Kalo Taxidi - the sequel. Robert Leigh, and Andros in the late 1990s

I like buying books written in English about the places I visit. On Andros, I bought a book by Robert Leigh, an Englishman living in Menites, a village above Chora. Sunlight in the Wine, Life in a Greek Island Valley(George Dardanos, Athens, 1996), a very readable account giving a good insight into local customs.

As usual, I started browsing as soon as I could, that is the next time I sat down for a drink. In the evening, I carried on reading Robert Leigh's book. Dipping into the book, it was not always clear which season was being mentioned. I gained an impression of an island littered with busy tavernas serving food and drink all day.

Alas, the Andros I found was not like that. If any of the tavernas Robert Leigh mentioned were still around, they were not open for business at midday in October. Yorgo's taverna at Vourkoti has stopped serving food. Lucky I did not dash up there after reading his description of it earlier in the book. Still, it would have been no different to the shut tavernas I found in other places on Andros. Robert Leigh described another favourite taverna which, though the place is not mentioned by name, sounds like Ipsilou. (Looking at a map, the taverna that Robert Leigh mentions must be in Strapouris or Ipsilou.) I got there by mistake and the food was "off."

I published my book "Kalo Taxidi - Notes from Greece and the Greek islands in July 2011. I am now working on my next book about Greece, and adding some extracts to my blog.

Kalo Taxidi - the sequel. A Final Encounter With An Andros Bus (late 1990s)

I published my book "Kalo Taxidi - Notes from Greece and the Greek islands in July 2011. I am now working on my next book about Greece, and adding some extracts to my blog.

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A Final Encounter With An Andros Bus (late 1990s)

8 a.m. Went to bus station to check the day’s timetable. Blow! Today's drivers’ schedule has a 7.10 to Gavrion, the composite an 8.45. I checked last night but yesterday's drivers’ schedule was still up and the office was shut so I could not ask. I will go down for the 8.45 and hope it runs. I wondered what a taxi to Gavrion would cost. I would be happy to stay here in Andros until the end of the holiday, but having taken the decision to leave, packed up, etc., I want to go. A taxi cannot be more than 5000dr, can it? If I had known there was no 8.45 bus today, but say, one tomorrow I would have been happy leaving tomorrow. Much as I have enjoyed Andros as I am all packed up, I want somewhere to go to! In a way, it is like going home. I enjoy my travels, but find the journey home tedious. If a magic carpet (Greek, not Turkish) could whisk me from my hotel in Greece to home, I would be more than happy to miss out the intermediate slow journey. I feel more impatient on a plane home than I do say on the oh so slow Skopelitis.

I bought a cheese pie for breakfast on the way back from the bus station. My view of Greek youth has changed. Two Greek youths came in the cheese pie shop after me and shouted out their order as soon as the prop. came through from the back room. I looked pointedly at my watch when the prop's back was turned as he was getting the lads' cheese pies out of the oven. I hope they felt suitably chastened. I wanted the youths to see me looking at my watch, not the prop. – the prop. was not at fault, as he did not see who came in first.I thought of the pleasure of buying hot bread (or cheese pies) from the bakery. English supermarkets now sell hot bread. A cynic like me suspects the supermarket bread is imported from elsewhere and ‘finished off’ at the supermarket. I also wonder if supermarkets have an aerosol of ‘fresh bread’ fragrance that they squirt around the shop. The bread on the shelves is cold or cooling, but the shoppers ignore it, waiting to pounce on hot bread as soon as it lands on the shelves. By the time they have queued to get through the checkout the bread will be cold, never mind when they get home. What is the fascination of hot bread? A primordial instinct. Does the fact that a woman has touched the bread when hot make her feel maternal and / or possessory towards it?I went to the bus stop for the 8.45. A number of other people were waiting including the Swedes I had met earlier. The bus was running (heave a sigh of relief). A group of French walkers (the fish-lovers) arrived with metal sticks, the full works. They were equipped to climb Mont Blanc, not go for a walk in Andros. Two of the group had got lost, and the rest insisted that the bus wait until they turned up. They had a huge wad of maps and notes each, yet could not find Chora bus station! We waited and left late - I almost missed the ferry! In Messaria a taxi reversed to let bus through. I wondered if the meter went backwards when the taxi reversed? There were plenty of seats in the bus, yet someone (Greek) chose to sit in the courier’s seat, and had to stand up each time someone wanted to get on or off the bus which delayed the bus even more. Would we reach Gavrion in time for the ferry? I should have guessed that I would not leave Andros without a last session of fun and games on the buses. The bus pulled up at Stavropeda. Another bus was parked nearby. The other bus was pointing towards Gavrion. Our bus was pointing towards Korthi. Alarm bells started to ring in my head. There was no 8.45 bus to Gavrion on the driver’s schedule. I am on the Korthi bus. I asked, yes, this is the Korthi bus. I quickly explained this to the Swedes (the French had already got off) and we went across to the Gavrion bus. We set off to Gavrion. That was not quite the end of the saga…………….. I soon became aware of a bus charging along behind us. A race? No, the Korthi bus was racing to overtake the Gavrion bus. Both buses stopped. A sheepish looking passenger (Greek!) got off the Korthi bus and came onto the Gavrion bus. Even Greeks find Andros buses confusing! I had my eye on my watch. The boat was due. We approached Gavrion; she had not yet arrived. I dashed into a ticket office. As I emerged, with wet ink on my ticket, the ferry was coming into the harbour.

