Tavuk Sis To Souvlaki: From Turkey To A Greek Island 

What in God’s name possessed us to decide to leave the waterproofs at home? How on Earth did seasoned travellers like us make the conscious decision to leave them out of the backpacks until next time? Well somehow that’s what we did, which is how we come to be heading to the ferry in the early morning light by lurching from shop doorway to shop doorway in order to keep out of the worst of the rain. Mercifully it eases off just as we reach the open territory of the dock and we can pick our way through the puddles without getting a dousing. Just.

An hour later – though actually at the same time due to the disparity between Greek time and Turkish time – we are picking our way through puddles which speak a different language and reflect a different world. Our ferry takes an hour but the more expensive catamaran can do the same crossing in just 20 minutes – it’s really strange to think that there’s only such a short time between these two places yet the difference in culture and heritage is so plain. Five minutes of walking from passport control to the town and this is indisputably, unmissably Greek.

We have arrived on the island of Kos and it’s just after 9am on a November Monday. Much of Kos Town is closed, more so even than Fethiye or Bodrum – the doors of big restaurants are padlocked and the chairs are on tables indoors, tills and card machines switched off for the winter. A-boards are stacked behind windows, menus removed from the now empty lecterns, chequered tablecloths resigned to hibernation and there are even ATMs which are sealed off and out of bounds till next April. The season is well and truly over, the locals have their town back for a few months. It’s chilly, it’s cloudy, mopeds splash through puddles – Greeks are not renowned for early starts at any time of year but on a grey November morning it’s as if nobody is smelling the coffee yet, let alone climbing out of bed. 

“What are you doing here?”, asks the lady in the grocery store, and frowns when we tell her our reasons. “But it’s cold now, why come now?”. As we are very soon to discover, there are real bonuses to be had by coming here now, not least the fact that those establishments which are still open are the genuine tavernas, those where the locals come out to eat and the village wine takes the value-for-money factor to a whole new level. Another 5 euro carafe with your souvlaki, Sir? Oh, go on then. 

Kos Town has a legitimate claim to be the birthplace of medical care as we know it. Beneath the plane tree in the centre of town, the legendary Hippocrates, born on the island, taught lessons in medicine to eager pupils. A descendant of the plane tree, now an ancient being in its own right, stands supported by scaffolding in Kos Town centre. A few miles inland from the town lies the Aesklepion, an extensive ruin on four terraced levels, believed by some historians to be the World’s very first site of medical education and treatment. Mind you, some of those early treatments were a little, erm, interesting. Playing tricks on people doped with opium smoke to make them believe they’d had a visitation from God, and locking patients for a night in a pitch dark chamber filled with snakes were just two of the treatments designed to “shock the sufferer into good health”. You can’t get those on the NHS.

Kos the island has to say the least a varied history in terms of occupation and ownership, passing through Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, Genoese, Ottoman and Italian eras, in that order, until occupied by the Germans during WWII, briefly becoming a British protectorate upon cessation of the war and finally ceded to Greece in 1947. Despite this changing history and the relatively short time it’s been held by Athens, Kos absolutely feels Greek. 

Mornings are heralded now by the chiming of bells rather than the call of the muezzin, it’s souvla instead of ocakbaşi, Mythos in place of Efes, kalimera rather than merhaba. 

One of the consequences of this long and varied history is that Kos has more than its fair share of archeological sites and spectacular ruins – you don’t have to travel far from one to explore the next. For the third time on this short trip, after Fethiye and Datça, we collect a rental car for a few days in order to take in the island, and there is much to see.

Mountains run down the spine of Kos, quaint bougainvillea splashed villages dot the hillsides, peace reigns supreme. In addition, there’s gushing cold water springs in the mountains and thermal springs pumping hot water into the sea as a result of past volcanic activity on nearby Nysiros. There are many more miles of sandy beach than most Greek islands can lay claim to, too. Some of these beach towns are weird places in November: there is absolutely nothing left. Not only is everything closed down and boarded up for winter, but, because these are ersatz villages catering for in-season vacationers, they are devoid of permanent population. There is, literally, nobody here in these strange temporary locations, probably not until pre-season preening time arrives. Tigaki, which looks every inch a lovely holiday destination, is the ghostliest of the ghost towns. After the gold rush, indeed.

Just along the coast from Kefalos, the lengthy expanse of sand known as Paradise Beach does its best to live up to its name – of course it’s quiet now with just a handful of people dotted along its length, but its calm beauty is undeniable. In hot summer sun this place must genuinely be a little piece of paradise. Even now we’re tempted to take a dip in its clear waters, maybe we’ll make a return if the weather plays ball.

It’s near Paradise Beach that we first hear it. Somewhere inside the closed down restaurant, there is a continuous, repetitive miaowing which is both drawling and plaintive. Somewhere in this rambling, empty building, a cat is in distress. Animal lovers – and particularly in my case cat lovers – that we are, we can’t leave without seeing what we can do to help. Eventually I find him, cowering beneath large leaves, miaowing over and over again and barely taking a breath. But he seems fine – his coat is silky, he is walking OK, he lets me pick him up and caress him. We can’t understand the reason for his distress. Then suddenly Michaela remembers a similar tale from her childhood. “I think he’s deaf”, she says. I go behind him and clap my hands – no reaction. I make that hissing sound which cats hate – no reaction. Michaela is right, he’s deaf, and he doesn’t know he’s making all this noise. As we drive away, his eyes are fixed on me, his little mouth opening and closing with plaintive cries which only he can’t hear. And I’ve just left a little piece of my heart at Paradise Beach.

Our road trips also take in the remains of Antimachia castle, the attractive town of Kefalos with the remains of its clifftop fortress and the winding roads leading to the mountaintop village of Zia. Zia is also closed and nigh on deserted, save for a group of old ladies chatting over a wall. From this high level vantage point, the clear views across the rest of Kos and on to dozens of other islands and the Turkish mainland, make the drive to the top worth every minute.

Central to the island is the small town of Pyli, split into its newer and older halves, where it seems half the population is dressed in black and heading for the church from which bells chime slowly and solemnly. A village character has clearly passed away. Unable to take what would be intrusive photographs of the picturesque church, we wander instead around the fountains of the gushing spring, past quaint chapels and silent homes, to the modest village square where the taverna is being prepared to receive the mourners. As with all funerals, it’s starting to rain.

As we make our way around Kos the island, we can’t help but wonder what life is like for the islanders once the holidaymakers and the summer sun is gone. What do all the restauranteurs, chefs, barmen, boatmen etc all do in the winter? Michaela takes the opportunity to practice her Greek and ventures to ask a group of ladies precisely that question….how do you fill your time in winter?

“Easy”, says one, smiling, “we stay indoors and eat cake”.