Greece 2021

And So To Greece…..Minus One Backpack

Blue sea beneath the aeroplane changes to tarmac and painted lines as the end of the runway arrives and our excitement grows, we are almost there. But within what seems a few inches of hitting the ground, and just as we anticipate the bump of landing, the engines roar, the plane accelerates and we climb steeply back into the skies from being so close to landing. Something has obviously gone wrong and the passengers fall strangely silent.

We are soon advised that the landing was aborted at the last second due to a tailwind stronger than the permitted maximum (17 knots as opposed to 10) and we are off for a further 40 minutes in the sky as we take a trip along the coast to turn and approach the runway from the opposite direction. Our second attempt goes smoothly.

Now, the following morning, the view from our apartment balcony, across the city to the sea from our elevated position high on the hill towards the fort, opens out before us as we contemplate where to take our first Thessaloniki breakfast. Container ships and freighters lay at anchor out in the bay, the blue sea glistens as the morning sun creeps across the red tiled rooftops. Somewhere down there the city is starting to buzz, but up here the call of the swifts is louder than the sounds of the city.

Our journey from home to this vibrant city was not without further incident, though none of it emanated from the areas we feared: we had evidently satisfied COVID requirements sufficiently to board the flight, and the equivalent controls at Thessaloniki Airport were quick and efficient. No post Brexit complications either – clearly the Greek economy needs visitors. Our nervousness is suitably extinguished. 

What wasn’t quite so straightforward was baggage. After years of saying we must be on borrowed time on the issue, Michaela’s backpack is conspicuous by its absence from the carousel as the last bag and the last person disappear. A quick call by the helpful lady at Swissport establishes that the errant bag is enjoying a few extra hours at Heathrow but she assures us that it will be delivered to our apartment the following morning.

She’s right. It arrives in fact before breakfast, unaffected by its unplanned adventure and after just the one evening without a change of clothing, Michaela is assuaged and happy and ready for that first breakfast.

“Bougatza”, our host Dimitris had said upon our arrival, “you must eat bougatza, it is the food of my city. The best bougatza in town is 100 metres up the hill. You must go there for your breakfast….”

It’s six years since we were last in Thessaloniki but our wonderful balcony on the hill gives us a panorama we never had last time, a view so stunning that it’s almost hard to tear ourselves away to explore the city. But of course we have to, and, after our first bougatza (which despite its reputation as being unique is pretty much the same cheese pie as the rest of Greece), we set off down the line of the ancient Ottoman city walls and begin our exploration.

This glorious historic city and its blue skies and baking sun are calling…

Cafes And Culture: Five Days In Thessaloniki

How typically Greek it is of our host to thoughtfully provide stocks of decent coffee and proper filters for an apartment where the coffee machine is broken and doesn’t work. You have to love the Greeks! 

Our other quirk here is a shower which, when placed in its holder, slowly drops down so as to shower the back wall instead of your body. Thus, to get my head in the water, it’s necessary to hold the shower head in its holder with one hand whilst approaching the water face up. I can’t help but think that I must be the spitting image of a naked Liam Gallagher coming to the mic to tell Sally she can wait. Good luck with getting that image out of your head, on with the travel blog….

There are so many different aspects to this wonderful city that at first it’s hard to get your head round which are its most influential characteristics. As if a six kilometre seafront promenade and ancient Ottoman and Roman remains aren’t enough, then add a large industrial port, a hilltop fort, extensive city walls, iconic towers and an old town with steep cobbled streets and bustling tavernas. Then throw in a mountain backdrop, the nightlife of the Ladadika district and classy tree lined boulevards radiating from majestic squares and you have a real clash of styles.

And then you might want to suck up the fact that Thessaloniki reputedly has more bars per capita than any other European city, and you see that five days here may not be enough. Or, if you’re too indulgent, maybe too much!

The differing aspects and the presence of Parisien style tree lined boulevards are not by chance. In 1917 Thessaloniki suffered a huge fire which ravaged the city centre and razed much of it to the ground, after which the centre was redesigned and rebuilt by a team of architects with a heavy French influence.

In spite of the fire, not to mention the multiple earthquakes which have struck the city throughout its history right up to 1979, a good deal of the Ottoman city walls remain, striking proudly between the high rises and streets and linking the original defence towers which also still remain. One of those, the White Tower, stands assertively at the seafront as if defying all that can be thrown in its direction. It is these days the symbolic icon of the city, representing peace and inclusivity, having been whitewashed, both physically and metaphorically, by Sultan Abdul Hamid II, as a way of shedding its history as a prison and place of execution. It was before then known as The Blood Tower.

Elsewhere another ancient tower, the Rotunda, dominates a central square and has an interior reminiscent of The Pantheon in Rome. From the Rotunda, the walls climb up towards the Eptapyrgio, the ancient fort, later a prison, which in turn looks down on the city from the top of the hill. The remains of a Roman agora stretch between two main streets, beside which the Bey Hamam, the first and largest hamam built in these parts by the Ottomans, now houses an interesting museum dedicated to the post-fire rebuilding project.

Next to the Rotunda is the city’s one remaining minaret – there were hundreds during the period of Ottoman rule, though other examples of Ottoman and Byzantine architecture and artwork are plentiful throughout Thessaloniki. 

Several huge churches stand boldly amidst the history: Agios Dimitrios, Agia Sofia and Agios Pavlos, close by our apartment, are among the most spectacular. 

But Thessaloniki is still troubled by a piece of darkest history. After fleeing the first Balkan Wars and many other places of persecution, so many Jews settled here that the city earned the nickname “Mother Of Israel” and, at its peak, the Jewish community was so strong in number that Thessaloniki was the only European city ever to have a Jewish majority. Still with a strong Jewish presence  at the onset of WW2, it was the first Greek city to fall to the Nazis. Almost 50,000 Jews were herded on to cattle trains here, on which they endured what must have been a tortuously long journey, to be sent to their death in the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Birkenau. Just a handful of the 50,000 were to survive.

Having previously stood by those gates at Birkenau at what was the other end of that terrible journey, to stand here now by this rail track is more than a little haunting. The railway station building still stands, now a freight only depot, next to the harbour, sporting some thought provoking images of those victims amongst its extensive street art……..

Frappe is simply part of being in Greece. When it’s too late for breakfast, too hot for a coffee and too early for beer, a cold milky frappe is just the right drink. It turns out that Thessaloniki lays claim to the invention of frappe, at its 1957 trade fair, though there are probably other places with similar claims.

It’s not difficult to find a frappe here, or a beer, or any other refreshment for that matter: the city is simply full of cafes, bars and restaurants at every turn, and so many of them are teeming with customers. In fact our broken coffee machine turns out to be a blessing, as the busy cafe around the corner is just a brilliant place to start each day. One of those cafes where the owner treats you as long lost friends on only a second visit, and where you can sit for 20 minutes and the whole world comes and goes.

With so many different areas of the city, and the multitude of bars and eateries in every district, it’s impossible to get everywhere, but what we can say is this. Restaurants on the seafront have great views and may well have good food but are international rather than authentic Greek and are considerably more expensive than other areas. The Ladadika area, mostly converted oil stores close to the port, is filled with trendy places and is more popular with the young, though with plenty going for it (especially Whope, the coolest bar in town and the best draught Mythos so far). 

Between Ladadika and the market area there lies a series of walkways filled with many decent restaurants, but possibly our favourite area is Ano Poli (Upper Town), particularly Papadopoulou street, where there is a cluster of seriously authentic tavernas filled with locals and serving good Greek fare at very decent prices. You can do a couple of beers each, half a litre of wine and two courses each and still get change out of 30 euros.

These tavernas fill up nightly. If you get here at 7.30, you’ll most likely eat alone. Arrive at 8 and you will have a choice of the best tables; at 8.30 there will be just the cramped tables left, and by 9 you won’t get a table at all!

Our time in this city has been lively and interesting and we both feel we have fallen just a little bit in love with Thessaloniki. There is a character here which is so welcoming and calming that it is very easy to slip in to its arms. We’ve walked over 40 miles in our first four days yet feel rested and welcomed by its wonderfully busy cafe/restaurant scene. 

Despite COVID and despite economic collapses, today’s Thessaloniki seems vibrant, lively and thriving, its nightlife convivial and its evenings buzzing. With a past linking Alexander The Great, the Roman Empire, Byzantine, Ottoman and Greek cultures, earthquakes, great fires and the holocaust, Thessaloniki’s modern day maxim rings so true…

“Thessaloniki…..many stories, one heart”.

Into The Mountains: From Thessaloniki To Delphi

There is something very special about moving on when travelling. One of our travel maxims has always been: move on while you still love a place. For us, that mix of emotions of being sad to leave somewhere clashing with the excitement of heading to a new place, somehow encapsulates the very essence of travel. It’s an exhilarating feeling.

But before we leave, Friday July 23rd marks our last full day in Thessaloniki and just like the previous four days the afternoon temperatures hit 37/38 degrees, but the ever present sea breeze just takes off the edge and keeps even the hottest time of day pleasant.

For our last day here we embrace a real mix of cultures. After our customary morning coffee round the corner we visit the tiny but beautiful church of Agios Panteleimon, packed with icons and artwork and filled with the delightful aromas of incense. 

Whilst we were in Turkey last year, it was impossible to ignore the history of the man credited with Turkey’s unification. Ataturk, aka Mustafa Kemal, was actually of Macedonian origin and was born and schooled here in Thessaloniki. His birthplace and childhood home is now a fascinating if eulogistic museum dedicated to his life story and, being adjacent to the Turkish embassy and manned by embassy staff, it’s a bit like stepping outside of Greece for half an hour.

After immersing ourselves in culture and history for the past few days, we go off piste a bit and visit two sports stadiums: the national stadium Kaftantzogleio, followed by the Toumba Stadium, home of the notoriously passionately followed PAOK Salonika football club. Both are pretty impressive, the former having been built for the 2004 Athens Olympics.

Thessaloniki has been fabulous, but now the wanderlust is kicking in and Saturday morning finds us revelling in the excitement of moving on, and we are soon heading down to the railway station.

Our next destination lies a few hours south and at considerably higher altitude, up in the mountains at Delphi. The train journey from Thessaloniki to Tithorea, the nearest that the railway line comes to Delphi, is on time and efficient, and we arrive in Tithorea mid afternoon not quite knowing how to complete the onward journey. As it turns out, there is no public transport, and, as we are the only passengers disembarking here and just one solitary taxi sits outside the silent station, we don’t have too many decisions to make. What we gain in simplicity, we lose in bargaining power and have no choice but to accept the fare.

And so we arrive in Delphi, jaws dropping at the scenery as we look over the edge of the colossal ravine on which Delphi sits. We are now in the midst of fabulous ancient history, but as well as this, the mountain scenery is just way beyond our best expectations. It truly is breathtaking. It’s also, unusually for Greece, ski resort territory. If you didn’t know that skiing exists as a pastime in Greece, well, the nearby village of Arachova is a popular ski destination for well-to-do Greeks, with this area receiving annual snowfall from November to February. And yet from our balcony we can see the sea, some 1800 feet down the mountain.

For the next few days mountain air will replace the city and hiking trails will replace walking city streets. We are in for a very different experience. 

Legends, Myths & Mountains: This Is Delphi

“Welcome to Delphi”, says the taxi driver as we enter the small town, “the centre of the world”.

The reason for that comment will become clear, but as we look out of the car window at the unbelievable scenery which has been unfolding for miles, we feel more like we’re on the edge of the world than in its centre. The modern town of Delphi lies just a few hundred yards from the ancient civilisation of the same name, perched precipitously on the steep slopes of Mount Parnassus and looking across the spectacularly deep valley of the dry River Pleistos to the Gulf of Corinth. One first stroll around its few streets brings several wow moments: this dramatic scenery is truly breathtaking.

Restaurants and hotels cater for visitors and it is clear at first glance that tourism is Delphi’s mainstay, but with such a deep history mixing fact and mythology with its dramatic location, that is not really a surprise.

We’ve been lucky enough to visit a decent number of the world’s great ancient sites, such as Petra, Efesus, the Acropolis and others, but neither of us can recall any other such site which is in a setting quite like this. To simply conceive of how this great city of major importance could be constructed on the dramatically steep slopes of Mount Parnassus by those ancient peoples, towering over the lands below, is awe inspiring.

But then those ancient people were drawn here by powerful forces: this is, after all, the centre of the world, as decreed by Zeus, who according to the myths and legends released two eagles from either end of the universe, stating that where they crossed would be decreed the centre of the world. That place was Mount Parnassus. By subsequently hurling a smooth cylindrical rock, the omphalos – literally, the navel – from the heavens to land on Parnassus, Zeus confirmed the new status of Delphi. (Note: there are as ever some variations to the mythology, but you get the picture).

Its status as the centre of the world confirmed, Delphi gained further fame as the home of the Oracle. For centuries, ancient peoples would make pilgrimages to Delphi to consult the Oracle on such matters as declaration of war, or the establishment of cities: subjects and decisions at the very core of civilisation. Each successive Oracle, also known as the Pythea or sibyl, was appointed by priestesses acting on behalf of Apollo, and, to accede to Oracle status, she was required to be a local peasant woman with a blameless life who would from then on convey the wishes and prophecies of Apollo.

Her prophecies and advices were delivered in a state of trance through a series of rants and rages which were interpreted by the priestesses, becoming the conduit through which the Gods, specifically Apollo, would reach the people, and respond to those questions of great import. Modern day scientists believe these trances were induced by a mixture of inhaling the gases emitted from a chasm in the Earth within the city, together with consuming quantities of the hallucinogenic oleander flower which still grows in abundance at the site today.

In any event, the role of the Oracle of Delphi was to survive for centuries. Apollo’s will, through the Oracle, continued to be respected, observed and revered, even being recognised by the Romans when they later occupied these parts.

The preserved ruins of ancient Delphi make for an outstanding visit. Climbing up from the Athena Pronaia Temple through the ancient city, the viewpoints continually changing as we climb the steep mountain, we can only imagine times when the city bustled and thrived and revelled in its fame. Standing here looking at the breathtaking landscape which would have greeted the city dwellers and those pilgrims is just wonderful.

At the highest point of the ruins is the remarkably well preserved stadium which hosted the Pythean Games, second only in importance to the Olympic Games in ancient Greece. Adjacent to the old city is the well stocked Delphi Museum, packed with statuary and artefacts from Delphi’s remarkable history.

