Kalo Taxidi - Antiparos 1996

Antiparos 1996
On Poseidon Express 2 as usual I strolled around the ship to do some ship archaeology. I did not manage to discover whilst on board what she used to be, but now know that she was formerly the Dimitrios Express. One helpful young passenger, on seeing me trotting around, told me where she thought the reception was. I thanked her and said that I was just exploring. I stopped myself just in time from using the Turkish word arastirma.

It was not only the Ariadne that had Lincolnshire connections. On the Poseidon Express 2 I saw life raft tubs with "CoSalt" on them, and names of various towns and cities in Britain including Grimsby. I wondered at the time if she could be the sister ship of the old Tor Hollandia, the Tor Anglia - I had travelled across the North Sea in the late 1960s on both the Tor Line ships.

The poor old Poseidon Express (not called the Poseidon Express 1 as when she was afloat she had been the only Poseidon Express) had gone from Paros harbour - she had sunk after a collision, and the once splendid ship was a sorry site lying on her side. Luckily the ship was the only serious casualty in the collision.

I stayed on Paros harbour waving to a friend (who was travelling on to Piraeus) for so long that by the time I had left most of the room touts had gone. The port officials had kept the room touts well back from the embarkation and disembarkation area. A few years earlier I had wanted to go from Amorgos to Naxos, but the only convenient ferry went direct from Amorgos to Paros, missing out Naxos, so I had a few hours to spend in Paros waiting for a ferry to Naxos. Even after I had left my main luggage in a luggage store and was walking around with my smallish day bag I was pursued through the streets of Paros by room touts. This time one chap approached me in Paros, opened a folder and told me of his rooms at the other side of the island at Piso Livadi. Now I am sure that Piso Livadi is a very pleasant place (I have never landed there, only called in when the Skopelitis has had Paros on her Naxos-Amorgos itinerary) and that all its inhabitants love it dearly, but if I were to stay on Paros I would chose Paros Town. "Everywhere else is full" this persistent tout told me. Full indeed! In spring 1996 there were so few tourists in Paros that I am sure that rooms were to be had (if I had wanted one) in just about any establishment I chose. I thought of the Earnest Young German tourist on Anaphi, who had been told on landing at Sikinos that there was no accommodation in Sikinos Chora. His informant no doubt had accommodation to let in Sikinos harbour. I thought of the woman desperately trying to deter two tourists from boarding the bus up to Chora on Sikinos. Most Greeks I meet are scrupulously honest, but some room touts are not. Imagine a novice island hopper meeting this chap late at night and anxious about finding accommodation. Such a person could easily snap up this person's offer without even realising how far out of town Piso Livadi was.

I intended staying in Paros just long enough to get an idea of the onward ferry times and then catch the first bus down to Pounta, from where a ferry leaves for Anti Paros. I had read that there were buses every half hour to Pounta, and was not too concerned that a bus was just pulling out as I approached the bus station. I was happy to catch the next bus - not knowing that there would be a two hour wait. The bus stopped and the conductor jumped down from the bus and opened one of the compartments underneath for me to put my bag in. How sensible those compartments are. Afterwards I discovered that buses are only half hourly in peak season. In May they only ran every two hours.

A ferry was waiting at Pounta and left almost straight away. There were three ferries doing the run, the Agioi Anargiri, the Leukas and the Panagia Faneromene. I travelled on all three. The ferries were what I think of as a landing craft type of ferry. Larger versions of this type of vessel were (and probably still are) doing the Corfu-Igoumenitsa run. Smaller vessels (that is of the Anti Paros size or perhaps slightly bigger) do some of the routes in the Ionian. I think the Anti Paros boats were the first boats of this type that I have seen in the Aegean; probably the style is not suitable or comfortable for longer and rougher crossings. They all had a car deck with a passenger ramp around the side of the deck, and at the front cabins for passengers and an outside deck with seats. Each ferry was slightly different. Far smaller than the larger inter island ferries, they offer a quick and comfortable run to Anti Paros - if they link up with a bus. The journey took less than ten minutes. Hardly had we left Paros behind than Anti Paros loomed ahead.

My first impression was of a very low and flat island, at first sight a little like Koufonissi. As usual I was itching to start exploring this new-to-me island, but first things first. I needed somewhere to stay. I walked along the harbour and saw an old fashioned looking taverna with an outside terrace shaded by trees, and with a number of cats walking expectantly between the tables. I sat down and ordered an Amstel. When I arrive on an island I often head for a bar and order a drink, then leave my luggage at the bar whilst going to find accommodation. Here I had not realised that I had dropped in on a hotel and would end up staying upstairs.

I had not been approached by a single room tout as I walked from the ferry to the taverna. The islanders on Anti Paros (compared with those on Paros itself) are not very thrusting types except as regards rooms. They are not really that thrusting as regards rooms. I sat down on the terrace of the taverna, a very pleasant place in a battered old world sort of way, shaded by trees. Other people were eating lunch. With hindsight it is a pity I did not eat there then, as it was the only chance I had. Now I know that service is rarely very prompt in Greece, but after ten minutes I had not been served and was feeling thirsty, so I went inside and asked the woman on the till for an Amstel. I took the glass and bottle outside to my table myself (I usually do not do this until I am known or am ordering my second glass).

