A Farewell To Athens

 

Photo©Nigel Summerley

My talkative friend on the hotel reception desk in Plaka at the beginning of this little trip (and on the last night too) was insistent that while I was in the area again I should visit the Frissiras Museum for Contemporary European Painting. "Most people don't know about it," he said. " And it's just round the corner and a couple of streets from here."

He was right about the location... but not about it being visitable. When I went to have a look I found it was shut. And the only exhibit that I managed to view was the intriguing one pictured above, seen through the locked doors.

I went back to the hotel to report on the Frissiras being closed and to say goodbye, but the reception desk was empty. I glimpsed Stifado the rabbit [this blog 15 April 2023] still hopping about in his cage and was happy to see him again. He didn't seem to have much of a life but at least he hadn't been made into stew.

I headed for the airport...

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Reverse Engineering

 

Back in Athens after my mini-odyssey around Folegandros, Sikinos and Syros, I had a little time to spare, and my good friend and fellow writer Jane Cochrane had recommended I should pay a visit to the Kotsanas Museum, not far from Syntagma.

Basically, it's a place of miracles where the technological achievements of ancient Greece – dating back as far as 2000BC – are brought back to stunning life.

I was primarily interested in the musical intruments: the lyres, the percussion items and the world's first keyboard. 

But the really mindblowing exhibits were the re-creations of things that I never knew existed: such as an alarm clock, a door with an intruder alert, an automated theatre, and a female robot wine-server.

They were based on "simple" principles involving water, air and sand – no electricity, no pollution, no waste. They were all things largely left behind by "progress". Truly amazing.

Swimmingly Good Syros

Beneath Agios Giorgios  Photo©Nigel Summerley

And so to the centre of the Cyclades... not Delos although of course that is the sacred island sitting in the midst of this circular group of islands... but Syros, home of the wonderful Cycladic capital, Ermoupolis.

Over the past six years it has become something of a second home, and I never tire of returning. I could write far more about it than I'm doing here. But I'll concentrate on just two of its attractions: the perfect swimming spots – at Galissas on the west coast and in the city itself beneath the grand church of Agios Giorgios.

It was a little bit of heaven to be able to bathe in the not-too-cold water at both of them during a quick stay before heading back to Athens.

Beneath Agios Giorgios  Photo©Nigel Summerley

Bad Day, Good Day

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Some paths you just can't find – especially on an island such as Sikinos. My map informed me there was a remote beach at Kimisi Theotokou to the north-west of Episkopi, so on a cloudy day with the promise of later sunshine I set out to find it.

But the footpath – listed as an "unclear" branch off the coastal path – was completely elusive. The spot where it should have been (and for quite a way either side of it) was overgrown and impassable. 

Reluctantly I gave up and returned to the Kastro, the only benefit of the outing being to pick up some plastic packaging that had been discarded by the roadside.

This frustrating outing simply made the next day's walk even better – a return to Agios Giorgios (pictured above) which I had promised myself, this time taking the main road (yet again totally devoid of traffic, there and back).

This is the perfect swimming spot and I was reluctant to leave. But I had one more call to make before leaving Sikinos the next day.

I wanted to take in the ascent to the monastery from the other side to which I had climbed up to it a few days earlier; I knew I could – then drop down all the way to the Kastro.

The monastery was locked on my previous visit, with a notice saying entrance had to be arranged in advance. But, after the steep climb this time, I found the previously forbidding door wide open. I popped my head in and was welcomed by one of the nuns to have a look around. There was no sign of anyone else.

The monastery grounds were utterly peaceful and the views down from this high and windy point really were aerial. I stayed for a long time before thanking the nuns and heading for the steps that would take me back down to earth.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Photo©Nigel Summerley

As I began the descent, I heard a nun lock the door again behind me... as if it had been open temporarily just for me.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Bay Wonder

 

Photo©Nigel Summerley

The big sunny day that had been forecast for Sikinos finally arrived and looked perfect for the big walk – from the Kastro all the way west to Malta Bay, said by some to be the finest spot on the island.

As this picture shows, it's a dramatic place. And though much of the hike there, is on a good and straightforward path, the descent (and later ascent) to the bay is over steep and rocky terrain with no clear way marked – a challenge, one might say.

Two peaceful hours spent on this deserted beach looking across the sea to Ios were well worth the five hours spent getting there and back. And the day's exertions made tea and biscuits back at the Kastro all the more wonderful.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

The Long And The Shorts Of It

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Neither the weather nor I could make our minds up. It was an unpredictable day on Sikinos. In the end I packed some lunch and thought I'd head out from the Kastro, through the narrow streets of the neighbouring Chora and into the countryside to look for a place for a picnic.

What happened was no picnic.

On the footpath south-west of the Chora, in the area known as Stamatini, the day began to brighten up and I was tempted by a signed path to Agios Pandeleimon down on the south coast.

All went well for a while until the path began to peter out and storm clouds began to darken above. Heading down a ravine where the rocks became ever more treacherous, I felt the rain suddenly become intense. The downpour was cold and so was the wind whipping into me. I continued, looking for somewhere to shelter, but there was nowhere.

Respite only came when the rain eventually stopped, the wind dropped and I came down to a place that I figured couldn't be far from the coast. Wherever I was, there was no one else for miles. So I stripped off my sodden clothes and put them out in the sun which had now started to appear.

I used a stick to prop up my shorts (pictured here) in the vain hope they would become dry enough to wear. After a near-naked lunch, they were still wet through. So I carried them with me, flapping in the sunshine, as I finally found a decent path, made it to the church of Agios Pandeleimon, and then went north-east to Alopronia – where I put them on again briefly in case an arrival in underwear caused alarm.

The shorts came off again on the beach there, for a final bit of drying before the hike back north to the Kastro. What had started off as a short excursion for lunch had ended up as something of an endurance test.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

A Bit Of Rough

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Even on a cloudy day, the waters of Dhialiskaraki bay (above) are still turquoise – just one of the delights on a long walk from the Kastro of Sikinos, starting on footpaths of varying quality down to the port of Alopronia.

There's a decent beach there... but then, there are good beaches everywhere on this south-eastern side of the island.

From Alopronia there's an easy walk east, along what is either a good path or a not so good road, to Dhialiskari beach – not to be confused with Dhialiskaraki which is the next one along.

Between the two, the path gets very rough indeed – or, perhaps more accurately, non-existent. And you need to keep your wits about you, because this invisible path will take you over the top of a vast cave whose mouth is open to the sea.

After the descent, the path stays rough all the way to Agios Giorgios – a really, really nice beach that I found difficult to leave.

Eventually I walked the four miles of main road north-west back to the Kastro – 90 per cent of it uphill – and didn't see a single person or a single vehicle all the way. It wasn't just a feeling – I pretty much did have the island to myself.