Subject: BS: Postcard from Kea/Tzia (Greece) 2010
From:
Roger the Skiffler
Date: 27 Jun 10 - 04:14 AM
Our first four Greek islands way back in 1982-1984 were in the Cyclades (Santorini, Paros, Tinos and Andros). This, Kea (or Tzia ad the locals call it), was our 27th island stayed on and the first time we've been back to this island group since. We were using a new agent and as our planned Spring break to Madeira had to be called off when the Icelandic ash cloud closed Funchal airport, we were a bit apprehensive. However, all was well. The Cheesyjet flight was only 20 minutes late getting into the "new" Athens airport which was, as promised by other travellers, a great improvement on the old one which we'd years ago sworn we'd never use again. Our pre-booked transfer to Lavrion was smooth on the new motorway. Our driver was taciturn but smooth and stopped at all the red lights and dropped us at the ferry booking offices in Lavrion. Lavrion had a reputation as an industrial port and one writer described scores of whores round the dock gates waiting for sailors. Well, most of the industry is long gone to be replaced by blocks of apartments for the ever-growing population of greater Athens, and so had the whores (unless it was their siesta). After getting our ferry tickets we walked 100 yards to a very good taverna overlooking the local fishing boat harbour and a new yacht marina. We had plenty of time for a leisurely meal then back to the ferry dock where a small smart café at the dock had replaced the old derelict kiosk by the dock gates. Ferry was on time and apart from another couple of Brits, some shoppers returning from Athens and a handful of lorry drivers, we had it to ourselves. 16 miles and one hour later we were in Kea which, apart from the barren Makronissos, is the nearest of the Cyclades to the mainland.
Once ashore we met our agent, and she led us (thanks to whoever invented wheeled luggage) up the stepped winding streets of the port village (Korissos or Livadia) to our Harbour Cottage (Limani Spitaki). This comprised one room downstairs with sofa, table & chairs, kitchen alcove and a tiny bathroom the size of a modern shower enclosure. You could (if you so wished!) sit on the loo, clean your teeth in the washbasin and wash your feet in the shower at the same time. Your left shoulder would be brushing against a bulge in the wall where the house was built into the natural rock and your right against the shower curtain. The shower at least had a curtain but the floor drain, typically, was unequal to the task so a quick mop round was needed after each shower. Upstairs, reached by a narrow spiral staircase (glad I'd lost some weight before going!), was a bedroom with high ceiling, vintage furniture (modern mattress) and another door (locked) which would have been the original access from the street a few steps up and round the corner from our front door. A balcony just big enough for two "director's" folding chairs and a small table completed the accommodation. The bedroom had air-conditioning at no extra cost (very welcome when 35 degree days gave way to 30 degree nights).
Korissia, the port, is a typical Cycladian village built up the hillside from the harbour up steps and twisting round natural obstacles. The houses are all cheek by jowl, one person's roof is another's terrace. Our door and windows and balcony were all on the alley side and from the balcony we could see part of the harbour and the roofscape of traditional terracotta tiles competing with flat roofs with washing lines, tv aerials, satellite dishes and electrical and telephone cables. Traditional Cycladian blue and white is now often tempered with green or red shutters and pink, tan or apricot limewashed walls. The house attached to us on the downhill side housed a maritime office on the ground floor and a traditional public water tap on the outside. Most of the other properties around us must have been Greek holiday homes as they were unoccupied most of the time, with someone just popping along to water the vines and pot plants. We could hear the phone ringing from the office and the odd frisky cat at night, but otherwise it was much quieter than we had expected. With the window open we could hear the ferries arrive (we got used to them, though the 6.30 am was usually a wake-up call): the ageing Macedon of the Goutos Lines we came in on, the more modern Marmari Express we left on 2 weeks later and the two streamlined NEL ships:Aqua Pearl and Aolis Lambrakis II. There were occasional visits from other lines as well. There were a few fishing boats and island-hopping yachts. At weekends everything changed. The Friday night ferries disgorged a seemingly endless stream of cars (we stopped counting when nearly 200 came off one ferry) and pedestrians, the Coastguard, acting as Port police (there seemed to be 3 men and 2 pony-tailed women in the island contingent) turned out in force to try to direct the gridlocked traffic leaving the harbour, blowing their whistles and waving their arms in the time-honoured way of traffic cops everywhere. During the Friday arrival and Sunday departure parking along