticity and charm of semi abandoned places, go to Nafplion quickly. You are likely to find unexpected pleasures. For example, the Komboloi Museum, around the corner from the Folk Art Museum. The Greeks have quickly picked up the connection between museums and museum shops, and the Komboloi Museum looked like a bead store. One man was at work stringing beads under a sign that said "Workshop." Α younger man stood behind the counter. Can you tell me what komboloi would be in English? Ι asked him. He waved his hand around the store in reply. Beads? Ι said. Not beads. Special beads. Beads for this, he said. He picked up a strand of amber beads loosely strung on a red silk thread and started pushing them to one side. Worry beads! Where's the museum? I asked. He pointed up some narrow stairs and to a sign asking the equivalent of $1.50 for admission. Stairs and price seemed steep, but we were intrigued: what would α worry-bead museum consist of? It was an extensive collection of prayer beads Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Catholic - with an explanation of how they evolved one from the other: Muslim traders brought prayer beads from Asia and adapted them to Islam; in the late l2th century, Crusaders brought them back from Constantinople to Catholic Europe, where they metamorphosed into rosary beads. Buddhist strands have 108 beads; Muslim beads track the 99 identities of Allah, usually with 33 beads for three prayers each, and rosaries most often consist of 5 groups of 10 small beads with larger beads separating them. From these prayer beads, the strictly secular Greek worry beads evolved, having no specified number of beads to a strand, chosen for aesthetic considerations like feel and look, a combination toy and meditation device: We didn't see many in use in present-day Nafplio, but they proved popular presents for harried Americans upon our return to the United States.
In the afternoon we took the walk Mr. Roussos had recommended. Just beyond the pier where fishing boats tie up, the walk under Palamidi starts. A wide, flat, stone-paved pathway heads around the other side of the rocky peninsula, between cliff and water. We passed a seaside tavern, an abandoned swim club and the entrance to the nearly 1,000 steps that lead up to the fortress, from which there are spectacular Santorini-like views of an immense sea, distant land and dwellings far below. Quickly we were beyond any buildings, walking between red cliffs and blue water. Birds, roosting in the cliff face, flew over our heads and their song filled the air. An old woman, her hair in a grey bun, gathered herbs growing from the rocks. We exchanged a kalispera ("good evening"). At any point, we could have walked out onto rocks and gone for a swim. Farther along, men were fishing and others swimming at what must have been Karathona Beach. Returning, we stopped to watch the sunset at one of the dozens of cafes lining the waterfront and looked across the Bay of Argolis toward hazy blue mountains massed in receding rows. Α tiny island in the bay, close to the port, bears the picturesque remains of a fortress. It's called Bourtzi and is festooned now with bougainvillea. (Funny how charming military installations can look with the passage of time, they seem to age better hotels.) Boats leave every half hour for Bourtzi - the trip takes five minutes and you can witness the sunset from there.
But we preferred the cafe. We sat shaded by market umbrellas big and high enough to seem like ceilings and birds flew underneath them. We sipped our Scotch and-sodas and observed neighbours who were talking on cell phones and handling paperwork as they consumed enormous pastries and coffees in what for them was mid afternoon. Again, the comparison that presented itself to me was with Santorini, where we had recently been. It is a fact universally acknowledged that the sunset seen from Oia in Santorini is the most beautiful sunset in the world. But the sunset seen from a waterfront cafe in Nafplio seemed to me every bit as beautiful and vastly less attended. Greeks eat late, 9 p.m. at the earliest. So we had time to investigate the restaurants Mr. Roussos had suggested. We had no trouble finding the Omorpho Τaνernaki, two streets back from. the waterfront, in a relatively empty part of town. People, all Greek, were eating and talking vivaciously at tables set up in the street. Basilis, another place Mr. Roussos recommended, was more of a challenge because it's on a street with many taverns whose customers were eating outside. It was hard to tell where one tavern ended and another began. My husband and Ι performed the restaurants scooter stroll, eyeing menus, checking out ambience, glancing into people's plates as they ate, all the while trying to look as if we were on some other mission entirely. Unfortunately, my husband turned on his heel and; pretending not to look at anything, walked straight into me. The waiters could not keep from laughing. Thus we made up our minds where to dine. We waited in the middle of Constitution Square for our friends to rejoin us. They had gone to the island of Hydra for the day. The square has white marble paving, and many children were trying to ride bikes on the slippery surface. They fell and were brave or cried and were comforted. It seemed strange and a pleasure to watch people their everyday lives. In Athens's Syntagma Square see fake folk dancing Piazza Νavona in Rome there's nary a native in sight. Local people come this square in the evening with their kids. Waiting we watched them and a dulled in the peculiarly satisfying task of deciphering a non-Roman alphabet. From ETHNIKH ΤΡΑPΕZA made out ΕΤΗΝΙΚ TRAΡΕΖΕ and from there it was a short but exhilarating step to National Bank This building's architectural style is one you don't often encounter: neo-Mycenaean. Yet there is a fully functioning Α.Τ.Μ. just. inside the door, which opens to the same card that opens the door of our Citizens Bank in Connecticut. Ron and Joanne, wearing white cotton shirts they'd acquired on Hydra, joined us soon, and we had a terrific dinner at Omorpho. There was no table free when we arrived, but that was not a problem: they put another table and four chairs on the street for us. We ate croquettes of a green vegetable resembling spinach, stuffed zucchini, grilled local sausages and veal chops. We ate as is normal in Greece, exactly as much as we wanted, got our food quickly and were waited on efficiently and with no pretension. We drunk two bottles of Nimea an excellent red wine that comes from vineyards we had passed on our way to Nafplio. The bill was $37, service included. We had a sticker-shock moment of a novel sort. Anyway, we were  feeling flush because the stock market had rallied.