The Proprietoress came out to clear some tables, saw my large rucksack, and said "room?" I shrugged my shoulders and tried to indicate that I was just looking round. Again the woman came out "Room. Bath. 2000dr." After her first approach, when I had not even realised that the taverna had rooms (I thought that the rooms she was offering were somewhere else in the village) - I strolled round and looked upward and saw I was drinking Amstel at the Hotel Anti Paros which was shown on my map as a D class hotel. Hotel classifications, now they bring to mind one of my early visits to Greece. I was looking for a hotel in Ioannina and had found a place that looked decent enough from the outside, but it was class "gamma". I knew that hotels in Greece were classed from A to E, but gamma was G. I had read that in bigger cities even E class hotels can be rough (in smaller places they are usually fine) what on earth, or what in Greece, was a G class hotel like? I stayed in the G class hotel nonetheless and it eventually dawned on me that gamma is the third letter in the Greek alphabet. My supposedly G class hotel was a C class hotel. Now I had mentally marked this D class hotel in Anti Paros, the Hotel Anti Paros, as a place to stay. At Mrs Hotel Anti Paros's second approach I gave in! [2011 note - The "Hotel Anti Paros" was not the real name of this hotel.]

A pleasant old-fashioned hotel of faded charm. The rooms were reached by an outside staircase at the side of the taverna. My room at the front of the building had a sea view partially obscured by trees. Not that I am complaining about the trees, I love trees and they gave a pleasant rural feel to the balcony. The rooms at the back of the building had a less pleasant view, overlooking the buildings behind ((including the shut Zorba's Bar). There seemed to be only one other guest in the hotel, a chap staying in the room at the corner. My room was (as I then thought) excellent. It was in a provincial taste that I liked, and was cheap.

One of the first things I noticed was the way the floor tiles changed pattern, and a crack in the ceiling. I did some mental hotel archaeology and tried to visualise how the building had been built originally. Even in the middle of the day I noticed how dark the hallway was; the light bulb holders were innocent of light bulbs. I suspect that bulbs in rooms had "popped", and residents had whipped bulbs off the landing to put in the bedrooms. Still, I thought that whoever came up to clean (the rooms were very clean) would have noticed the lack of bulbs on the landing. The only other quibble was the lack of a table on the balcony. I made do with the second chair. I thought of the hotel I stayed at on Tilos which had a very narrow balcony. A Coca Cola crate was provided to do duty as a table. I thought of temporarily "stealing" a drink bottles crate from the taverna below but decided against it not being clued up on Greek criminal law. It would not do for an English solicitor to be charged with the theft of a Greek beer crate! Still, it was a pleasant enough place until........ I will let you wait and find out what happened a day or so later!

Installed, I set out to explore. I was not surprised to find many shops geared to tourists (including many shops geared to providing gear to tourists). Paros is so close that in season the island must be inundated with tourists. It would be unfair to say that the main street heading inland was saturated with tourism, but there was a fair amount of tourist related activity. Or rather inactivity. Being October some shops had shut for the winter, others were having closing down sales, others were having a siesta. There was a large supermarket on the harbour and smaller ones inland. The largest supermarket was much bigger than the population of Anti Paros could justify and must have relied on tourists for much of its custom. Antiparos is different to other small Greek islands, as Paros is so close. On Anaphi the shops were geared to locals. Here so many tourists (not many now) came across from Paros that the shops cater to their needs.

Later after I had visited Andros I compared the two High Streets. Andros Chora is a town; Anti Paros a village so a direct comparison cannot be made but there is so much more character in Andros. There is a much smaller percentage of places aimed at tourists in Andros (in fact hardly any).

In some books I saw Anti Paros harbour and the inland village described as separate places, but they are linked by buildings all the way up the main road. I found the layout confusing. There is a sort of cross roads in the centre of the old village, but with kinks in the roads radiating out, which I found made it difficult to see which one led back towards the harbour and my hotel. As the island is so flat at this end there was no inclination to give a clue. I was inclined to get lost. Another pirate deterrent? There is a kafeneion at this junction. The kafeneion was the one point I could easily recognise in what were then to me a mass of apparently identical streets. I kept going back to the centre and past the kafeneion until I got my bearings. The problem was that the lane back to the harbour had a dog's leg in it - and this was the last one I thought of taking. The locals looked up as I went past the first time; by the umpteenth time they seemed amused. I was not only a tourist; I was a lost tourist. After I had walked past him, to and fro, several times one local asked if I was looking for the beach! "Bagnio?" he suggested helpfully. Yes, I was heading for the beach in a way, but the harbour where my hotel was was at a different side of the village to the beach used for swimming. I could not ask for my hotel as I was then not sure how to say (or spell in English or Greek) the real name of what I have called the "Hotel Anti Paros". Perhaps with my comings and goings the denizens of the kafeneion thought that I was training for a marathon.

When I had found my way back to the harbour (it was easy to find my way once I recognised that dog's leg) I found that, like Katapola, Anti Paros has some ducks (and geese). I saw them snoozing and sunbathing on rocks around the bay. [2011 update. Katapola still has two geese, but I haven't seen ducks for a few years.]

My balcony was a pleasant place to sit in the late afternoon. From the balcony I heard the ducks and geese quacking loudly near a fishing boat that had recently landed. I don't usually think of ducks as sea birds, but they certainly are in Greece. Kastelorizo had a flock as well. In theory sitting on the balcony reading a book and making notes about the trip (I am always doing several things at once), in practice I was constantly peering around the fronds of tree to see what was happening on the harbour. I heard an engine throbbing down below, and at first thought that it was the engine of a fishing boat. Peering through the vegetation I saw that a fuel lorry was going round the boats in the harbour, pumping their tanks full of fuel.

