'Happy is the man, I thought, who, before dying, has the good fortune to sail the Aegean sea.'17/8/2017 Quote from Nikos Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek
Of course if you want to travel anywhere and see some things, you usually have to pay for it, but the oh-so-considerate travel agent in one of the Ferry offices seemed concerned for my pocket and whether it would be 'worth it' for me. This theme of people being a little overly concerned with what I'm doing instead of minding their own business and letting me mind mine (admittedly a rather introverted British trait) is something rather recurrent on my trip in Greece, but future episodes will be less kindly and more exasperating. Needless to say, it was worth it, as you can see below. Well actually the price was a little more than just that, as my phone's pedometer can attest: it involved a large amount of wandering up dead-end paths leading to donkeys, clambering extremely steep tracks, and eventually trying to minimise the audibility of my pants, as I powered through the final streets of the hilltop town of Chora to the highest point of the island, where lies the Monastery of Saint John the Theologian. Despite the effort, I wasn't too disappointed when, upon arriving, I was told by a very smiley girl that the monastery was closed. I can't promise, but at least I felt that the view was better than any monastery would be, and what's more I was then privy to a beautiful atmospheric little art exhibition in a nearby building, for which I've lost the leaflet with the artist's name on... Greek island tip: after a couple of islands you'll begin to notice a recurrence in towns called Chora or 'Hora'. Every island has a town called 'Chora', pronounced with an airy hard C as an alternative name for the 'capital' of the island which also bears the same name of the island. What is worth a visit is the Cave of the Apocalypse. I was simply quite intrigued by the melodramatic sounding name. Although today we refer to the apocalypse as being some terrible end of the world, the actual origin ἀποκάλυψις, (Greek of course) means 'apo' - the negative prefix 'un' and 'kalùpto' - 'covering': an uncovering or revelation. This cave is where St John (nobody quite knows John who) wrote the Book of Revelation following some visions, and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Don't rely on the internet for opening times as, despite reading otherwise, I found it written on the door to be open until 6pm. In fact when I arrived, half way up the road from Skala to Chora, it was 6:10pm and I cursed my luck before discovering I could walk right in to witness a baptism taking place. Here they are standing in the doorway to the cave, having unfortunately trapped some poor travellers inside and consequently me from seeing inside, while the priest rambled endlessly an indistinguishable -even to Greeks- repetitive chant and the baby grew more and more restless. I waited patiently but this was no short psalm. Increasing numbers of elegantly dressed guests arrived mid-ceremony, vacantly smiling as the holy words rolled on and the baby's wails became more urgent. They eventually moved inside, meaning I could have a look around the cave, and continued the infant's torment with lots of swinging incense and some questionable singing, where different people seemed to join in in different parts, at which the point the child really let rip his indignation in watery screams. I'll admit I don't have the highest regard for fanciful religious ceremony and this one with its eerie chanting, ominous basin of water (yes, for baby-dunking), and serious lack of ventilation for the throat catching incense fumes didn't escape my skepticism, drawing to mind the cavern of Macbeth's witches, cauldron and all. Of the cave itself, do a little research beforehand to know what to look out for of significance. Normally a couple of euros for a ticket would also be required - if you're not paying in piety. The town of Chora is a nice place to stay for your evening meal and wander through the little streets. It might depend on the time of year a bit, but the sun sets elsewhere. A little too exhausted to walk back the way I'd come and keen to chase the last bit of sun, I noticed a bus stop near a kiosk at the foot of the town. The timetable told me a bus headed to 'Grikos' would come along soon, although one headed back to Skala the port town not until later...so off to Grikos I went! The big green coach style bus arrived and did its regular U-turn on the cliff-edge road (that's the way it is ok), and while I thought I was being granted free passage when asking the bus driver for a ticket and he smilingly waved at me to 'Please, just take a seat'; oft in Greece it seems there is a special, usually elderly, man employed to come down the aisles of the bus once it's moving to sell you a ticket. Nevertheless this old man kept forgetting whether or not I and others had bought a ticket on this rather short but windy journey and he stumbled about with a look of mild suspicion and déjà vu at each passenger. Once I'd realised we'd reached Grikos and that there were no sunset-drenched beaches, or indeed anything much, around the rather deserted town, I decided to stay on the bus and enjoy the views of the island as it headed back the way we'd come and on to Skala. I really recommend this if you're tired as the roads provide beautiful views and I got to see the sunset after all! The buzzy inside streets of Skala are the delightful mix of pretty shops and restaurants spilling onto narrow stone streets one enjoys on such holiday destinations. All the people outside eating or chatting make a nice cosy atmosphere as the stars began to pop out, but I was headed to the Patmos Cultural Centre to find out about the 'Aegean Film festival'. Bingo! It was the last night with a showing of A United Kingdom at..... 'around 9pm'. I asked because this was not what the timetable was saying and the vague answer wasn't very helpful given that it was nearing 8:40pm and I wanted to get something to eat first. A hurried filled pancake in a smart but nevertheless low-cost restaurant (which I chose solely for the outdoor sofas) and I rushed back, beer in hand, worried I wouldn't be let in at 9:05. Had I been in Italy, I would have known better, but it turns out Patmos runs on a similar clock and the screening didn't start for another half an hour. Regardless it was a beautiful film and a lovely experience beneath the vast, starry sky, thinking of on what small, sea-swathed speck of land I was. Through the foamless isles, and stainless sea...As midnight approached, I was back by the so-called port - which is actually more of a little pier with a bar - well in time, as instructed, as were many other passengers, seated eagerly by the gates. I had left my luggage in the welcoming bar which has a designated space for bags and stays open throughout the night. With no sign of the ship I put my phone to charge, changed into some loose trousers and brushed my teeth to be comfortable for the journey. Despite the 30°C + temperatures the ships were absolutely freezing inside due to the air-conditioning, and my attempts to sleep in the fresh air of the top floor deck ended up being equally nippy as some pretty forceful winds picked up, blowing even people's blankets around. As lorries and vans stream off, economy passengers flurry to get on and set up camp on the already full ship (It came from Leros beforehand). I was pretty exhausted from a sleepless night the day before and since there's not much else to do without even a view to look at, I was keen to get some sleep. However, I wandered hopelessly through the many seated areas of the multiple floors to a sight I had never seen before. Chairs had been arranged in ways I could never have imagined; every inch of every surface, be it the Chora lounge chairs, the Mikonos diner benches, or the children's play area (looked pretty comfy) was covered in curled up people, a few dogs, a cat and even a little bird rocking on a perch in a cage. Unfortunately I was unprepared, with no blanket or mat and, having moved my spot three times due to cold, I eventually found an abandoned stool by a coffee table at 4am. I settled down, wrapped up in my towel, head and shoulders on the seat and body on the table, to sleep for the rest of the journey. Despite all this, my largest shock and displeasure was being physically shaken awake by a manhandling ship employee just before 7am, as he shouted in Greek and went round clapping everyone awake. A nearby little girl asking her mother echoed my thoughts: 'Why is that man waking everyone up?!'. We weren't due for over an hour but I can only assume it was to encourage passengers to get spending in the cafes. I stubbornly repositioned on the table, replaced my eye mask and went straight back to sleep. |
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