We unwind from absorbing all this by climbing part of Mount Parnassus, though with only a couple of hours to spare we don’t make an attempt on the summit. A couple of days later however, on our last day here, we tackle a much bigger section of Parnassus, climbing from Delphi at around 1800ft to the ridge at nearly 4000ft above sea level. The hike takes us just over 6 hours to complete, and is 15 miles of mountain trekking as well as the gain in elevation. It’s pretty testing in the extreme heat and we are extremely tired by the end of it.

Later, over a beer whilst watching the sun set, we are joined by this inquisitive little fellow…..

Who is so inquisitive that he jumped on to the camera while we were taking his photograph……

Way below modern day Delphi is the historic village of Kyrra, the port where  pilgrims disembarked, still linked to Delphi by the same 3,000 year old footpath. Tackling it is just too much of a temptation, though we walk it downhill from our base to the sea rather than take on the 1800-foot climb. Its 14-kilometre route is fabulous, zigzagging down the craggy sides of the mountain before crossing the vast olive groves below..

And boy are those olive groves vast indeed: this is in fact the largest continuous olive grove in all of Greece, with 1.2 million olive trees (yes, you read that right!) and stretching across more than 21 square miles up to Amfissa at its northern end. That’s some annual harvest! Olives have been farmed here for over 3,000 years, and over 70% of the trees are more than 150 years old.

From Kyrra we walk along the coast to the pleasant resort town of Itea, where we take our first swim of this trip to cool down after hiking nearly 4 hours in the intense heat.

Around 10 kilometres from Delphi, but even higher at 3,182 feet above sea level, lies the pretty town of Arachova. This is the town where wealthy Greeks enjoy skiing trips; a hugely pretty town with a quirky rock-mounted bell tower. Its setting is again stunning and the town is clearly well heeled, but it feels very strange walking in the baking sun past shops selling ski clothing and snow boards.

Delphi, the modern version, is a quiet place with a bit of a “passing through” feel: most visitors seem to stay here for just a couple of nights, and day trippers to ancient Delphi only come into the new town to grab a quick lunch or don’t come in at all. Its soundtrack, breaking the otherwise becalmed feel, is the incessant rasp of cicadas which reaches a deafening climax in the afternoon.

In a small town like this, there’s nearly always one guy who knows everyone and everything and is the town’s go-to person for information. As a music buff I love the fact that Delphi’s version is called Vangelis. We’ve chatted with Vangelis lots, and picked up loads of useful information: we guess he’s been our own modern day version of the Oracle of Delphi…..

Moving On: From Delphi to Korinthos

Our next move presents us with some logistical decisions on how to get round to the other side of the Gulf Of Corinth. A ferry once ran from Agios Nikolaus to Agia, but was suspended for “essential repairs” about 10 years ago and has never reappeared. Our next thought was to hire a car in Delphi and drive around the western side of the Gulf but none of the companies in the area are willing to offer a one-way hire.

The journey back to Tithorea to pick up the train means an hour long cab ride, its associated cost, and timings which don’t really work. Fortunately one unexpected alternative presents itself by way of a direct bus from up here in the mountains, down to Athens, from where we can pick up a train to Korinthos. 

We don’t think we would ever tire of looking at the wonderful mountain views of Delphi, and as we bid farewell to Vangelis and board the bus out of here, we gaze wistfully at this amazing scenery for one last time.

It’s absolutely baking as we leave the train at Korinthos, step out into the afternoon sun and make our way to our next temporary home near the harbour. As you may have read on the internet, Greece has entered what is a heatwave even by Greek standards, with a possibility that temperatures will reach an astonishing 45 degrees this week. We don’t know how close we are to that yet, but it is certainly very hot!

After an apartment in Thessaloniki and a small hotel in Delphi, we’re back in an apartment here, and boy have we lucked out. Our host Nikos has basically built a self contained apartment on the roof of an existing block, and turned the rest of the roof into a private terrace. It’s so well done that it’s a bit like having our own rooftop hotel space.

Rather like Delphi, there is an old and a new Korinthos (or Corinth), the new city expanding close to the ancient site. First impressions from our rooftop home is that the new Korinthos looks more like an Middle Eastern city than Greece, indeed we are reminded of Amman as we look out across the blocks scaling the hillside.

And so we move on to our next stage, in the ancient land of Corinth, place of origin of the Corinthian spirit, close to the famous canal, blue sea in the harbour sparkling in the baking sun.

Korinthos: Mad Dogs & Englishmen

“No”, he said rather grumpily, “nothing till August 15th”.

This was the response at the first of the three car hire places in Korinthos, and a bit of a worry as our plans for this part of the trip realistically hinge on having a car. Google Maps then takes over in style, first getting us to trudge up multiple hills on the way to the next rental office – “open today 9am to 9pm” – which turns out to be a long deserted empty office by a main road, and then to option 3, where “you have arrived at your destination” brings us to a completely empty stretch of road where there is no evidence of even a demolished building, let alone an open office.

In desperation we take up our host Nikos’s offer of “if you need anything, just call me”, even though we don’t really like to do that. After initially telling us no joy, he comes back a few hours later having not only found us a car in a nearby town (evidently he’d spent serious time searching) but also saying he’ll pick us up on Sunday morning and take us to collect it. We are regularly blessed with meeting kind people on our travels, it seems!

Modern Korinthos is a reasonably attractive city, if a little on the functional side, with some lively pedestrianised areas, open spaces and a lengthy promenade. It’s all ok without ever being what we would describe as a spectacular city – we guess we would just say it’s ordinary. Afternoons here are a bit like old time Greece and good old fashioned siesta time: everything is closed apart from a handful of shops, and the locals seem to all go into hiding. Mind you, it gets extremely hot between about 3pm and 5.30pm so they are no doubt sensible, unlike the mad dogs and certain Englishmen.

Wander westwards from the harbour and you reach Kalamia Beach, a stony shore with a long run of beach bars, sun loungers and other obvious signs that this is something of a resort. There’s a lot more loungers than people at the minute though, which may be the COVID effect, but there’s still quite a few people who like us are enjoying the warm seas. And trying not to make contact with the pebbles which are searing hot in the afternoon sun. Pick a larger pebble here and you could cook a pizza on it.

A half hour bus ride out of Korinthos are the remains of the ancient city of Corinth, perched on the hillside in the village of Archaia, noteworthy for a number of reasons. As we pay our entry fee, we are advised by the ticket lady that the whole site will be closing from 1pm till 5pm today, simply because it’s going to be too hot to let people wander around the exposed site in the fierce afternoon sun. Closed due to sunshine – now there’s something we haven’t come across before!

Second thing – unlike virtually every other major ancient city we have visited, Corinth is extremely compact and compressed; the remnants of the major buildings are virtually on top of each other, making it even easier to close our eyes and imagine the bustle of the city in ancient times. Third thing – just after the exit there is a cluster of cafes and tavernas, but unlike the “foodcourt” type of experience you sometimes encounter at such places, these tavernas and shops have mingled into the Archaia village and are frequented by just as many locals (in human, dog and cat form) as they are tourists. It’s actually quite lovely.

It’s not hard to see why Corinth became a city of great wealth and power. Situated on the narrow isthmus between Athens and the Peloponnese, Corinthians were able to construct harbours on each of the two gulfs on either side of the isthmus, facilitating substantial trade with different parts of the world. They resisted many looting attempts by Athens and invasions by Persians and others whilst at the same time colonising and spreading their influence throughout what is now Greece and the islands of the Aegean, in the process gaining wealth, power and the reputation for bravery and spirit which gave the English language the adjective “corinthian”.

After the Corinthian era was eventually brought to an end, the Romans renovated and enlarged Corinth and under Julius Caesar set about restoring its former power.

Even closer to the new Korinthos is the famous Corinth Canal, one of those sights like the Rialto Bridge and the Taj Mahal which remind us of childhood textbooks, such is their status as a world icon. We take a walk from the town to the northern end of the canal, where the so called “sinking bridge” carries a minor road across the water, then follow another ancient trail alongside the canal down to the footbridge around half way. 

Corinth Canal is closed to all shipping traffic these days due to multiple landslides along its entire length – these landslides are spectacular in their own right, the collapsed sections of cliff clearly visible beneath the clear waters. Closure of the canal doesn’t impact international shipping in the way that the recent Suez incident did: Corinth ceased to be used as a trade route some time ago, since when it’s really been the preserve of tour boats and cruise ships. Now though even those are gone and the canal lays silent and deep blue.

As we inspect the extent of the damage, it’s hard to believe it could ever be restored. The Corinth Canal is, it seems, a modern day relic.

Trudging back towards Korinthos, military helicopters pass overhead, carrying huge vats for collecting water, on their way to douse the forest fires raging in this heatwave. We’ve seen temperature gauges reach 39, but in that intense afternoon period we suspect that it’s topped 40 today. Heatwave warnings persist, people take cover, fires rage out of control, and, as we said above, sites close for the hottest part of the afternoon. Meanwhile, we walk the canal route, over 10 miles long. Mad dogs and Englishmen indeed…..

Thanks in no small part to the kind heart of Nikos, the first day of August sees us on our first road trip of this Greek adventure, heading southwards in the hire car down the Peloponnese peninsula to the wonderful ancient site of Epidavros. 

Originally built in the 6th century BC as a centre for healing from the waters of its many springs, Epidavros grew in both size and reputation to become a powerful and wealthy region. 

The famous theatre at Epidavros remains a magnificent sight, its sides towering above the site of its stage, whilst retaining an almost uncanny acoustic ability: drop a coin on the right spot here and it can be heard crystal clear way up in the highest seats. Luckily we have made Epdiavros early, lucky because once again the site is closing from 1pm to 5pm due to the intense heat.

We take other detours on our road trip, but it’s now so hot that only short walks are possible, even for mad dogs and Englishmen. Palaia Epidavros is a gorgeous blue cove with attractive tavernas clustered around its pretty harbour, in fact the tavernas are so attractive that we fail to resist (in truth we don’t even try to resist!) and enjoy a great fish lunch. Our next stop is Nea Epidavros, less pretty but with a beach where we cool off from the mighty heat in the beautiful clear waters.

Driving back towards Korinthos the temperature gauge on the dashboard creeps up to 43, that’s 109 fahrenheit, we’re pretty certain we’ve never driven in such temperatures before. Even the afternoon wind brings no respite, when it blows in our faces it’s a bit like opening an oven door.

On the way to collect the hire car this morning, Nikos had expressed his sadness at the demise of the Corinth canal, and at the many Greeks who’ve lost everything in the forest fires raging in numerous places in these extreme temperatures. He also tells me that there are forecasts that tomorrow (Monday), we may see the all time highest temperature record for Greece broken. Wow.

Heading up into the mountains again seems like a good idea and we therefore spend our final day in Korinthos on an exciting drive on spectacular roads, visiting a number of quiet mountain villages before ending up in Nemea. Nemea is a renowned vineyard region producing some of Greece’s best loved wines, in recognition of which its streets are rather tastefully lined with oak barrels recycled as flower boxes.

The Nemea wine was one of two local specialities we wanted to sample whilst in this region, the other being the Black Corinth raisin. This is the small sweet raisin commonly found in the UK “mincemeat” or mixed fruit, sweet and juicy and often referred to as “currants” in UK recipes. In fact some etymologists believe that the word “currant” is indeed a derivative form of “Corinth”. We’ve done justice to both the raisins and the wine.

Driving from Nemea down to the coast for another cooling swim, the dashboard temperature gauge beats yesterday’s record and hits 44 degrees, but actually today’s wind is a cooling one instead of yesterday’s hair dryer, so whilst it’s still incredibly hot, it feels a little more comfortable.

We end our time here with an evening in Loutraki, just around the bay from Korinthos, and very different from all the places we’ve seen so far. Loutraki is so obviously a resort, packed with trendy seafront bars and bustling in the current weather. The music is reggae and lounge rather than balalaikas, the beach stays packed even as the sun goes down. A couple of beers and back to our rooftop for a bottle of Nemea wine and a few cold mezze: just the perfect way to end our time in Korinthos. 

Next stop Piraeus.

One Night In Piraeus

One night in Piraeus, is like a year in any other place….

You are a serious rock music aficionado if you know that the above line is a plagiarism of a song by English 70s band 10cc, and that in the original lyric it was Paris, not Piraeus. But our one night in Piraeus, sandwiched between Korinthos and our first island of this adventure, manages to almost live up to the line.

The smooth running, punctual, air conditioned train from Korinthos pulls into Piraeus dead on time, and we step out into the searing heat to trudge to our one night stay, backpacks on. Piraeus station is conveniently positioned very close to the port, so nothing should be too much of a challenge. 

“First I have to tell you one thing”, says the pretty hotel receptionist, “Piraeus has no electricity because of the hot day”. 

“Ah ok, no problem, do you know how long?”

“No we do not know. The hot day means all of the power in Piraeus is broken”.

It takes a few minutes for the implications to sink in. Yes there is no lighting, and yes there will be no internet. And then we realise, there’s no air conditioning either. Nor is there a lift (elevator). Our room is on the 6th floor. And when we get there, our electronic door key won’t work!

So this is how we come to be trudging up six flights of pitch dark unlit stairs, backpacks on, already sweating, to meet a chambermaid with a master key, waiting to let us in to our hot, dark room. And we find ourselves laughing, just a bit. Drenched in sweat, short of breath, and laughing. This is the kind of challenge that makes travelling an experience, being properly knocked out of your comfort zone.

There is little choice but to find a beer in the shade down town once we’ve secured our ferry tickets for tomorrow; we tell the waitress that we think it’s even hotter today, she in turn tells us that she’s just heard that it’s 46 here in Piraeus. That’s 114 fahrenheit. We’ve certainly never experienced temperatures like these before, not anywhere.

A quick check back at the hotel – and another trudge up six floors in the dark – establishes that there’s still no power, so we may as well find a restaurant and stay out. And have a couple more beers.

We may have been trying to see the funny side of our predicament, but in reality of course this whole situation is no laughing matter. The staff at the very decent Italian restaurant near the port bring us up to date with the news. It seems the power cut is selective and intentional; the local authorities in Piraeus and Athens have shut down the power to big user areas whilst keeping essential supplies such as trams, trolley buses and street lighting functional. In other words they’ve targeted the hotels.

Much worse though, the fires are raging in the Attika region all around Athens, people are losing everything, and a big operation is underway to move livestock to safe ground. Hundreds of homes have been destroyed. Our waitress wipes a corner of our table and shows us white dust: there is a “snowfall” of ash across Piraeus as the smoke cloud moves overhead.

