Freshly Pressed

WordPress seem to go to a lot of trouble to convince users that ‘Freshly Pressed’ is fair, impartial and based on critical selection.

Consider this then from a blog page I chanced upon…

It has been interesting to look back over 2012 to see which posts were the most popular. Bagni di Lucca and Beyond has been Freshly Pressed twice this year, which has been great fun. Thank you WordPress for choosing.

It is a nice blog but it isn’t brilliant (sorry).

I say no more…

Weekly Photo Challenge: Delicate

Ancient Treasure…

In one room there was a pot-pourri of treasures that really deserved to be in a proper museum where they could be looked after properly.  She dragged them out of boxes and held them in her frail hands and in a rhapsodical way accompanied by extravagant arm gestures as though she were conducting an orchestra kept imploring us to “look at this, look at this!”  At one point she opened an illuminated manuscript and declared it to be five hundred years old but she turned the pages over as though it was a copy of last week’s Radio Times.

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Kos, Kalmnos and Bodrum

2012 has been a year of revisiting previous destinations but this time hopefully as a traveller rather than a holiday maker.  In 1984 I visited the Ionian Island of Corfu and returned there in July this year staying in the village of Kalami where Lawrence Durrell once lived.  In 1983 I made my first visit to Greece and visited the island of Kos in the Dodecanese and in September this year I returned there also.

In my Corfu journals I mentioned that although I hired a car and travelled around the island as far as I can remember I saw everything but didn’t see anything, so as with the return to Corfu I was interested in trying to compare the two visits because if the Cambridge classical scholar Professor M I Finley knew enough about Greece to fill a barrel, what Lawrence Durrell knew about Greece would fill a bucket and if what I know now would fill a teacup then what I knew then would barely cover the bottom of a thimble!  In 1983 I didn’t have the foresight to maintain a journal and the guidebook that I bought has long been lost so all that I have to help me make the comparison are some creaking memories and an album of fading photographs.

Kalymnos, The Islet of Telendros and a Departure

There was more trouble with the room in the night, this time with the air conditioning unit which refused to respond to the battered and sellotaped together controller and was permanently set to sub-zero arctic temperature and so cold that it would have tested the endurance of a polar expedition team.  On the positive side this did prevent the fridge from constantly going on and off which cut down on the noise and there was no trouble with mosquitoes!

I thought it would be a good idea to let the sunshine in but after twelve days of blue skies and continuous sunshine it was a shock this morning to open the shutters and to come face to face with a hanging mist and the top of the mountain disappearing into a battleship grey cloud.

Gradually the sun found a way through all these vapour obstacles and as we breakfasted on the terrace the weather began to return to normal and we made plans to use our last morning here to visit the nearby islet of Telendros for no particular reason other than it was there.

The taxi boats left the harbour every thirty minutes so we arrived in good time for the ten minute crossing and sat waiting in the sunshine on the open deck of the boat for it to begin the short crossing to what is little more than a stranded mountain top, a giant grey peak pitted with fissures and caves and thrusting magnificently out of the sea.

All along the lazy harbour there was a ribbon of tiny shops and tavernas.  This was a unique and improbable sort of place where the shops left local souvenirs out on shelves with an honesty box to pay for purchases.  It was like stepping back in time, a sort of cheesecloth and denim 1960s hippy commune that progress had forgotten to release and left it behind in a nostalgic time warp that everyone here seemed happy about.

The shops offered hand-made souvenirs made from driftwood and sea debris, wood, sticks and shells and the dusty shelves displayed herbs and spices and hand-made soaps and cosmetics.  The tavernas were stirring into life and one displayed a recommendation from an English newspaper from twenty years ago.  It was wonderful and we walked along the seafront as far as we could before the path petered out into stones and dust and then we returned through the sleepy back alleys to wait for the return crossing at a harbour side taverna where we agreed that if we were to return to Kalymnos sometime then this would be a good place to isolate ourselves for a couple of days.

The taxi boat returned and took us back to Myrties where we packed our bags and spent a final hour on the terrace before saying goodbye and reluctantly leaving the Aphrodite Studios. Our plan now was to take the local bus to Pothia in time to catch the ferry back to Kos and we lined up with several other people and we became collective nervous as the minutes passed by with no sign of the transport at the scheduled time and wondered about alternatives.  We shouldn’t have worried of course because the driver was using GMT, that’s Greek Maybe Time and he eventually arrived about twenty minutes late.

