There are five places around the world where people consistently live over 100 years*. These are the “Blue Zones”.
Little Greek Ikaria island is one of them, and it is – A.D.O.R.A.B.L.E! This is perfect for me. Authentic. Barely a tourist or guest house in sight. My little flat (Airbnb) is in a cobbled lane surrounded by all the little independent businesses one needs in a village, near the ferry. Gorgeous views in every direction.
I came here because I had to pick some islands to hop to on my way to Athens, and with the overwhelming choices thought I’d see for myself why people do so well on this particular island. Where the residents are so happy and relaxed that they forget to die. Also, ironically, where young Icarus (Íkaros) was supposedly buried after fatally falling into the sea off shore, giving the eponymous island and sea their names. You may recall he was flying too close to the sun, and the wax of his dad-made wings melted. I composed a song about this for my final music exams at high school. It did ok marks wise. I may have ripped a bit of it from Norway’s Anita Skorgan.
I’d read a Guardian article saying that Ikarians don’t like to discuss their old age reputation* (nor their communist history). So I didn’t plan to bring it up. But straight away my elderly host told me that people here live long. His mum is still going strong at 97. And his aunt at 105. He said it’s the laid back lifestyle and lack of stress. I’ve read it’s down to the Mediterranean diet, and lots of napping. It could also be the smoking. Boy, do people smoke.
I asked how people managed once needing a wheelchair or walking frame, the steep stairs and cobbled lanes and old infrastructure being part of this little mountainous rock in the Aegean. Being an occupational therapist I often ask this.
“I don’t know” he replied perplexed. “I’m not there yet”.
Possibly not this grilled chicken, with feta covered chips. Maybe the local wine?
Blue zone living.
No one seems to know.
Island identity and pride is strong. As with Türkiye’s Ataturk images, the symbol of the Ikaria island shape is everywhere. It looked like something long, brown and sticky to me. Don’t tell them I said that.
The climate and mood in this tiny Greek island was very relaxing.
Here Mars & Orion.
Not all locals are friendly though. Saw my fair share of glares, eye rolling, snubs, and sullen faces. Before I’ve even opened my English-speaking mouth.
I go to the Ikarian post office to ask if they can send a fax for me (to our impossible-to-reach Australian Centrelink). “NO FAX!” The post officer fires at me. To be fair, this is how the staff in Sydney post offices (and Centrelink) mostly talk too. “Go to the Starbuck! Next!!” I realise he is saying “store book”, so find the tiny bookstore where I’d bought tour books (in English), and (English worded) tourist postcards from the day before. It’s not yet open. And I read this sign in Greek on the locked door.
“Here we speak only Greek.
Keep your ‘thanks’ and your ‘bye’ for your home, for the cafés, or wherever else the well-travelled and multilingual people hang out.”
Ouch! Snarky!
Speaking of ouch, I got an excruciating tooth ache. Found a very reluctant dentist on little Ikaria island to drill the tooth out as an emergency- no pain relief given, no dental assistant to help so I held the tools and let myself in and out. It worked! I love that grumpy dentist.
Maybe honest grumpiness and DIY mentality are the secret to long life!
I’m not religious but do love the orthodox churches and shrines. Not well frequented though. I gather secular is the new spiritual.
* the common variable of these five locations is, I understand … poor record keeping, profiteering, and fraud. But anyhoo.
A1: a stick
A2: clown poo
A3: cat poo
Have duck shoes- will travel 