Cameron Hewitt

I've been working on guidebooks long enough (25+ years!) to have seen entire industries transform. And one example is the sad decline of affordable, humble-but-lovable, family-run B&Bs in favor of superficially slick but soulless and impersonal short-term rentals. I've been especially aware of this trend on my trip through Greece.

"Dhomatia" or ΔΩΜAΤΙΑ (rooms) used to be the word that Greece-bound budget travelers looked for (like sobe in Croatia, or Zimmer in Germany) to find a friendly local renting a simple room for low prices. Once upon a time, it was easy to find dhomatia to recommend in our guidebooks. In fact, often they'd come to me: Some of my favorites, I passively "discovered" by being approached by a gregarious local as I stepped off the boat.

While a few scrappy dhomatia survive, most have gone by the wayside. Those that continue are often run by sweet but exhausted elderly proprietors who complain to me, "Keep me in the book, for now... but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this!"

So what's the new business model? All over Greece, you see signs advertising "Suites": These are generally small guesthouses, with a handful of units, that have been modernized and updated to feel slick and modern (but with the same old plumbing and other quirks). They are advertised and booked exclusively online.

Crucially, these new rental options cost much more than traditional dhomatia... and they are entirely anonymous. On this trip, I stayed at a few of these "suites"... and never met my host. (Are they truly a "host" if your entire interaction is through a booking app?)

Selfishly, this makes it much harder to find great budget and midrange lodgings for our guidebooks: While the dhomatia owner usually lived on-site, making it easy for a quick doorbell inspection, most "suites" are entirely absentee-managed. I could knock on the door all day long and never find a soul at home (other than, perhaps, some irritated guests).

In a common story, locals also lament that these short-term rentals are straining the local economy — pricing young people and seasonal workers out of places to live in expensive, touristy towns.

Over several years, I've found the number of dhomatia in our Greece book dwindling to almost nothing. I try to replace them with the next generation, but the "suites" format isn't well-suited to a guidebook listing. This makes it hard to advise budget travelers, other than to say: "Good luck finding something cheap online!" When I do find a lovable little guest house, tucked in the back lanes, where you can sleep comfortably for €80 or €90, I high-five myself all the way down the street.

Things change and evolve; it's natural, and it's healthy. But I do get nostalgic for the simplicity and affordability of the way things were, not too long ago. I, for one, am sorry to see the old-school dhomatia fade away.

Do you have any favorite dhomatia memories?

My top tip for visiting Greece's great ancient sites? Go late!

I'm tooling around the Peloponnese, Greece's heartland, dropping in on some of the world's most famous ancient wonders — Olympia, Mycenae, Corinth, Epidavros — plus Monemvasia and Mystras. Many people dream of visiting these places. But then, when they finally do, they complain about two things: the crowds and the heat.

All of Greece's great cultural sites have the same hours: From April through August, they're open until 8 pm; as the days get shorter starting in September, they close slightly earlier.

Of course, most visitors show up mid-morning through early afternoon. And if you arrive then, you'll be stampeded by other tourists... and blasted with the worst of the mid-day heat.

As I update our Rick Steves Greece guidebook, I'm always trying to squeeze in "just one more sight" at the end of each busy day. So I've found myself rolling into places like Olympia and Mycenae at about 6 pm. I've found this ideal: It's just enough time to fully enjoy them. The worst of the day's heat has subsided. (It nearly hit 90 degrees yesterday, but by evening, there was a pleasant breeze.) And, best of all, in both places, I had those wonderful sites entirely to myself.

That's not hyperbole: At Mycenae, I was literally the only living soul on top of the acropolis at 6:30 pm... leaving me alone with my imagination and the tales of that militaristic civilization that ruled Greece 3,500 years ago, who built so big it was called "cyclopean."

At Epidavros — with the best-preserved ancient theater in existence — I was there a little earlier, about 3 pm. But that was still just late enough to be one of a smattering of visitors.

I'm also finding early May to be ideal: Beautiful, summery conditions, and relatively few crowds. Locals told me that I've (accidentally) hit that "sweet spot" after some big Greek holidays (Easter, May 1) and the peak summer season... a rare lull that also coincides with great weather and high-season conveniences.

I guess sightseeing in Greece, just like comedy, comes down to one thing:






Timing.

After two and a half weeks of eating nothing but Greek food... I finally went for Chinese.

That's a pretty good streak! Even in places with cuisines I enjoy, I often grab a burrito, stir fry, doner kebab, or curry every few days. There are only a few countries where, even on a long stay, I don't get tempted to stray. And Greece tops that list.

When it comes to Greek food... what's not to like? Fresh, abundant local produce; luscious cheese and yogurt; good meats, well-grilled; all smothered in top-quality olive oil and flavorful herbs.

I've eaten very well on this trip, starting in Crete — which lived up to its culinary reputation. Whether I was just grabbing a bite at a sidewalk café, or seeking out top-notch "destination" restaurants adored by foodies (Avli in Rethymno, Peskesi in Heraklion), I was always satisfied.

The classic "Greek salad" (or horiatiki salad, meaning "village") is a good barometer for the local cuisine scene. The basic ingredients: big chunks of tomato, cucumber, and onion; olives (sometimes capers); olive oil and herbs; croutons; and, of course, cheese. In much of Greece, the cheese is feta. In the rustic corners of the Peloponnese, it's a slab as big as a deck of cards (or if you're really lucky, a paperback).

But Crete replaces the chunky, chalky feta with rich, tangy, spreadable mizithra cheese, and the "croutons" are giant hunks of rusk: an extremely dense bread, usually made of barley, that's slow-baked to become hard as a brick. Rusk, which lasts months, was taken on long voyages before being rehydrated and eaten. But because it's so classically Cretan, it's a staple of modern cuisine as well — one of those "hardship foods" that has thrived beyond its hardship.

So why the Chinese meal? Just a few days before heading home, I had eaten Greek so well, so much, and so often that I needed a break from feta, oregano, and EVOO. That Sichuan chicken was just the thing to get me through. (And it was spicier than everything else I ate in Greece, combined.)

And where is Greece's best food? Crete definitely held its own. But there's one place where everything I ate ranks at the top of my all-time list: the island of Naxos.