the harbourside was suspended. This meant that the tavernas got all their spare chairs and tables out of storage and filled the spaces ready for the extra customers. We were glad we'd done our research and travelled mid-week to avoid this Athens exodus which is reversed on the late Sunday ferries. However, despite this influx, the beaches were uncrowded, though I wouldn't want to be there in the Greek peak holiday months of July and August. Even the town beach was long enough, clean and sandy, for the far end to be pleasantly untouched by the commercial traffic. Actually, within the narrow harbour entrance the bay opened out into three beaches. Voukari, the most sheltered, had become a popular yacht mooring and centre of night life for visiting sailors but also housed interesting ancient ruins and we had an excellent lunch at a taverna there. The middle beach, Gialaskari, was the site of a sewage plant plonked in the trees (eucalyptus, tamarisk and "salt cedars") that backed it, but otherwise, at the other end, was pleasant. A beach bar, that in high season was a noisy hangout for the younger set , apparently, was still locked up for the "winter". The town beach had a tented bar associated with a hotel across the road. A pleasant young man took care of renting out the sunbeds and served up snacks and drinks, playing fairly quiet europop mixed with a little reggae. It wasn't loud enough to disturb us (especially if I turned off my hearing aid).
We soon got used to the maze of alleys, deliveries being made on foot or still by donkey in the traditional way, mercifully untroubled by motorbikes, unlike some similar villages, just the occasional child on a mountain bike. We initially navigated by the flower pots on crucial corners to avoid dead-ends and joked that if one person took in the pair of shoes always outside one house, we'd never find our way back. We felt sorry for those properties with no outside space who had to put their washing on collapsible airers in the already narrow alleys. We always take a length of nylon rope and pegs and used it to rig up a line on the balcony to dry our washing.
The island has had the usual chequered history. At their lowest point after pirate raids during Venetian rule the population dropped to 200. Turkish rule introduced resettlement from Albania and during the 1920s exchange of populations, Smyrnian Greeks settled. Between the world wars a coaling station for steam ships was established and the ruins remain. The ancient miltos low-grade iron ore mines were reopened and a factory, now derelict, made helmets and water canteens for the Greek army. The post-war population of 5,000 has now shrunk to half that, except for the weekenders. The island is well-watered, attested to by remains of watermills and 26 dead windmills, now mostly converted to homes or stores. Most of the traditional springs and streams have now been piped and culverted out of visibility. Acorns were once a major export for tanning and though agriculture has declined, stands of oaks, almond trees and the inevitable olives remain.
The port had about 5 tavernas and as many cafebars, 2 good supermarkets, 3 bakers, butcher, cake shop, barber, 2 beauty parlours, 2 bookshops ( no English language books) some arty/gift shops/boutiques, the usual beach tat shop, a bank, 4 ATMs and a well-stocked hardware-cum ships' chandlers.
English was not widely spoken as most visitors are Greek, apart from visiting yachties. It was a good place to practice our Greek with the usual amusing incidents (see later). Among the usual menu howlers, where an English menu existed, were the often seen "cock in red wine" and a new one "marinated arrogant". This, in the Greek version was the fish gavros. My short Greek dictionary helpfully called it "a kind of fish". Other menus called it anchovy. When we arrived our agent said: "call on me if you need to know anything". We only had two questions. Where could we post cards in the port and was there a bus timetable? We found the people friendly but more reserved than we were used to, probably because of the strain of dealing with the demands of the weekly rush from Athens. One gift shop girl, selling the few available postcards and accompanying stamps, was the exception, telling Herself details of the recipe she was watching on daytime tv in the shop. There was none of the usual curiosity and sharing of family details you usually get even during a short taxi journey. The return transfer driver was much more chatty and told us about the new developments round Lavrion and the new fast ferries from Rafina.
We were unsure how the Greek financial crisis would affect prices. A few years ago we got 1.40 euros to the pound, this year at was around 1.17. Prices in euros, however, seemed about the same as last year. A starter, 2 main courses, including cheaper fish, water, bread and half a litre of house plonk was 30 to 35 euros. Cafes, as usua,l were dearer. A couple of drinks or coffees and sweets (ravani,galaktobouriko and kataifi, all my favourites, were on offer- the spiral stair became more of a problem as the days ticked by!) would cost around 20 euros.