For me, the beer plan works and I fall asleep despite the oppressive heat in the room. Michaela is less lucky and sits on the balcony waiting for sleep to come. Sometime during the dead of night she notices light creeping under the door – the electricity is back on.

Next morning the smell of smoke has permeated the whole city and you can smell nothing else. As we set sail on the early morning ferry, Piraeus quickly disappears behind the yellowish smoke cloud hanging low in its skies. Our next stop is the island of Serifos.

Serifos, And A Rethink

The first inkling we get that our calculated risk may not pay off is when we disembark the ferry on Serifos at just after 9am. Backpacking on the Greek islands is easy out of season, but this will be our first attempt at it during August when the islands are at their busiest.

Not knowing what the effect of COVID travel restrictions will be, we’ve decided to risk it and see how it goes on the first island and make our judgments from there. And then we get that first clue: not a single room hawker on the quay waiting to meet the ferry. The lady in the office marked “accommodation” is equally unpromising.

“You don’t have a reservation?”

“No we don’t”.

“Why?”

She makes a couple of phone calls, shakes her head and explains that it will be very difficult, Serifos is full and there probably isn’t a spare bed on the whole island. August is when the Greeks go on holiday. 

“You are very lucky” says Nikos (yes, another Nikos), “my guests go home early. I have one apartment empty for three nights”. Nikos is about our tenth call either in person or by phone, and shows us to the perfectly adequate Iris Apartment, nestled one street back from the waterfront in the port town Livadia. We conclude that just bowling up without a booking is going to be too risky from here onwards, we’re going to have to be a bit more structured.

Reality really dawns though as we activate our next plan and go on the usual websites to book ahead: not only is Serifos full, but so are Sifnos and Milos, our next two intended islands. Nikos confirms our fears and says we will have little hope of getting lucky. So, with resourcefulness called for, we decide to go for a long ferry journey and get much further away from the mainland, start our island journey from a different place and maybe work our way back to the Cyclades later. This is a complete change to our original plan.

So after considerable discussion, ferry tickets secured and next accommodation reserved, we will now only be on Serifos, and in the Cyclades, for those three days, after which we will embark on a lengthy journey to Crete, from where we will hatch a new plan.

And that plan may well involve a later return to the Cyclades, once August is over, because Serifos is lovely. In fact it’s not only a lovely island, but it’s great being here when it’s full of Greeks on holiday, adding a real something to the atmosphere.

With such a short time on the island we don’t get too much chance to explore, but the two main centres here, as with many Greek islands, are the port town and the hilltop village or Chora. Livadia, the former, has a lovely collection of restaurants along the waterfront which sweeps around the bay in a near perfect curve. Tamarisk trees provide shelter on each of its two beaches, white houses glint in the sunlight and the town buzzes with activity. 

A regular bus service links Livadia and Chora, ambling slowly up the tight hairpins and steep inclines along roads which are only just wide enough. Hilltop Chora is an absolute delight, a picturesque village which is like a microcosm of the Cyclades: everything typically Cycladean is here, the sugar cube houses, the tiny alleys, the blue painted chapel roofs, the group of old guys sat outside the cafe, and of course at the very top, an ancient chapel and the remains of a castle (kastro). 

Tucked inside the tiny alley ways is a miniature square which, having been baked in open sunshine all day, comes alive after dark, with queues forming for each of the eateries and the constant babble of the Greek holidaymakers filling the air. Our couple of hours there, devouring island food and quaffing the slightly strange but nonetheless pleasant local rosé wine, is absolutely memorable.

The visitor here is truly spoilt for choice for evenings on Serifos, with Livadia’s seafront and Chora’s miniature square each being wonderful settings for an evening meal. There are also a series of walking trails mostly based around Chora: we follow just the one (downhill only, another cop out we’re afraid!) back down to Livadia from the top.

Serifos’s crystal clear waters are noticeably cooler than the waters of the mainland, providing the perfect respite from the afternoon sun. There is no doubt we would have liked more time on Serifos, more time in the Cyclades, but out of necessity it’s time for a new plan. And so it’s Crete next.

Crete: The Western End

We’re sure lots of travellers do this, but we have a tendency to give nicknames to bars and cafes rather than call them by their real name. This nickname may be governed by the location (bus bar or corner bar) or by what we ate or drank (fish bar or aperol bar) or something we saw or heard there (dog bar, tree bar, reggae bar).

So we begin our last evening on Serifos at Ugly Woman Bar, gazing out over the evening waters and wishing we were staying longer. But events outside of our control have brought about a rethink and we are off to a new destination. Our journey from Serifos to Crete is a 10-hour trip door to door, including a 3-hour lunch break on Milos between connecting ferries. The brief views of both Milos and Sifnos only convince us more that a return to the Cyclades remains on the agenda.

Earlier on this trip, somewhere along the line, we spotted a restaurant with the tag line: “You’re in Greece. Count the memories, not the calories”. Stepping into the hedonistic night life of Hania, on Crete, makes us appreciate why that tag line has resonance. 

Hania – also spelt Chania, Xania or even Khania – is easily the most touristy place of this trip so far, and probably our most touristy destination for some time. But you know, there’s always a reason that places become favourites, there is invariably a certain something that attracted the crowds in the first place. Here, both the waterfront and the old town are beautiful and atmospheric places.

Hania’s beautiful harbour is in three distinct sections, each one completely packed with a line of bars and restaurants overlooking the sea, every one of those restaurants calling us in. The Venetian port in particular is so attractive after nightfall, the modest lighting of the restaurants reflecting in the rippling waters, the curve of the harbour giving great views from every one of those hundreds of tables. Wherever you wander, you feel good.

Behind the harbour and within the Venetian walls lies the old city, a thrilling labyrinth of tiny narrow streets where the best thing to do is to wander aimlessly and let yourself get lost. Just like the waterfront, these streets are packed with delightful looking restaurants at every turn: we reckon you could be here for three years and eat in a different place every night!

With 500 years of Venetian rule as well as strong Byzantine, Ottoman, Arab and Turkish adding to the ancient Greek influences, Hania is a fascinating architectural mix, not least because a succession of earthquakes, fires and sieges saw buildings destroyed and renovated multiple times. But the Venetian influence is clear for all to see in the harbour area, from the loggia fronted buildings to grand pallazzi to the hulking arsenali looming over the quayside.

One of the world’s oldest standing lighthouses is a proud sentry at the entrance to the harbour, originally built by the Venetians in 1595, although given that it’s been renovated or rebuilt at least 5 times we’re not quite sure how it qualifies as one of the oldest!

Hania was also home to Eleftherios Venizelos, probably Greece’s most revered statesman of all time, widely lauded as being unifier of modern day Greece and responsible for incorporating Crete into Greek rule. Venizelos is recognised here in many ways, with statues, street names and dedicated squares. The rather wonderful family tombs sit in beautiful grounds way above the city with magnificent views back across the bay.

Cretans are proud of a lot more than Venizelos. These are people with a long history of fiercely defending the homeland, a history culminating with the Battle Of Crete in WW2. It is a source of great pride that Crete, without a genuine military force and ineffectively armed, held off the Nazis for longer than nations of much greater size managed to, and was the first of Hitler’s invasions to be met with fierce civilian resistance. The Nazi response once occupation was achieved was brutal: the Jewish population was eliminated and those who had aided the resistance fighters, including monks, were slaughtered.

But the resistance effort rumbled on and the Cretans never willingly accepted occupation. Their bravery gave rise to this praise from Winston Churchill: “in the future, we won’t say that Cretans fought like heroes, we will say that heroes fight like Crete”.

But back to the present day, and the tourist trap that Hania now is. Restaurants are, as we’ve said, everywhere: indeed, we have eaten in both a roofless bombed out building and a converted Turkish bath. You can even eat in the confines of the one remaining synagogue.

Some of the unusual restaurants………

Hania has a long, varied and proud history. It also has a very lively present. 

Our issues with car hire continue. Fortunately Michaela is blessed with enormous tenacity: she will keep hammering away at a problem with an “I won’t be beaten” attitude long after most of us would have given up. So it is with the car hire problem here. After numerous rejections and being told several times that there simply aren’t any cars available in Hania, she finally nails one and our desire to see more of this end of Crete will at last be satisfied.

On the last day here without a car, we take the bus out to Georgioupoli, a rather lovely coastal town shaded by towering eucalyptus trees. With a long stretch of sandy beach, a cute chapel out on a causeway and a laid back, fountain filled square, it is a very appealing little town. So much so in fact that we find ourselves wishing we’d based ourselves in Georgioupoli rather than Hania.

For all that Hania has to offer, it is definitely not the peaceful charming experience that so many Greek islands are: something which we now find ourselves very much looking forward to.

Crete: More Of The Western End

Dawn is greeted at our apartment in the same way as it is throughout Hania, with the cacophonous rasping of a billion cicadas, in all our travels we haven’t ever heard a day-long chorus at a decibel level such as this. But dawn also heralds consistency: August in Crete is a delight of clear blue skies throughout the day, we are yet to see our first real cloud in seven days here.

Mercifully though the heat is less intense than during the heatwave on the mainland: days here have varied between 32 and 38 but the cooling Meltemi wind blows in each afternoon to make every day just simply lovely.

With a hire car now at our disposal, we venture into the mountains west of Hania, visiting quaint mountain villages and discovering the beautifully peaceful Gonia Odigitria monastery, occupying an amazing clifftop position surely as good as any other monastery, anywhere.

Dropping down the steep and twisting lanes from the mountains we take the old road back to Hania, expecting to pass through traditional villages and perhaps catch an authentic taverna. In stark reality though, this coastal road through Platanias and Agia Marina is a mess of tourism with multiple opportunities for crazy golf, go karting, German beer and pizza. It’s a million miles from authentic Greek island and not a place we’d be in a hurry to see again. 

By complete contrast our second road trip takes us deep into the heart of the rural west on a fantastic drive over the White Mountains towards Omelos. The mountain scenery on this amazing route is breathtaking in the extreme, the dramatic sweeps and soaring peaks causing us to stop and stare at regular intervals.

As we come around one hairpin, a village appears high up on the next ridge, looking down on the gorges way below as if majestically controlling the terrain. Pulling over to take in this wonderful sight, we can clearly hear the voices of villagers at work and the clanging bells of the goats, even though they are about a mile away across the valley. 

This village is Laki, one of those perfect mountain villages where the pace is slow and time stands still; tractors sit between rustic buildings, sleeping dogs find shade and the village elders sip morning drinks. We pause here for coffee ourselves and just sit looking across the most incredible view from the cafe and wonder just how life is here, farming in mountainous terrain where hot summers precede deep snow.

Coffee is accompanied by a local favourite, pita sfakiana, a kind of cheese pie with honey, a slightly odd mix that I think works rather well, though Michaela doesn’t agree. Beyond Laki, and through Omelos, we take in the views from the trail head at Samaria Gorge, a famous walking trail which Michaela completed years ago. It’s just as well we’re not intending to do it today: the whole trail is closed due to fire risk.

It’s early afternoon by the time we reach Palaiochora on the south coast and enjoy a first dip in the Libyan Sea. Palaiochora sits on a narrow promontory, meaning that the two beaches on either side of the town are only three minutes walk apart. Between the two beaches, this small town boasts a leafy square, great fish restaurants (yes, we absolutely had to!), crumbling kastro remains and plenty of accommodation. Positioned between the mountains and the sea, this may be a holiday destination, but it is a peaceful and friendly one and a world away from the overblown resorts we saw yesterday.

For our last day and last road trip whilst based at the western end of Crete we take the drive to probably Crete’s most famous attraction, Knossos Palace. Knossos was the grandest palace of the Minoan civilisation on the island, the heart of a great city and home to the great and the good of that race.

Despite its grandeur and famous murals, our visit is a disappointment. For reasons best known to themselves, the authorities’ reaction to COVID has been to shut down large sections of the site and channel all visitors through a one-way system, meaning that instead of the crowds spreading around the site, everyone is crammed together in small spaces, particularly around the murals. Not only does this seem self defeating from the pandemic angle, it also means that we pay the full entrance fee to see about a fifth of the site. 

Over the last couple of days the Meltemi wind has really upped her game, bringing crashing white surf to the already spectacular northern coastline, sandblasting us at Palaiochora and giving us some playful waves at Georgioupoli.

And so our time in Hania draws to a close. Next up is a journey across to the east of the island, a journey which has presented some challenges in just slotting the pieces together. 

Agios Nikolaos: Lepers & Lotus Eaters

About 50 years ago in the early 1970s, I used to watch, with my parents, a TV series called The Lotus Eaters which I recall as being very watchable. That series was set here in our next base, Agios Nikolaos, towards the eastern end of Crete. I figured I was one of only a handful of people to remember the programme, yet on our very first walk around the town upon arrival, we find the very bar where it was filmed, still with a commemorative board at its entrance.

The title of that series is actually taken from Greek mythology, whereby those who ate the fruit of the lotus lost the desire to return home. We ponder for a moment whether we are potential modern day Lotus Eaters: is there such a state as losing the sense of “home”? As long as we could still see family and friends, then for us there probably is.

Agios Nikolaos is a brief stop on our rather convoluted journey across the north of Crete from west to east, as we make our way towards the end of the island. 

Our early bus out of Hania brings us to Heraklion, the island capital, where we take brunch before boarding a second bus for the next leg from Heraklion to here. Together it’s about five hours on buses but with the route hugging the northern coastline all the way, the journey is continually rewarding and never dull, especially with Meltemi still in playful mood with the waves.

Close to Agios Nikolaos is the island of Spinalonga; it’s possible to get organised boat trips from here if you wish but instead we take the more edifying route of a bus to Elounda and then the little ferry over to the island. For a tiny island Spinalonga has a varied and intriguing history. Seen as a defence against raids on Crete, it was first fortified by the Venetians who created salt pans on its lower levels, and around these salt pans grew a small island population. The Turks were to add to the fortifications later, but the really intriguing history of Spinalonga is its 20th century story. What could be more intriguing than somewhere known as “the island of the living dead”?

With its fortifications easily augmented, this single rock less than a mile from shore became a leper colony, housing sufferers from 1906 right through until its last recorded death in 1957. Initially conditions were dreadful, with leprosy sufferers enduring a literal ostracism with minimal food, no running water and appalling living conditions, sent out of society to suffer in isolation. For them, the sight of life continuing as normal just across the water must have been galling.

