Nourished by Naxos
Homemade meals, empty beaches, and the joy of an 83-year-old swimmer.
#30
This week has brought countless gifts. Tim had traveled to Naxos a few years ago and was excited to return, so I booked us nine nights here to fully enjoy and explore. It was a quick one-hour ferry from Paros, and when we landed in the port town, it felt familiar in that off-season Greek-island way — most restaurants closed, but the shops beginning to glow with early holiday spirit.
We rented a car and drove the short distance to our stay, perched a mile from town with an expansive view of the sea. We’re on the far side of a mountain ridge, so instead of sunsets, we get the soft shift of the sky each day — the gradual darkening and lightening that feels like the island breathing.
After meeting our hosts and checking in, we headed back into town and had what was easily a top-five meal of this entire trip: a shared fish platter with calamari, sardines, mussels, grilled octopus, and a whole fish — all cooked to perfection. Only a few tables were filled, mostly locals, and our waitress had a warm, engaging smile. We’ve run into her several times since, exchanging those simple, familiar hellos that make you feel connected even when you’re far from home.
The next day we took a slow, scenic drive and found a gorgeous stretch of sand with no one around. We lounged, ate our picnic lunch, walked our steps on the soft sand. Tim took a couple of swims; I put my feet in and soaked up the warmth. Off-season means cooler water and fewer people, but the tradeoff — the quiet and the space — has been worth it for me.
One afternoon we returned to the apartment and found five containers of homemade food waiting on our table from our hosts’ mother: goat cheese, sautéed greens from the nearby hills, pastitsio, a vegetable casserole, and fried bread with honey. It was such a sweet surprise — the kind of gesture that lands directly in your heart. We laughed remembering how Tim had joked the day before that no one had invited us for a home-cooked meal. It was a desire underneath the humor, and somehow it was heard.
Naxos has given us an easy rhythm: I work in the mornings while Tim reads and makes breakfast, then we do our workouts and head out late morning for whatever adventure the day brings. A few days called for rain but only one delivered — and even then it passed quickly. That was until our second-to-last night when a major storm rolled in with thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. The power went out overnight, and by morning the skies were totally clear again. Classic island weather — dramatic, quick, and already on to the next thing.
The flies, however, remain committed to their mission. Eating outside is nearly impossible even with spray. The apartment itself is beautifully made with concrete forms and interior stone walls, but for Tim it’s too harsh and doesn’t feel grounding. It’s interesting how each place resonates differently for both of us. Some places feel soft and nourishing; others feel cold or too dense. We’re always trying to find that middle ground, and overall we’re doing pretty well.
One exciting surprise was finding a last-minute seven-day cruise out of Rome for after our time in Crete and before Sardinia. I had originally booked us for sixteen nights on Sardinia, but off-season that felt like a bit too much. I’d been checking cruises on and off for weeks, but nothing really clicked — until this one suddenly appeared and felt like the perfect fit. It was a good reminder of how often things line up when you hold the intention, stay open, and let timing do what it does best.
Thanksgiving came and went quietly here. Greece doesn’t celebrate it, of course, and I found myself missing my family — the familiar foods, the laughter, the little traditions I’ve always loved. I was able to connect with a few of them, but this is our second holiday season away, and I imagine next year will look different with more family around. Tim and I are creating new memories and new rhythms, and I’m curious to see how future years unfold.
That same afternoon, we went exploring and found another beach completely empty. A little while later, an older man appeared down the shoreline and walked straight into the cool November water. We watched him swim with a kind of playful confidence, then climb out and move through a series of calisthenics on the sand as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Something about him really struck Tim — his vitality, his ease, the way he embodied joy at any age. When he wandered over to chat, we learned (with his limited English and our nonexistent Greek) that he was 83. His presence felt like a quiet reminder of what’s possible when you keep choosing movement, curiosity, and life itself.
As he headed back down the beach, a rainbow stretched across the water — a soft punctuation mark on an unexpectedly beautiful afternoon. Our Thanksgiving dinner that night was simple: veal cutlets, a salad, a movie, and then lounging in bed. Not traditional, but still warm in its own way.
Friday was an in-town day — wandering, picking up a few necessities, and using up the food we had before our move. That night brought the lightning show, dramatic from our higher vantage point overlooking the sea.
Soon we’ll begin the 24-hour trip to Crete: a 5.5-hour ferry to Athens, a long wait, and then the overnight ferry that lands at 6 a.m. From there, we’ll drive two hours south to the small town of Makry Gialos for our next nine nights. As always, I’m curious what — and who — we’ll meet along the way.
The lightning storm and other Naxos moments are up on YouTube if you’d like to follow along. I’m also gathering holiday scenes around Greece for a video montage later this month.
Wherever you are this week, may you notice the quiet ways life is trying to nourish you — a warm meal, a kind smile, a calm moment, a reminder of what’s possible at any age. Trust your pace. Trust your heart. Trust what’s unfolding.
To your highest and best,
Dianna
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