The Last Echo: Istanbul to Athens and Reflections on a Journey

A two-month independent journey from Istanbul to Athens, shaped entirely by decisions made along the way. This is the final post of the Echoes of Greece Across the Aegean series — and a reflection on how it all came together.

This is a summary of a journey from Istanbul to Athens, travelling independently, shaped by decisions as I went along. Although this trip finished several months ago, writing about it has taken twice as long again.

This trip took me from Istanbul to Athens via the Sea of Marmara, across land to Canakkale, along the Turkish Aegean coast, several Greek islands, the Peloponnese and, eventually, to my home from home, Athens. It was not a trip I had planned in a conventional sense, and it did not end quite where I had expected. But there was a golden thread running through it from the start, even if that thread did break in a couple of places.

This is how it began.

Every trip has to start somewhere. This one started with my aunt Janet, now 97 years old and living in South Africa. She’d said to me earlier that year: “I want to visit Constantinople, and I’d like you to take me.”

Janet had worked for the British High Commission. Her boss and dear friend had later been posted to Istanbul and had written to her from his room at the Pera Palace Hotel, painting an evocative image of the city. She had carried that image of Constantinople for decades.

The thought of a new adventure and visiting a city I’d never been to filled me with excitement. Equally, the weight of responsibility of such a task was immense. What I did know about Istanbul was that it wasn’t flat and wasn’t particularly easy to traverse – you know – with its seven hills and all that. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to take my Aunt on this trip, so I felt that at least a recce of some kind would be in order. I suspected that the Istanbul of today would not have borne any resemblance to the Constantinople the commissioner had lamented, but I would scope out the lay of the land anyway.

My husband Peter joined me for the first three weeks, both of us with one-way tickets, seven nights of accommodation booked in central Istanbul, and a vague idea of heading west after that.

This trip had a loose theme from the start. Over the years, I’d developed a growing interest in modern Greek history, and specifically in the forced population exchange of 1923. I knew Istanbul, with its deep and layered history of Greek presence, would give me material. It did. We visited Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque, walked through Fener and Balat, and explored the old Greek College and so much more. It delivered surprise after surprise.

In Istanbul, seven nights became six after an early morning visit from the tourist police, who cleared the hotel without ceremony or explanation, though we found out later it was to do with licensing – or rather lack of it. Istanbul was a full-on experience from start to finish. In hindsight, leaving a day early gave us room to breathe. Istanbul was truly spectacular but exhausting – something incredible to see at every turn. Our next stop on the island of Marmara Adasi was the perfect place to decompress. Here we met the loveliest people in every village we visited and our hosts could not have done more for us.

From there, we sailed to Tekirdag and took a bus journey to Canakkale, where we visited Ancient Troy (one of many highlights). We then headed over to the Turkish islands of Bozcaada and Gokceada along the Aegean coast. I’d had Gokceada on my radar ever since watching The Last Greeks of Turkey — a short documentary well worth your time. We managed to engineer it so we could fit it into our very loose itinerary. The Last Greeks of Turkey Documentary

The idea at this point was that Peter would fly home via Istanbul, and I was going to head over the border to Greece into Alexandroupolis. Peter then changed his mind. He’d seen a flight from Lesvos. To be honest, I think he had a hankering to kiss Greek soil before returning home, albeit for just a couple of days. And who could blame him?

We visited four islands in Turkey, all of which carried traces of Greek identity, not in a curated way, but in fragments. Old houses, churches, and names that have shifted over time. It is one thing to travel around Greece and understand it through what is there now. It is another to see how far that story stretches beyond its current borders.

After Peter left, I stayed on Lesvos initially for a couple of days, which then turned into a couple of weeks. Lesvos can do that to you. It gave me an opportunity to visit parts of the island that I hadn’t reached on my previous visit, and to be honest, I could have stayed longer. Skala Eresou to begin with. 6 days of beaching, pooling and eating. Perfection.

Further down the coast, Sigri. More low-key than Skala Eresou, but with plenty to keep me occupied. A limited bus service – twice a week – and my occasional inability to read a timetable correctly kept me there longer than planned. No bad thing and not a problem either. This type of ‘making it up as you go along’ trip allows you to change plans without sacrificing cancellation costs. Walking through the Petrified Forest with views over the bay alone was worth the extra days.

At this point in the trip, I knew I needed to begin to think about making plans to return home. I had time, but remote working only works for a while – not easy when you’re on the go. I was truly in a bit of a dilemma on where to go next. I’d recently visited the Northern Aegean islands. I wasn’t sure they were due a repeat visit so soon, so I took a flight to Athens and headed to Piraeus to see what boats were going where. The majority were going back in the direction that I’d just come from, but there was one last boat heading to an island that I’d deliberately avoided all these years, based on a couple of preconceived notions I had about the place. So Spetses it was.

And Spetses turned out to be a revelation. Yes, there were elements of it that could have been perceived as a tad pretentious, but it had far more layers to it than that. And just when I thought it couldn’t surprise me any more – A Weekend in Tweed – vintage bicycles, picnics and yes – there was tweed. An interesting spectacle to see. I actually left with a very soft spot for the island, and I’d definitely return. Sometimes, it works out well when you throw everything into the lap of the Gods.

From Spetses, I had the option of returning directly to Piraeus, but I figured a return journey via the Peloponnese would be more interesting. It was. Ermioni for a couple of nights with an afternoon trip to Hydra, where I was able to take a stroll down memory lane.

After Ermioni, I caught the bus to what now feels like a home from home in Nafplio. Six nights of following the meandering streets of the old town and a very interesting visit to Nea Kios. To round up the trip, I had a final three nights in Athens, where the highlight was a visit to the fascinating archaeological site of Eleusis. And just like that, it was all over.

Travelling on both sides of the Aegean, and reflecting back on the journey, the overwhelming sense I had was not the distance between the two countries but the warmth on either side of it. The people I met, in Turkey and in Greece, were generous beyond what any guidebook would lead you to expect. I know who they are. That is what matters.

This has been one of my favourite trips to date – though I do tend to say that about every trip. I go back to Cavafy and the sentiment behind his poem Ithaca.

We may not always have a final destination in mind when we set out. Where we end up is really irrelevant. It’s not just about where you go, but how you get there.

*********************

One more post to follow – the nuts and bolts of the trip for anyone thinking of doing something similar.