Chapter 9

www.flickr.com

This day had begun in a decidedly average fashion. And, in this case, I use the word average as a euphemism for rather below average. Facing eviction from our room at the Athina I was faced with the challenge of getting us some new digs for the night. The reason it was I alone and not Mel was that I was the one who had turned down the Scirocco the day before. I had my reasons, but Mel would have been happy there. After all, it had a pool. But today was a new day and I really could not be bothered running around looking for accommodation again so I thought I would go, cap in hand, back to the Scirocco. It was about 10:30am. Again I was greeted by Arthur the Albanian, but this time his tone was slightly different. "No ... we do not have any rooms! Why didn't you come back last night?". No need to rub it in, Arthur. So I headed closer into town and I tried a few more spots. No luck. It was getting late - after lunch - and I was worried more boats would be docking bringing more tourists and more people requiring accomodation so I had to hurry. In desperation, I back tracked to a point about 50 metres behind the Athina and found the Cori Rigas Apartments. Speaking to the Proprietor, Mr Rigas, who manned a table in the restaurant area. We could have a room for two nights as long as we were happy changing rooms each night. Not perfect, I thought, but it will do. I ask if I can see the rooms. "No ... all full ..." came the reply. Hmmph. Regardless hunter (as in hunter/gatherer) fashion, I took much pride in telling Mel that I had sourced or accommodation for the next two nights, despite the fact that I could not get in to see them. We left our bags with him, in the restaurant area. I wanted to leave him a deposit to be certain of retaining our room. Mr Rigas would not have it. He seemed like a nice man but I wanted to be sure of our accommodation. "You have better things to do with your time than arrange accommodation with me!" he said in a understated yet reassuring tone. At the same time, two Australians were checking out. When they spoke to Mr Rigas, they referred to him as Mr Rigas. I do not know why I found this reassuring. We then spoke, as countrymen are prone to do. Great place, they tell me. Mr Rigas is a good man, they tell me. Lived up to the feedback they had heard, they said. I certainly hoped so. My fears were to prove unfounded, but I was not to know that as we set off for Io on an inherently unstable quad bike. That, I believe, is where we were in the story.

Or rather, we were leaving Io. Mel again took the reigns of The Hog - the 50cc quad bike - and we headed to the black beach of Perissa. To get there, we had to go back down the backroads to Thira and on to Perissa. Traffic was getting a little busier so it was not quite as uneventful a ride as was the one to Io. But I am here to tell the tale so I can say that the trip did not end how I had feared on many occasions along the way that it might.

On arrival we found the soundscape to be dominated by a wedding reception taking place in one of the bars. It was really loud. Inescapable. We strolled down a path that ran alongside the beach which was full of sunbeds. On a black beach, of course, sunbeds are a necessity. Lying down on a volcanic beach's black sand does not go well with ones designer togs. Or any other togs for that matter. There was a very large woman on the beach who had no togs on at all, which was rather unfortunate. On the other side of the road was the obligatory blue-domed white church and the entire stretch was peppered with eateries. And that, as far as Mel and I at Perissa was concerned, was that. Time to get the wheels turning again for the return trip to Thira. This time, I would take the helm.

Traffic had increased on the roads yet again from the previous occasion and it was starting to make me nervous. What's more, the wind had picked up to almost a gale. The flimsy helmets we wore on our heads - much like baseball helmets, but thinner and lighter and, in the case of my helmet, with an exposed bolt sticking into my head - were blowing off. Mel thought I took a couple of corners too fast and thought I should have slowed down to account for the wind. Should have ... could have ... suffice to say that we arrived in Thira, returned the bike and headed to the Cora Rigas Apartments for our first look at our accommodation for the night. We met up with Mr Rigas in the now familiar restaurant area and he took us down to our room.

Score! It was a long room that extended into the ground itself, underneath a donkey track. There were two distinct sections - a reception room at the front and a bedroom that is accessed through a pair of double doors that was quaint, authentic and romantic all at once. The furniture is not as old as the 250-year-old room itself, but it is suitably un-new. Our balcony overlooks the caldera nicely. Mr Rigas explained the workings of things in such a manner as to be totally charming. Mel did not get her pool at this place, but the look on her face told that she was as taken with this place as I was.

Happenstance is a funny thing. If I had initially accepted the Scirocco things might have been easier and Mel would have had her pool. But I would have been underwhelmed and this would have weighed down the entire leg of the trip. We might have gotten lucky, but isn't that what island hopping is all about?