For some reason, as a child, I memorised the boat routes out of Rafina like a poem that I can still recite; Andros, Tinos, Mykonos, Syros, Paros, Naxos, Ios, Santorini. The boats leaving the port always travel clockwise around the Cyclade islands covering half the clockface from about one to the six. Syros is almost in the centre of the clock and has a rich political and cultural history, which makes it a popular destination for school field trips in the area. In eighth grade it was our turn to go there.
On the day of the trip we came to school with cameras, food and some pocket money in little purses or bags. After convening at school, we walked down the hill, past the white-walled graveyard, past the boxy primary school with metal grilles over the windows, past the beach that few of the locals ever swam at and into the port where we boarded the high speed catamaran.
Catamarans can make it to Syros in about three hours, much faster than the six or seven hours it would take a large ferry, but catamarans are like airplanes and forego the best parts of being on a boat. We were sardined into one large cabin with rows of seats next to small grimy windows that you could barely see out of. How our teachers were convinced to seal themselves in this metal can with 120 thirteen-year-olds I don’t know.
Once we arrived in Syros, our first stop was the famous City Hall in Ermoupoli. Our teachers probably told us that Ermoupoli is the capital of the Cyclade islands and the whole south Aegean region. The City Hall was an imposing building with a broad white marble staircase leading up to grand arched doorways with tall wooden doors. My second-clearest memory from the trip was the side of that wide staircase. There was a smooth marble slab framing each side at roughly a 30 degree incline. We had so much fun sliding down it and posing for pictures, like a totem pole of teenagers.
After touring City Hall we had a couple of hours to wander around the town on our own. Our teachers probably wanted us to notice the mix of neoclassical Greek and Italian architecture, which is different to the uniform whitewashed style of the surrounding isles. However, we preferred to notice the trinkets in the shops and the snacks in the cafés. My clearest memory of the trip occurred on the way home.
Just before it was time to leave two street sellers appeared by the port with knick-knacks, sweet treats and a box full of incredibly cute little hamsters. What serendipity to appear with your wares in the middle of 120 fatigued teenagers with leftover pocket money. Everyone wanted a hamster and everyone could afford one. Soon a line had formed to exchange a few hundred drachmas for a blue cardboard box with air holes on each side and your own cute hamster inside. Boyfriends bought one for their girlfriend, friends would adopt one together. The hamsters sold out and it was time to board.
About an hour into our trip back to Rafina we noticed a bit of a commotion a few rows behind us. How funny! Somebody’s hamster had probably escaped! That was not exactly the case. During that journey we learned that hamsters eat cardboard and everybody’s hamsters were escaping. There were squeals (from the kids, not the hamsters), kids on top of kids, feet in the air, arms reaching under the seats trying to catch them, but the creatures were too fast and too good at hiding. By the time we returned I don’t believe there was any evidence of the boxes or the hamsters at all. We were returned to our parents who took us home for a hamster-less night of rest.
Perhaps next time I will try to visit the industrial museum.