Chapter 14

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The next day arrived with a certain sadness. Due to the comparatively irregular nature of ferries servicing Folegandros we were only able to spend two nights there. The next boat after that would have us stay there four nights. While Cornelia would have loved that - she was encouraging us to stay, which of course was good business for her, but it was such a soft sell that there was no way we could take offence - but that would have meant eating into our planned itinerary too much. In hindsight, maybe we should have stayed on. It had taken us almost all of our short time just to understand what the island was about - relaxation, non-commercialism and a kind of laid back friendliness. We could have done with another day. But maybe not two. Not on this trip.

It would be remiss of me not to reflect on Cornelia - our host at the Anemomilos Apartments - just a little. She struck me as being one of the most refined women we had met on our trip. I can't put my finger on why this was. Her English was very good. She was charming and friendly. She ran a good, clean and appealing establishment. We liked her. Again, I am not sure why, but I imagine that she would be great value around a table with good food and wine to be had. She would have good stories to tell. Maybe it had something to do with the 'certain skills' of the men of Folegandros.

I imagine that you are thinking that there is no link between the story I was telling about our hostess, Cornelia, and the men of Folegandros. I imagine that you are thinking that I might have just been a little too affected by my experience with the man at Agathi beach with the octopus in his trunks. On both counts, you'd be wrong.

Upon check out, I could not help but ask Cornelia about my observations from the day before about the women who worked in the cafe-come-milk bar and the restaurant we had dinner at, that neither had seemed Greek.

Cornelia was quick to point out that the woman at the restaurant was German, while the woman at the cafe was a Dane. When I had asked what would have brought them to this place, her answer was instant - the men of Folegandros. They had come to this island and met the men of their dreams. And they had stayed.

The men of Folegandros, Cornelia told me, have 'certain skills'. Her words, not mine.

They were not the only examples of this, either. She went on to tell me that the proprietor of the Evangelist Bar located at the port - a Folegandros man - had an English wife. Cornelia suggested that I should speak to her to find out what the 'magic' (and again, that is a quote) is all about. I would love to have done that, but there was no time on this trip.

Unfortunately, Cornelia was not in a position to have her own, personal opinion on this phenomenon. She was married to Dimitris, who we did not see much of during our time there but from what we saw he was a friendly and helpful man. Dimitris, she told us, was not a man of Folegandros.

After all this talk about the skills of other men, it was time to leave. Corenelia gave us a warm kiss and hug goodbye and Dimitris drove us down to the port, which was far more busy than it was when we had arrived. Several boats were pulling in to create an instant and mobile fresh fish market. People were coming from the towns to buy their fresh fish. Cats - even more so that was usual in the Islands - were everywhere. They seems even better looked after here at the port than we had seen elsewhere. I saw a man feed a litter of kittens.

From the terrace of a block of apartments I heard a rather vociferous American woman speaking on her mobile, but for all to hear. She proclaimed loudly to whomever was at the other end of the line that she had found the most lovely spot to stay at and I think it is fair to say that our guide book had slightly undervalued the merit if this particular port. Certainly, the locals spoke fondly of the beaches in the areas surrounding the port especially in the times when the summer winds - or Meltimi - blew up (counter this, though, with the tid-bit we received from the bar girl the night before that the best beaches were slightly to the north of Algia, which she preferred because they were largely tourist free and often completely empty).

Of course, on this day we are not at the port for the sake of sight seeing. We are there waiting for a boat, then Nisso Thira. When it arrives, half-an-hour late, it is clear that the Nisso Thira is even older than the Death Ship, Dimitroula. The Greek Island Hopping Guide mentioned with some warmth that the Thira used to be called the Kythira and that when it was re-christened- re-launched, if you will- the new owners simply pained over the K and Y. To me, this was a sign of cost-cutting, which I hoped was not reflected in the maintenance of the ship ...

Most of our trips on the ferries between the islands, and indeed the mainland, were done under cover. Mel was not so keen on travelling up on deck. I never did ask why. On the Thira, this meant that we took refuge in the bar. While run down and a little decrepit, there is one very cool thing on the wall of this bar - a knot tying display showing all manner of useful knots that are used by seaman and how to tie them. I have always been fascinated by these kinds of knots and had almost bought a knot-tying book from a discount book store just before the Greek Island trip. I just think it would be cool to know how to tie knots. It is my affliction. I will deal with it.

However, there was one significant problem with the bar. There was a strong, strong ... overbearing smell of diesel, which again raised questions for me over ship maintenance. Not helping, was the Greek guy across from us who was lighting up his cigarette. I have no problems with the smoking - remember, this is Greece - but I constantly feared that he would not only light up his cigarette, but the whole boat as well. Eventually, the fumes got to us and we headed up onto the deck. The seas were choppy, so despite my ever present hunger, I do not buy anything to eat in case this was the day my stomach decided to be affected by sea sickness.

The Nisso Thira was taking us to Ios. For me, Ios was everything I was NOT looking for on this trip. Ios was the party island. Ios is where you go to get drunk. Really drunk. Vomitously drunk. Violently, vomitously drunk. It is where you go out until 6am and wake up at 2pm, just in time for happy hour. It is where it is not only commercial, but in your face commercial.

I had previously visited Ios as a 26 year old, when my stamina - nay, inclination - for such things was stronger and even then I hated it. I had troubles finding a room and even when I did I was next to rooms full of boys with ghetto blasters fulfilling the 'blaster' part of their function. The town did not come alive until 11pm and it was then that alcohol became more than a beverage, more than an intoxicant. It was the thing that was worshipped. By everybody. All of the time. It was the kind of place that Greek Island Hopping guide hated, too. It highlighted the risk of rape to women who had consumed copious amounts of alcohol and then wandered home on their own. It highlighted the risk of rape to men, too.

We were only going to Ios because we had to. The boats to the wonderful Folegandros were comparatively irregular, almost all of them took us to Ios and none of them connected directly to an ongoing ride to Naxos, our true destination. When I had learnt of this, I was devastated. I receive an allocation of 25 days of paid leave from work and I had to waste one of them on the island of Ios. I could not get over it. I whinged about at for at least a day leading up to our boarding of the Thira. To say I was expecting very little of the one day we were forced to spend there would be a gross understatement. The last time I was there it was over crowded, overly drunken and not very friendly.

But I know something now that I could not have known then. That the one day we spent at Ios might just have been about the best day we had on the entire trip.