Thessaloniki: The Merits of Being a Duckling and Holding on to our Power

 I am currently sitting on a hotel veranda in the northern Greek city of Thessaloniki, which over looks the Aegean Sea.   Needless to say, it’s not too shabby. 

But it’s been a day, and it’s only the afternoon.

We arrived in Athens yesterday and except for the challenging cab ride to get to our hotel, because of a bike race through center-city, the day was uneventful.  We slept, walked around the city and then ate.  I take pause, because the three letters in the word “ate” don’t seem adequate for the meal we had.  Nor does the nine letter word, “delicious,” but suffice it to say, it was both…and then some.   It had been less than two years since our last visit to this beautiful country but I had forgotten about the real art of Greek cuisine. We ate nothing fancy—grape leaves (the best I ever had), tomato salad with whipped feta, grilled fish and small potatoes on a bed of yogurt, lemon, olive oil and chives. I went to bed thinking that I can’t eat meals like that one everyday.  I’m now thinking that that’s exactly what is going to happen.

This morning, our dear Doris promptly showed up at our hotel, and after hugs and a brief “catch-up” on our three families, we headed to the Athens Airport for our 50 minute plane ride to Thessaloniki. Doris had already printed our boarding passes—mainly because we had no idea what airline we would be taking and we immediately fell into line, following her like the human version of “Make Way for Ducklings.” How can four independent, intelligent adults gladly hand-over all decision making to a person we have known for 11 days of our lives?  I’m just calling it the first sign of a good vacation.  

When we were checking our bags, I was worried about the weight of my three-wheeled suitcase (which I did not realize was missing a wheel until I was carrying it downstairs from our bedroom to place in the already-waiting Uber ready to take us to the airport). I had reconfigured my things and as I was only one pound less than the maximum weight on our way to Greece, I had reason for concern.  But it was Bob who had the problem.  He was well within the weight, but his suitcase was soft and had to go on a separate conveyor belt from the rest of our luggage.  I have never been the same since our honeymoon 40 years ago, when our luggage was lost and the gentleman manning “the big conveyor belt” did not ease my current worries about the chances of all our luggage arriving with us.

When we got to Thessaloniki, we went to the luggage carousel, only to eventually learn that Bob’s never made it out of Athens.  Such a predicament is when it is really good to be a “duckling.”  I give Bob credit, because he did go with Doris to the Claims window, but she did all the talking, in what I can only describe as very fast, clipped Greek. While I assume that no one ever approaches the Claims window happy, even with a constant stream of disgruntled travelers, I would not have wanted to have been on the other side of that counter, listening to Doris’ no-nonsense demand for them to find Bob’s suitcase and pronto.  An hour later, they called Doris (not Bob) to say that Bob would receive his luggage some time tomorrow because while it would arrive today, they had no one to deliver it to our hotel. They were then told by our  fearless leader that that was unacceptable. She proceeded to tell us that while we were on a food tour, she was going back to the airport for Bob’s bag.  It is currently in our room, thanks to our Mama Duck. 

It is now the end of the day, and we are truly enjoying this “best-kept secret” of a city!  On our way from the airport, I asked Doris why Thessaloniki is known as “the foodie capital” of Greece.  With just being here for 12 hours, I now know why since we have done nothing but eat.

Prior to beginning our food tour, Doris felt that we should have a “light” lunch.  Clearly, our ideas of “light” are very different, with mine consisting of yogurt and an apple, not bone marrow on brown bread and stuffed flatbread with honey, which was what we experienced today.  It’s a good thing we had 45 minutes before the food tour began! 

Our guide, Tonase, was a gregarious, informative man, who clearly, had not only a sweet tooth, but a hollow leg.  He took us to one incredible dessert sampling after another—and taking on the adage, “When in Thessaloniki,” we soldiered through and tried to keep up with his eating tempo.  He told us that his mother used to say that if you didn’t finish all the food, all your power would be taken away from you.  Far be it from any of us to argue with Tonase’s mother. At one point, I looked over at Bob who was eating a bowl of pistachio ice cream, after eating a cream-filled triangle pastry, and he just said, “I've raised  the white flag,” before putting another spoonful in his mouth.

And then we went to dinner.  

Doris, who had triumphantly returned from the airport with Bob’s suitcase, met us at the restaurant, known by the locals as a great place to eat.  And it was. We had some of the best cheese I’ve ever eaten (I couldn’t catch the name), smoked mackerel that we were told must be accompanied with a special liqueur (nor this name), and grilled calamari (this name I knew). We washed it down with a local wheat beer (I thought he said “white” beer) and a cream cake (again, the name escapes me) for Mark and Judy’s 51st anniversary. By this time, all of our white flags were flying high.

Tomorrow, we are going on a tour of the history of the city…all before lunch.