There was quite a long wait now for the ferry so we made our way to the pavement bar that we had found yesterday and settled down in the shade for an hour. As Kim read I watched the man working the pavement because he was a genius and a master of his trade.  He had an infectious smile that he probably practiced to perfection every morning in a mirror and he had the ability to make people stop and sit at a table and order drinks when they had no intention of doing so.  He stood back in the shadows waiting for his opportunity and then with a predatory sixth sense and a perfect awareness of potential customers as they passed he stepped forward and pounced and was almost always successful.  It was a pleasure to watch him work and when we left I told him so and congratulated him on his skills.

At the port we sat waiting for the ferry and reflected on two short days on Kalymnos.  Despite a shaky start I liked it, it won’t get into my top five Greek islands but it is close and I for one would definitely return. And then the ferry arrived and took us back to Kos.

After two weeks of travelling, using public transport and staying in mid-budget accommodation I thought it might be nice to stay the final two nights in an up-market spa hotel especially as I had found a good rate on an internet booking site.  I didn’t think it was appropriate to pitch up at a five star hotel on the bus, dust-streaked and sweating so I broke one of my golden rules of travelling and hopped into an air-conditioned taxi and fifteen minutes later we were booking in to the promising sounding Diamond Deluxe Hotel.

Bodrum and Return to Kos

Today we were returning to Greece and our preference would have been to go via Kos straight to Kalymnos but the ferry schedules didn’t reconcile to our plans so we had to return to Kos for one night before making the onward journey.

Passport control in Turkey was even more thorough than it had been leaving Kos four days previously and our passports were checked at three separate points and our bags had to be scanned as though we were at an airport.  We placed them on the conveyor and out the other side my backpack seemed to cause some excitement.  I had some difficulty getting through the body scanner without setting it off so this left Kim by herself to deal with the request to open it.  I think she suddenly remembered the film ‘Midnight Express’ when a stay in a Turkish prison was decidedly unpleasant and mindful of this she blurted out ‘It isn’t mine!’ and raising a finger and clearly identifying me as the owner said ‘It’s his, it’s his!’  The security guard was rather perplexed by my bag of driftwood and a few rusty nails but seemed to accept my explanation about the souvenir boat building project and he let us both pass.

It was a one hour journey across the narrow strait that separates Turkey from Greece and we arrived back in Kos shortly after eleven o’clock.  The hotel was only fifty metres away but it was on the opposite side of the harbour so we had to walk ten times that distance to present ourselves at the Kosta Palace.

The room wasn’t ready so we walked in a westerly direction along a thin stretch of beach horribly overcrowded with sun beds and garish parasols so we quickly abandoned it and found a bar instead.  We didn’t really want to be back in Kos town but it was unavoidable and we prepared ourselves for a nothing sort of day, a transfer sort of day, a not unpacking the luggage sort of day and we came to the conclusion that we would use it as a resting sort of day.

When it was time we returned to the hotel and were pleased with our room which suited our purpose perfectly, it was on the second floor and had a balcony in the sunshine with a wonderful view of the harbour, the castle and the town underneath a sky so blue that if the world were somehow turned upside down I could have jumped into it as though it were the sea.

The harbour was in a mid afternoon stupor, the metal fish stalls were empty, the fishing nets were repaired and neatly stacked and the men who would go out in the boats later were resting in their boats, some sleeping, some drinking coffee and some just idly chatting with fellow sailors.  I imagine this is a treadmill sort of life where every day follows the same pattern as the one before and the one that will follow.

We read our books and drank Mythos and wine and then we swam in the rooftop pool and then we read our books and drank Mythos and wine and later as the shadows lengthened and the sun started to dip activity in the harbour started to steadily increase as the daily sail boats started to return and as it got later one by one the fishing boats started to leave the port on the way to the preferred fishing waters of the men on board.

And so the day drifted away into evening until the lights came on around the harbour and the tavernas started to come to life.  It wasn’t very imaginative I confess but later we walked the short distance into the old town and made our way to our favourite taverna at the back of the cathedral and we enjoyed a simple meal before returning to the hotel for our one night stay before moving on to Kalymnos the next day.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Movement

Dash for an early morning ferry from Koufonisia

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?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Arranged

Taverna Tables Koufonisia

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My Personal Greek A to Ω – Ω (Omega) is for Ωρολογοποιία or Horology

“Ancient Greeks had no sense of time or distance.  No reliance can be placed on their measurements, just as no reliance can be placed on the modern Greeks when they are dealing with space and time”   Lawrence Durrell, Propero’s Cell

Horology is the art or science of measuring time. Clocks, watches, clockwork, sundials, clepsydras, timers, time recorders and marine chronometers are all examples of instruments used to measure time and although the word has Greek origins this is surprising because generally speaking Greek people do not pay too much attention to schedules.  Opening and closing hours in the shops and bars are an example of this and this disregard for time is one of the charms of the Greek Islands.

