It has been our good fortune to know and love Chios. Back in 1978 when relations between Greece and Turkey were at an especially low point, we were trying to reach Izmir from its neighboring island, Lesbos, but ship crossings had been cut off. "Take the evening boat to Chios," the harbormaster suggested. "From there you will be able to cross to Cesme in the morning." As we disembarked in Chios, I remember staring at a line of passengers searching for accommodations for the night. A curly-haired boy was an exact double for our three-year old son at home with our nanny in Philadelphia. I remember gasping for a brief moment, thinking that somehow Jeremy had arrived in Greece. We took a no-frills room at the harbor, followed by an early breakfast of foamy Greek coffee and bougatsa pastries. "We have to return," I declared to my husband as I looked back from our ferry at a crowd of Chiotes immersed in their morning rituals.

Seven years later, traveling with Jeremy, our daughter Alison and my recently widowed mother, we arrived in Chios--again from Lesbos--just after the August 15 panegyria--also known as the summer Easter--that are celebrated in nearly every locale in Greece. It was the country's busiest time of year, when hordes of Greeks return to their native villages to mark this beloved holiday. "What were we thinking?" I complained to my husband. "We've dared to come to Chios without reservations!" At the tourist police they directed us to a lonely hotel on the edge of town. That night, the famous Chios wind was especially fierce and the shutters outside our rooms banged with vengeance until dawn. Miraculously, the modern Chandris Hotel at the port had a few vacancies the next morning. Secure in our accommodations, we set out to explore the island, taking buses to several destinations. A couple of days later, as we were exploring the town, a familiar voice rang out over a crowd of shoppers: "I don't believe it!" We were amazed to spot Niko and his sister Eleni, close friends from America whom we had known for many years. I was aware that Chios was their island, but did not expect that they would be visiting at this time. What serendipity! We all gathered the next evening for a family reunion at their home in Kallimasia, complete with a delicious feast prepared by their loving parents.

Chios welcomed us again in 1998, this time arriving from Cesme after a two-week sojourn in Turkey, accompanied by our friends Elinor, Mary and Bill. We had been instructed by Niko to call his mother, directly since he would not be in Greece at that time. A taxi whisked us to Kallimasia in less than 15 minutes. Despina showered us with unstinting hospitality, and after Bill and Mary returned to Athens, we rented a car and took her with us on sightseeing excursions to Pyrgi and Mesta, to visit friends in Thimiana, to purchase embroidered linens in Kallimasia's handicrafts cooperative, and to dine at her favorite tavernas.
    

   
Boat crossings to Chios are infrequent off-season. Fortunately, there is air service available, and we arrive a day ahead of schedule, marveling that our flight lasts only 35 minutes. Just at the edge of Chios town (Chora), the Greek Castle Hotel is a boutique property built around what was once an old pasta factory. We survey the premises, delighted that our rooms have balconies viewing the sea. An old water wheel irrigates gardens dotted with pines and citrus. Encircling the entire property are Genoese-inspired stone walls. The hotel is known for its restaurant, Pyrgos, an airy space retaining its original pine floors and massive beams and leading to an enormous pool with bar area. Again, we seem to be only Americans here, the majority of the guests being Greek and German. I am astounded to hear Turkish spoken by several families. Near the desk a wall rack is stacked with guide books on Chios in Turkish! "Good," I whisper to my husband, "this is something new. The Turks are helping to revive the local economy!"

In early evening Niko makes two round trips to bring all of six of us out to Kallimasia for a family welcome dinner. As he turns inland from the beach areas, the traffic dissipates and Chios begins to reveal its charms. I can hear goat bells tinkling in faraway hills obscured by low clouds. The fresh aroma of citrus hangs in the air as he winds past the walled gardens of Kambos toward his village. Distinguished by elegant three-story mansions built of reddish stones from nearby Thimiana, Kambos became the domain of the Genoese aristocracy when they discovered that the local soil was perfect for citrus farming. Their orchards were so fecund that soon there was enough yield to export to other cities in Europe. In time, some wealthy Greek ship owners and merchants also built country retreats in Kambos. Latticed iron gates and high walls shielded these properties from intruders. Inside, elaborate gardens were watered by a maganos, a donkey-driven water wheel that enabled water to circulate throughout an entire garden. Several estates in Kambos have been converted to exclusive, luxury hotels. "We are just passing the Argentikon," says Niko. "Have a look! It was built in the 16th century and it's considered one of the best small hotels in the world!"