Yet life evolved and Spinalonga became a refuge. A young sufferer set about changing Spinalonga, bringing culture and lifestyle and making the tiny rock a place of life for those facing death. Patients became fed and watered and built both a theatre and a cinema. The colony lasted right through until leprosy antidotes were discovered. 

In a final twist in its fate, the last priest on the island, not a leprosy sufferer, remained true to the teachings of Greek Orthodox faith and stayed on the island for a further 5 years after the last death. To visit this island now, with the remains of that leper community so visible and so tangible, is highly evocative despite its popularity as a day trip.

Agios Nikolaos has been very welcoming for a couple of nights, and the fish dishes at the seafront restaurants have been outstanding. With its elongated snaking seafront and its so-called “lake”, actually a sea inlet, providing ample opportunity for waterfront restaurants, this is a laid back and confident town basking in its beautiful setting.

In fact the food of Crete has been wonderfully fresh – the island’s reputation as a fertile land harvesting quality fruit, vegetables and olive oil is clearly richly deserved, the grilled vegetables in particular are delicious. As is the meat. And the fish. And everything else.

Which inevitably brings us to wine. Our recommendation would always be to ask for the house wine whilst in Greece, although you may find it referred to as “village wine”, “barrel wine” or even “bulk wine”. The quality will vary but it is always cheap and is often every bit as good as a more expensive bottle, plus it has the added bonus of being made locally and therefore pairs extremely well with local produce. And just occasionally, one of them turns out to be sumptuous.

From Agios Nikolaos we move on, working our way towards the very eastern end of Crete, from where we will leave the island for pastures new.

Towards The End Of Crete

We do like to mix it up a bit when it comes to accommodation on our travels, and aim for a bit of variety. Large hotels with small spaces and big prices aren’t really our thing, but pretty much anything else is fair game. So after apartments in Hania, Thessaloniki and Korinthos, a small family hotel in Delphi, and an “aparthotel” in Agios Nikolaos, we both find ourselves beaming from ear to ear as we drive up the steep unmade road to our next base in the village of Palaiokastro, just a short drive from the eastern coastline of Crete.

For the next few days we are based in a typical Cretan house, hidden amongst the bougainvilleas and pomegranate trees on the top of the hill above the village. It’s as rustic as it is charming, and as we take in our new surroundings, the swirl of the wind and a crowing cockerel replace the sound of the holiday babble of the last two stops.

We now find ourselves within touching distance of the eastern end of Crete, just a couple of kilometres from the coast and perched on hilly, rugged terrain. Away from the lush plains of central Crete, this is much more barren country, dusty and rocky, open to the more stringent efforts of the Meltemi wind which howls in from the east. The air now is so much fresher, the heat nowhere near as intense.

Most visitors to this area seem to stay here in Palaiokastro (as ever, alternative spellings are available) scattering out to the remote beaches and hidden coves during the day, gravitating back to the village to fill the half dozen tavernas at night. It’s a bit like a hiking destination, or even a ski resort, where evenings are convivial as everyone unwinds from their day. 

With a third hire car now at our disposal we set about exploring this new end of the island. Apart from its coves and beaches and the peaceful Toplou monastery, where a proportion of the excellent local wine comes from, the Palaiokastro peninsula is mostly empty and devoid of villages of any size, with vineyards and olive groves filling the gaps between rugged outcrops.

South of the village there are a few more settlements, though the barren mountainous terrain stands in the way of any serious development. Just south of the pretty mountain village of Zakros lies a canyon of the same name but which is excitingly also called Nekron Gorge, meaning the “valley of the dead”. This name came not from any Bermuda Triangle type mystery, but from the discovery of the remains of hundreds of the dead of the Minoan people, buried in caves down either side of the gorge.

The Minoan race vanished from the Earth around the time of the massive volcanic eruption which created Santorini and are thought to have been exterminated by that event, but Zakros was evidently an important and sacred burial site.

Zakros Gorge is an excellent hike – we complete it down to the sea and back up again – notable not only for its massive steep sides but also the depth of greenery in its bed which twists oasis-like between the otherwise barren rocks. The canyon, bone dry today, is by all accounts a raging torrent in winter and spring. Thyme, fennel and a plant we don’t know (looks like giant lavender, blooms like buddleia, smells like spice) spread aromas through the hot dusty air.

“Yiasas, yiasas”, beams Giorgos as we take our seat by the roadside back in the village, “you like one big draught beer and for the lady I think one caipirinha. How was your day?”.

It’s the 30th day of our trip and it’s the first time we’ve found one. When you’re travelling and you suddenly find a bar which straight away becomes your “temporary local”, maybe just for a couple of days before you move on, it feels brilliant. Cafe Central is a coffee bar at breakfast time (but fetch your own food from the bakers) then a lively convivial bar at night. It’s only our second night here but Giorgos remembers us, and our drinks, we chat about where we’re from, he gives advice on local places to visit, and he smiles his way through every conversation. He takes pride in telling us that people in this area are the friendliest in Crete and with his easy way and great bar he writes himself into our travel memories.

And so we take a last breakfast at Cafe Central and head off for a day long road trip which takes in the south coast and ends up on the opposite side. Once again the mountainous scenery makes for a fabulous drive with some views which put us straight into stop-and-stare mode; others which make us laugh out loud at the improbable hairpins and steep inclines.

The “Voila”, now a ruin, was once a Venetian palace apparently, though it’s just about impossible to imagine ladies in their finery socialising in such a remote mountain location. A few more twists and turns brings to our daily frappe fix at the picturesque village of Ziros, where the charm of the village is upstaged by watching village life play out in front of us. Our frappe cafe seems to be a barter centre, as a succession of villagers arrive with produce (cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, plums, bread) and exchange it for something else with other customers before putting the world to rights over a strong coffee. What fun it is to sit and watch.

Several years ago before we were together, Michaela tried unsuccessfully to buy a plot of land in the village of Kato Perivolakia with a view to building a holiday home. We revisit the site today, where nothing has changed, the plot sits idle over 15 years later with olives and pomegranates still ruling the roost, the village seemingly asleep around it.

Makrygialos on the south coast is our final call before we cross from south to north, arriving late afternoon in the port town of Siteia (alternative spellings available) from where, in the morning, we will bring our time on Crete to a close and start the next stage of our adventure.

Karpathos: The Windy Island

As the early morning ferry leaves its white surf wake in a curve away from Siteia harbour, we bid farewell to Crete after a varied and interesting two weeks on the island. It’s just over a month now since we left the UK and the island hopping that we had envisaged to be earlier on this journey now begins in earnest: if our plans don’t change we are due to call in to at least ten islands in the next four weeks.

Our last night on Crete is in Siteia, which we thought was just a port town but turns out to be so much more. Our one night stay here is a little weird though, in an unmanned hotel where we have a code to enter the main door and then another code to release the key to our room. Reception, lobby and breakfast room lie deserted and silent, we never see a single member of staff, but the place is clean enough and just about passable for one night. 

In contrast our next host, Sophia, is waiting at the door as we step off the ferry, thanks us for coming back, says how nice it is to see us again, and asks if we remember her cleaning lady…which is almost as odd as last night, because we’ve never been here before in our lives!

And so begins the island hopping. This is the island of Karpathos, with a reputation of being one island that the Greeks keep for themselves. Certainly the tavernas of the port town Pigadia are rammed already and it’s only midday; we can’t pick up any language other than Greek – mind you, it’s hard to pick up anything when the chatter decibel level is about the same as the cicadas of Hania. Yep, we reckon these are Greeks.

Karpathos is a notoriously windswept island, and as if to justify that notoriety Meltemi welcomes us by going up through the gears and changing mood from playful to distinctly belligerent. The soundtrack to our night hours is the howling wind and the crashing of the waves beneath our balcony. 

High above Pigadia (aka Karpathos Town), like an eyrie on the mountainside, sits the little village of Menetes with houses in pastel shades and a beautifully re-created traditional house with its unusual interior. Consisting of a single room despite often housing families with six children or more, the sleeping area is raised above ground level to enable the occupants to “sleep in the warmest part” according to the lady owner. How different from these days of air conditioning. 

As we wander its tiny twisting alleys the air is filled with the scent of cinnamon from the village bakery. Bread baked in traditional stone ovens, often positioned outdoors, is one of a number of foodstuffs for which Karpathos claims exclusivity, a number which also includes makarones, small pieces of hand rolled pasta made without egg and served with caramelised onion and grated goats cheese, and “Karpathian shrimps” a large bowl of tiny prawns which you eat whole.

After taking lessons years ago, Michaela’s conversational Greek is returning fast and coming on in leaps and bounds given so much chance to use it on this trip. Until, that is, we enter the car hire office and she finds herself sitting opposite an incredibly handsome six-foot-plus athletic looking young Greek lad with piercing blue eyes, and for a minute she can’t remember any English, let alone Greek.

Karpathos is for its size – it’s the second largest Dodecanese island – sparsely populated and under developed, but driving the road north from Pigadia to Olympos it’s very easy to see why. This is unforgiving and inhospitable territory, sharply mountainous, boulder strewn and with hardly a flat area to be seen. As well as the customary sharp hairpins and steep inclines, the road, which at times clings to the very edge of the island with the sea way below and the wind pounding in, is peppered with rockfalls at virtually every turn. There are hazards galore, but thankfully everybody knows this and drives sensibly slowly.

Up here in the north of the island the land is grey, the peaks through which the road is cut are the colour of cement powder, the land appearing to be broken as boulders crumble into rubble. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, something almost magical appears.

Yet another sharp bend brings us within sight of Olympos, another improbably positioned mountainside town, but one which absolutely takes your breath away on first sighting. The pictures here will speak louder than any words. Within its cramped walkways and pastel houses, the ladies wear traditional costume and the town oozes charm – although it soon becomes clear that those traditions have become part of the tourist theme rather than unbroken custom. These seemingly time honoured ladies can say “come look in my shop” in several languages- a dead giveaway!

Yet there’s no doubting how lovely Olympos is, it’s really quite visually stunning. From one of the stone ovens we sample another cheese and honey pie, which is even better than the first one a few weeks ago. These ladies use thyme honey, so the dominant flavour is the herb, with delicate undertastes of sweet honey and salty cheese. Delicious!

Our route back from Olympos brings around the other side – the west side – of Karpathos, where we discover two delightful coastal villages, Finiki and Arkasa, either of which could provide an excellent base for a stay on the island. 

Karpathos has only a handful of settlements, a small number of decent roads and an extremely modest bus service, all of course due to the harsh terrain. The distances between towns is magnified by the slow progress on the roads so it’s plain to see why the main port town Pigadia is the most popular of its destinations, not least because the evening atmosphere in the town is so good, with tavernas, bars and shops full of activity, and full of feelgood.

It’s a larger island with lots of rocky and remote areas, yet all of the towns and villages we’ve visited are well worth the effort and all worthy of a visit, with the tavernas around Pigadia harbour the perfect ending to each day.

Oh, and it’s incredibly windy here. Did we mention that?

Chalki: Less Wind, More Chill

Sophia and her friend, the Greek islands’ answer to Mrs Brown and Winnie McGoogan, are sitting on the steps chatting, as they usually are, as we say our goodbyes and head off to the ferry port. “Always take your key”, she had told us when we arrived, “because I never know what time I sleep”. Such is island life.

After the Greece mainland, the large island of Crete, and the pleasant buzz of Karpathos, we are now looking for something more remote, more peaceful, so with our first glimpse of what lays before us as the ferry pulls into the tiny island of Chalki, the smallest inhabited island of the Dodecanese, we are delighted with what we see.

Chalki, also spelt Halki, has only 330 permanent residents, swelled by summer visitors and increased further during daylight hours by day trippers from Rhodes. The entire population lives in the port village Emborio, there are no other dwellings anywhere on the island, there’s just one dirt track road and a huge sense of tranquility. Once the madness of the ferry is over, peace descends quickly.

It’s therefore a real surprise to us that on our first evening here we hear more English voices than at any time on this whole trip; everywhere has been dominated by Greek holidaymakers and it’s been mentioned to us several times that British visitors are largely absent this summer. Yet ironically in this small corner, on an island with few facilities, no organised activities and just a single village, English voices are a little more commonplace.

The result is a mix. During what our host Caroline (English, ironically) calls the “day trip hours”, a few hundred extra bodies mill around Emborio and its beaches before returning to Rhodes late afternoon, leaving Chalki to those staying here to enjoy the evening. According to a Yorkshireman we meet up at the castle later, this small island does indeed have a certain English fanbase who regularly return, along with being a popular destination for Italians.

It’s a long hot climb up to the castle but absolutely worth the effort, not simply because the views back to the harbour village and across the sea are fabulous. For the last section of the climb, we pass through the remains of an ancient village which has traces of settlement from the 4th century BC. During the years of piracy, this chorio was Chalki’s only village, but was then deserted as piracy disappeared and the island population felt safe enough to move back to the coast at Emborio.

It’s fascinating to climb up through the remains of what must have been a seriously steep town.

The desertion of the hilltop village is actually not the most recent example of exodus here. In the mid 20th century the greater part of the population of Chalki emigrated and left the island almost uninhabited when most of its people departed en masse and headed to a small town in Florida, USA, where the Greek community apparently exists to this day.

Chalki has a handful of small beaches close to Emborio, accessible on foot or by boat or, in the case of Pondamos, the very lazy can take a shuttle minibus the 400 yards or so from the village. The sea here is a delight: crystal clear and in places almost as warm as a thermal spring, even on the day when we get up early and take a refreshing swim at sunrise.

We will probably remember Chalki as being almost but not quite the classic peaceful Greek island, the shuttle ferries from Rhodes probably make it just a bit too easy to reach. A phrase you will often see on the web is that Chalki is “Greece’s best kept secret”. We think maybe someone’s started to let the cat out of the bag…

Tales From Tilos

Last night’s cocktails soon morph into drenching sweat as we haul ourselves up the steep mountain behind Megalo Chorio, the parched plants crackling beneath our feet, some brittle enough to turn to dust, others springing back upright, resilient to our footfall. A late night cocktail bar may not have been the best preparation for a climb like this, but the beautiful island of Tilos is taking us into its arms in every possible way.

As ever, the climb is worth the effort. The views across the deep blue Aegean to neighbouring islands are matched by those back across land, the stark white buildings of the village tumbling down the hillside below us, before the fertile lowlands stretch out to the sea on the opposite side of the island. This is beautiful country.

