As far as we could tell, the Aegean island of Chios was all ours, to be shared only with the untrusting shadows of the island's stray dogs and mangy cats. Abram and I were walking through the back streets of the island's capital city, Chios Town, and stillness prevailed. Not an eery kind of silence, mind you; just vacant and almost unnatural. We turned a corner and surprised an elderly woman coming home from shopping. At least, I think we surprised her: the sea-weathered wrinkles on her veiled any expression. She stopped, perhaps suspicious, to watch us pass before turning down a street nearby, her metal cane clanking on the cobblestone.

Others paused and stared at us too. Two lock vendors halted conversation as we approached. I felt there eyes follow us down the street. What was this place? It seemed almost a foreign land to tourists.

The island of Chios sits 25 minutes by plane due northeast from Athens. Its inhabitants appear to have been lavishly blessed with nature, clear skies and clean air. Odd, then, is the city's name, which means Snow. As the story goes, the greek God Poseidon seduced a local nymph here, and had a handsome boy named Chios. Over the centuries of Chios' establishment, many visitors (both welcome and unwelcome) have moored in its harbours -- from the Ionians to the Persians to the Romans to the Turks, whose reign culminated in one of Europe's most heinous massacres. They slaughtered and enslaved tens of thousands of Chiotes in 1822, sparking outrage on the continent. (Visit De Louvre, for example, and you will see Delacroix famous painting of the event, aptly titled "The Massacre of Chios.")

These days, Chios Town is far from a bustling town. In fact, by all accounts, there is just one busy road (of course, right outside our hotel room window) that loops the city's harbour. Most of the city's activity is concentrated at FantasyLand, an internet cafe, where we saw banks of youths engaging in online shoot-em-up warfare and backgammon. It soon became clear to us that people in Chios don't eat dinner, although there are no shortage of dining options. Every restaurant we passed from 3PM to 9PM when we finally retired to our room, was empty. We ate at a small restaurant around the corner from our hotel called Le Bel Air, as if the French made it more alluring. We watched the chef suck on a cigarette as she coddled Abram's rissotto on the stove. I'll take mine without the ash, thanks.

Later, the woman at the small cafe where we imbued a beer, Flo Cafe, didn't speak English. Even though the small, standard menus were almost entirely in the global language.

It will all be behind us tomorrow, though. We hop on a ferry for the Turkish mainland.