When I first sat down on the balcony my mind was brimming with things to note down, but after so many interruptions (not that I was complaining - it is always better to keep abreast of what is happening in the here and now than to dwell on the past), those thoughts soon dispersed. The seeds had blown before I reaped that harvest. I thought of those mini tape recorder gadgets that record 10, 20 seconds or whatever of your thoughts. Whoever has such short thoughts?

In the late afternoon there were few tourists on Anti Paros. Many left on a tourist boat at 3 o'clock. Another tourist boat came in from Paros at about 5, but it seemed that that boat was not going to return to Paros that day. The cave (the sight that most tourists come to Anti Paros to see) was only open from 11.30 to 14.00 so most visitors would have left the island at 15.00.

The food on the menu at the taverna below had looked most inviting at lunch time, typical Greek dishes. My mouth was watering at the thought of the food and the antics of the cats (I phrased that wrongly, honest, I did not mean that my mouth was watering at the thought of eating them there cats). The taverna had been closed when I got back to my room in the late afternoon. I wondered what time it would open for dinner. I waited, feeling slightly peckish. As I knew I would be eating at the hotel I had not bothered looking around for any other likely eating places. Usually when I am in a new place I mentally size up the likely looking eating establishments in daylight hours. About eight o'clock I decided that the taverna was not going to open. I had noticed that there was a "for sale" (poletai) sign in the window. That explains why the building has a generally run down air. I have noticed that there seems to be little in the way of large estate agencies in Greece. I have seen the odd estate agency, but they seem to be independent concerns. A building sometimes has a "for sale" or "to let" sign, but no details of any agency to contact. The potential purchaser is expected to apply within. One newspaper shop I regularly frequent in Naxos has had a "for sale" sign up for years, yet is still there with the same people running it. [2011 update. The newsagents I mentioned in Naxos is no more, it closed many years ago. I later noticed that I was just reading the large print on the "for sale" and "to let" signs. There is smaller handwriting under the large print, often faded in the sun (or rain) stating exactly what is for sale or to let. I had made the mistake of assuming that the establishment sporting the sticker was for sale or to let.]

Mr and Mrs Hotel Anti Paros had not, I hoped, gone too far, as they had my passport. I walked along the harbour on both sides of the hotel, half expecting to find that my hotel had opened up by the time I returned. There were other hotels that looked as if they might serve food. They would do if I found nothing else, but were not the authentic style of Greek taverna at which I had been hoping to eat. There was nothing for it but to venture up to the main inland village. I managed to get lost in the daytime. How would I fare (and would I find any fare to eat?) at night time?

There were a number of bars along the main road heading inland, but of the variety that served snacks. "Try our cold draft beer" invited one. "American style hamburger, vegetarian sandwich, chicken nuggets" advertised another. No sign of any real food. Don't they realise this is not what we (I) come to Greece for? Perhaps some people do - or else why are they on sale?

One place looked so so, but in pride of place at the top of the hand written menu was "fried mushrooms." I do not think I had come across mushrooms in Greece before, and if that was the dish of which the management was most proud, it did not augur well for the rest of the menu. I did not fancy eating there. Nearby was a place selling doner kebabs type souvlaki, that filling Greek snack. Then I found To Steki in the centre of the village, large and busy and looking authentic. As well as a biggish inside dining room there was a large canopied area outside. I do not know how I failed to see it as I came and went past this area earlier in the day. Both locals and tourists were busily tucking in to large portions of food. I joined them.

I wondered if Kimolos was busy at this time of year. The set up on Anti Paros was in many ways reminiscent of Kimolos, but communications easier, Paros easier to reach than Milos, and many boats from Paros.

I noticed a neighbour eating a plateful of triangular cheese pies, arranged together on a plate to form a semi circle, and decided to buy some at the next opportunity.

To Steki was busy when I arrived. By the time I had finished eating and lingered over my remaining wine, the taverna was full. I wondered what happened when it rained. Was that canopy overhead waterproof? Or did customers grab their food and dash indoors and stand to eat it? Or did they rush in and muck in with the inside customers? I noticed a plastic draught excluder rolled up ready for use at the side of the outdoor seating area, a visible reminder that the weather in the Cyclades is not always clement. It was breezy outside, but pleasant. An octopus was hanging up in the taverna window. My only criticism was that the taverna sold no carafe wine and Kourtaki in .375, not half litre bottles! The wine seemed to evaporate as I was eating.


On Monday I had asked at one of the travel agencies about buses to the cave, but they were only interested in selling tickets for tour buses. I had read that tour buses on Anti Paros were an expensive rip off. I did not want to be ripped off so I decided to use the local bus, but that seemed to have no fixed departure times. I gathered the driver left when enough passengers had congregated (and I suspect that one year round Greek customer was a more valuable passenger to be accommodated than a transient here one day gone the next tourist. And why not?) I hovered near the bus stop but nothing was moving. It was a long walk to the cave, and the bus was unlikely to leave soon. As the cave would not open before 11.30 there was no point in the driver getting there any earlier. Yet I wanted to arrive at 11.30, and if I had to walk, I would have to set out a long while before any bus was likely to leave. I had not seen the Anti Paros bus, which did not help. Once on Symi I was staying in the harbour and wanted to catch a bus uphill. I waited at the bus stop (this was after dark). The bus did not arrive so I set out to walk. Next day I saw the same small van lingering at the bus stop. Only then did it dawn on me that this was the island bus. On Greek islands you cannot always count on a bus looking like a bus. I did not want to wait until say 11.15 for a local bus that might not leave so I walked.