Kalo Taxidi - the Sequel - And more on Andros Buses

I published my book "Kalo Taxidi - Notes from Greece and the Greek islands in July 2011. I am now working on my next book about Greece, and adding some extracts to my blog.

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And more on Andros Buses  (late 1990s)

Not only is there a composite bus timetable and a daily list that differs. The daily list lists all the buses by number. Some are 'off' on each day and each bus is allocated a driver. In addition, drivers are shown as switching buses. The mind boggles. The bus shown as going to Strapouries and Apikia...does it double back? I think there had been some new roads built that were not shown on my map. Even after bussing and walking in the area, I found it difficult to get my bearings. The bus to Stenies is at 13.50. When does it return? The bus goes to Syneti next, so it must return to Chora. It was difficult to understand the timetable after a week in Andros, when some of the abbreviations were recognisable to me as the names of villages. Imagine the depth of my confusion when I first arrived. I must learn to say in Greek "may I have a copy of the timetable for the week, please." Not that such a publication, if it existed, would be a practical proposition in Andros – the timetable would rival the bi-annual British railway timetable in size!

I decided to catch the 12.30 bus to Apikia. The buses have MANOUSSIS TOURS written on them. I think that is the name of the coffee roasting grocer’s shop. Just seen that the nice old boy who has been saying 'yassou' to me is the prop. of that shop. Strange, after all these trips to Greece, I still do not know which are the most common Greek surnames, the Greek Smith and the Greek Jones. A chap has just put the usual sized blue carrier bag containing one pair of trainers into the boot of the next bus. Why - do the trainers smell? I thought of the time when I hired a car in Crete with Graciela, an Argentinian lady (hello, Graciela!). Graciela soon insisted that I buy a pair of lightweight shoes. Graciela did not relish the prospect of sitting in a car next to my trainer-clad feet. Since then, I have learnt to avoid plastic trainers……………..

The bus engine has been running for 10 minutes. It was an old bus. There were a lot of fumes; it smelt as if the exhaust fumes were coming into the bus. Why was the engine left running? The driver eventually switched off the engine. The conductor walked through the bus and opened the windows. Now 12.40. Engine turned off. There is an ‘empty’ sort of sound when the driver seems to try to start bus. I think the battery was flat! We were given a push start! I am glad the engine did not stall on the hills as there was only me, the driver, the conductor, and one other passenger for the last part of the journey.

Three sweet girls aged about five got on the bus. I think they got on with their teacher (who did not travel on the bus) and the bus conductor 'mothered' them. The girls got off at different stops. One girl had a mass of blondish curly hair that the teacher kept stroking and admiring. At first, I thought that she was their mother. I thought of an incident in Lincoln, on the bus from Louth. A girl on the bus (probably in her late teens) had vivid auburn hair; an old chap said to her 'excuse me miss - but is that the real colour of your hair?' The young girl graciously did not thump him for his impudence and said that yes, it was the natural colour of her hair.

