Greece 2011, Amorgos to Koufonisia

After breakfast I walked again to the ferry booking office but there was still no real news about the Express Skopelitis so we reprised our debate about the itinerary. We could skip Koufinisia altogether and go directly to Ios or we could spend an extra night on the small island, reschedule our dates at Homer’s Inn and reduce the stay in Antiparos from three nights to two. We went through the various combinations but it became too difficult and in an indecisive way confirmed that we would just go to Koufonissia as planned.

And so after this debate we took a long walk around the north side of the harbour past blue doors and blue domed churches and across pleasant secluded beaches where we continued to collect driftwood and finally arrived at a hard to reach bay where normal access is by boat from the harbour but our route was over the cliffs that required the sure-footedness of a mountain goat because one false move and there was a fifty metre drop into the sea via the rocks.

The beach was a bit untidy and it was unlikely to achieve blue flag status (there are none on Amorgos) but there was a wonderful sea with a gentle gradient to the deep clear blue water with an abundance of fish for snorkelling amusement. But shortly after midday the beach was getting rather full as more and more boats pulled in and set down their passengers. The beach bar was closed for the season and there was nowhere to get any refreshments so we walked back the way that we had come and had a drink in a bar next to some fishing boats resting in the gently undulating water.

In the company of a handsome tortoiseshell cat we had a simple lunch on the balcony of the room and then squandered the rest of the afternoon sitting in the sunshine. My interest in the ferries was becoming something of an obsession by now however and I did slip down to the boat terminal to see if the Seajet crew had returned to work after the strike and sure enough the soulless pink and white monster arrived, completed an efficient turn around and left in a hurry on to the next destination.

Except for the fact that the Swiss guest in the next room had to walk across our balcony to get to his room it was private and secluded so I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to work on the all over tan so taking the precaution to sit close to the stairs so I would be able to hear him if he returned then I slipped my shorts off and found the best position to get the best of the rays. Well, this man must have had Cherokee blood in his veins because I didn’t hear a thing but all of a sudden he was at the top of the stairs and I was caught good and proper with my pants down. Luckily he found it amusing and after I had made myself decent again he stopped and chatted to us for a while about his whistle-stop three islands in four days vacation.

We did nothing for the rest of the day while we waited for sunset time and a stroll around the horseshoe shaped harbour and then we returned to the same taverna as the previous night and had an another simple but delicious meal. We went to bed early tonight because in the morning we had a six o’clock ferry to Koufonisia.

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It was still dark when we made our way down to the harbour and joined a line of passengers flocking onto the Blue Star Paros and we made our way to the partially covered seating area on the top deck of the boat. As we watched from the deck rail we watched what resembled a sort of Pied Piper activity as people emerged from rooms and spilled out of little side streets all heading in the same direction and making their way to the boat.

It left on time and slipped out of Katapola into a surprisingly rough sea and as the sun rose behind us the wind whipped up the waves and sent them high enough to crash over the sides of the top deck, the ferry lurched alarmingly from side to side, the Greek flag was cracking like a whip in the wind as though trying to detach itself from its pole and we were rather glad that this was only a forty-five minute journey. The Blue Star arrived in Koufonisia on time and it was a bit of a concern to us that there was a large crowd at the ferry terminus because it seemed as though everyone was leaving the island just as we were arriving. Did they know something we didn’t?



Greece 2011, The Express Skopelitis and Greek Ferries

After the visit to the monastery and the gentle walk around the Chora we planned a lazy sort of afternoon doing nothing at all so after a drink in the main square we took the bus back down to Katapola where we stopped first at the mini-market for drinks and snack food. Behind the till of the shop was an old man with two weeks of beard, an untidy shirt streaked with dust, an old vest that may have been white once a very long time ago and a very impressive money diddling trick! After he had totted up the items, produced the bill and been presented with a note he would ask for change and root about in the palm of the hand and when he had finished it was certain that the transaction had inevitably cost a few extra cents. He did this every time and we concluded that this was his way of compensating for the extra taxes he was now having to pay to the Greek government in the wake of the economic crisis.