Some of the books I had read suggested that there was no road to the cave, only a dirt track. The road was now surfaced all the way. The problem I had was not knowing where the cave was. Would there be a sign? It must be in a hill, but which one and how high up (my map was not accurate enough to show any of this). How far would I have to walk? How long would it take? I had to remember that I might have to walk back. The walk was easy going and pleasant enough apart from my anxieties about distance. On the way up I saw a couple of fields of pigs. Old travel writers saw many pigs in the Cyclades. I have seen the odd pen of pigs, but these are the first pigs I remember seeing in fields. They were free range pigs, rooting about in small fields. Were they bred to supply To Steki?

I eventually reached the cave.

At the cave there is a sign banning flash photography, graffiti and damaging of the stalagmites and stalactites. There were not many people in the caves but many of them were taking flash photos. There was a huge amount of graffiti on the rocks in the cave; much of it appeared to be felt tip, hence recent. Some graffiti was so high up that I wondered how it was put there. The cave was magnificent, despite these drawbacks.

I talked to an Australian couple (or were they Canadian, as I have mentioned before I am dreadful at accents) who said flash was OK so long as you did not point it in someone's face and cause them to slip, etc. They said that at home similar caves had guardians and rocks fenced off to prevent access and this sort of despoliation. The guardians at Anti Paros stayed at ground level chatting with the person running the small refreshment stall. There is a sign at start of the road from the harbour leading up to the village, "It is forbidden to drive through our village. Thank you for helping us to keep Antiparos quiet and safe." Despite this motorbikes (and perhaps cars) did drive through. Perhaps locals regard such signs as not applying to them. When I started jotting down my notes I was going to moralise on the effectiveness (or otherwise) of signs forbidding an activity. Do such signs put into otherwise empty heads thoughts that would not otherwise be there?

I prefer walking on footpaths to roads, but there was not much traffic. There may have been a footpath inland, but even though the island was fairly narrow I could not have been sure of finding the cave any way but by road. Once at the cave I did not feel confident of finding my way over the hills back to the harbour. Even now having once reached the cave on foot I am not certain that I could find the cave by any means other than road. I tried to imagine what access would have been like before the road was built; before the concrete steps and paths inside the cave were built; before the hand rails were constructed; before electric light was installed. At one point a small bus passed me; this was just as I was approaching the cave. I saw that the bus went on to a beach before heading up the road to the cave. I decided that I was too close to the cave to chicken out of the walk. The cave was not then in sight; if I had realised how steep the last part of the road was, I would have jumped on the bus. I would have liked to have come back by a different route - but without an accurate map and not knowing the layout of the island, I did not want to get lost that far from base. As the cave closed for the day at 14.30 there were unlikely to be any buses, tour buses or not, after then. The journey back was easier than the journey out; apart from the first part being downhill, I knew where I was going and eventually had the harbour in sight.

Back down in the harbour I saw that the hotel was now only serving snacks at lunchtime. Yes, I had managed to get back in time for a late lunch, if one was being served. I ordered a well deserved beer. Mr and Mrs Hotel Anti Paros spoke no, or hardly any, English. I wondered what they thought of their English visitor who sat on the terrace every lunch time drinking beer. Did they realise how far I had walked to earn my beer? Confession. That day I drank two lunch time beers. It was very pleasant sitting there and watching life pass me by. Not for always, just on holiday. There are two boat quays at Anti Paros, the tour boat quay just across the road from the Hotel Anti Paros, and the ferry boat quay a little way up the road. The ferry boat does the short crossing from Anti Paros to Pounta, about half an hour by bus from Paros Town. The tour boats go direct from Anti Paros to Paros Town, a much longer (and far more expensive) crossing. A ferry came in, and disgorged a group of teenage schoolchildren (there is a junior school on Anti Paros).

Tourists were milling around waiting for the tour boat to leave. I jotted down that they looked like snails with an overgrown shell, but cannot now recall what image I had in mind. Some of them may have been wearing voluminous shell suits puffed out by the wind. Two middle-aged Aussies trotted up (one in a maroon cardigan with bumbag beneath - does she know what shape she looks?) and asked for the "Paros" boat. A local gestures her to the trip boat quay. I grin at him and glance at the Pounta quay. I smile at them as they pass. They smile back, little realising what I have just written about them. Oh, you two-faced person, Susan. The fun of watching hommus (and femmus) touristicus! On the previous day the tour boat had been packed, now there were only a handful of passengers on the 3 p.m. boat. In the main street one shop was closing that day, 8th October; another was closing on 10th October. The season draws to a close. There would be bargains to be had in the closing down sales, if only the shops sold anything that appealed to me. They sold nothing I fancied, and even if they had I was watching my weight, no not my weight, the weight of my rucksack.

I thought of the differences between Tourists and Travellers. I like to think that I am a Traveller. Trippers / Tourists stay in hotels on Paros and come for a day to Anti Paros. Travellers stay on Anti Paros and think about spending part of a day in Paros! For the next day I intended going to Paros.

I spent a good hour on the terrace of the taverna supping beer and watching the world, then I went up the main street to buy a cheese pie only to find the bakery was closed. On my way back down to the harbour two sympathetic looking tourists said they had seen me walking back from the cave. 16 k.m. they said. I made an exaggerated gesture of tiredness. Only later did I realise that they must have thought I had only just got back!

Back in my rooms I had had to wash my shorts and T-shirt, and even the underpinnings. The reason? I wash them daily anyway, but the particular reason for washing was the sucking of a chummy white taverna cat. She had been sitting on my knee, sucking away, for most of the time I was sitting there. I did not realise just how wet my clothes were until I stood up! I usually think of things being sucked dry. That day all my clothes were sucked wet.