But when it comes to public transportation this is a different matter!

In Amorgos one morning after breakfast at a harbour side café we walked to the coach station for the scheduled ten o’clock bus across to the other side of the island to the Byzantine Monastery of the Virgin Mary Chozoviotissa, but the driver was working to GMT, that’s Greek Maybe Time, and the confused crowd that began to build up all had to wait until a little after ten-thirty when he finally arrived for work. It was about a half an hour journey across the island and then another half an hour slog on foot up a rocky path on a very sharp incline to reach the entrance to the monastery.

Once there it became immediately obvious that we were going to have some difficulty visiting the interior because we were deemed to be inappropriately dressed. We had shorts on and apparently Monks don’t like shorts. They don’t mind short dresses, denims or cropped trousers but they don’t like shorts!

There was a long wait for the bus back we decided to walk along the road to the beach at Aggi Anna where the bus turns around to go back to the port. Based on the earlier delays to the schedule I calculated that we had plenty of time to achieve this and we set off down the twisty road at an appropriately leisurely pace. To our surprise and horror we were only about three quarters of the way to the bottom when the bus appeared, bang on time, and we had to get a bit of a rush on to make the connection.  Actually we had to do a bit more than just hurry up and the last two hundred metres turned into a full sprint under the hot midday sun.

On another tense occasion we were leaving Koufonisia on the way to Ios and our transport from the hotel arrived and we said goodbye and in just a couple of minutes we were at the quayside with a handful of other people waiting for the Seajet.  As ours was a tight connection in Naxos for the transfer to Ios we really needed the ferry to be on time so we looked out to sea scanning the horizon for signs of its arrival.  Eventually it came into view and was soon in the port but it was already five minutes late so this reduced our transfer window to eight minutes.

I tried to use thought transference to will people to board quickly and then to get the captain to slip the moorings and leave and it must have worked because everything went smoothly and soon the Seajet was easing away from Koufonisia and was soon at full throttle, rounding the southern end of Naxos and heading efficiently north towards the port at the north end of the island.

The ferry lost no more time and pulled into Naxos only a few minutes behind schedule but as the doors opened and we prepared to disembark we could see that our next ferry, the Aqua Jewel, was on time, already loaded with passengers and cars and I used thought transference again to get the crew to hurry up and dock.  The Aqua Jewel was almost ready to leave so we pushed our way to the front of the queue and as soon as were off we ran to the other side of the quay and made it with seconds to spare.  It wasn’t very elegant but at least we were on board and that was important because if we had missed this connection then we would be stuck in Naxos for the night.

My Favourite Pictures of the Greek Islands – 24

My Personal Greek A to Ω – X (Chi) is for Χώρα or Chora

On holiday on the island of Amorgos we went early one day to the Chora and when the bus arrived in the port it immediately turned round and struggled back up the hill to the top.

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 only very 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 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.  There was a good view over most of the island and it was revealed as dusty, barren and devoid of vegetation with a desolate landscape that had been beaten relentlessly into total submission by the scorching summer sun.

Descending through the mazy streets and alleys there was time for a beer with tasty canapés and after that 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.  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.

Through the Chora we passed by a charming collection of houses, some old, some new and most with dazzling blue doors.  Some of the older houses had precarious balconies that I wouldn’t trust and it seemed to be sensible to pass by quickly lest they fall at that very moment.  The crooked alleys took us around in circles past kittens playing in a garden and stone walls that looked as though they had been carelessly assembled but had a most pleasing appearance and everywhere vivid red geraniums growing in ad hoc containers of various sizes and descriptions in stoic defiance of the heat and the neglect.

There was a welcoming bar in a little square with rattan cane tables and chairs under leafy trees with books and backgammon available for customers to sit and enjoy and idle some of the day away.  As we were getting accustomed to this pace of life we drank beer and ordered baklava and stayed a while until it was time to go back.  Amorgos is a dreamy timeless sort of place in a sort of 1960s time warp and all around there were lots of aging beardy hippies with ponytails, wearing white linen and flip-flops and carrying sketchpads.  All that was missing was the joss sticks and the candles, the flowers and the guitars.

Before we took the bus back 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 like the island cats wasted the rest of the day away.