The Ark of Humanity

Take a Greek ferry. You will not regret.

Each of us, sometimes, needs to restore faith in humanity. If you are in such a moment - take a Greek ferry.

1. Heraklio to Piraeus: night under the piano

To get from Crete, Greece’s biggest island, to mainland, you can fly or take a boat. I took the boat because it was cheaper. I did not realise I was stepping into a different realm.

With all my travel gear on my back, I bid farewell to Heraklio and climb the colossal Anek Lines ferry. It is 9:00 pm and we are due to arrive in Piraeus early morning. Ferries are always interesting, but this one, with seven decks to explore, is initially overwhelming. I wander around a bit lost. At first, I am looking for a comfortable seat. But then, watching people, I realise the experienced ferry goers are doing something else. They are not occupying seats but floor space. Everyone has come with blankets and mattresses and behaves as if at home. The staff do not mind. Luckily, I have all my camping gear with me. So I start searching for the nicest floor on the ship. Out of many rooms, I like the concert hall the most. Many others think the same, so the hall is crowded, except for the elevated wooden stage with the concert-size piano, firmly strapped in place.

I set my mattress right under the piano, hoping it will not crush me in a storm. I look around and make friends. A Swedish couple, experienced ferry hoppers, explain how things work.

Soon I leave my mattress and gear with the Swedes and set out to explore the boat. The top deck is the most surprising, with people pitching tents. Some even have camping stoves. The night is warm and not too windy. The whole ferry feels like a festival.

That night it is easy to meet people, drink beers, and smoke together. I make several friends. Most of them do not sleep at all. I do. Late in the night, I step downstairs and slide into my sleeping bag. In the shade of the piano, I sleep very well.

The airport culture versus the ferry culture

The difference between flying and taking a boat is the same as the difference between taking a road and taking a street. A road takes you quickly from A to B. You sit in your car, focused on the destination, cursing the speed limit and other drivers. Roads have no sidewalks. People, locked in their cars, don’t smile or interact. A road is an anti-social space.

A street is different. A street also connects A to B, but its purpose is to create social life. People stop, meet, talk, buy things, go to restaurants, browse boutiques and shoemaker’s ateliers. Some countries do not have many real streets. In Nabokov’s Lolita, Humbert describes the USA as follows: “Their towns are not towns but endless suburban jungles; their cities are not cities but huge agglomerations of buildings and bridges and freeways.”

Flying is like taking a road. You are cargo, transported from A to B.

Ferry hopping is like walking a street. You are a bit like the crew of Theseus returning from Crete’s labyrinth to Athens. You enter party mood almost instantly, taking your time to talk, make friends, smoke cigarettes.

And guess what: not so long ago, travel was always like this.

Ferries are part of Greek culture. There are numerous lines connecting hundreds of Greek islands. After some study you understand the system. Not all islands are equally easy to reach. A few ports serve as major hubs. This is where it makes most sense to change from one ferry to another. The biggest hub is Piraeus, the port of Athens.

Piraeus

We arrive at dawn. Piraeus is much bigger than you would expect. It is truly impressive.

disembarking the ferry

To grasp the meaning of Piraeus, look at the map of Greek ferry lines.

The hub and the spokes. Piraeus is where most ferries meet.

Piraeus is a hub where around twenty major passenger ferry lines converge. I do not think any other spot like this exists in Europe or even worldwide. Some seaports, like Amsterdam or Hamburg, are much larger in size, but they are mostly cargo terminals. When it comes to passenger ferry traffic, I do not know a place that matches Piraeus.

It surprises me, because I have always thought of Greece as a small country. In fact, it is not. And Piraeus is a continuation of an ancient naval tradition that spans four millennia. Greeks created civilization because they were formidable sailors.

After disembarking at 6:00 am, I need to walk to another terminal. My next boat, to the island of Ikaria, departs in less than an hour. Many passengers make the same walk. A deep roar of engines rolls through the port. Massive ships, larger than buildings, block the view of the city. Each one heads to a different island. One of them is ours.

We find our boat and rush in just in time. The door closes minutes later. As we depart, we continue to glide past sea monsters.

Examining the ten decks of a German cruiser, Mein Schiff, I notice passengers standing on private balconies, protected from the inconveniences and dangers of talking to strangers. Quite a contrast to our boat.

Finally, Piraeus disappears behind us.

3. Piraeus to Ikaria: the hippie boat

Ikaria, where I am heading, is a special island. Ask the Greeks and you will understand. And this becomes obvious immediately. On the boat, everyone is relaxed and cheerful, knowing where we are going.