Megalo Chorio is one of a handful of village settlements on Tilos, unlike our previous island Chalki with its single port town. Our base on Tilos is Livadia, itself the island ferry point and home to a picture perfect deep horseshoe bay where the stunning blue sea is matched in splendour by the changing hues of the surrounding mountains. The rocks of those mountains change colour as the sun moves through the day, ochre at sunset, pink at first light.

Our balcony looks across that bay, across that blue Aegean, to the mountains, a panorama which is stunning and relaxing in equal measure. We could just sit here and stare for hours if it wasn’t for the fact that Tilos has so much more to offer.

If not love at first sight, then Livadia is certainly love at first drink. Leafy bars huddle around its modest square; its waterfront, kind of a miniature lungomare, houses fish tavernas, coffee bars, wholly authentic Greek eateries and that oh so romantic cocktail bar where we sip our drinks and watch the moon paint silver patterns across the water.

And everywhere the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly, alive yet civilised. One or two expensive yachts moor offshore, just a couple of ferries call in each day. Beaming smiles come free with your morning coffee, charm comes free with your cocktails. Contentment comes with no strings. This is the best stop on this adventure so far.

In the 1970s, a Tilos shepherd unearthed some unusual bones in Charkadio Cave, alongside human skeletons and relics of earlier settlements. Examination by archeologists found that those unusual bones were the remains of dwarf elephants; not the only place in the Mediterranean where such discoveries have been made, but these animals were particularly small, only about 1.3 meters tall. Like the Minoans, they seem to have been exterminated by the Santorini eruption.

The bones, other relics and the story of the excavation are now housed in a wonderful little museum which the islanders have strangely decided to place in the middle of nowhere rather than in one of the villages, but it’s well worth tracking it down. We were fortunate enough to be the only visitors, and were treated to a private and very informative tour by Maria the curator.

Like the eyeless sockets of an ancient skull, the empty windows of the deserted houses look mournfully towards the sea, or maybe towards their former occupants. Each roofless house, whether modest or grand, stands silently decaying amongst the rubble strewn alleyways, fig and oak trees reaching up through the empty spaces between stout walls. 

Some properties bear a surname scrawled in fading paint on the stonework, names of those who once owned these homes and traded in its bustling streets. Those trees, no doubt planted by those same families, still produce their annual fruit harvest, though there are no mouths left to feed apart from the goats which now rule the town as its only occupants. The goats roam and clamber with freedom; as they eye us suspiciously while we explore, it’s clear that they rule the roost here, and we are the intruders. 

Welcome to Mikro Chorio, midway between Livadia and Megalo Chorio, where as recently as 1941 a population of 1,750 thrived to the extent that three schools educated the children of the town. By the 1960s its last stubborn occupant had passed away, the rest of the population having fled for the other two towns on the island or maybe even further afield, when the wells of Mikro Chorio ran dry. Those painted family names belie the claims of erstwhile owners ever hopeful of resurgence. 

Scrambling among its walls is an eerie experience, the voices of the years echoing in the Meltemi wind as it gently bends the branches of the figs and the oaks. Ghosts whisper from around silent corners. Only the church is spruce, looked after by islanders unwilling to see their place of worship in decay. The rest of the town broods, silent and abandoned.

This sad, deserted town is an incredibly evocative place, eerie, fascinating and more than a little disturbing. If walls could speak, there are surely stories to tell here among these stones….

“Mikro, Mikro’” shouts the minibus driver, even though those waiting know exactly where he is bound. Clambering into the overcrowded bus with far too many others, we climb the mountain in darkness, the Milky Way clearly visible through the window. It’s gone 11pm, this is the first shuttle of the night, taking us to one of our more unusual drinking venues.

For around four hours each night, one small corner of Mikro Chorio’s empty town is turned into a bar with gentle music and, most atmospheric of all, subdued lighting from within a number of its empty houses. Was that a shadow passing through that house, a ghost of its history, or a trick of the light? A shooting star skids across the black sky, the empty roofless houses watch, and wait. Leaves rustle in the gentle night breeze and as we leave around 1am, the goats, and the ghosts, are once again alone.

As we wake the next day, Mikro is the first thing we discuss, such is the impression it’s made. So too did the “Greek Cocktail”, its mix of ouzo and curaçao making me feel like I’m drinking a liquid alcoholic version of the blue jelly sweet in a bag of liquorice allsorts. Heaven, in other words.

Our stay on Tilos has been four days plus a few hours, yet we know for sure that part of us is staying here as we leave, such is its pull. Exploring the entire island has been magical, the island is beautiful, but returning “home” to Livadia each night has been very special. Everyone from the breakfast cafe owner to the shopkeeper to the honey seller smiles and says hello as we walk through. 

We’re unlikely to forget the changing hues of the mountains, the crystal clear seas, the impossible Aegean blue, the calm, friendly island people. We’re unlikely to forget Mikro Chorio.

Six weeks into our Greek odyssey, this has been our best stop so far.

So far…..

Nisyros And Its Amazing Volcano

Tilos has been wonderful, our best stop so far, and it’s not without sadness that we board the cool looking Stavros ferry and leave whitewashed, bougainvillea dotted Livadia behind. But we always say…move on while you still love a place, so we’re being true to our travel principles on this one.

Unusually for islands in the Dodecanese, Tilos has a comparatively flat centre between its spectacular peaks, through which the main road of the island runs north to south. This fertile plateau was created by a gigantic fall of pumice and ash belching from a volcanic eruption of enormous proportions on the neighbouring island of Nisyros, our next destination.

Nisyros has suffered some major volcanic eruptions, the most recent around 15,000 and 25,000 years ago – the earlier one blowing away the 1400m high mountain in its centre and leaving a huge caldera in its place. The largest crater in the bottom of the caldera, nicknamed Stefanos, is now the main reason for the popularity of Nisyros amongst visitors, the vast majority of whom dash in and out on day trips from nearby Kos.

The little port at Mandraki is swamped each day around 10.30am and again just after 4pm as these organised trips come and go, and we can’t help but titter as we watch the crowds play follow-my-leader, especially when the “leader” is a young woman holding a yellow plastic duck on a stick for her group to follow.

As a direct result of its volcanic nature, Nisyros is extremely fertile. This is the greenest Greek island we’ve seen – not a commentary on its carbon footprint, simply the fact that it’s covered in trees. Gone is the barren landscape of the last three islands and in come fruit, nut and pine trees covering most areas. It’s very different!

Our new home base of Mandraki is different too, funny how just a short ferry ride can change everything. Seas blown by Meltemi batter the shores, rocks and sea walls protect the seafront restaurants, this west facing shoreline is a sunset haven. Each town on Nisyros, Mandraki included, is like being in a model village, everything squashed too closely together to be accessible by car, wooden balconies hanging over the alleyways with onions, garlic and even octopus drying on the ballustrades. 

Now these are proper sunset photos…….

Tight alleys snake around the town, then a square with mosaic patterns underfoot appears, then a cluster of tavernas, maybe a hidden shop, perhaps a group of ladies sitting on wooden chairs chatting till the cows come home. Watching it all from above is the monastery, and close by the remains of the castle and city walls, and a church built into a cave.

Mandraki has a tiny town beach made with sand presumably brought in from elsewhere. It also has a ridiculous number of cats, more cats per square metre than we’ve ever seen – alley cats literally everywhere. Someone should have realised that a heap of sand might just be viewed by those cats as a giant litter tray. As a result, frankly, the beach stinks!

Just as strong is the powerful odour of sulphur down in the caldera, but it’s fabulous to ignore the smell and wander around this remarkable place, steam billowing from cracks in the earth, spectacular yellow sulphur crystals splayed like flowers around the crevices. The mud puddles often bubble and boil here (though not today, unfortunately) as the ground surface temperature tops 100 degrees. 

Looking around at the exploded landscape, the towering sides of both Stefanos and the greater caldera, knowing that we are looking at this terrain just how the gigantic eruption left it thousands of years ago, has a real tingle factor. No wonder the day trips from Kos are so popular.

Nikia Village…..

On the highest levels of the island are the villages of Emborios and Nikia, each just as tight, and quaint, as Mandraki, and each affording breathtaking views across the 4km wide caldera. Neither has vehicle access, and at Emborios we leave the hire car close to a cave nicknamed the “natural sauna”. Stepping inside is indeed just like taking a sauna, the hot volcanic rock creating sweltering humidity just a couple of yards from the road. It’s all a bit surreal.

Natural Sauna…..

Bubbling mud, sauna caves, hot springs, a Greek island covered in greenery…this place is certainly different. Even the cuisine is a diversion from standard Greek….including pytia (seasoned chickpea fritters a bit like falafel), soumada (a sickly sweet almond drink) and….wait for it…a dessert made from sweet tomato, almonds and yoghurt.

Ferry schedules dictate that our stay here is short, but our road trip has taken in the whole of this small island, so we feel we have done it justice. As we tell Manos that we have a 3-hour ferry trip in the morning, he has some advice.

“Tomorrow will be very very windy”, he says. “I think you should not eat too much breakfast”.

Oh.

From The Volcano To The Butterfly: Astypalea

Past the uninhabited island left shining white by the mining of pumice, the Dodecanese Pride catamaran powers on across the waters towards the first stop at Kos Town. Out here on deck, the wind rushes, the sun shines and the fountains of pure white surf make furious patterns in our wake, and we are thankful that the crossing isn’t quite as rough as we were told it might be.

Until, that is, after Kos, when we are all shepherded inside as the next stage of the journey will be too lively for passengers to stay on deck, and what follows is ninety minutes of rocking and rolling and lurching over the waves. It’s a bit of an endurance test to say the least, and is by far the roughest “hop” so far. Well, we had been warned!

Our next base is the island of Astypalea, the last of our Dodecanese calls before we return to the Cyclades, if all goes to plan. The nickname “butterfly” is not a reference to the wildlife here, but is instead the shape of the island, with two distinct “wings” joined by a narrow isthmus only 100 metres wide at its narrowest point.

This “butterfly of the Aegean” has an unusual feature in that the highest village, the chora, is closer to the coast than is the norm, and consequently its pristine white houses cascade down the hillside and effectively join up with the port town. The effect is stunning.

Whilst the port town Pera Gialos is “only” pretty, the Chora is visually superb, topped by its bold Venetian palace and attendant churches, the hillside decorated with an iconic line of windmills which are both Astypalea’s coat of arms and its source of pride. During daylight hours the Chora sparkles in bright sunshine and looks terrific, yet if anything it is even more beautiful at night.

Within the Chora is a network of cobbled streets and alleyways with shops and tavernas squeezed between its white houses. The whole look of the Chora, its pyramid shaped hill topped with the palace, is picture perfect.

Yet again we’ve managed to secure an apartment with fabulous views of all of this from our balcony way above the port, though for our time here using the balcony has been spoiled by the wind which has reached ridiculous levels. It’s so windy that it affects everything, from dining to walking to opening the car door. It’s so strong and so noisy on our balcony that it’s impossible to hold a conversation. The butterfly is being blown away.

Our host in Astypalea is Dimitris, part time artist, part time trekker, part time international traveller, full time kind, softly spoken all round good guy. But the star of the household is undoubtedly Dimitris’ Mum, who seems to have decided that we need fattening up. Knocks on our door over our time here have brought grapes, home made jam, bread, tomatoes, cheese, fava and hot rice pudding – more than we are able to eat!

Back on Tilos, the island was self sufficient in terms of energy: all electricity on Tilos is generated by wind turbines and solar panels. Here on Astypalea the emphasis is more on clean environment as they move towards blanket bans on petrol cars and cigarettes (smoking is already banned in the Chora). Consequently we are given an EV for touring here, the first time we’ve driven a fully electric vehicle.

Astypalea has been a bit of a slow burner for us, we’ve grown to like it rather than gone a bundle from day one, away at least from the beauty of Chora. With Chora so close to the coast, there are no inland settlements at all, with the island’s few villages dotted mostly along the southern coasts. Livadi (yes, another Livadi) and Analipsi (aka Maltezana) are two pretty seaside villages each with decent beaches and a number of tavernas, but numerous other coves and beaches are tucked away around the island, accessible by boat or “secondary road”.

Some of these so-called secondary roads are barely worthy of being called a track, let alone a road. Driving down these rally-style, potholed, rock strewn unmade dirt tracks is certainly an experience, one which makes us nervous about taking this brand spanking new pristine electric vehicle through what is effectively off-road territory. Until, that is, we reach the end and find a dozen other saloon cars already there, most of them hire cars just like ours.

Inside both wings of the butterfly the terrain is fairly barren, steeply rising hills thrusting up from deep gulleys, each hillside coated with bone dry spiny plants no more than six inches tall. Towards the south side though, herbs and fruits, including tangerine and olive trees, thyme and capers, are more in evidence. 

The southern coastline of both “wings” is for the most part the gentle half and is where most of the best beaches are. On the north shoreline, though, the coast is far more rugged, the rocks strangely crenellated by erosion, giving it an almost Atlantic look. 

It’s noticeable that things are beginning to change out here now as we move from peak season to shoulder. Apartments are easier to find, we can check in early and check out late whenever we need to, restaurants are no longer full. The outrageous 40+ temperatures of a few weeks ago have long gone and the days now peak at around 29/30; evening temperatures and the wind temperature have dropped noticeably, sweatshirts and jackets are starting to appear amongst the islanders. Dimitris’ Mum thinks it’s cold and offers Michaela a jumper.

We move on to our next destination with our time on Astypalea having been more than a little bit blighted by the strong winds and on reflection perhaps we weren’t able to make the most of it. Meltemi usually eases off once August is over, she seems to be a bit late this year.

Thomas, King Of Katopola

All we knew when we first made contact was that our next host was named Thomas and the apartment was in a building known as Thomas Villas On The Beach. Maybe this should have been a clue.

Our logistical problem on arrival on the island of Amorgos was going to be the fact that the ferry sailed at 5:15am and made port at Egiali at 06:40, far too early for anything in Greece to be open. And our apartment was booked for Katopola, some distance from Egiali.

Thomas offers a solution via WhatsApp.

“I can organise a hire car at very good price”, he texts, “you can collect at Egiali”.

And so it is that Thomas gets someone to leave a car in the street near Egiali port the night before, key under the driver’s mat, meaning that we drive away in their car with no payment, no paperwork, no check of driving licences…nothing. You have to love Greece.

