Two words apply when setting out for those magical, Greek Islands: travel light.
If you go unhindered by stuff it makes life that much simpler. And the beautiful thing is, as day after blue day unfolds, you too will feel that lightness of being, that shedding of baggage. Greece does that to you. It simplifies life into a few essentials: sky, sea, blue, white, cotton, olives, wine, bread, water, walk, talk, swim.
I had, for years, nurtured vague, happy memories of being there as a backpacking 19-year-old. Now, decades later, I was headed back with a husband and daughters alongside. “Greecec In summere” I said over Sunday morning coffee in March. From the second the ears of my 18 and 16-year-old pricked up there was no turning back.
But how do four people choose two or three islands from dozensz I finally made the executive decision to keep ‘em close: this means minimal ferry and maximum island time. It’s cheaper too and, in the Cyclades, we were spoilt for choice. I got a bit sulky about Mykonos which everyone but me (too touristy/too expensive) wanted to visit, but compromised and survived to never regret that decision. So we packed, unpacked and repacked for a holiday that, we were warned, would be hot, hot, hot. Finally, like swallows in search of the sun, we flew: into and out of hazy Qatar and on to Athens, a flight laden with promise as we flew over islands identifiable by their shapes on a map. The thrill of touch-down and, an hour-and-a half bus trip later, hectic ancient Athens. I loved watching Kerri and Alexa fill their senses with a place unseen except from the guide books I had thrust under their irritated noses.
After a dead-to-the-world sleep in a creaky, well-worn hotel, and a dawn walk through a city that was stretching and yawning, we caught the train that would take us to the port of Piraeus and the islands beyond.
An unbearably hot six-hour ferry trip… and then there it was, barren, beautiful Mykonos. Afterwards my husband would say he felt as if he had stepped into a dream. Bougainvillea, a tangle of gleaming alleys, crinkle-faced fishermen… We fell in love with it in an instant.
Our apartment balcony hung over a winding alley; the girls were round the corner on the edge of a flower-bedecked courtyard. “Parakalo – no worries,” said proprietress Dina . “I sit here.” And there she sat, night and day, firmly ensconced outside their bedroom door. So our holiday truly started. We walked ourselves into a dizzy frenzy through the tiny town – apparently the streets were designed in such a convoluted fashion to defy the pirates and the prevailing wind. Unexpectedly, we’d find ourselves on the edge of yet more loveliness: the town square; Little Venice with its lapping water and overpriced cocktails; a corner cafk with slow-eyed boys-to-men watching the passing traffic. It is here that we found the most beautiful, the most outrageous, and chic of people. Cobblestones notwithstanding, heels ruled, especially at night when women preened like exotic birds.
Daylight was a time for different exploration. Our keenness to hire scooters evaporated when we witnessed the manic Greek drivers. And if scooters were a bad idea, bicycles were a mad one. Instead busses hurtled us along the narrow roads to a drop-off point and from there we walked to beaches.
The famed Paradise Beach lived up to its anything-goes Mykonian reputation. On arrival we spotted, standing in the aquamarine shallows, a chap, naked as the day he was born and clearly on outstanding terms with Eros, the Greek god of passion and love.
Our girls had the grace to roll their eyes and get on with the business of finding overpriced beach beds a suitable distance away from us. A small headland between us and the next beach, Paranga, was too tempting to ignore. Chris and I (we failed to tempt out bikini-clad teenagers to leave the beach for a hike) set off along the gravelly water’s edge, took a wrong turn and scrambled our way past a campsite perched on a scrubby promontory. We were hailed by some happy naturists, she in a hammock, he splashing at the sink. The thing about walking on a Cycladean island is, while you may not be assured of shade, the views of the Aegean are spectacular. There is something about turquoise seas that lift the tiredest of souls (and soles).
The best time for village strolling is that magical hour when the sun dips, the light softens, and the air brushes you like a silk sarong. Siesta is over and the tavernas await. A chair is made out of stair and a window ledge becomes a table and, until the early hours of the morning, you will find families, lovers, grandparents, eating and chatting.
Next, the beguiling fishing village of Naoussa on Paros awaited. Here the pace slowed a notch for us while, for our friends who joined us from quieter Hydra, it was given a rev. Mornings I would wake to an empty bed: our husbands had cottoned on to the Greek must-do of a two-hour chat over early coffee.
More beaches beckoned and this time we travelled by taxi boat. After a couple of hours of moving between beach and water, the surrounding pathways beckoned. A sarong, hat and flip-flops is not recommended hiking gear but time marched on and so did we. I took the gentle option while Chris, he of the strong thighs, headed for that sunlit upland at the peak and was rewarded with Aegean views that stretched forever.
More and more we realised we needed less and less. Gyros (meat in a pita pocket) and a sublime Greek salad was more than enough for a meal. Creamy yoghurt and honey made for bounteous breakfasts. Loose, sleeveless cotton that drifts about your body was the only way to survive the heat. The girls became more sussed about how to dodge the tourist traps and decipher a Greek menu.
From Paros we went to Naxos just as the European holidays started to kick in. A self-sufficient, agricultural island, the town was noisier and busier than the others and it took a while to slot into a different sense of place and space.
With friends we hired two cars and headed inland to age-old mountain villages on the slopes of Mount Zeus and veered off to tiny, far-from-the-madding crowd beaches. We lunched at the beachside taverna in drowsy Apollon and clambered up the hilltop to see the colossal 10m tall statue (kouros), believed to be of Apollo, lying on his back since 600 BC.
The next day we hired quadbikes and buzzed off into the brilliant sunshine for about 40 minutes along a magnificent coastal road before turning onto a track to Abrami Bay, a place for which the word ‘idyllic’ was surely coined. This beautiful pebble beach with a family-run taverna was worth every wind-buffeting moment on the bike.
That’s the thing about Greece. At every turn there is something to stir the soul. Walk away from the more obvious tourist tavernas (often right on the water’s edge) and you will find places that are cheaper and more authentic. You will stumble across small churches, community squares, enchanting doorways, ancient sites.
It is a place where time seems to stretch and expand. Allow yourself to as well and you will find, from thereon, you will always want to travel light.
GETTING THERE
- If on a South African passport you will need a Schengen visa – about 70 euros
- High season (very hot/very busy): mid July to late September
- Fly there: Your cheapest bets are either Qatar/Etihad/Emirates/Turkish Airlines, from R7 000 via their respective home bases. SAA also flies to Athens.Olympic Airlines has cancelled its Johannesburg/Athens route.
- Ferries do not connect all the islands, nor do they sail every day. Check www.greeka.com
TRAVEL ESSENTIALS
- Drink plenty of water
- Take hats and high SPF sunblock
- Buy leather sandals there: the choices are endless
- Ditch towels for sarongs – rinse and dry them overnight
- Take swimming goggles
- Buy a beach mat – cheaper than a lounger
- Siesta at siesta time
- Wear a bikini – everyone does!
- Visit the New Acropolis Museum in Athens – it’s breathtaking!
- Know this: toilet paper goes in bins, not the loo!
- Learn a little Greek:
Parakalo: please, also translates into “no problem”
Efcharisto: thank-you
Yassoo: hello/goodbye (very casual)
Kalimera: good morning
Kalinihta: good night
Pu: where
Leoforio: bus
Isitiria: tickets
Hora: village
Plio: boat/ferry
BEST BOOK
Greek Island Hopping (Thomas Cook Publishing) – Order it from www.kalahari.net
GO TO
www.greeka.com
www.tripadvisory.com
www.theacropolismuseum.gr
www.thegreektravel.com
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