I went into one of the shops on the main street, one I had avoided previously as it was called (in English) "meat market". I envisaged a butcher's - but I now saw that it was a small supermarket with no raw meat in sight. I was served in one of the many small supermarkets by a girl aged eight or ten doing her homework! She served me (my purchases included wine), lifting her pen from her schoolbook to tap figures into the till. In England what she was doing would be illegal; she was under-age to work, under-age to sell wine. Here, apparently, "no problem." On one island I once saw a very young bus conductor, he could hardly have been more than about thirteen. And I think of the six year old waiter I saw on another island.

The Hotel Anti Paros was in autumn 1996 a good example of that disappearing breed, an old fashioned Cycladic hotel. As it was up for sale I would not be surprised if the new owners do not (may already have done) revamp it and make it a clone of the less characterful newly built hotels. The Hotel Anti Paros when I was there had a style all of its own, so I feel it deserves a specially detailed mention. "Old" for the Cyclades hotel probably means the turn of the twentieth century at the earliest; the Hotel Anti Paros is somewhat later. Until recently there would be no call for more than one hotel on all but the biggest and more popular islands.

I liked my room at the Hotel Anti Paros, yet objectively it was shabby. 10' x 10'. Full width 3' x 10' balcony screened by shoulder high partitions from neighbours. Floor, a marble "conglomerate". Colour changes across room - sign of earlier wall formation? Wardrobe with door. White - solid - hardboard. Dark brown writing desk - two doors. 2 blue plastic straw seat chairs - Plastic seat with padded back and seat. 2 twin beds (matching) - brown wooden headboards. Largish brown frame mirror. Electric "oil" lamp above (main light) - 2 twigs decoratively arranged. Bedhead light - lacks (working) bulb (one no bulb, other dead bulb). No bedside table (I put one of the chairs half over bathroom door, to act as a table). 2 plastic chairs (no table) on balcony. Bathroom - loo (clean), basin (waste drips). Shower. Huge tank of water. Water two shades of cold.

Sitting on the balcony I heard sounds or caught tantalising glimpses of Anti Paros life and trotted down to see what was going on. A noise like a siren that I heard whirring round the village turned out to be a device attached to a motor bike; the young rider was showing off. The slapping noise, as so often in Greece, was the fishermen slapping octopus on the harbour. I caught a glimpse of a priest sitting down by the harbour, facing the sea and intent on doing something. What was he doing? I went down, walked in front of him and glanced curiously but I hope discreetly. I should have guessed. Earlier I saw him carrying a plastic bag of fish. He was gutting them.

At To Steki the waiter put one of those paper tissue tablecloths on my table. I noticed that he positioned the map of Paros and Anti Paros on the map so that they were upside down from where I was sitting. Next door is "Stones Pub" (shut, I am pleased to say).

Wednesday. I had been to the cave. Anti Paros, though not unattractive, did not lend itself to footpath rambles. In saying that I may be doing the island an injustice. From the road to the cave (the only obvious way of getting to that end of the island) I had noticed no paths beckoning me to "come hither".

The weather was not the sort for countryside walking, nor the sort that GNTO adverts lead us to believe we will find in Greece; and I was glad that I had walked to the cave the day before. The clouds brooded dark and low. Rain was in the air and on the ground but not actually falling when I first peered out of the shutters that morning.

I had hung my washing on the line on my balcony, covered my bed with my sleeping bag, left other items dotted around as one does, as I do at any rate, some on the twin beds, on the floor, on a chair. Pardon me mentioning my domestic arrangements. You will see why later. Don't I tempt you to read on, don't I tease you, dear reader. What did happen? Like a detective story writer I have already given you a clue.

Before I set out for Paros, I wanted to get my passport back. I know that hotel and room owners need to see your passport to jot down whatever details they are legally required to jot down, but then most of them have this infuriating habit of hanging on to your passport until you leave. That is all very well if the hotel has a permanently manned reception desk, but very inconvenient if it does not. When I am staying in a place that looks likely to be manned at irregular hours I would far rather pay in advance and keep my passport, than have to dodge about trying to find the management to pay and recover my passport. I thought that as the Hotel Anti Paros was a hotel there would be no problem. How wrong I was! I wanted to pay for my room and recover my passport before I set out for a day in Paros on the Wednesday. The bar and hotel reception was closed from somewhere between four and five onwards. I did not know what time I would be back from Paros, and on the following day I wanted to leave early to go to Paros to catch a ferry from Paros to Andros. As I was on an island off an island it was more crucial than usual that I left on time the next day. Usually I am quite blasé about such things as after all I am on holiday and if I do happen to miss a bus I can always catch a taxi. Not from Anti Paros I couldn't. On the Wednesday I intended catching the 8.30 a.m. ferry across to Pounta, and wanted to pay for my room before then. I went down to the bar at about eight o'clock. The doors were open, and locals were sitting at the tables chatting, but not drinking the Greek coffees I would have expected to see them drinking. For Mr and Mrs Hotel Anti Paros were nowhere to be seen. Now I knew that my passport was kept in an unlocked drawer near the till. Passports are kept hostage to stop dishonest tourists making off without paying, yet if I had been a dishonest tourist I would have helped myself to my passport (and anybody else's, for that matter) and gone off without paying. The dishonest will always find a way. In desperation I would have taken my passport and left my money in the drawer with a note. I was not desperate. Yet.