Sunbeds (here called more grandly loungers Ksplorstras) were 5 euros a day. Beer in tavernas cost about 2.50, in the beach bar 5. Our usual pre-dinner white wine, which last year cost us 4 or 4.50 euros for a litre and a half, here cost only 3.50.
One of the cafes had a shop mannequin (female) seated at a front table. Even kinkier, her clothes were changed regularly! On the route to our cottage we passed a small courtyard where her "sister" was propped unclothed against the house wall. The garden wall had a list of cocktails crudely painted on it. On Saturday nights this one room was lit up and became a cocktail bar: 4 stools inside, 2 tiny tables outside. We saw no sign of customers.
Our agent was unable to help us with the bus timetable. She was sure it was still just doing the school run though we'd seen it out of school hours and at weekends and in our second week the schools had broken up. We never did work out when and where it went, fortunately we enjoy walking. We did the 5.5 Km walk up to the capital Chora(or Ioulis or Ilouda) and a further 500m to the famous Lion of Kea carved from a large rock in ancient times. Much local stone had a reddish layer, presumably the iron content, and was being used to clad most new properties and walls left unwhitewashed. I enjoyed watching one team making a fine job of a new wall with just hammer, bolster, plumbline and spirit level.
Our second question was where could we post cards without going back up to the Chora and the main post office. None of the usual yellow boxes seemed to be in the port. She didn't know as she had "an arrangement" (I think Greeks call it ta mesa) with the postman involving him collecting her mail and her giving him discount on ferry tickets. She thought someone had once told her they'd found a box but she couldn't remember where! She was also amazed we'd managed to buy stamps in the port! In recent years Greek villages have been supplied with banks of blue mailboxes for their incoming mail to their box numbers. I had often thought outgoing boxes should be provided in the same place. On one of our other walks (5 Km to a nice beach at Otzias) we stopped for a breather and water break in the bus-cum-mail-box shelter and saw one of the slots had a flap for outgoing mail. Back in the port we looked at the boxes there. It was the same, and furthermore it had a plate in English and Greek saying stamped mail would be collected Mon-Fri after 13.00. At the time of writing, cards we posted in the main post office have arrived but the later ones we posted in the blue box slot are still in limbo.
Not a great island for birdwatching despite the trees. We heard larks, warblers and owls, saw lots of sparrows, house martins, swallows, seagulls and hooded crows, a goldfinch, pigeons and collared doves and a raptor too high to identify.
The island met my food requirements: I didn't have the same main course twice in the evening for a fortnight. There were also things to try for the first time: Dakos and other local salads, mushroom pie etc. One taverna insisted on only giving us the English menu, though I suspected locals had a larger choice and all attempts to visit the kitchens to see what was actually available rather than go through the usual "not available" or long recited list of dishes were resisted.
There were a few hawkers at weekends touting the usual pirate CDs and videos and one Saturday a saxophonist played Pink Panther theme while his partner on a unicycle juggled with burning brands amongst the street tables. There was an extended "gypsy" family living in their truck on the carpark while the paterfamilias repaired about 20 taverna chairs with new raffia seats. Job done, their overloaded, lopsided vehicle lurched on to one of the weekend ferries back to the mainland. One writer called these 2-hour chairs, as your bum goes numb after that time and you make way for new customers!
A sign of the island prosperity was that most seemed to own 4x4 pickups or saloons or quad bikes. There were none of the usual 3-wheeler put-puts to be seen. One taverna owner had a tricycle with a backward facing car seat at the rear. Another walk we did was around the coast for a few Km towards Xyla passing many second home mansions in sumptuous landscaped grounds with lots of imported antipodean trees like tree ferns. No doubt the Greek tax authorities will soon be visiting…
The black grannies bathing in their frocks were replaced by grannies in 2-piece costumes and flippers who were probably on the phone to their broker when they got back to their towel. The traditional volta nowadays seems to be not family groups eying up possible marriage matches but young mothers or grannies showing off the little ones in their best clothes and McLaren buggies. The young pass by in mooching (boys) or giggling (girls) groups without parental scrutiny.
