Lesbos

 

Last month, I was in Mytilini, Lesvos (for a week), to attend a summer school. And the island itself did not take too long to quietly take over as the highlight of that whole first-time Greek experience. The school was great, no doubt, but the greek style of doing it was just so much more. The lectures were fantastic, but midway started to feel like they were happening in the background. All because Lesvos effortlessly demands full attention (in a good way).

 

Fun fact: the word lesbian traces back to Lesvos, home of Sappho (there was a whole square dedicated to her), whose verses celebrating love between women gave the place, and eventually the world, a term for that affection. And over time, Lesvos had become more than a location, as it evolved into a symbol of identity, desire, and poetic legacy.

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 somehow 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. And every night ended Greek as it should be, with tzatziki, moussaka, souvlaki (and many more!), followed by drinks and constantly good company at Παλιά Αγορά. Surely some of the best nights this year, so far..

The harbor started to feel too familiar eventually, so walking up (and running, too) toward the hill where the Mytilini castle stands became a habit. 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 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. It honestly was hard to picture what it used to be, but equally interesting in a good way. SO short story time, pushing back to millions of years ago, the area was covered by a dense forest until volcanic eruptions buried it under ash. And that sudden burial, destructive as it was, was also the reason some things remained. Without oxygen, the trees did not decay. But over time, mineral-rich water replaced the organic material with silica, preserving the structure down to the smallest details. And 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. Talk about how time restores things, but also time showing us how insignificant the years we'll all get and share to live. So spend it wisely :)

 

In such an effort to spend time wisely right away, I decided to stay on the island after the summer school ended, for few extra days. And 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. And I'm glad I did this with a fellow summer school participant, also doing a phd. Aside from the walk, there came the inevitable talks about the strange rhythm of phd life, uncertainties, plans, and all sorts. Anyway, inside the castle walls, things started to feel busier than they looked. A lot has clearly happened there, but 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 life on the island was moving slowly. Or maybe it was just me, slowing down. Or both. No one seems in a rush, people just sitting by the sea, watching boats and ferries drift, and pass by casually. Nothing particularly remarkable, really, but it felt enoughly just right. Time becomes less exact, like it matters less how long things take. But Ironically, it seemed like a time well-spent. And it definitely  was!