It falls into place a bit as we wander around Katopola for the first time. Thomas is, it seems, something akin to King Of Katopola. We are staying in Thomas Studios; there are Thomas Apartments, Thomas Townhouses, Thomas Traditional Houses. There’s Thomas Car Rental, motor bike rental, boat tours and ticket agent. There are even Thomas logos on our bed linen for Gods sake! Oh, and some Thomas face masks, just in case we need them.

As you will read in our next post, we soon decide to extend our stay on Amorgos, and so by Thursday we really need to see King Thomas about paying for both the car and the extra days here. 

“Hey, hello my friends” he smiles as we enter his cramped office, “are you enjoying Amorgos?”

“We love it” says Michaela as I wonder how the devil he knows who we are as we haven’t met him before.

He’s doing a deal with some ladies, filling out paperwork and checking driving licences – both things, remember, that we haven’t done.

He looks up.

“Do you want something?”, he asks.

“We need to pay you for the car”.

“Oh” he says with a flash of the eyes and a swing of the arm, “pay me sometime later”.

“And the apartment?”

“Same”, he says, as if paying for things is the least important part of his service.

“OK, and we picked the car up in Egiali. Is it OK if we leave the car here in Katopola when we finish?”

“You can leave it anywhere you like, just bring key to my office”.

You have to love Greece.

Amorgos: The Big Blue

We’ve only been on Amorgos for a few hours when we first start talking about it. 

So instantly attractive and with so many things to do and see, Amorgos quickly asserts itself into needing more than the 4 days we have allocated to it on our schedule. By morning we’ve extended that to 6 days after poring over the changing ferry schedules and finding ways to re-jig our forward moves.

After a 5:15am ferry departure from Astypalea, we have made the crossing, driven over Amorgos’s mountains and down to our new base in Katopola before the menus are out on the breakfast cafe tables.

Katopola is one of a trio of villages strung together around the deep bay, Rachidi and the tongue twisting Xilokeratidi are the other two, together forming a very picturesque curve of white between the deep blue and the soaring mountains. There is a discernible graduation in its tavernas, moving from traditional fish tavernas at the port end through coffee shops and local produce restaurants in the centre, on to eateries with a more obvious though still modest nod to tourism at the beach end. Somehow there is something here which is more like Greek islands used to be. It’s instantly appealing.

These Amorgos mountains really do soar upwards in spectacular style. Way up amongst these sits our new Chora, yet another beautiful little village with colourful flowers, inviting tavernas and a couple of leafy squares. We know this all sounds familiar but of all the lovely Choras we’ve seen, the Amorgos version quite possibly wins on charm, improbable as that statement may have seemed just a few days ago.

Within Chora stands a rather sudden upright rock, on top of which the remains of what must have been a tiny castle still stand. The entrance gate is locked, but in a lovely quirky twist, we learn that by leaving ID or collateral in a local cafe (we leave Michaela’s phone) you can borrow the giant iron key and give yourselves a private tour. The views from there are magnificent, both of Amorgos and across to neighbouring islands.

Between those soaring mountain peaks, this long and thin island is well farmed and for the first time in a long time we see recognisable agricultural plots and regimented lines of crops; there are also familiar looking mountain villages clustered around the main road rather than the tiny alleys of villages on most islands. We don’t think we’ve seen actual roadside villages like this since leaving Crete. 

Amorgos’ most famed sight is the incredible Chozoviotissa monastery, hanging 300ft up a sheer cliff above the sea and built into the rock face, leaving us wondering just how this amazing place could possibly have been constructed so many centuries ago. It turns out that it wasn’t without difficulty; monks fleeing their ransacked base in Palestine and grabbing what they could, arrived on Amorgos purely by chance in the 8th century and were immediately struck by the similarity of the coast to their previous home, taking that as a sign that it was to be the site of their new monastery.

Unusually for this kind of story, divine inspiration wasn’t enough and, devoid of sufficient funds and defeated by the enormous challenges of the location, the monastery was unfinished and stood half built as the monks settled instead in what is now Chora. Over 200 years later the God-loving benevolent Byzantine emperor Alexius Comnenus I, knowing the story, provided the funding and wherewithal for this magnificent structure to finally be completed.

Not only is this monastery free to enter, but if you’re willing and able to climb the  many steps to the top, one of the remaining monks (there’s only three of them) will give you a free glass of honey raki and a chunk of loukoumia.

A rather different spectacle meets us on another stretch of coast towards the southern tip, where the rusting remains of a 1980 shipwreck loom in a rocky cove. For reasons best known to themselves, this wreck has been renamed the “Olympia” by the islanders, even though the ship was named “Inland”. It ran aground here with its skipper seeking shelter from storms, purportedly carrying contraband goods which is presumably why no salvage operation was ever mounted. There’s something strangely captivating standing here watching the waves swash through its decaying bows, its undoubtedly proud history sinking slowly into a quiet demise. 

One of the other publicised attractions of Amorgos and one of our reasons for staying longer is its hiking trails; there’s about a dozen or so around the island. The ones that we take on are excellent, well thought out and well waymarked, somehow making the effort-versus-reward equation achieve better results than usual. Part of me wants to come back here and complete the full set. It’s that good! We follow trails out to the lighthouse at the very tip of the island, and up to the remains of the ancient city of Minoa.

The more we explore Amorgos, the more this lovely island has to offer. A road trip towards the northern extremities brings us to three delightful villages: two, Tholaria and Lagkada, are elegant and stylish places occupying elevated positions up in the mountains, whereas the third, Egiali, nestles neatly around a lovely sandy beach with a laid back take-me-as-you-find-me feel. 

Egiali delivers surprises, including what is without doubt the worst meal of this entire trip. “Home made seafood pasta” and “oven baked fresh fish in special sauce” both arrive on our table within about three minutes of ordering. Enough said.

Amorgos acquired its moniker “The Big Blue” from a movie of the same name which was apparently shot on location here, and it seems a highly appropriate tag, as we have found precious few places where the expansive Aegean isn’t a big part of the panorama. 

In the end our two day extension means leaving the Kingdom of Thomas and moving for a brief stay in an apartment at the fish taverna end of the bay. We are initially a bit disappointed to move – until we see not only the lovely apartment and its great position but also meet our new hosts, the delightful Costas and Eleni, an adorable elderly couple who immediately make us feel like family.

Amorgos has been great. Driving its roads is easy yet exhilarating, its terrain varied and interesting, and it has been a welcome change to have the option of visiting a number of different towns on one island.

That won’t happen again for a while, as we head out to those tiny islands collectively known as the Lesser Cyclades.

Hopping Mad: The Lesser Cyclades

Here it is again, that feeling. It’s 7am and the sky is turning a blazing shade of tangerine as the sun raises its head above the mountain peaks. We chug out of Katapola and leave the beautiful island of Amorgos behind, and the feeling is here again: that heady mix of sadness at leaving and excitement at moving on, somehow even stronger when the leaving is early morning. 

As we bid farewell to Amorgos we have a distinct feeling – unusual for us – that we will return one day, not a reaction which we have commonly felt on our travels.

Ahead of us now though is some old school style island hopping, through those islands which with Amorgos are known as the Lesser (or Small) Cyclades, quick visits through several islands, on the type of ferry which used to be the essence of island hopping. Weather and other things permitting, we will pass through four islands over the next nine days before we reach Paros for a slightly longer stay.

After thoroughly exploring all recent islands it will be a different experience to stay just a couple of days and be selective about what we can do within the time constraints. Our short stay quickfire session starts at Donoussa.

Sapphire & Emerald; Donoussa & Koufonissi

Donoussa

On the first of our two mornings in Donoussa we are awakened not by revellers from last night’s festival still up, nor by the usual cockerel calls, but instead by the sound of …….wait for it…..rain! This is the first sprinkling of rain since we saw a shower through the train window on July 24th, some 51 days ago. This one has passed through and dried up before we’ve even had breakfast.

The port village of Stavros on the island of Donoussa is the first of our quick stays in the Lesser Cyclades. Donoussa is one of the smallest inhabited Cycladic islands with a total area of just 13 square kilometres, and unless you’re a scuba diver (there’s a sunken German warship) only really has beaches and hiking to offer.

Our piece of the latter takes us from Stavros to Mersini and back. According to the internet, Mersini is home to a restaurant of great repute, the Daughter Of Michalis, but when we get there to size it up, it’s deserted and overrun by weeds and has clearly been closed for a long time.

Beach wise, we take in two. The town beach at Stavros is surprisingly lovely, with soft golden sands and gentle crystal clear water, right in the village – out here in the open seas of course, the water is pretty cold and some distance from the typical warmth of the Mediterranean, making for a refreshing swim. Over the headland at Kedros beach, we find that at least half the people there seem to have forgotten to bring any clothes with them – there are more private bits on view than we would ever care to see!

By pure coincidence our two days here are the days of the festival of Stavros from whom the village takes its name. It’s not really a festival as such, no music and dancing, but there are numerous church services over the two days involving much dishing out of bread and wine, followed by everyone in the village dining out at the very few restaurants on our first night. We have to queue on stone steps for quite a while before we manage to get what has by that time become a late supper.

We do our bit for the festival by ordering the traditional meal, patatato, a stew of goat, potatoes and tomatoes – we seem to have consumed as much goat as fish on these islands.

There is of course a tourist element on Donoussa, there is on all of the Greek islands these days, but it’s definitely understated here: this is an island going about its business regardless of who’s watching. 

Koufonissi 

The first thing we notice as the Express Skopelitis ferry glides into Koufonissi is the incredible sea colour, different not only from previous islands but not quite the same as anywhere else. Described variously on the internet as “spectacular turquoise”, “a blend of emerald and sapphire” or just “teal”, it is so unique and so easy on the eye that we just stand and stare across the bay as we disembark. 

On closer inspection, the incredible green/blue becomes unbelievably clear, as clear as it’s possible to imagine. We just can’t wait to get in.

Koufonissi is nothing like we expected, and pretty much nothing like the guidebooks and internet will tell you. This is a tiny, one village island which, according to all we’ve read, is the ultimate peaceful get-away-from-it-all paradise suitable only for those seeking true solitude. True, it’s of a paradise appearance, and yes it’s peaceful, but it becomes clear very quickly that Koufonissi is an island which has targeted the wealthy, upmarket tourist.

Chora, Koufonissi……

It’s beautifully done of course, everything in the village is very classy, it’s full of upmarket eateries, cosy cocktail bars with great views, top quality service and posh furnishings. All of this is immensely welcoming and is a touch of a certain type of paradise, but unspoilt it certainly ain’t!

Being here is like being on holiday in the middle of travelling; we soak up the sun, we swim in the most fabulous seas imaginable, we get completely blathered in a late night bar looking at the silver moon and listening to very cool music. We hike from the village to Poti beach, roughly half way round the island, passing through at least half a dozen gorgeous coves and beaches along the coast path. All the way we just keep marvelling at the spellbinding seas.

Koufonissi is indeed a paradise. A different kind of paradise from what we envisaged, but paradise nonetheless.

Schinoussa & Iraklia: Further Down The Line

Schinoussa

Whoever invented retsina deserves a medal. Whoever had the idea of drinking retsina to accompany fish was inspired, and deserves a medal. If the two were the same person, they should be made a saint.

A few short hours after arriving on Schinoussa we are not only doing both, but we are doing it in a sun drenched beach bar where the tamarisk trees border the sand, the sun glints on the surface of the water, and just a handful of people share our space. There can’t be too many better feelings than this.

Not long ago when we were being windswept on Astypalea and needing sweatshirts to deal with the evening chill on Amorgos, it was as if the seasons were changing. Suddenly, first on Koufonissi and now more so here, Grecian summer has returned, with hot days and balmy evenings, cloudless skies and not a breath of the Meltemi wind which plagued us back then. Our ferry crossing to Schinoussa is on a mill pond of a sea.

Just like the first impression of Koufonissi was the colour of the sea, what hits us first on Schinoussa is the tranquility. With no Meltemi to pound the ears, this under populated, understated, under developed backwater island is a haven of peace. Our rural setting, on the edge of the chora, Panagia, up above the port, is a place of stillness and silence interrupted only by birdsong and an occasional distant jangling of goats’ bells. The motionless air is filled with the heady scent of scorched vegetation and hot pines.

To describe Schinoussa as low key would be an understatement, this place is as laid back as it gets even in Panagia where just a few tavernas host what chatter exists. It is a perfect retreat. How long it remains so would be interesting to monitor, because there are a lot of individual plots being developed on the island, not just around Panagia but also in prestige and remote seafront locations.

These developments are already changing the face of Schinoussa, and as we try to walk its footpaths we are continually thwarted by newly built walls, fences and other barricades with which new landowners have staked their claim to boundaries. The walking map kindly provided by our hosts is, to quote Douglas Adams, at worst apocryphal and at best wildly inaccurate. It’s impossible to walk what used to be the coast path.

But for now, Schinoussa is a tranquil, relaxing location which has a wonderfully calming effect on the spirit. If you are in need of a spiritual reboot, Schinoussa is your refuge, for now at least. Who knows what its future holds.

Iraklia

Schinoussa to our next destination Iraklia is our shortest ferry crossing yet, with our last trip on the Express Skopelitis being a matter of just 10 minutes port to port. We have in fact been able to clearly see Iraklia (aka Heraklia) and even its port from our Schinoussa house.

The day we move on to Iraklia constitutes a milestone; this is Day 64 of our trip and thus becomes our longest adventure since we started travelling. We never envisaged that our retirement travels would see us spending so much time in one country and we always pictured crossing many borders on every trip, but it’s been our way of getting round the pandemic restrictions. Maybe our next trip will see a bit more freedom.

Our base on Iraklia is the small port village of Agios Giorgos, from where a 30-minute walk brings us to the beach at Livadia (yet another Livadia), surprisingly undeveloped despite its huge stretch of golden sand and beautiful calm clear water.

Ferry schedules dictate that our stay on Iraklia is just 44 hours, so with such limited time at our disposal we set ourselves just a single target: to hike to the cave of Agios Ioannis. The trail to the cave is fantastic in its own right, following loose stone donkey paths through the undulating hills with the gorgeous blue Aegean appearing both left and right as the panoramas shift.

The cave itself is startling. Stalactites and stalagmites reach into the darkness, moss grows and hangs in weird shapes. Rock formations loom out of the darkness sometimes like overbearing statues, sometimes like ghostly apparitions. As our eyes adjust to the dark, shapes take on forms… the pipes of a church organ, the ribs of a giant mammal, the face of an ancient deity.