Apart from the aforementioned sax I heard no live music though it was promised at one taverna at weekends. A loud wedding party could be heard across the bay one Saturday and female members on one flotilla yacht group subjected the port to loud and drunken "Mama Mia" routines, in English, I am ashamed to say, from their cockpit. The night clubs only opened at weekends and were on the outskirts of the port. We entered a taverna in Otzisa to the strains of Van Morrison singing a 12-bar blues to be followed by a T-bone Walker number before the radio (Kosmik FM) reverted to europop. Otzias had 2 good tavernas, but judging from the piles of sunbeds piled up must be very busy in high season. Some islands we've visited recently have kept quite early hours, but Kea's mainland visitors used to keep the more typical Greek habit of dining at 10 or 10.30 at night. By the time I got to the baker for our morning breakfast rolls, the locals were already buying their mid-morning snacks and I had to be strong minded and ignore the smell of honey and cheese in the air.
I noticed a few years ago how car keys seemed to have replaced traditional komboloi". Nowadays it is the ever present mobile phone that is forever being fondled and it seems compulsory for all drivers to be on the phone or texting. In the supermarkets at weekends the men were on the phone getting instructions from their women folk who were busy opening up their weekend houses. It was also disconcerting to be eating a meal when cars drive between the tables to make a 3-point turn.
The Chora, Ioulis, reminded me of Patmos with its log-roofed stegadi tunnels through the houses and steep alleyways. All cards were thus kept outside the old walls, though motorbikes could get through the arches, and donkeys were again the main delivery vehicles. Old houses called kathikia in the country side had inward sloping walls and split stone roofs. Most ancient ruins were fenced off, though the one at Ayia Irini outside Vourkari had a good plan posted up. In the church nearby was a monument to a bishop hung by the Turks for blessing the wedding of the local hero (Greek view) or pirate (Turkish view) Lambrakis, famous for dragging his ship from bay to open sea over a narrow isthmus to circumvent a Turkish blockade.
It is nice in this age of electronic gadgets that Greek boys can still spend a couple of hours in the sea doing nothing but throw handfuls of wet sand at each other. On another day two had endless fun with two pieces of wood, some string and a plastic bag. There was a well-equipped gym behind the beach that I never saw in use, but chess, backgammon and cards were being played on the beach by local men & teenagers.
Although the church bell chimed the hours and half-hours accurately its two clock faces showed different times. One report of holidays on the island in the 1970s spoke of a child whose cat had died lighting a candle every time they passed a church. A sign of the time, perhaps that every church we passed was securely locked. Sheila found the outer gate to the main town church yard unlocked one evening, but the old priest, who looked like Richard Attenborough at his most patriarchal, was in his study and came out to wave her away.
I was pleased to see recycling facilities were made available and the council had cleaners regularly emptying bins and clearing rubbish off the tideline and the beach bar guy kept on top of his customers' debris.
At both ends of our journey the SWAT-uniformed coastguard were in charge, not the white naval uniformed port police we have been used to. I don't know if this is a general move, we'll see when we go to Thassos in September. There was no visible military presence, and no overflying by the Greek airforce either.
These notes may be longer (much too long!) than usual as I ran out of holiday reading, not feeling up to tackling the Greek language version of Irving Yalom's When Nietsche wept that someone had left in our accommodation. As a consequence I took my notebook to the beach and jotted down notes as well as playing "Late Arrivals on Holiday". Perhaps the beach bar guy though I was a critic as he gave us two free beers one day. He usually had the caps off before we ordered, are we so predictable? Not many other freebies: one spoon sweet (apricot) with yoghourt in one taverna, watermelon in another, one bill rounded down, made up for by being shortchanged at least twice (very unusual).
But, I'm not surprised tourist fatigue may have set in after seeing a boatload of Danes pile into a taverna to watch their team play in the World Cup soccer without buying a drink, and after the waiters , who had been watching the game, got up to give them the front table.
We enjoyed ourselves, I'm not sure it's an island I'd go back to, but I may be prejudiced by the two and a half hour delay on Cheesyjet on the way home which spoilt otherwise efficient transport plans. At least the M23/M25 has no traffic at 1am!
I'll be posting some photos on Photobox for family and friends so any gluttons for punishment can be even more bored!
RtS
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