Kalimassia is one of 24 mastic communities that dot Southern Chios. During the Middle Ages, it became one of the largest producers of the coveted resin, but was virtually destroyed by the great earthquake that leveled much of the island in 1881. We pull up next to Niko's house and ascend the stairs to an airy veranda and into the welcoming arms of Despina, now in her mid-nineties. Wonderful aromas emanate from the kitchen. Eleni and her husband Harry have been visiting for several weeks and together with Niko have been cooking all afternoon. I notice that the house has been lovingly remodeled since Niko moved back to Chios. Handsome vintage furniture, majolica ceramics and copper accessories honor his Chian heritage, and I am reminded of all the times we used to go antiquing in Los Angeles. Among the huge spread set on the table are Eleni's delectable stuffed tomatoes, and I make a mental note to make them more often at home. A long-time friend, Dimitris Melachrinoudis, is one of the dinner guests. During his many years as a sea captain, he became fluent in English. He is he a proud founding member of the Folklore Museum of Kallimassia, having also written a comprehensive history of the village. "I would like to invite all of you on a private tour of our collection after dinner," Dimitri announces with a twinkle in his eye.
   

   
Located on the lower floor of the junior high school (gymnasio), the museum has amassed one of the largest collections of domestic artifacts in Greece. It is a journey back in time to the traditional occupations and pastimes that typified village life: the tinker, the blacksmith and the candle maker, the ouzo distillery, the weaver and the shoemaker, the Karaghiozis shadow puppet theater, the threshing floor and the beehives. Dimitri pauses by the stone wheel of an olive press, turns the crank of an old coffee grinder in the cafenion, and then poses by a vignette crammed with vintage barber shop accoutrements. Every object on display provides a unique glimpse of life at the turn of the century. "I hope all of you enjoyed our museum," he concludes with obvious pride. Please come and see us again!" "Now I must hurry home," he mutters as he drops me back at Niko's house, eyes crinkling in a smile. "Lemonia, my dear wife, requires some attention!"

Distances in Chios necessitate wheels, so we select a Nissan SUV with enough seating for seven. "It's perfect," says Ray as he encircles the vehicle. Wasting no time, we pick up Niko by the school and head out to Pyrgi and Mesta, the two most visited mastic villages in Chios. These well-preserved towns came into their heyday between the 14th and 16th centuries, earning special privileges from the Genoese and Turks because of their valuable crop. Southern Chios is the only place in the world where mastic trees flourish. A relative of the pistachio tree, the squat pistachia lenticus sheds droplets of clear resin that were first recognized by Hippocrates for their medicinal properties -- from aiding digestion and curing ulcers to freshening breath, whitening teeth, and treating snake bites. Modern pharmacology has discovered that these droplets are also loaded with antioxidants and antibiotic properties and can even lower blood pressure and cholesterol. Mastiha is added to liqueurs and spoon sweets, to flavor Easter bread and, of course, to make chewing gum and candy. It is rumored that the great Stradivarius added a drop of mastiha to his proprietary violin resin, convinced that it improved the sound outcome. For the Ottomans who controlled Chios for several centuries, it was an indispensable commodity, especially popular in the Sultan's harem where scores of masticating concubines were kept fresh and ready should they be selected for a conjugal visit. "Mastiha is an acquired taste," I explain to Emma and Aidan. "At first it feels strange, as if an entire pine forest has invaded your mouth, but ultimately, it is quite refreshing!"

We make a preliminary stop in Armolia, a modest village famed for a long tradition of ceramic arts sustained by a nearby lake that provides unlimited clay. For generations, talented local craftsmen have been producing bowls, plates and pitchers painted with charming bird, flower and fish motifs. On a hill nearby, the Apolichna is an enormous crumbling castle built by the Genoese in 1440. Some of its double walls and defensive towers can be explored, but it's a steep hike. I gaze at the countryside, a spectacular, rolling landscape carpeted with wild arbutus, gnarled lentisks, small oaks and strawberry trees. We browse at several of Armolia's shops, selecting a few gifts, and then continue to Pyrgi, the capital of the mastic communities.
    

   
Pyrgi is also famous for its tomatoes, which are harvested from mid to late summer, strung up in braids and hung from balconies and facades, often lasting through the following winter. On a previous visit to Pyrgi, I remember carrying on a discussion with a local gria (old lady) who was stringing them up, and another who was trimming a mountain of fasolia (green beans) for a large family dinner. "The tomatoes remain raw in the center," they explained, "and do not spoil." The red of the tomatoes adds punch to the exteriors of the houses, making Pyrgi one of the most photographed villages in all of Greece. We stop to browse in a shop displaying a large assortment of mastic products, including special soaps and body lotions, T-shirts emblazoned with xysta designs, and small facsimiles of Pyrgi facades suitable for hanging. Emma finds the perfect shirt in black and white. "I am going to wear it right now!" she insists with satisfied grin.

Medieval Mesta is completely contained within a thick circular wall, resembling a giant turtle with its head pulled in, with only the hard shell remaining. Like its sister villages, Mesta was under the constant threat of pirates who coveted its cache of mastic. To thwart these attacks, the town built a solid stone exterior with no visible entrances, just a continuous curvilinear wall that enclosed all the houses and a steep central tower where people could congregate in the event of a siege, having escaped their homes through secret rooftop doors. Luckily Niko knows exactly where to enter Mesta, and we find ourselves wandering through labyrinthine lanes brightened by vines and flowers. Here and there vaulted passageways hide tiny shops manned by villagers sitting on their stoops, all engrossed in their routines, completely oblivious to our presence. "You can actually visualize what life was like here!" says my husband, impressed by the time warp ambiance.
   