Crystals in the rock formations glint in the light of our head torches like precious stones; the deeper we wander, the more we see. It’s so stimulating to wander deep into this cavern after crawling through the tiny entrance, completely alone, just the two of us in this mysterious dark world buried beneath the mountain. In the entire walk from Panagia to the cave and back, we don’t see a single person: the day, and the experience, is just ours.

Back at Livadi, we wash off the dust and the sweat in the cleansing seas, basking in the thoughts of just where we have been today.

Darkness has fallen by the time we head out to a taverna we’d spotted earlier on the edge of Agios Giorgos where the grill is an outdoor wood fire. As we await our food, the terrace fills with more and more locals, tables pulled over and thrown together until over a dozen villagers sit chatting around the large makeshift table. 

An old guy pulls out his guitar and so starts the singing of what must be traditional Greek folk songs, the whole gang joining in and the ladies taking turns to dance. We are whipped up in the atmosphere, the guitarist engages us in the fun by playing a couple of Beatles songs for us to sing along. The barrel wine flows all too freely and we know as our evening unfolds that it’s just one of those brilliant travel nights that will live in the memory for ever.

We may have had just 44 hours on Iraklia, but it’s been eventful.

Take a look at the 2 slideshows below

Schinoussa Slideshow

Iraklia Gallery

Pricey Paros

Anyone who has used island ferries knows the drill: you place your bags in the rack labelled with the name of your destination, settle on deck or wherever, then return to pick up your bags just before disembarkation. So picture our reaction when we return to the car/luggage deck and find what looks like several hundred bags piled where our backpacks were and, when we pull and throw loads of them to one side, ours are no longer there.

Just as panic sets in, Michaela spots hers, on a rack marked for a different port, several racks away from the correct one. Mine is even further away, and the two backpacks are well apart, each a long way from where we left them.  Passengers are already off the boat by the time we’re loaded up and are hurrying off the ramp, breathing heavily and sighing with relief.

Moments later we are on the bus from the port town across the island to our next base at Naoussa, looking out at a very different scene from our last few stops. Paros is a larger island, a popular holiday destination and very much more geared towards the tourist market; after successive stops on quiet, tiny islands, the port town of Parikia looks like a city to us. What a difference.

Naoussa has a reputation, both generally and with Michaela who has been here before, as one of the prettiest harbours of all of the Greek islands. Even at first sight it is obvious that the reputation is well deserved – a tourist trap it may be, but the tight little harbour, filled with fishing boats and surrounded by fishermen’s storage huts converted into tavernas, is ridiculously quaint.

Those former huts are in that quintessentially Cycladic sugar cube design, clustered tightly around the lapping waters of the harbour. It screams at you to sit down and order fresh fish and retsina. Or maybe, as in our case, a cold beer to recover from “backpack shock”. 

As darkness falls and the subdued lighting of the tavernas kicks in, the little harbour becomes romantic as well as quaint. Judging by the huge number of taverna and bar tables, Naoussa must be a very busy place in high season. It soon also becomes clear that tables around the harbour come with hiked prices: our first meal is the first of the entire trip to top 80 euros. Compare that with an entire night out for less than 30 back in Thessaloniki a few weeks ago.

In fact it’s as if a 2-hour ferry trip has delivered us to a different world. 15 euros for a starter…up to 39 for a main course….5 for a cappuccino…or you can order lobster at 120 euros per kilo. And in the shops, 112 euros for after shave which we can get for 48 on Amazon; Michaela looks at a casual top in a clothes shop, price tag 130 euros. 

Now we’re not exactly on a tight budget, but we are given to wondering who on Earth all these people are who fill these tables and happily pay these inflated prices which are far removed from the normal Greek island experience. Of course, there are some cheaper places back from the waterfront, but wow that view sure comes at a premium.

Paros, and Naoussa, also greet us with a significant blast of island winds, so strong that it’s all but impossible to find refuge. The harbour is a vortex, seafront restaurants are deserted and the alley ways have become wind tunnels. The evening wind has a proper chill factor too.

Whilst the change in weather disrupts our plans for the day, it also makes for some decent seascape photographs….

Paros In Perspective

Our conclusion after spending a few days on Paros and touring most of the island via hire car is that we probably chose the wrong place to stay. Exquisitely picturesque as it is, the truth is that there are some lovely little corners of this island away from the fat prices of fine dining restaurants and Gucci stockists of well heeled Naoussa and away from the quasi-city buzz of port town Parikia.

Tucked away elsewhere are the beautiful hilltop villages of Lefkes (yes a tourist trap but wonderfully quaint) and Kostos (much more still a locals’ village), but take a drive around the coastline and you unearth some seaside getaways of near perfection. Piso Livadi is a gorgeous enclosed harbour with a smart little town and long sandy beach, Alyki is a more open bay and harbour but is equally attractive. Both have a fishing fleet bringing fresh catch to the tavernas, and in both places the calmness of the protected sea seems to feed the same tranquility into the village itself.

If ever we were to return to Paros, our feeling is that we would stay in Alyki rather than the larger towns. Further around the coast are numerous sandy beaches, most notably the so called Golden Beach at Crissi Akti.

In the middle of the island stand the extensive remains of ancient marble quarries. Parian marble was for long periods a sought after commodity used by numerous Greek sculptors and thought to have been the source material for the Venus de Milo. As we walk around the half collapsed quarry buildings, we can still see the unmistakable patterns of marble in the hillside around the edges of the excavated areas.

The ancient marble quarry ……..

The marble is no longer quarried or mined in any great quantity but it is still possible to buy figurines and ornaments sourced and carved locally. Paros is also famous for its quality wines, and while we may not be able to vouch for the quality of the marble, we sure as hell can for the wine!

Tucked away towards the centre of the island is a trail through a valley renowned for its dense butterfly population. After tracking it down by driving dirt tracks and preparing for an interesting trek, we are confronted by barbed wire and a locked gate bearing the notice “Closed: End Of Season”, despite all other information telling us it’s open. 

For our final day here we take a couple of buses and then leave the island via a quirky car ferry over to the sister island of Antiparos, which unsurprisingly feels very similar to Paros, where we finally get to sample a Paros delicacy: sun dried mackerel, known locally as Gouna. 

As we prepare to leave Paros we reflect on our time here which has left us with mixed opinions. Naoussa seems to be the hub of the up market trend, but the influence of that trend is unmissable throughout the island and at even at Alyki at the bottom of the island, the bar is raised commensurately. 

Of course, we have enjoyed some fabulous meals at Naoussa’s pricey restaurants, and also managed to unearth a couple of good quality but more down-to-earth eateries, but generally Paros is an island where there is no “barrel wine” on the menus and shops selling expensive designer clothing outnumber those selling local produce by about ten to one.

Paros is a beautiful island and a perfect destination for the higher budget traveller, but after our time on the Lesser Cyclades islands, being on Paros feels like being outside of Greece. We’re expecting a return to the more customary feel of a Greek island as we move on to our next destination Sifnos.

From Paros To Sifnos

“They are very bad people. Dirty money”. 

Isabella, the hugely likeable matriarch of our host family on Paros, is holding court. “Too many bad people at the top”, she says, “this is how Greece is”.

Isabella always has time to talk, by her own admission she likes to get to know her guests, and our late afternoon ferry means we too have time to kill today. Now, the subject has turned to the recent summer fires across Greece, and Isabella is, disturbingly, the third person we’ve met on this trip to expound the same theory.

There seems to be a widespread opinion that when the heatwave came, significant money changed hands, and those “very bad people” seized an opportunity to plunder. The theory goes that unscrupulous property developers paid significant sums to high ranking officials, who in return turned a blind eye as to the cause of the fires which raged through the very areas previously pinpointed for development by those same companies, the implication being of course that the fires were started deliberately. Clearly this may be the wild fantasy of conspiracy theorists, but Isabella is yet another person to adopt a despairing facial expression and lay out these “facts”. How appalling if what Isabella and others say is true.

Travelling on an evening ferry, which is anyway about 30 minutes late, means that we arrive on Sifnos after dark, a first on this trip. The port village of Kamares feels welcoming with its lighting strung around the bay and its tavernas the centre of chatter.

After the expensive restaurants of Paros, where one evening meal broke the 90-euro barrier, our first meal in Kamares is delicious and authentic and costs 17.50 euros including half a litre of wine. We are, it would appear, back in Greece.

Indeed Sifnos turns out to be a lovely island, afforded some character by the numerous deep ravines which run down the mountains in all directions towards the sea. The largest of these cuts a swathe from the main village of Apollonia down to our base on the coast at Kamares; apparently the River Livadas which runs through this gorge sometimes flows all year round but is bone dry this summer. Both Apollonia and its sister village Artemonas are quiet, charming villages with hefty Venetian houses shoulder to shoulder with squat Cycladic homes.

In fact Sifnos is blessed with several delightful villages: Exampela with its line of windmills, the resort of Platis Gialos with its 1000 metre long sandy beach, while the peaceful cove harbour of Faros is exceptionally cute. Across the island, a series of towers stand in various states of collapse, having once been an effective communication system similar to beacons, in the days when warning of raiding pirates was crucial to survival.

On a rocky headland – actually a tiny island rock joined to the coast by an ancient footbridge – stands Chrisopigi, a spectacularly placed monastery and chapel which is ridiculously photo friendly. On the top of the island, up a decent climb from the road on a stoney trail, are the remains of an ancient Mycenean acropolis known as Agios Andreas, from where we get fabulous views across the dramatic landscapes of this terrific island. 

Kamares at night is a welcoming and relaxing experience. Now that the end of season is approaching and the bars and restaurants are quietening down, staff and villagers have time to talk. They are very proud of their island, its beauty and its pottery. These days, the clay on Sifnos is its main mineral source and there are pottery workshops throughout the island, but in ancient times both gold and silver were mined here, making Sifnos an island once wealthy and powerful.

It seems that either the gold and silver mines were flooded or alternatively exhausted of value, leading to an exodus and a period of desertion. Wikipedia tells us that this is the origin of the island’s name, as “sifnos” is Greek for “empty”, but we can’t find any other trace of this translation.

Our two days exploring Sifnos – one with a hire car, the other using buses – have been fascinating and exciting and there’s no doubt we feel we could be here for longer and, like Amorgos, we would like to return one day. There is a lot more to do here than we have had time to do justice to. 

Sifnos has probably muscled its way into our Top 3 of Greek islands. From here we move on now to Milos, the last island on this adventure before we return to mainland Greece.

Last Of The Islands: Marvellous Milos

We have mixed emotions when we discover that our last ferry journey of this long Greek sojourn is a hulking great catamaran named Champion Jet 2. On the one hand, it’s disappointing that our final crossing won’t be on a quaint island ferry; on the other, there’s a gale blowing and the seas are extremely rough. The powerful craft ploughs through the heaving waves with barely a roll.

And so on to Milos which, if we hadn’t been forced to change our plans back in the first week of August, would have been our third island call rather than our last.  After Milos we will take six days touring a new part of mainland Greece and then it will be back to the UK.

Milos, curved like a croissant around its eponymous bay, makes an immediate impact: we’ve left it late to plan our activities here and we soon learn that there is an awful lot more to Milos than its famous beaches, and our first challenge is how to fit everything in. 

In fact Milos soon shows itself to be an incredible place – there surely can’t be too many places on Earth where so many dramatic scenes and exciting places are crammed into such a small area, let alone on a single island….

Wisps of smoke rise from cracks in the rock stained yellow by sulphur. Stones are warm to the touch close to where soft mineral deposits coat the ground. We are in the middle of the Kalamos volcano high above Milos’ south eastern corner, with just the sulphur fumes and the wind for company. There are no roads to this volcano, no signs indicating its existence, no guided tours and no official presence.

We have in fact simply trekked a couple of miles from the car to find ourselves in this remote place where fumaroles puff out smoke and scorched branches lay on sulphur stained ground. It’s unique in our experience to be able to simply wander into and across a caldera like this, where evidence of volcanic activity is so plain and yet there is no hint of commercialism, or control.

Driving on from Kalamos to the south coast we pass the industrial scenes of the bentonite mines before reaching a couple of those renowned beaches, and no wonder these beaches are notorious. The rock formations in the cliffs behind each beach are amazing in shape, size and colouring: reds and yellows here, the pink and white of a nougat bar there – or is it the red and white of a slab of raw meat on a butcher’s board?

We’re slightly embarrassed to admit that we had to Google what bentonite is, but it’s a fascinating mineral and researching its uses was an education! But what really takes our breath away is a visit to the rim of the Aggeria mine from which both bentonite and sulphur are extracted. The vastness of the place is mind bending, the coloured shelves of the exploited areas incredible, and gigantic. Neither of us have ever seen anything like it.

The open cast mine is a huge deep crater with towering stepped sides like some giant multi coloured sports arena over 2.5km long and 700m wide. This is one of the largest bentonite mines in the world, producing some 10% of the world’s output.

And then there is Sarakiniko, and for at least the third time in our short stay here we are just blown away by what we see. The pure white rocks of the cliffs here have been eroded by both sea and wind to form incredible moulded shapes, some reminiscent of the waves which pound them, some moulded as if by a sculptor’s hand, others like gargoyles on an ancient wall. It’s an unbelievable natural sculpture park.

To cap it all, we visit on a day when the wind is gale force, the sea a spectacular turbulent foaming mass, pounding the snow white shore in a way which shows exactly how the erosion evolves. Yet again we are spellbound and could stand and watch for hours. These spectacular sculpted rocks are in reality lava flows shaped by erosion, consisting mostly of pumice, diatomite and Pliocene limestone, essentially a mix of volcanic output and fossilised life.

Lurking in a cove at the base of a steeply descending road is the pretty hamlet of Klima, which was originally just a set of fishermen’s huts with storage below and sleeping quarters above, utilised by the men of the fleet in the summer months only. The fact that the huts are now brightly painted holiday homes only partly detracts from its attractiveness.

Klima the fishing village lies beneath Klima the ancient city, home to a Roman theatre which gave (and still gives, as occasional events are still held here) a magnificent blue sea backdrop to those watching the action on stage. Within the hillside close by are ancient catacombs with tunnels reaching up to 200 metres in length, filled with tombs holding up to eight bodies each.

