Greece 2011, Amorgos – Egiali to Katapola

After a second breakfast on the terrace and several cups of tea we packed our bags and went for a last walk into the pretty village of Egiali and rechecked the bus timetable just to be sure that there wasn’t an alternative schedule on a Sunday. There wasn’t and I knew that already but I checked anyway, it’s a bit like that thing that English people do when they get on a bus or a train and even though they know the answer they ask the destination several times of different people just to be certain.

The bus fare to Katapola was good value at only €2.50 each and after we paid the driver started the engine and left Egiali dead on time. We had liked it here and if we planning the trip again we would have squeezed an extra night in at the Filoxenia but our plans were made and we had a room booked in Katapola in the south of the island.

We sat close to the front of the bus and in the seat directly behind the driver there was an old woman who was determined to talk constantly in some sort of quest to distract him as he eased the vehicle out of the village and began the ascent to the top of the mountain that separates the two ends of the island. Before this road was built the only effective way to get between Egiali and Katapola was by ferry but this new road provides a useful dry land alternative.

At first we passed through what might be loosely described as fields with rows of derelict terraces and dry stonewalls that separated the hillside into individual plots of land. Amorgos is mostly inhospitable rock that has been baked hard in the sun for thousands of years but as recently as only fifty years ago people here were scraping away at the thin soil and the stones to try and make a living or to feed the family by growing fruit and vegetables. Each islander had a personal plot and would attend each day to manage and tend the land. They had to carry all of the water to the side of these plots and the only way to achieve this was by using a donkey. Then in the 1960s visitors started to arrive and the enterprising islanders realised that there was more money to be made renting out the back room and this was also a lot easier than a twelve-hour day toiling under a hot sun.

The terraces are all abandoned now to thistles and what other few plants can survive in a hostile environment and they are unlikely ever to be cultivated again. There is no one to look after them or protect the heritage, each year parts of the walls collapse and disappear and soon they will be gone altogether and that will be a sad day. Although no one will ever see it again I like to imagine what this hillside might have looked like fifty years ago with farmers scratching away at the ground, donkeys patiently waiting to return to the town and fishing boats slipping in and out of the harbour below.

As the bus climbed higher and the engine began to labour and groan the sides of the mountain became greener with rugged plants clinging stubbornly to the thin soil and then we reached the top of the mountainous spine of the island and we could see all the way down across the Chora and into the port of Katapola and still the woman in the seat behind the driver kept talking – I’d have backed that woman in a talk-off against my mum!

The bus stopped briefly at the Chora to pick up more passengers and then the driver set off down the hairpin bends of the mountain road and down to the port. I think he liked this part of the journey because he made extravagant manoeuvres with theatrical turns of the steering wheel and he was confident too, even at one stage of the precipitous descent taking time out to make a telephone call while still listening to the woman behind him jabbering away.

After only a few minutes we arrived at the final bus stop, got off and met the owner of the apartments, the Villa Katapoliana where we had stayed previously and were hoping for the same room that we had liked. We were to be disappointed on that score but we had a nice room anyway and a balcony that was surrounded by flowers and trees so we settled in and then went out to reacquaint ourselves with one of our favourite islands.

Greece 2011, The Boat Souvenir Project and Wasting Precious Water

Lagadha was a wonderful place full of sights and sounds to provide a satisfying Greek fix, a braying donkey resting in the shade who seemed to strongly object to having its picture taken, two outrageously gay Italian men arguing theatrically with each other about which directions to take back to the car park and a fish delivery van and a driver who announced its arrival in the village by blowing loudly on a conch shell. Soon it was decision making time – should we walk back to Egiali down the difficult donkey track or should we find somewhere for a cool Mythos and wait for the one o’clock bus? Secretly we both knew the answer to that and we found a nice place in the shade in the main square and placed our order.

At the next table there was an elderly English lady who looked as though she had just stepped out of a Merchant Ivory film with a very plumy voice which on account of her conversation about all things country and hunting I guessed might be from somewhere like Rutland. After she had established our shared nationality – ‘Ah, fellow Engleesh’ she declared at the top of her voice ‘Ha did ewe get har?’ and we told her that we had arrived by ferry. ‘Gud, Gud’ she said as though this was some massive achievement but I couldn’t help thinking that this was rather obvious and wondering how else she thought we might have arrived unless the airborne division of the SAS had parachuted us in or the European Union have suddenly funded an Aegean tunnel link to Naxos! Before leaving with her Greek companions she made some recommendations about Amorgos specifically and the Greek Islands in general and then she was gone. And so were we shortly after that because it was time to catch the bus which, I had to agree, was a great deal easier than walking.