Again, I make friends, this time also collecting contacts and asking practical questions. Most people have visited the island before. Many of them I will later meet again on Ikaria, in the most unexpected circumstances. Ikaria is small.

This ferry ride is shorter. Around lunchtime, the rugged coastline of Ikaria appears. We soon dock at Agios Kirikos, one of the island’s two ports. The ferry dwarfs the tiny town.

Disembarking, I say goodbye to my new acquaintaces from the boat, who ride off on a motorbike.

What happened later on Ikaria is a story for another time. And it is quite a story. Stay tuned. For now, follow me to another ferry ride, two weeks later.

Ikaria to Piraeus: welcome to Europe

On the way back from Ikaria, I board the Blue Star ferry again, and again something unusual happens. The ferry did not start here - it comes from where Europe begins. Just hours ago, it visited other Greek islands, near the Asia Minor (Turkey) coast. Some passengers arrive from there - their first time in Europe, and new chapter in life.

In the lower deck, behind the seats, I notice a family laying carpets on the floor, Middle Eastern style. Three women and two men. They are not Greek. They look quiet and friendly. I cannot guess their origin. Curiosity wins. I approach, and I am instantly offered tea from a travel kettle. They are Afghan refugees. I listen to the story of Adrien and his family with a mix of amusement and horror. After persecutions by the Taliban, the group spent almost two decades in refugee camps in Pakistan, Tajikistan and Turkey, where they finally obtained papers for the EU. I happen to witness the final stage of their odyssey, their first steps in Europe.

The girl tells me that her Afghan language is similar to Persian.

“Khosh amadit” (welcome), I say, using a word I remember from Iran. She smiles and understands. It is almost the same language, they explain.

It is coincidental that the language we speak is Persian. As we talk, our ferry approaches the strait of Salamis, the very place that remains the grave of thousands of ancient Persians. This is where the Athenian confederation navy, built by Themistocles, defeated the much larger, invading Persian fleet commanded by King Xerxes, ramming hundreds of ships and killing thousands. Had Xerxes prevailed, there would be no Europe as we know it today, with its democracy, humanity and Aristotelian values. There would be no Europe where Afghan migrants can escape. On that day, Europe was saved by the Greeks. It was 480 BC.

The later part of the story is less known. A few years later, Themistocles had to flee Athens, expelled by his own people. He offered his services to none other than the king of Persia himself. Themistocles spent the rest of his life as governor of Magnesia in Asia Minor, today’s Turkey.

Incidentally, the ancient site of Magnesia is only a stone’s throw from the refugee camp where Adrien and his family lived for the past years.

While we talk, two small Greek girls wander in. They like the carpets. Soon they are playing with the Afghans.

Is this the moment to tell the story of the battle of Salamis? I do not think so.

Khosh amadit. Welcome to Europe.

I invite Adrien to walk with me on the deck. We walk and soon meet someone. On the previous evening, in a restaurant on Ikaria, I shared a pitcher of wine with strangers. These strangers now recognise me on the deck and wave. We sit, share stories and take portraits. Here is one.

At one magical moment, we break the conversation mid-sentence. We notice everyone walks to portside, so we follow. In silence and amazement, we watch the sun set over the isle of Salamis.

If you ever fly to Greece, please do not take Ryanair. It feels like a crime. There should be a punishment for choosing to fly, where ferries are available. Fly to Athens if you must, but no further. Then - do not be cargo. Take the ark. Experience a few hours of humanity.

And to end, here is my favorite picture from that journey.

Post Scriptum

In 480 BC, Europe was defended against the overwhelming forces of Persian tyranny. Athens of that time was far from ideal. It had political scandals, corruption, slavery and torture chambers. Yet it developed something unique: democracy, philosophy, art, science, the Aristotelian system of values, and above all a focus on humanity that later became the cornerstone of the European worldview. These were values the Persian empire of the time did not share.

These values, and the faith in humanity that comes with them, survived millennia. But today they feel unusually fragile.

Russia now uses political turmoil in Ukraine as a pretext to invade, kill, rape, torture and kidnap children. Over last days Russia bombed hundreds of private apartments, and almost succeeded to fully disable the Ukrainian grid before winter. While this is happening, American MAGA gang is pushing for amnesty for Russian war criminals. With Europe continuing their chosen role of global village idiot, impotent and incapable to do what needs to be done - We’ve hit the bottom of those Western, post-Aristotelian moral values. Can we go any deeper? Or is this when Europe - as we know it - ends?

Stand with Ukraine, now more than ever.

Read more Greek stories on Nomadic Mind.