My next job was to check on the ferries. The Express Skopelitis was still firmly tied up in port and the news at the ferry booking office wasn’t too good. The Skopelitis it seemed hadn’t been playing by the rules and was operating with a counterfeit safety certificate that had been issued in Russia! It had had a number of warnings about this but the owners hadn’t complied with relevant enforcement notices and now the authorities were cracking down. And there seemed to be an alternative suggestion as well – although this deception was well known the port authorities had always turned a blind eye but now with the Euro problems and the Government’s privatisation programme the country can no longer afford generous subsidies to uneconomic boats so they have to be replaced by more efficient and more expensive big ferries that do not rely on state aid. The Skopelitis it seemed was a victim of the economic crisis and the suspension of the operating licence was perhaps a cynical way of taking it out of operation without breaking a government contract.

I asked if it might be sorted out by Friday and with a casual raised eyebrow and a shrug of the shoulder all I got was a non committal maybe/maybe not response and I knew that this was the best that I could hope for. It didn’t help that other ferry crews were taking strike action so there was no real certainty about ferry times in and around the Little Cyclades for the next day or two.

We had been stranded like this once before, in Folegandros in 2008, and had to alter our schedule and it seemed that we might have travel plan problems again here thanks to the Skopelitis and the strikes and that we might have to change the itinerary to take account of this so while we wasted the afternoon away on the balcony of the room we examined the options but satisfied that there were some others available we decided not to do anything too hasty just yet.

So, we thought no more about it as afternoon slipped into evening and after yet more sunset pictures and a bit of beach combing we had evening meal in an alternative taverna which we both declared to be excellent. One week into the holiday we were in a relaxed mood with a couldn’t care less attitude and after we had settled up and left we walked back to the hotel along a languid harbour with moonlight kissing the water and waves gently caressing the shoreline. It was delightful!

Greece 2011, Katapola and the Monastery of Panagia Hozoviotissa

The plan today was to visit the Byzantine monastery of Panagia Hozoviotissa on the other side of the island which we had almost visited on our previous stay in Katapola. I say almost because although we made the bus ride and climbed a mountain of steps to get there we fell foul of the strict dress code and weren’t allowed in on account of the fact that we were wearing shorts. This time we were taking no chances so packed extra long sleeved shirts, shawls and trousers and after breakfast on the terrace set off for the bus stop.

As we walked we passed an old islander on a mule and it was obvious that he was going about his day and his work on his chosen form of transport. I got to thinking about how infrequently you see this now, much less even than when I first started to visit the Greek islands over twenty-five years ago and I realised that soon this will be a thing of the past. When this generation has gone it is likely that no one will continue to use donkeys for anything other than equine amusement. I felt glad that I had been there in time to see this and felt disappointed for those who will come after me and won’t.

We arrived at the bus stop in time but we needn’t have bothered as there was no bus driver because he was working to his own version of GMT, that’s Greek Maybe Time, and we had to wait twenty minutes after the scheduled departure before he arrived for work and warmed up the engine and the hydraulics before easing out of the car park to begin the journey.

The bus dropped us off by the side of the road and there was a short walk to the car park of the monastery and then a gruelling climb up an uneven path which clung to the side of the mountain overlooking a stunning blue sea and which took us eventually to the entrance of the startling white building set against the contrast of the age streaked grey and tan rocks. The monastery is built in a most improbable location, on the side of and into an inhospitable mountain but it was a good choice if all they wanted was solitude and peace and quiet because there are no neighbours to worry about.

We were slightly irritated to see that this year there was a selection of clothing available to borrow for those who didn’t meet the dress code – it certainly wasn’t there two years ago. Anyway we changed into our appropriate clothes and climbed the final steps to the entrance where a young man assessed our appearance and, satisfied that we were presentable, allowed us in.

It had been a long walk just to visit a few tiny rooms and it didn’t take long to make our way through a couple of anti-chambers and then the main chapel smelling of incense and adorned with icons and pictures of old priests and decorated with cloth of vibrant green and blood red with gold brading. It was all over rather quickly and the longest part of the visit was a minute or two in room on the way out where a priest handed out loukoumi and a glass of special raki which was for sale in a small display case in the corner. Finally we visited a tiny museum displaying robes, manuscripts and religious artefacts and then we were shown back out into the sunlight and took the path back down to the bus stop.

On the way back we were ready for a second visit to the Chora where we ambled through the corkscrew streets returning several times to exactly the same place passing by several churches, the castle, blue doors, blue sky, shady vines and friendly cafés and I knew that this was my kind of town. The Chora is rather like a hippie time-warp, slow, lazy, faded and bleached, pot plants struggling in the midday sun and appropriately slow mood music in the tavernas and bars – it reminded me of a favourite pair of old denim jeans and my battered blue t-shirt that I am reluctant to throw away. In and around the tavernas there were lazy cats, which in between trying to look cute for diners with leftovers were concentrating on looking for a shady spot and simply snoozing the day away.