I eventually found Mr Hotel Anti Paros and paid my bill. At first I had gone down for the 8.30 ferry, then noticed from the Pounta - Paros town bus timetable that no bus met that ferry, so I lingered longer on Anti Paros and caught the 9.30 ferry. Pounta is not an attractive place to linger, there is not even a village, just a shop / bar near the ferry jetty.

I had been to Paros on my first trip to Greece in 1981, in the late 1980s I had been on a day trip from Naxos to Naoussa, and gone on to Paros Town, and had had a few hours there in the early 1990s. I wanted to see how Paros had changed. Paros and Naxos, although in many ways so different, are in a way twin islands. I wanted to compare the effects tourism had had on each island. Naxos is certainly now well touristed. The tourism used to be more or less restricted to the new developments on the Agios Giorgios side of town, but has now spread over most if not all the town. I thought of Paros being more touristy than Naxos, and on my first visit I remembered seeing streets lined with tourist shops. There were then nowhere near so many tourist shops on Naxos. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Paros had changed for the better, the shops were mostly more upmarket and tasteful, not the ranks and ranks of gold jewellery shops that I was to find on Mykonos, but small shops that it was a pleasure to look at. Or would have been a pleasure to look at if it had not rained. And what rain! I have never known rain like it before. The skies opened and the rain deluged down by the bucketful. Huge splodges of rain fell in the downpour in Paros that morning, rain drops the size of fifty drachma coins. I soon felt like a prize contestant in a wet T shirt competition. The rain continued almost without intermission for the whole day. Locals made plastic carrier bags into nifty little plastic hats. I was reminded of a tourist who was given a plastic dustbin liner by a shop keeper in Apollonia on Naxos, one step up from a plastic carrier bag, but that was on the day in April when snow fell on the mountains of Naxos.

Apart from the rain, I was pleasantly impressed by Paros. In part that could have been because so late in the season so many of the tourist places were shut. There was a mix of upmarket shops and local shops. To add to the charm a local green grocer was making deliveries by donkey.

A few years before I had read that some Cycladic figures had been stolen from Paros Museum. Sadly they do not appear to have been recovered, the few small figures on display although interesting were not as wide ranging and impressive as those in Naxos Museum. I hope the security measures at Naxos Museum are intruder proof. I also visited the church and icon museum.

I caught a bus up to Naoussa. On my earlier visits there had been tourist development in Naoussa, but not on the scale I saw now. There was a huge amount of development outside old centre of Naoussa. The older buildings nearer the centre remained unspoilt, but with a larger percentage than in Paros Town devoted to tourist related business. I was pleased to see that the old harbour had kept its charm. I would have liked to sit outside by the harbour, but weather conditions being what they were I plumped for lunch at a taverna with a very sturdy and waterproof outside canopy.

The taverna was doing a roaring trade. Other customers had spotted the sturdy canopy. Not only the weatherproofing was good. The food smells and the food were good too. I had what has become my traditional lunch at Naoussa (and my favourite lunch any time) little fish and white wine. The fish were described on the English menu as "sardines"; I checked the Greek to make sure that they were really marides. On the way I passed a nasty looking accident just outside Paros - being squeamish I didn't look closely, but the front of the car was badly buckled. An ambulance and police car raced past the bus. On a smaller island everyone would have known from the car who the victim was, but here on larger Paros no one knew. Sitting at the taverna I saw a helicopter heading that way - which suggests that the victim may be alive, if badly injured.

I got back to Paros a minute or two too late to catch the 14.00 bus to Pounta, and had to wait for the 16.00. The rain was still coming down in torrents. I dashed from shop doorway to shop doorway, sought refuge in a pleasant coffee shop (but did not linger long as it was small and crowded with others seeking shelter from the rain), revisited the church, then sat under the large outside covered terrace of a cafe overlooking the harbour. No shortage of space there, even with many people seeking refuge from all that the elements threw on Paros that day. I have never before seen so many umbrellas in Greece, or at least umbrellas in use. In the Dodecanese I had been surprised by the number of shops selling mostly umbrellas (duty free in the Dodecanese). I naively assumed that people bought them just for show. Now I know otherwise. My ticket tomorrow is on the Haroula, a novel vessel looking like a hybrid ferry/ hovercraft. She has just come into port on her way out to Amorgos. I had wondered if she had outside seats. She has, but outside seats are an irrelevance in weather like this. This morning there were quick heavy storms. Now the rain is a little less heavy but consistent, oh so consistent. I am looking forward to getting back to the hotel and changing into some dry clothes. Yesterday the weather was boiling, hardly a cloud in the sky, and I was spraying myself with my cold water spray at the entrance to the cave. In Paros I was so wet, even my pen went through the paper I was writing on. I thought with envy of the chap we saw on Siphnos wearing a Barbour jacket and flippers. No doubt soon (as on Siphnos) the storm will be but a memory and hot sunny weather will return. A chap outside the harbour office was wearing a yellow oilskin or similar. My light nylon jacket is usually only a token jacket, for use at night at sea perhaps, and offered no protection in a storm such as this. The rain would have soaked straight through it. I had not even brought it with me. Although wet, I was not cold and the fewer clothes I had to dry the better. My jacket was more of a windcheater when worn in conjunction with other clothes than a keep-out-rain sort of jacket. I was thankful that the directors' chairs at the Cafe Milos near Paros harbour were dark blue in case my newly dyed shorts (Greek sun, when it shines, bleaches them pale), sopping wet from the rain, ran. These shorts have been on my last few trips to Greece. Elasticated waist, pockets, loose legs, were beige - but I like navy shorts (and my co-ordinated outfit (ha ha)) - and dyed them. Dye fading - I know faded shorts fashionable - but these were on the shabby side of fashionable - so redyed. They were then still releasing blue dye when washed. Reminds me - washing (i.e. my theoretical dry change of clothing) on line in Anti Paros.

