All Roads Lead To The Aga Khan

"Beware Dog in Psychoanalysis" one sign read in French.

"Beware, enervated cat," said another.

Door after door in Hora had these quirky French signs about the dogs and sometimes cats who reside within. At first, it seemed it was some strange fad – like back in the 90's when seasonal house flags caught on. Then at yoga this morning we learned the truth.

"All those doors with the signs about the dogs, those are all part of a house – many houses connected – of the Aga Khan. He has a house in Hora," Athina the yoga instructor and bodywork lady explained.

As with any native Angeleno, I make it a point never to be starstruck. However, I will admit to being taken aback at the Aga Khan having a conglomerated mansion of sorts in the older, religious town housing the Monastery of St John at the top of Patmos. Of all the people who could be hiding in your neighborhood, a multi-billionaire Prince-Imam with nationality in five countries. Who knew he also cares for four dogs here on Patmos and curates vast gardens which apparently during the roughly two weeks a year he stays can drain much of Hora's water reserves.

"He's a very nice guy," Athina said. "He wears shorts and t-shirts and flip flops walking around."

The obvious lesson is to be nice to the person blocking the aisle at the supermarket, he just might be the Aga Khan….

Of course the Aga Khan isn't the only person living in Hora – but on the average afternoon it can certainly seem like it. Michelle had only been to the edge of town, but Hora is a "pedestrian only" city which I put in quotes because certain people who live there or make deliveries or just really seem to need to will ride their motor scooters through the theoretically forbidden zone. 

The white, narrow passaged walking city of Hora is almost 1,000 years old and built up around the Monastery of St. John – who wrote Revelations in a cave on the same hill as the monastery. For centuries Hora was THE town of Patmos and many of the homes there are more than 600 years old. The monastery was not just a religious institution, but essentially a castle providing fortified protection against pirates and invaders – thus the hilltop location.

In a time when the worst invaders are throngs of vacationing Italians every August, Skala – the much larger town down at the marina where I live – is dominant with everything needed for modern life including the bank, ATM's, supermarkets, elementary school, shops and the largest variety of restaurants. In the small hours of the afternoon – 4 to 6 between lunch and evening cocktails – Skala may be quiet, but it is never dead.

"Hora is a horror!" Athina said today after our yoga class.

We didn't ask specifically what she meant by that, but Michelle and I assumed she was referring to the eerie, ghostlike quiet in the narrow streets with underpasses, tunnels and sometimes steep walkways. Michelle and I explored Hora yesterday afternoon – walking along tried and true paths I knew through the vertical, tight neighborhoods to the town square. We enjoyed the amazing view from the nearby vista on one side of the town square and took photos from an idyllic path on the other side. Then I got us lost in the Horinthian maze. 

What did it matter? We weren't in a hurry, it was a beautiful day and what better thing to do in travel than to get lost and explore? Many, many passageways, narrow streets and interminable staircases later and I admitted defeat. I turned to Google to get us back to the front of town where our scooter was parked. Unfortunately, I hadn't considered that Google might not have mapped every little passage in Hora and in fact, sent us on a long walk around the town because it knew the main road better than the passages. By the end of the journey, I realized that as far as Hora goes, Google is bullshit and we probably could have made the 25 minute trek around in 10 minutes or less. 

Nonetheless, we took in some amazing views, explored some hitherto unknown paths and got some good exercise on an 82 degree afternoon that was well vented by a strong wind. Along the way, we also unknowingly discovered the Aga Khan's house and possibly the Chaka Khan's house.

Afterwards, we dropped down the hill to Ktima Petra, one of our favorite restaurants for a relaxing late lunch and then headed down the road to Petra Beach for a swim and relaxation. I considered it a very pleasant afternoon.

However, the Hora Horror seemed to be real. At bedtime, I found Michelle furiously closing the curtains. My house is essentially in a hidden compound behind gates and walls. The master bedroom cannot be seen from any angle – especially the window behind the bed that faces the side yard. What caught my attention wasn't simply that Michelle was closing the bedroom curtains – which is a reasonably sensible thing to do – but the energy behind it, as if hiding.

I asked her what was going on and she said she just wanted things blocked off. I realized there are two things easy to see from the front bedroom window: the moon and the monastery. Then it hit me – we had a Scooby Doo situation. 

"Are you freaked out because of Hora?" I asked.

"It was kind of creepy there with all the empty streets and SO many people have lived there over the years, for so long…." Michelle said.

"I told you how it's very [insert sound of me singing creepy, spooky music]. It's like no one lives there…. except the dead!"

I hit the nail on the head.

"Don't say that!"

So we took a night with the curtains completely closed and Hora, the monastery and the Aga Khan blocked from sight.

Having successfully avoided any dead people during the night, we woke up at 5:30 am to tackle some very live issues in the United States. I chaired my last temple Board of Directors meeting – my presidency ending Sunday. Michelle simultaneously saw a couple of clients. With both of those squared away – and a weight off my shoulders – there was only one thing to do for two people who were up and had already worked so early: yoga. So we went to our first class of the season with Athina – which only goes to show that in both Hora and life, all roads lead to the Aga Khan.