Greece 2011, Katapola and the Chora (Amorgos)

Katapola was tranquil, peaceful and perfect and at this precise time might possibly have been the most wonderful place on earth and we looked forward to our three days of perfection because apart from concrete, mobile phones and air conditioning this place probably hasn’t changed a great deal in a thousand years.

We were surprised to see the Express Skopelitis ferry in the harbour because it was supposed to be sailing today and later someone told us that it had a problem with its certificate of seaworthiness and had lost its licence to operate. To make matters worse another ferry had failed to turn up and there was a lot of activity at the ferry booking office where the clerk was patiently trying to rearrange people’s disrupted travel itineraries. I mention this because in five day’s time we were due to sail on the Express Skopelitis ourselves and I began to wonder if we might have a problem but then Kim reminded me that five days is a long time in Greece so for the time being we thought no more about it.

First we walked around the rather untidy beach and collected more debris and Kim was by now so enthusiastic about the project I had to insist that she show some restraint because the she was collecting far more than we could ever realistically take back home in our luggage if we were to take our clothes back with us as well. The stroll took us around to the northern side of the bay and after we had walked through the streets and alleys we stopped for refreshment in the shade and agreed that for the remainder of the afternoon we would take a bus back to the Chora on the way back to the top of the mountain.

The Chora cannot be seen from the sea or from the harbour and this is where, in the past, Amorgans lived, safe from the sea and from hostile attack. From the outside it doesn’t look especially promising but once inside the walls of the town it is a different matter altogether. The town turns in on itself in an introspective sort of way and inside there were narrow shady streets and lots of traditional cafés and tavernas. It was a lazy place where time goes by slowly and no one is in a particular hurry about anything. If this was Naxos or Ios the Chora would have been teeming with shops and fast food places but this was a local town for local people and completely unspoilt by the retinue of tourist shops that can be found on more popular islands.

We explored the streets and in a very stiff breeze climbed to the very top to the redundant windmills that overlook the town and the Venetian castle that is built on top of a rocky outcrop that soars above it and its mass of dazzling white buildings.

Descending through the mazy streets and alleys there was time for a drink in the main square where old locals were beginning to gather for an end of day chat. I wondered where all the young people were and I think answered my own question – Athens probably.

There was a noticeable absence of English travellers but by contrast there were a lot of French people on Amorgos because this island was one of the locations for the Luc Besson film ‘Le Grande Bleu’ which the French rave about but which turns out to be one of those hard to understand surrealist French non-event movies that goes around in ever decreasing self indulgent circles until it finally disappears up its own aperture.

After we had taken the bus back and returned to the village we found a dusty mini-market because we wanted to buy some wine. It was surprisingly expensive and the information on the labels hard to interpret but at the back of the shop a French couple were passing judgement on a home-made red poured from a plastic bottle. They declared it to be acceptable so we agreed that if it was good enough for them then it would be perfect for us so we purchased a bottle and took it back to the room and sat on the balcony for a couple of hours and sorted through the driftwood in a sort of quality control process.

We waited now until nearly sunset time and then talk a walk along the southern shore of the harbour, past an inevitable white church and an unnamed statue where Kim captured more stunning sunset pictures and then we strolled back to the village stopping in again at the ferry booking office for information. The clerk had clearly had a stressful day and wasn’t inclined to be too helpful but we gathered that she didn’t like the Skopelitis very much on account of the fact that it is heavily subsidised by the Greek government and she seemed to resent that. We decided to leave and return tomorrow when hopefully a good night’s sleep might have improved her demeanour.

We had been looking forward to eating at a taverna called ‘The Corner’ (for no other reason it seems than it is indeed on a corner) but the danger with going back to somewhere that you have been before and enjoyed is that it may not live up to expectations and unfortunately this was one of those occasions.

It was a family run place and waiting on the tables were a couple of young children, clearly their parents were oblivious to presidential decree No. 62/1998, which sets the minimum age for admission to employment, including children in family businesses, at 15 years. After the meal we visited the bakery to buy some calorie packed baklava to end the day and there was a young boy working there as well who served us with expert precision and we took the sticky purchase back to the hotel where we ate it on the balcony and washed it down with a final glass of local red wine from the plastic bottle.

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, 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.