Kalymnos: Diving For Sponge And The Joy Of Meze

Skevos is clearly pleased to see us or, more accurately, pleased to see someone, anyone, because being a museum curator out of season can be a lonely job. He has a face which carries a natural smile which is completely disarming in its sincerity. His full head of cascading white hair is long enough to sit neatly on the shoulders of his zipper jacket, nestling on the collar in the style of a rock band lead singer still strutting his stuff in the bars of Pothia. But he’s not here to sing, he’s here to tell us about sponge diving.

Sponge diving museum

He does so in articulate English and with a passion which betrays a family history in this most dangerous, daring of trades. Such is his enthusiasm that he regularly interrupts the introductory video to explain finer points in greater detail, putting the show on pause and swapping recorded narrative for passionate insight. The guy is magnetic and captivating, bringing this astonishing story to life as we hang on his every word.

The life of a sponge diver was one of continuously dicing with death in more ways than you can imagine. Paralysis brought on by “the bends”, death through accident, attacks by sharks and stingrays were the principal fears, but in addition to the ever present danger it was surely a life of misery too – each sortie was a trip of 6-7 months’ duration, working seven days a week, performing three dives per day. That’s around 600 dives per shift, away from home for half of each year, in places as distant as the North Africa coast.

So primitive was the equipment used that we continually gasp at what Skevos tells us: a slab of marble carried by the diver to ensure he was heavy enough to reach the seabed, incredibly basic breathing equipment, diving to depths of over 70 metres and staying down for 35 minutes on each of the three dives per day. And how was the 35 minutes measured in order to avoid death? By a fellow diver on the boat turning a basic egg timer 11 times and calling out when time was up.

So many other facts just bring home the horrors and dangers of the life of a sponge diver. Here’s a few. The 7 months’ salary was paid to the divers’ wives before the trip commenced, such was the likelihood that they wouldn’t all return. Up front payment put enormous pressure on the divers to succeed in their quest and captains were brutal in their demands, to the point that human life was an expendable collateral. The tiny boat had no facilities – seven months in open sun and salt water with no washing facilities; food taken at the outset which by the end is six months old; cooking water stored in containers which had previously carried petrol; no toilets, no beds, food rationed to one small meal each evening. All on top of the incredibly dangerous job.

One last thing. In the modern era, surfacing from such depths requires a minimum 32 minutes to avoid “the bends”. To maximise diving time and switch from one diver to the next, these guys were brought up in 4 (four!!) minutes. Fatalities were common, crippling and paralysis equally so. Few lived beyond 40.

Sponges though were lucrative business. Divers received around five times the pay of fishermen or mechanics, while boat captains, traders and exporters acquired substantial wealth – so much so that right up to today, Kalymnos is considered to be one of the better off of the Greek islands. Amongst the beautiful buildings of Pothia, some sponge shops remain, though not many, natural sponge having been mostly replaced by synthetic products. Those sponges which still hit the market are nowadays gathered by the island’s fishing fleet in, of course, a substantially safer environment. 

And Pothia’s architecture is indeed an absolute delight, Neoclassical buildings with angular gables, majestic churches with spires and clock towers, Italianate design, characterful tight streets with proudly renovated town houses rubbing shoulders with crumbling properties which just ooze personality.

Away from Pothia, Kalymnos is a largely barren island dominated by soaring rocky mountains with little or no topsoil, indeed the canyons running inland from Pothia and Vathy are the only truly fertile areas. Driving the island is not an easy exercise – roads away from the towns are twisting affairs rich with tight hairpins, whereas roads through all towns and villages, Pothia included, are tight streets barely wide enough for anything more than a standard car yet filled with parked vehicles and carelessly abandoned mopeds. 

The magnificent monastery of St Savvas looks down on Pothia from on high, castles, monasteries and ruins are tucked into many of the mountainsides, but probably our most thrilling call is at the cave church of Kyra Psili. Getting there isn’t easy, a hair raising drive up an unprotected track clinging to the escarpment is followed by an equally precipitous upward hike where loose stones, steep drops and the buffeting Meltemi wind do their best to send us back.

Saint Savvas, Kalymnos

But we persevere and it is so worth it, the tiny chapels chiselled into rocky caves, silent and miles from civilisation, constitute an eerie and mysterious place behind a heavy door tied shut with rope. Remote chapels created out of deep faith or from divine inspiration are always places full of deep mystery and a strong “presence”, and Kyra Psili is certainly no exception.

Pothia is a delightful looking town, kind of creating the picture perfect image of a Greek island port town, and now in late November much livelier than Kos, maybe evidence of the suggestion that Kalymnos people are generally a little better off than most other islanders. The Meltemi wind continues to power through but it’s not deterring the people of Pothia who happily fill the bars and cafes, wrapped up against the cold.

This onset of colder weather brings a huge benefit though in the quality of light, everything is so beautifully clear. Summits of mountains are crisply defined against the blue sky, the horizon is a perfect sharp line and the rocky slopes of the mountains themselves are beautifully framed in the crystal clear air.

We can’t leave Kalymnos without mentioning the food – this is surely Greek cuisine at its best. Because ouzo and tsipouro places dominate, the emphasis is on meze rather than large meals, and the result is a fabulous opportunity to try a whole range of different treats from unusual seafood (eg octopus meatballs, sea urchin roe) to sumptuously fresh veg dishes, fish straight from the boat and of course the ubiquitous souvlaki. The staple salad here is not the usual Greek salad either, but instead one named mermizeli, with soft cheese and crispy rusks in the mix – rusks which, just to take things from delicious to sublime, are laced with fennel.

Kalymnos has been delightful, Pothia doubly so. One of those rare places to which we would happily return.