For a week, my mornings began by the harbor, since I stayed in a hotel right next to the sea. The routine was simple, almost repetitive in a good way. Wake up, eat by the sea, walk to Sappho Square, and catch the bus to the university (of the Aegean). Mytilini felt small during the early hours, like it was still stretching itself awake, but fast-forward to eight hours later, after school, and suddenly things turn big time, quite literally. Every night ended the Greek way as it should be, with tzatziki, moussaka, souvlaki (and many more!), followed by drinks and a constantly good company at Παλιά Αγορά. Surely some of the best nights this year, so far, arguably..
The harbor started to feel too familiar eventually, so walking up (and running, too) toward the hill where the Mytilini castle stands became inevitable. Up the hill, the noise of the waterfront fades, replaced by quieter roads and houses that seem to carry different stories. Some are still lived in, others look like they have been left behind. Something is unsettling about those empty homes. Broken balconies, peeling paint, and doors that probably have not opened in a while. I heard a few stories from locals (but not really confirmed), about why people left. Years of overlapping crises, the strain of refugee containment, tourism declining, and a general sense of exhaustion. For them, staying became harder than leaving, at some point. For some, the place simply stopped feeling like home. Thus, the houses, just waited for people who might never return at all.
On the last day of school, we were brought to the other side of island to see the petrified forest in Sigri, and it honestly was
hard to picture what it used to be. Millions of years ago, the area was
covered by a dense forest until volcanic eruptions buried it under ash. That
sudden burial, destructive as it was, is also the reason anything remains.
But without oxygen, the trees did not decay. Over time, mineral-rich water replaced
the organic material with silica, preserving the structure down to the smallest
details. What stands now looks like wood at first glance, but actually was stone. Growth rings, textures, everything is still visible, just no longer
alive. Long before this forest
was even buried, entire ecosystems had already come and gone. Even the age of
dinosaurs had ended by then, yet the island kept changing, reshaping itself
again and again. What is there now is only a small slice of something much
longer.
In such an effort to spend time wisely right away, I decided to stay for few extra days. What felt just right to close the trip was a final look at the castle. This time, visited it more up close and in detail, together with a fellow summer school participant who was also doing a phd. Aside from the walk, there came the inevitable talks about the strange rhythm of phd life, uncertainties, plans, and all such sorts. Anyway, inside the castle walls, things started to feel busier than they looked. A lot has clearly happened there, and the stones seem to remember. We walked along worn paths, past ruins whose original job descriptions are long gone, but clearly once important enough to justify all the stonework. From the edges, Mytilini spreads out below, harbor, hillside houses, and scenic coastlines. Contrary to the petrified forest, from there, it was not so hard to picture ships arriving centuries ago, with people possibly standing right where we were.
For days, it felt like the island was moving slowly. Or maybe it was just me, slowing down. No one seems in a rush, sitting by the sea, watching boats and ferries drift and people pass by. Nothing particularly remarkable really, but it felt enough. Time becomes less exact, like it matters less how long things take. But Ironically, it seemed like a time well-spent. And it is!
