Lindos| Donkeys n’ all

With its glittering, crescent bay and white washed houses, it is impossible not to marvel at the beauty of this medieval village. Crowning a steep rock, the Acropolis sits proudly above pretty cubic houses nestled in the rock’s surface. It’s easy to see how this archaeological site draws over half a million visitors each year.

Lindos village is accessible only by foot, so when we arrived shortly after lunch, we abandoned our car and made our way through a maze of pebbled alleys and courtyards, where history resonates with every footfall.

From the imposing Acropolis dominating the skyline to the Church of Panagia situated at the heart of the village, there was much to excite even the most laid back history enthusiast.

The advantages of us being completely disorganised meant we missed the crowds and were able to wander at our own pace, nosing in gifts shops and eyeing up prospective restaurants to look up on Trip Advisor in advance of our dinner later.

But of course, a visit to Lindos would not be complete without seeing the Acropolis close up. This meant either clambering a steep, uneven staircase or, for those wishing to take the easy option or drench themselves in the true experience, a bumpy donkey ride.

Approaching the accent, I spied a couple of donkeys feeling their way up the crumbling steps, their legs buckling under the weight of their hefty passengers and immediately knew I could not inflict myself on something the size of a large poodle. Surely there should be weight restrictions for donkey rides? Heavier than a four year old, you can’t get on. They have height restrictions on theme park rides after all.

Not being one with a head for heights and getting struck by vertigo by just standing on a step ladder, I had second thoughts and eyed up one of the donkeys waiting nearby who did its best to avoid eye contact with me.

The climb was tricky with few holds. Once at the top, glugging a lukewarm bottle of water, I mentally congratulated myself on my mini achievement, deciding it was worthy of a frozen Mythos later.

Meandering the site, we consulted our guidebook like obedient tourists. The views were incredible if slightly disconconcerting, with sheer drops in places and no solid barriers.

Nevertheless, we soaked up the history of the Acropolis. In 300BC, the Acropolis was dominated by the Doric temple of Athena Lindia and further developed during Hellenistic and Roman times. In the 14th century, the Castle of the Knights of St John was built, the walls and towers of which mould into the natural structure of the cliff.  These have been well preserved.

With my daily allowance of knowledge intake exceeded, we navigated our way back down and found a quant taverna. Welcoming us with a toothy smile, the owner led us up to a rooftop garden where we were gifted with a magnificent view. Just in front of us, the church’s bell tower protruded into the skyline and there behind it, etched into the horizon, was the slate grey silhouette of the Turkish mountains.

When our main dishes arrived, a grumpy but competent waiter took pride in filleting a freshly caught sea bream at the table. Perhaps it was a mixture of the stunning scenery and my elation at having climbed higher than a stepladder, but I can still remember the taste of that fish. So there I was, Mythos in hand and Baklava on the way, watching the sun slip into the sea amidst a crimson haze. It couldn’t get better than that.

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