    
Mesta's ornate central church, Megalos Taxiarchis, overlooks the main square. It is dedicated to the Archangels Michael and Gabriel and built over the site of the town's demolished defensive tower. We are awed by its huge size. "This church took a full ten years to build and it's the largest in Chios," explains Niko. We approach the narthex area where bits of the pre-existing tower can still be seen. The exquisite altar is hand-carved from a single piece of wood. "Have a look at our chancel screen," says the church attendant. "It dates from 1895, but the wonderful icons of the two Archangels come from the original, much older church." Outside, a pebbled courtyard descends to Mesta's central square, known for its cafes and an excellent taverna, O Mesaionas, owned by Despina Bournia, one of Mesta's most ardent promoters. "You have to try the tomato keftedes," insists Niko. "It's their specialty." We can barely finish the huge spread on the table. Our waitress suggests we sample the local spirit, souma, made from a distillation of figs. "The figs are collected in August and put on rooftops to dry in the sun. After fermenting in barrels mixed with water and yeast, they are later boiled in a distillery," explains Niko. Apparently souma is even more potent than raki. "In Chios we always drink it at weddings, festivals and other important occasions," he chuckles.

Not far from Pyrgi, the recently built Mastic Museum showcases the entire cultivation and production cycle of the resin. The museum is listed in UNESCO'S roster of sites that demonstrate "Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity" and one could easily spend an entire day here absorbing all the production details. However, we are most interested in its open-air area where one can see the trees up close during their cultivation phase. "The museum has the full support of the Chios Gum Mastic Growers Association," an English-speaking attendant explains. Rows of neatly pruned trees have white powdered "tablecloths" spread under their branches to collect dripping globules of mastic. Shallow cuts have also been made in the trunk of each tree to stimulate the "weeping." "Every phase of the entire process is done by hand," the attendant emphasizes. "What a labor-intensive occupation!" notes Alison.

Chios is equally famous for its many beaches. Niko recommends the dramatic Mavra Voglia, created by a volcanic explosion eons ago. The beach is completely covered with shiny black and gray pebbles which also line its ocean floor, turning the water a rich dark blue. Massive boulders bookend the area which is serviced by popular fish tavernas, and one can be happily entertained here for hours. "You should also visit Komi and Karfas, two popular family beaches," suggests Niko. "They have lots of services and fine sand, and both are within a short drive from Chora. The kids decide to return to the hotel, but we linger in Kallimasia, anxious to experience the Stefanidis nightly "salon on the veranda." In mid evening, neighbors, friends and relatives begin to drop by, sometimes unannounced, to partake in hours of lively conversation and, of course, refreshments. These Chiotes are not glued to their televisions like we Americans. They much prefer the non-stop repartee and joy of face to face visits. Some of the guests are regular fixtures, such as Stamatis, whom I remember meeting in Los Angeles and who gives me a hefty sack of his home-grown oregano on our last night. Another friend, Pantelis, brings a packet of dried figs from his farm, the very ones that are used to make souma. "I will have more dropped off at your hotel," he promises when I tell him how much Ray loves figs. The generosity of these friends, and Greeks in general, is quite touching, and I remind myself that the tradition of filoxenia (hospitality) was invented in Greece!

While the kids enjoy a beach day, the two of us explore Chora, once considered the most elegant maritime community in the Aegean. When independence fever swept the island in 1822 under the urging of neighboring Samos, the Turks grew fearful that control of their mastic empire was threatened and proceeded to commit the most gruesome massacre in modern European history. They decimated Chora, burning buildings and slaughtering at every turn, then continued inland to villages and monasteries where many islanders had fled. When it was all over, some 25,000 Greeks had been killed and an equal number enslaved. Others managed to escape to nearby islands. Ultimately, only 2,000 Greeks out of a total population of 117,000 remained in Chios, most of them from mastic villages that had been spared so they could continue collecting the resin. Europe was outraged by the atrocities, a level of barbarism never witnessed before. The French were especially horrified, and the great painter Delacroix memorialized the carnage in his poignant canvas, "The Massacre at Chios." Completed in 1824, it still hangs in the Louvre in Paris. A life-size copy of the painting is also on display in the Chios Byzantine Museum, housed in the old Ottoman mosque, Mecidiye Camii in Vounakiou Square.
    

Atop a steep precipice, the ghost village of Anavatos is known as the Mystras of the Aegean. In 1822, its residents plunged to their death ahead of the advancing Turkish forces.

   
The sun is plunging into the sea as a taxi brings us out to Karfas Beach for our last dinner in Chios. We select a table at Oasis, a restaurant operated by Costas Tanainis and his Dutch wife. "Costa is just amazing," Alison explains, having met him earlier. "He has set up a delicious meal service for refugees arriving from the Cesme area." Another good man, I conclude. But I am not surprised. After all, filoxenia is ingrained in the Chian soul.