ΜΥ HUSBAND AND Ι WERE heading from Nafplio to Olympia, a three-hour drive,
but Ron and Joanne had decided to go right on to Del-phi. Christos found a Nafplio cabby who would take them there in comfortable car at a reasonable price. So we left separately the next day Laurent and I in a yellow Athens cab, Joanne and Ron in a red Nafplio one. When Telemachos in search of Odysseus arrived at a new castle he would usually given dinner before he was expected to impart his lineage and his purpose in traveling. We stopped for gas a mile or so outside of town. The gas station owner, while filling the tank, said to Christos, I know who you are. You are driving one of the two American couples were staying at the Xenia Palace. Are you the ones headed to Delphi or to Olympia? So our herald revealed our identity and destination.

Getting There, Staying there.

Nafplion is a three- or four-hour drive south of Athens. We wanted to tour the Peloponnesus by car but were worried about driving in Greece, which is nerve-racking at best. Taxis are a good alternative. The cost is about $250 a day, and four people can fit in one cab, which is often a Mercedes. Cristos, the cabdriver who took us to Nafplio, Olympia and Delphi, proved to be an excellent driver, a tactful and intelligent companion and a resourceful representative; his mobile telephone number is 6973057711. There are pleasant, though not luxurious, places to stay in Nafplio. Perhaps the most highly recommended is the, Byron Hotel, 2 Platonos Street (telephone: 30-752-22351; fax: 30-752-26338), in the heart of the Old Town, there are 18 rooms, with showers, air-conditioning and excellent views; prices range from about $60, breakfast costs about $2.75, no restaurant. Also in the Old Town, near Constitution Square, is the Ilion Hotel; 6 Kapodistnou Street (30-752-25114;fax:30-75224497), which has 10 uniquely decorated suites, all have baths and air-conditioning; prices range from about $65 το about $110, including breakfast, no restaurant. The King Othon Hotel, 4 Farmakopoulou (telephone and fax: 30-75227595), is inexpensive and the rooms somewhat cramped and basic, but the neo-Classical building is recently restored and the hallways and extensor are beautiful. There are 11 rooms, and a double, with bath and air conditioning, costs from about $60, including breakfast no restaurant. Farther up on the Acronauplia and a little outside of the central heart of the Old Town, is the Marianna Pension, 9 Potamianou Street (30-752-24256;fax:30-75221783), recommended by Mr. Roussos, all 14 rooms have bathrooms and air-conditioning, a double is about $50, including breakfast. The Xenia Palace, where we had a less than ideal stay, is under new ownership and scheduled for renovation. "Give us this day our daily squid" was Joanne's assessment of Greek food. Among other wonderful fried fish specialties, I especially liked the whitebait, tiny and consumed by the dozen. Squeeze on lemon, and by a miracle of timing, they stay crisp until you've reached the last mouthful, only then becoming sodden and inedible. Greek salads are also predictably good, as are olives, feta and stuffed grape leaves. Forget about butter when you're in Greece. They don't understand it. The Napflio restaurants that we checked out all had menus similar to that of the Omorpho Tavernaki, 1 Kostonopoulou Street (30-752-25944), where we had a meal that included stuffed zucchini, grilled local sausage and veal chops; the prices were extremely reasonable, often less than $10 a person. One last thing: eat yogurt and honey for breakfast. Greek yogurt tastes more like sour cream than it does like our yogurt, and with Greek honey, it's the food of the gods.
Phyllis Rose is working on a sequel to "The Year of Reading Proust: A Memoir in Real Time" (Counterpoint).