I got back to the Hotel Anti Paros at five o'clock. Mr and Mrs Hotel Anti Paros had cleared off for the day. The rain had arrived on Anti Paros, had arrived in my bedroom. I saw puddles of water on the floor, saw puddles of water on the sleeping bag on my bed, I saw water everywhere. I looked up and saw a damp patch either side of the crack on the ceiling. The roof had leaked. It was not only the washing on the line that was wet. Everything was wet. The rain had stopped and the sun was weakly gleaming. The sun was at the back of the building, not on my balcony. The sun was shining on the steps to the hotel, so I put all my wet clothes, sleeping bag, sheets over the railings and on the line I rigged up there. They did not dry, but were less damp by the time I retrieved them. The sheets and other bedding I draped around the wardrobe doors. Luckily the second twin bed had not been leaked on so I slept in that bed that night. If Mr and Mrs Hotel Anti Paros had been around I would have asked for a dry room. It was lucky that this room had a solid wardrobe - it kept the rain off the contents. Now there is a use for a wardrobe that I had not thought of before. I can imagine the advert: "Solid wardrobe for sale, will keep clothes dry in the heaviest of storms."

By seven that evening the sky was cloudless, innocent, butter wouldn't melt in its mouth. Puddles in hotel. Wet mattress. Sheet, blanket, sleeping bag. Everything I possess wet, wet, wet.

Dinner at To Steki again. The previous night my retsina had been served in a small Greek tumbler; tonight the red Vin de Crete was served in a wine glass with a stem. So here it is the class of wine that determines the glass in which it is served. In other places the locals are given the tumblers, the tourists wine glasses. In "traditional" places wine is served in tumblers. Those aiming to be tourist chic serve locals with tumblers, and tourists with wine glasses. I prefer the tumblers. Like in England when drinks for ladies and gents are served in different shaped glasses. I prefer the gents' glasses! When in Greece I prefer drinking out of a tumbler except on the very rare occasions when I drink a really classy Greek wine, like a good vintage Chateau Carras. Another advantage of the humble tumbler is that they are more stable when it is windy - a determined Aegean wind can easily whip under a paper tablecloth. Having said that a "tumbler" is sturdy in a wind, how does the tumbler get its less than stable sounding name? Early tumblers had a rounded base so that they could not be put down until they were empty (perhaps they were stood upside down when empty).

The couple at the next table (I am not sure of their nationality) were playing with the cats and so was I. I grinned at them as we fed the cats - all I had to give the cats that night was the filo scraps from my cheese pie. After the meal they (my neighbours that is, not the cats) offered me a glass of Anti Paros ouzo. Delicious. I wished I had known about it earlier. On my first night I had asked about local wine. There was none. It had not occurred to me to ask if there was any other local tipple.

On the main street I had noticed a huge heap of rubble, a fallen house, that I had not seen before. Had the rain brought the house down? I slept uneasily that night and the crack in the ceiling above me grew larger in my dreams

Next morning I left a note in my room in Greek (I had to concoct it with the aid of my dictionary: phrase books do not run to such phrases as "there is a hole in your roof"). When I got downstairs at half past seven I found that the bar was open and Mr Hotel Anti Paros was there. The luck of the draw. If I had waited to Thursday to pay you can bet that he would not have been there. I explained in halting Greek and gestures what had happened upstairs. He smiled, looked apologetic, and said "sorry".

The weather has returned and I caught the Haroula in torrential rain. I had read that one of the new vessels in Greece was water powered; it may have been the Haroula, it may not. I went on board and saw torrents of rain cascading down the steps on deck. For a moment I thought that this was the way she was powered (and cleaned), sheets of water constantly rushing over the deck. I thought at first this was a facet of water power I was not aware of. I wonder how she does work? Then I realised that this was the rain. One deck was covered by metal frames from which blue plastic canopies were suspended, each of which had a not quite at the lowest point drainhole (like in Greek showers). The vessel swayed, a shower descended. One of the crew went around poking the canopies with a broom handle; more showers descended. I went on deck and dried a seat (seats have drain holes but again the holes are never at the lowest point), and had to abandon it when the sky opened. The Haroula was supposed to leave at 9.25. She arrived punctually, but at 9.45 she was still in Paros. Chaps in boiler suits were rushing up and down the ramp. Had she a mechanical problem? One of the crew was standing on a ramp (she had three) munching a cheese pie. There was no separate passenger ramp. Some ships do have separate passenger ramps, but I have rarely seen them used. Perhaps they are used in peak season. Coming on board the Haroula I automatically stepped aside when I heard a motorbike roaring aboard. It was within inches of me. If I had stepped other way I would have stepped into the swirling grey waters of Paros docks.

There seemed to be no urgency to get away.

I had not checked on the Haroula's arrival time in Andros, as I knew that she was a fast vessel. I found out that although she travels quickly she is timetabled as though she was a slow ferry, hence the waiting time in port. Not only that, she called in at Syros. A traditional ferry would have been as fast. Still she was very comfortable and I reached my destination without having to change vessels. I felt I knew her intimately before we had even left Paros. On ferries I have often not even managed to find my way on deck (ferries with outside steps are easy to navigate, but on an increasing number you are channelled past an internal ticket desk and through inside lounges before you find a way up to the deck) before the ship has left port.