In the afternoon we strolled to the beach and went for a swim in the sea and I continued my search for interesting bits of driftwood. Despite her earlier lack of enthusiasm even Kim was showing some interest in the project and by now we had the pieces we needed for the hull, the mast, the rudder and a cabin, some cuttlefish for sails and miscellaneous bits of twig and sticks for the sea. Later as I scavenged the harbour for other useful bits a helpful fisherman provided some authentic cord which was going to be just perfect for the nets.

The beach was close to the port but there was no activity of any kind because there were no more boats due today. It’s nice to see boats because it means there is still some connection with the rest of the world, or did I get that wrong and it is the other way round?

Not being dedicated beach people we stayed just long enough to dry off and then returned through the village and back to the hotel where we let the rest of the afternoon slip away. After four days it was time for a shave and I mention this not because anyone would be remotely interest in my ablutions but because I have noticed a curious thing about bathroom wash basins in Greek hotels. In almost every bathroom there is a notice on the wall explaining how precious water is and encouraging guests not to waste it – so curious then that there is hardly ever a basin plug and if there is then it more than likely will not fit and the water just pours away into the u bend and beyond. Surely if they are serious about being careful with water then it would be sensible to provide a simple piece of rubber on a chain to make sure that to take a shave you don’t have to keep the tap running continuously!

After the sunset we examined the ferry schedules and bought tickets for the next three legs of the journey, Amorgos to Koufonisia, Koufonisia to Naxos and Naxos to Ios and then we returned to the same restaurant, which was quieter tonight and had a second delicious evening meal selecting the beetroot starter and fish soup and grilled fish to finish.

Greece 2011, Amorgos and Egiali

Kim was the first to wake and by now she had perfected the art of making as much noise as possible and opening the shutters to shine the sun in my eyes that it wasn’t very long before I was on my way to the mini-market with a shopping list for breakfast provisions.

On some of the bigger islands big name supermarkets are starting to appear (later this week were disappointed to find a Carrefour Express on the island of Ios) but that sort of unwelcome progress has not reached as far as Egiali and the two local mini-markets were delightfully old-fashioned and traditionally disorganised with shelves full of random items irregularly stacked, dusty corners to investigate and curious items for sale. After a look around I selected pastries, yoghurt and fruit and walked back to the Filoxenia.

During breakfast on the balcony we noticed with some nervousness that there was some stubborn cloud clinging to the tops of the mountains that surround the town like a crescent rock stockade but we were comforted by a stiff breeze that kept dislodging big lumps of it and blowing it away far to the east.

The plan today was to visit the nearby village of Lagadha and there was a bus due at quarter to eleven but having inherited my dad’s aversion to paying unnecessary bus fares, and as it was only half past nine, I persuaded Kim to walk the couple of kilometres by road and footpath instead. I almost instantly regretted this when after only a couple of hundred metres or so the path began to climb and Kim slipped into full whinging mode. Kim’s whinging can come on like this without any warning whatsoever and it quickly reaches maximum on the moan metre and it was at this time that I decided that when we got home I would write to the local rambling association and tell them to disregard our application for membership.

The road zigzagged all the way up and we could see it looping away from us in front so I was glad when we came across a stony donkey track that was a more direct route and we left the road and tackled the steps instead disturbing and scattering the basking lizards as we went. It was uneven and difficult in sandals and Kim found the going tough but it was a lot easier for someone in peak physical condition like myself!

Once inside the whitewashed walls of the village we quickly found a roof top bar where we could rest a while and Kim could get her breath back. A nice feature in the bars and cafés in Amorgos was the hospitable habit of providing customers with a glass of cold water. I was unsure of this at first because I was brought up with a paranoia of drinking water abroad, so bad that I used to wash my teeth in bottled water in case I inadvertently swallowed a millilitre or two. In fact the first time that I went to Greece, to Kos in 1983, I had to have typhoid injections and a certificate to prove it! (This suddenly reminded me of the awful 1974 British sit-com called ‘Don’t Drink The Water’). Well, how things change and now it appears to be safe to drink the water across the whole of the European Union without suffering ill effects or an upset stomach and this was certainly the case in Amorgos

Rested and cooled down we returned to the quaint narrow streets with decorated paving and adjacent buildings all whitewashed and blue. All whitewashed and blue because since 1974 in a law passed by the military government of the time all houses have had to be painted white and church domes blue. Recently a debate has been re-opened between the Ministry of Culture and other authorities about allowing the use of alternative colours but as yet the law remains in place.

