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, 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.