Milos offers all of this, and we’ve barely mentioned that it also has over 70 beaches, several relaxed seafront villages, a gorgeous chora at Plaka and several more lovely villages inland. Other coastal spots such as Kleftiko and Papafragas would be an absolute highlight if it wasn’t for Sarakiniko and others being even more stunning. With fascinating and visible strata, amazing coloured rocks, fossils galore and volcanic activity, this place is a geologist’s dream, and yet there is no doubt that Milos has something for absolutely everyone. You could easily spend a month here without running out of things to do.

Across the island and down on the beach at Paliochori on the south coast is a restaurant with a difference. The volcanic nature of Milos means that you don’t have to dig too deep to find serious heat beneath the sand – enough heat in fact for the chef to cook meals by simply digging a hole and placing the fish, in foil, in the hole, and re-covering with sand. Minutes later, or, in the case of meat dishes, several hours later, the food is perfectly cooked and ready to eat.

We simply have to experience this – and sitting watching the afternoon sun slip from the sky turning the sea into a dazzle, eating delicious fish prepared in such an unusual manner, is a fabulous way to end our time on Milos.

By pure good fortune we have ended our island adventure on one of the most stunning and exciting of all of the islands. Our 12-week adventure is nearly over, with just a week on mainland Greece left. After visiting 17 islands in 61 days, making 22 ferry journeys and losing count of the number of goat and fish dinners we’ve eaten, we leave island life behind for a quick 6-day trip across the Peloponnese. 

We are now very well versed on Greek islands and without doubt we have a new perspective on island hopping 2021 version. Some things have undoubtedly and inevitably changed, but it’s been a terrific journey.

Athens & Kalamata: Tales From Two Cities

After eleven weeks in Greece and its islands we are into the last week of our journey through this sun soaked land, leaving the wonderful island of Milos and taking the short prop plane flight over the Aegean to Athens. Amusingly the bus ride from Athens airport to Syntagma Square takes considerably longer than the flight.

It’s only two years since we were last here in the Greek capital so this visit is one of expedience and we are here just for a single night, in an 8th floor hotel room with magnificent views of the Acropolis. After so many weeks in an assortment of apartments and houses, a hotel room feels rather strange, and cramped! 

We are immediately struck by the prices here, but not in the way one might expect – food and drink are considerably cheaper than on most of the islands. In a development which has taken us a little by surprise, prices in both Thessaloniki and Athens are like Greece used to be – a lot lower than at home – whilst many of the islands have not been the bargains they once were.

The downtown districts of Plaka and Monastriaki are as welcoming and lively as ever and live street music has, happily, made a return after the COVID ban. It all feels pretty stimulating to be back in a city vibe after island hopping for so long.

From Athens, it’s a bus journey of three and a quarter hours across the Peloponnese to our next destination at Kalamata on the Mediterranean coast. This is our second long distance journey on the KTEL bus service on this trip – after Delphi to Athens a few weeks ago – and we are mightily impressed by their service, which on both occasions is comfortable, air conditioned and prompt. 

Kalamata has a riviera seafront and an old town district with great tavernas, but the two are at least two miles apart with most of the distance in between filled with a singularly unattractive grid of straight roads and identical apartment blocks.

We do though stumble on an unexpected sight of which we knew nothing till we walked past a stretch of parkland. The railway no longer runs to Kalamata, but it once provided services to both the busy industrial port and passenger traffic alike. When the line was closed, instead of digging up the tracks, it seems someone had the rather bright idea to create an open air railway museum by driving several trains on to the last section of track and simply leaving them there. 

Phil couldn’t resist……..

The result is a special tribute to railway history: steam engines, freight trucks and passenger coaches sit proudly in the park, next to the beautifully preserved old railway station building. And not a hint of vandalism or graffiti despite being so readily accessible in open parkland.

Like the previous night in Athens, Kalamata is a one nighter, but we still have time for another surprise as we find a couple of rock bars up in the old town, the kind of bar which is rather more common in Germany than here in Greece. This part of town has a pleasingly ordinary feel, just a few bars and no real sense of a tourist market.

Rock music and beer…….Phil is happy

These bars and tavernas are just off a plaza with a name which translates as March 23rd Square. Kalamata was the very first place to be liberated from Ottoman rule in the Greek War Of Independence, effectively sewing the seeds for the country we know as Greece today. Liberation came on March 23rd 1821 – and we see numerous references to the bicentenary as we walk through the city, from flags and banners through to what appears to be “official graffiti” along the harbour wall. They seem very proud of their heritage here.

It’s only been a very brief visit, but our evening in the old town and the “railway park” were the surprise highlights of our stay in Kalamata; from here we head once more to ancient sites.

Olympia: Stories Of Past And Present

It’s with a sense of anticipation that we collect our final hire car – our eleventh of the trip – and leave Kalamata behind after our very brief stay. It may be the last few days of this long adventure but we have some exciting places lined up before we are done.

Throughout the 90-minute drive it is very plain that we are in different territory now; this area experiences much more autumn and winter rainfall than most of Greece, making for the kind of lush greenery which we haven’t seen for many weeks. There are deciduous trees, giant bamboos and even a combine harvester as hard evidence of change, as we cross wide flowing rivers in verdant valleys.

Our next call is Olympia, immensely important city of ancient Greece and of course the birthplace of the original Olympic Games. The ancient site is much bigger than we expect, ruins of this once great city sprawling across wide pine- and plane-clad areas on the slopes of Mount Kronos above the valley of the River Alfeios.

Walking through the archway and out into the “stadium” which was home to those first sporting events so many centuries ago is almost an eerie feeling. To any fan accustomed to entering a modern sports stadium, walking into the Colosseum in Rome is spine tingling: well, entering Olympia is just as evocative, the dead straight running track stretching out ahead of us just as it would have done to those first athletes almost 3,000 years ago.

Incongruously though, the scent in the air is one of English summertime. So fertile is this region that shrub trimming and grass cutting is necessary, and the air is filled with the smell of freshly mown grass – not a smell you would associate with Greece.

The stadium, the surrounding ancient site, and the two attendant museums are all terrific – the archeological museum has literally thousands of artefacts found under the stadium and city, whereas the Museum Of The History Of The Olympic Games has so many fascinating facts that we are kept amused for ages.

Did you know, for instance, that the original games were held every four years for 1,169 years? Or that in order to prove their worthiness as competitors, athletes were required to walk 56 kilometres from Elis to Olympia immediately before taking part? Or that athletes who cheated were fined – and those fines raised enough money for a large bronze statue of Zeus to be commissioned? Or, indeed, that all athletes had to compete naked – and that the Greek word for “nude” is gymnos, the root of our words “gymnasium” and “gymnastics”? No, nor did we…and there were plenty more facts too!

Ancient Olympia began life as a sacred city dedicated to Zeus prior to instigation of the Games, quickly becoming an area so sacrosanct that any kind of military presence was unlawful. Later, to enable athletes to travel to Olympia and compete in safety, all parties from all areas were required to sign the Sacred Olympic Truce, thus suspending all warfare and disputes for the duration of the Games.

The new Olympia village, right next to the ancient site, is a very pleasant, leafy affair with those distinctive characteristics of a small town dominated by its proximity to a major attraction. It’s quiet this evening, the height of season over and most visitors to Olympia coming and going in bus loads without staying overnight, a point we make to the restaurant owner.

“Have you had a good summer this year?”, asks Michaela, as we’ve heard everywhere since Serifos that Greece has enjoyed a bumper year as the recovery from lockdown takes effect.

“Not really”, he sighs, “at first it was so good, lots of people come, then we had the fires, and after the fires, nobody comes”.

“Oh, of course, you had the fires near here. Was it really bad?”

He sighs a big sigh, pulls up a chair and sits down at our table.

“Terrible”, he says quietly, “the fire was everywhere. We were all afraid”. 

“So you had a year of pandemic, then just when things are looking up, you have the fires. That’s a disaster for you”.

“No, not disaster, not for me”. His voice drops further. “Not disaster, just bad. Disaster for people here who lose their home. Now they have nothing”.

He gestures towards one end of the village. “And over here”, he says, “two of my friends die. They are old, and couldn’t escape”. 

We all fall silent.

Michaela somehow manages to say the right thing and the conversation re-starts.

Travelling and meeting people so often gives you a tiny window into someone else’s life. Just occasionally it’s a horror story. 

Driving away from Olympia we get an all too clear view of just how close the horrific fires of the summer came: the extensive burnt areas start immediately outside the village and stretch for square mile after square mile in every direction. Lines of where the fire stopped are so easily identifiable as charred hillside turns to lush green in a sudden line.

It must have been terrifying watching those fires burn closer and closer.

Gytheio: Final Call

And now, with just days remaining, we head to the very last destination of this 12-week tour, down to the coastal town of Gytheio, which neither of us had ever heard of until we started researching where to spend these last few days. 

Likewise, we knew nothing of Mystras until we take a diversion about an hour short of Gytheio, and discover a gem of a place – one last terrific historic site before we end this trip. The new Mystras is a lovely little mountain village where, it turns out, we would have been content to see out the rest of our stay.

Way above this delightful village, on Mount Taygetos, are the impressive ruins of the original Mystras, with extensive remains of city buildings, churches, a mighty palace and, on the very top of the mountain, a fortress. This fortified city, built on steep slopes with narrow cobbled streets, became the Byzantine administrative centre and, after surrender in 1460, an Ottoman stronghold.

Second in importance only to Constantinople, Mystras also became a cultural haven, attracting artists, musicians and architects of the highest calibre. Its history reads like a Byzantine Versailles or Florence. We climb through its cobbled streets and magnificent palaces to the very top, for fabulous views across the lush Mani peninsula. A soaring isolated mountain with natural springs surrounded by fertile arable lands seems the perfect setting for a fortified city: no wonder Mystras flourished.

Gytheio (as ever, alternative spellings are available!) looks more Italian than Greek, its colourful 4- and 5-storey buildings putting us in mind of the shores of Lake Garda or perhaps a coast further south. The town fills the narrow space between sea and mountain, the result being a nicely condensed, neat town of smart buildings. Even the derelict ones are rich in character.

A tiny island, Cranae, is these days connected to the town by manmade causeway, but is according to legend the place where Paris and Helen first spent the night together before departing for Troy and igniting the Trojan War. That most auspicious spot is now marked with a lighthouse, though we do also see a handful of locals out collecting the luscious edible snails.

Around the bay from Gytheio is the unusual sight of a shipwreck right on the beach; there are three separate histories surrounding how the Dimitrios came to be grounded in December 1981, mostly related to financial skullduggery, but its final resting place on the sandy Valtaki beach makes it these days something of a novel tourist attraction.

As we thought they might, the customary October rains arrive in Gytheio less than 24 hours after we do, the first meaningful rain we have seen on the entire trip, and this is Day 82. We can’t complain.

Our final sortie is a trip out to the Cave Of Diros, a major network of sea caves which have only recently been surveyed and charted, with so far 14,700 metres of cave mapped out. The tour through the cave – half in rowing boat and half on foot – takes us past a mesmerising collection of stalactites and stalagmites.

From the cave we stop off in the village of Areopolis, where the houses, built or at least faced with local stone, give an appearance of rural mountain dwellings rather than classic Greek architecture. The result is a very quaint and appealing village.

Well, that’s it. All that’s left to do now is drive back across the Peloponnese to Kalamata airport, drop off the hire car and head for home. It’s been 84 days, we’ve had a great deal of sunshine, quite a bit of wind and precious little rain. We’ve overnighted in 26 different towns and villages, visited 17 islands; there’s been 11 different hire cars, 22 ferry crossings, 3 long distance bus rides, 3 trains and a whole load of walking. In fact, by the end of Day 83, we’ve walked a total of 631.20 miles at an average of 7.60 per day – and that average includes days on transport. Three pairs of shoes bit the dust and ended up in Greek dustbins.

The trip has given us an in-depth understanding of the Greek islands – we’re probably authorities now – particularly how island hopping has changed over the years and how the 2021 version works. We will explain more on this if and when we do a reflective post.

So all that’s left now is to hope we’ve done our COVID based virtual paperwork correctly.

It’s not been a bad summer one way and another.

Greek Island Hopping: What’s Changed?

Guaranteed sunshine; hot days and balmy evenings; unbelievably blue seas and crystal clear waters; blue and white houses and cloudless skies – the Greek islands are still a beautiful sight with a huge feelgood factor. 

But these islands have changed. Island hopping has changed. These are still beautiful places to visit, make no mistake, nobody can change the dramatic scenery or those intense colours, but just a little bit of the magic has perhaps gone and the old pioneer spirit of island hopping is no longer really there.

Let us explain. Over the last few weeks, and indeed over our last few visits, we have reached the conclusion that there is not really these days any such thing as a truly unspoilt Greek island, nor any island which is completely untouched by tourism. Each island is affected and influenced by tourism, the differences between the islands now are really, to what degree each island has been influenced, and which market the island has aimed for.

So for the description “get away from it all”, read “not a party island”; for “unspoilt”, read “lower key tourism”. Development is usually subtle and sympathetic, new properties built in the same style as old, but you are extremely unlikely to ever find anything as authentically Greek as in, say, a provincial town on the mainland, except in occasional remote island villages.

The clamour of room hawkers and travellers plying trade at the ferry port has all but gone, replaced presumably by online booking and the likes of airbnb. Your friendly English speaking waiter will turn out to be an Albanian working on the island for the summer season. Empty houses aren’t rooms waiting to be taken, they are the second homes of wealthy Athenians.

Quaint little ferries with unreliable schedules have given way to bigger vessels including high speed catamarans with prices which bear no resemblance to the bargains of yesteryear.

Lounge music and reggae bars are far more frequent than a balalaika. Prices have leapt beyond recognition; the cheaper islands are not that different from home, the classier ones closer to London prices. It’s quite rare now to find a cheap island, and in fact we found towns and cities on the mainland an awful lot cheaper.

The stunning beauty remains, the sea as blue as ever, sunsets and sunrises as gorgeous as ever. Anyone visiting these islands for the first time will still be blown away and will most likely think they are in paradise. For those able to remember past times, a little bit of the magic has undoubtedly gone.

Journeys In Greek Food

Our very good friend Terrie, food specialist and food historian, always wants to know more about our food experiences on our travels, so this post is for you, Terrie.

Taking time to travel through a country brings with it interesting regional variations to cuisine, and our recent Greek trip was a good example. Some dishes stayed pretty constant, some showed subtle changes as we moved through the regions, others were peculiar to a specific region and disappeared from menus as we moved on. 

Feast your eyes on this selection….