In the middle of the village we came across a curious shop and when I peaked inside the gloomy interior an old man invited us in. It was a sort of workshop and he explained to us that he was the village carpenter, the village hardware store, liquor supplier and barber! He obligingly showed us around and explained the family pictures hanging on the walls and invited me to have a haircut but I respectfully declined when I saw the age and condition of the clippers!

Greece 2011, Paros to Amorgos

We had to set the alarm today because there was an early ferry at half past nine so we woke, packed and went downstairs to be the first on the breakfast terrace. After several cups of tea and an above average continental breakfast we paid up, said goodbye and rejecting the offer of transport walked to the port. Turning down the lift was something we quickly regretted because the pavement was uneven, our bags were heavy and even though it was early it was already quite hot.

Soon after we arrived at what is euphemistically described as the departure gate our boat, the Anek Lines, Artemis, arrived on time and we made our way with the handful of fellow passengers to the top deck in the sunshine and as soon as everyone was on board it set off and slipped out of port. The Artemis, named after the Greek Goddess of the wilderness, the hunt, wild animals and fertility (so quite a spread of responsibility), is a slow boat with a reassuring rhythmic throb of a reliable old engine and we sat in the middle of the boat and took comfort from that.

At first the Artemis closely followed the rugged coastline of Paros punctuated every now and again with white Cycladic churches and little fishing villages and then past the picturesque port of Naoussa on the north-west of the island and soon after that the island of Naxos started to reveal itself. Just a hazy outline at first but getting sharper with more detail as we got closer in the way that a water colour painter might start with the first blurred colour wash and then progressively fill in the detail.

The Artemis called in at Naxos and exchanged some old passengers for new ones and then set off sedately south down the narrow channel that separates Naxos from Paros and ahead of us we could make out the island of Ios. Around the south of Naxos the coastline became more inhospitable with jutting peaks and deep rocky gorges and this made me realise that these are actually the bits of the land that the sea doesn’t want and a short while later we entered the islands to the west of Naxos called the Little Cyclades.

Artemis called first at Iraklia where in the small port the sunlight was dancing like dainty fairies on the corrugated surface of the gently rippling water and then after we left a few minutes later we were in Schinoussa which looked like an island that time had forgotten! Out of Schinoussa a Cycladic wind came from nowhere, the seas started to froth and build into frothy meringue peaks and the salt spray reached all the way up to the upper deck forcing people inside. Not us though. We kept our steadfast resolve and remained up top.

Sometimes Greek ferry journeys feel very functional, a case of just leaving somewhere to get somewhere else but this was not one of those journeys, this was much more like a pleasant five and a half hour Aegean cruise, sitting in the sun, watching the islands slip by one by one with a book in one hand and a can of Mythos in the other.

After Koufonissia the rough seas died down as quickly as they had sprung up and soon we were approaching the southern Amorgos port of Katapola where we would be returning in a few days time. The ferry continued its journey along the west coast of Amorgos, an island shaped like a seahorse and rising like a wall of stone from the sea almost in a no-man’s land between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese, dry, brown, arid and hot and after forty minutes we arrived in the northern port of Egiali where we were met by the owners of the Hotel Filoxenia who unnecessarily transported us by mini bus the one hundred metres or so to our room, which was lovely and facing west was sure of a good sunset later.

We were hungry so had a late lunch and after that took a walk around a half asleep town then bought some wine and spent the rest of the afternoon on the generous balcony of our room. As we prepared to go out for the evening a small herd of goats passed through the grounds and although I tried to remember I don’t think I have ever stayed in a place before where wild goats roam freely.

After capturing the pictures of a glorious sunset in the harbour we walked into the town for evening meal. There was a lot of choice but one in particular seemed popular so we decided that that was where we would dine. There were no spare places and people were standing around in a predatory sort of way waiting for a table opportunity and elbowing their way to empty chairs as they became vacant and somewhere in all this we ghosted in like Martin Peters and jumped the queue. After a short misunderstanding about the evening special menu we sorted out our choices and had a first class meal at the end of an excellent day.