The Haroula was very smart and during the frequent squalls I sat inside on a semi circular pink brocade sofa. One criticism I have of many ferries is the lack of luggage space. On some ferries there is a ground level luggage area in the car deck, where your bag will get covered in oil, rust etc. On others a luggage area is at the top of many, many, flights of stairs. The Haroula had an above floor level luggage store near the entrance ramp, but I did not see it until I got off! The loo on the Haroula had a large swing bin. How much more sensible than the itsy bitsy little bins that usually overflow their revolting contents all over the floor. She was new, on one of the davits I saw the date 18/10/95. As usual I was doing some ship archaeology, but on a ship that new there was not a lot in the way of archaeology to uncover. [2011 update. Most modern vessels have luggage racks in the car deck, or near the entrance on vessels that do not carry vehicles. Do be careful where you put your luggage on ferries with space for cars on more than one level. On one ferry there was a lot of luggage, so I put my bag further back than I usually do. I went down to the car deck to pick up my bag and disembark, and found that the ramp leading to the upper car deck had been lowered. My bag, and many others, was under the lowered ramp - and got not be reached until the ramp was raised. The crew nearby could see the problem, and gestured that we should wait. A message over the ship's loud speaker - "The ship is ready to sail. The ship is ready to sail. The ship is ready to sail. The ship...........". Eventually the ramp was raised, and we retrieved our bags. In July 2011 I travelled on a small catamaran, that did not carry cars. The day before I travelled there had been a union blockade of Piraeus, and on the two days before that there had been a national strike. So I was on one of the first vessels to leave for three days. Everyone had a seat, and there were a lot of luggage racks, but nowhere near enough for the amount of luggage. The luggage racks were all full; all but one of the ways into the back entrance were blocked by bags; there were bags on the floor of the middle of the vessel, around the side entrance - these were stacked floor to ceiling (luckily it was a very smooth crossing). When it was time to get off the vessel, I saw that the open back deck was piled high with luggage, leaving just a narrow gap to walk through. There was no space to store small bags near the seats. I had a seat in the middle of a row, and for six hours I sat with my rucksack on my knee. At Piraeus I noticed young couple with a rabbit in a carrying box, and a very large and shall cage covered in a blanket, obviously containing other animals. I wondered how they fared during the voyage.]

When the sun was out the spacious top deck was very pleasant. The Haroula is smaller than most ferries, but she has no central superstructure on the deck, so the deck seemed more spacious than most. I could not grumble that she has the biggest (and covered) lifeboats I have ever seen on a Greek ship - but they did obstruct the view somewhat.

I brought my rucksack on deck when the sky was blue and almost cloudless. Then the weather started to change. Dark clouds loomed.

"ANY GARBAGE DISPOSAL INTO THE SEA IS FORBIDDEN ACCORDING TO THE PROVISIONS OF ANNEX V OF MARPOL 73/78". I wondered if there was anything in Marpol about hanging washing out on a ship. The way the clouds were congregating it was time me and my luggage went indoors, so the question was academic.

We reached Mykonos at 11.30. At Paros a very smartly dressed young couple had boarded the Haroula. They had so much luggage, smart suitcases but of dimensions that I had not seen before. One case was almost as tall as the young woman. Why so much? Were they island hopping novices? Their luggage would almost have filled the "car deck" of the Skopelitis. They got off at Mykonos and I saw the young woman wait with the mega bags while the man went to find a taxi. The only vehicles waiting by the ferry at Mykonos were the little motorbike trailer combinations that I have only seen on Mykonos. They could not even have got one bag onto one of those trucks. The taxis were parked some way back.

We left Mykonos at 11.55. I read somewhere that the Haroula had an experimental schedule (or it may have been the Sea Jet I read about - but the Sea Jet - I travelled on her later- was very well timetabled). The Haroula travels quickly - but then there is a half hour wait before leaving port. There were few passengers/ vehicles, so the only reason for the delay was to stick to the timetable. At Paros the delay had been so long that I started to imagine she had mechanical problems - as chaps in boiler suits were fiddling round on the ramp and out of my sight inside the car deck. Although fast when actually travelling, Paros- Mykonos - Tinos - Syros - Andros is a roundabout route. A ferry from Tinos to Andros would be far quicker. It was going to be a long journey.

At 12.38 we reached Tinos. When I stayed on Tinos on an earlier holiday, one of the large buildings on the sea front had been derelict. Peering at it through my binoculars I was pleased to see that it had been restored, or at least the front and sides had been renovated, but it still seemed deserted. We left Tinos at 12.45, gosh. People rushed up at the last minute to catch her. At Tinos I saw the Express Apollon, then an Agapitos ferry, pull in. When I last saw her she had been a Ventouris boat. Now was she the Apollon Express that I had been storm-stayed at Syros on, the old Senlac. I am sure she was. I saw crew (bar staff perhaps) leaning over the rail wearing royal blue waistcoats and blue ties. How smart!

13.30, Syros. At Syros the travel agents are near the harbour, and I peered at the departure boards through my binoculars. We were due to leave at 13.55. We reached Andros at 15.30. 11.55 to 15.30, the journey from Mykonos to Andros via Syros on the fast Haroula had taken 3 hours 35 minutes. On the way back the ferry from Andros -Tinos - Mykonos took 2 hours 25 minutes. The wonders of high speed vessels, when they have a slow timetable and a circuitous route. I had already noticed that flying dolphins (that are more expensive than ferries) can offer a slower journey when they stop at all islands en route. Or when they go from Naxos to Amorgos via Santorini!


An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"