There were no further problems with the bus. The bus ride was spectacular. A far better 200 dr. worth than the trip to Messaria. As the bus wound up above the harbour, we passed a taverna, a pleasant old-fashioned looking taverna with a sea view. I made a mental note to call in there on the way back. (I am writing about the walk in the café next door, larger and with less character. The quaint looking taverna was shut when I got back). At the taverna I saw a number of tourists, red-faced and drinking. (That sounds ambiguous, I mean that they were red from exertion, not drinking!) As the bus went uphill, we passed sweaty hikers coming down. (Sweaty? Could I see sweat? Could I smell sweat?) Were there more of them and the red-faced drinkers than eight? There certainly seemed to be. I assume those that were sitting down were the quickest walkers! There must have been 30 or so hikers. It cannot just have been the French eight who abandoned the Akti as it had no fish. I hoped that the drinkers were not going to drink the taverna dry. Leave some beer for me!

The bus was timetabled to go to Strapouries and Apikia. The map shows Strapouries as a dead end, and Apikia on a road above. The bus went along a splendid road. If anything, Strapouries was even better situated than Apikia. Apikia is higher, but the view of Chora was obstructed by a ridge. We went up to Strapouries and to me we seemed to go far beyond that. I thought a new road had been built since the map was drawn and went from Strapouries to Apikia. Had we reached the end of the route? I did not want the bus to go back downhill with me on board. No. The conductor said, "wait." We retraced our route half way back to Chora (and a reprise of the splendid views) and up the Apikia turn that I had seen on the way up.

Kalo Taxidi - the sequel. Andros buses (late 1990s)

I published my book "Kalo Taxidi - Notes from Greece and the Greek islands in July 2011. I am now working on my next book about Greece, and adding some extracts to my blog.

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Andros buses (late 1990s)
　
Somewhere in Greece there must be a degree course on devising the Andros bus timetable! Each day there was a new hand-written schedule of the movements of drivers' and buses, that never tallied exactly with the other two timetables showing daily fixed departure times from Andros Chora to Batsi and Gavrion, and the other timetable showing a list of departures arranged by destination. What actually ran seemed to be something else again. Never before have I had to change bus in pitch dark on a deserted road, or seen even Greek passengers on the wrong bus, and a bus hurtling through the mountains after the bus that got away
To go back to the beginning, to my arrival at Gavrion, the port of Andros. I arrived in torrential rain. When it rains in Greece it reallyrains. There are no half measures. The rain in Gavrion was serious rain, and closely followed my wetter than wet experiences in Paros and Anti Paros. A leaking hotel roof, a collapsed building nearby, need I say more?

I had read that all ferries arriving at Andros were met by a Chora-bound bus, and I had not thought to question this advice. There were buses parked near the harbour. After all, Andros is a big island, and you would expect to find a good bus service.

How wrong I was, for I was about to be introduced to the mysteries of the Andros bus timetable. A man was sitting in the driver's seat of one of the buses. I asked him (in my best Greek) what time the bus left for Chora. "Epta," he said. I thought I had misheard.

"Epta." I counted on my fingers and reached seven. Seven? But it was only just after half past three. Surely, there was a bus before seven o'clock. I showed Mr Bus seven fingers, being careful not to produce anything that could be interpreted as a rude gesture. "Ne. Epta."

I went away and looked in my dictionary, knowing my numerical inadequacies in Greek. Yes, "epta" did mean seven. . No, 'epta' had no other meaning. Useful to know when I next wanted to buy a 7 star Metaxa. Not that useful to know when I wanted to catch a bus at half past three.. I went back to double check with Mr. Bus. He looked bored and said "epta" again. I wished my Greek had been good enough to ask why he was sitting in the driver's seat at 15.35 when the bus did not leave until 19.00. As far as I knew, the only bus route from the port of Gavrion went to Batsi and on to Chora. What was Mr Bus doing sitting in a bus that would not move for three and a half hours? Had he nothing better to do? Where was the bus going? All the time the rain was tipping down. This was my first introduction to the mysteries of the Andros bus timetable. Mr Bus looked bored. No wonder he looked bored if his task was to sit in the bus until 7 o'clock. How many Amstels could I drink by 7 o'clock? It would by then be dark. I would see nothing of the Andros countryside. A pity.

Things were happening; Gavrion was springing to life. At about a quarter to five the Superferry came in and two buses pulled up. There were now three buses at Gavrion. Surely, one of them would go to Chora before seven o'clock. Where else was there for buses to go to but Chora? One of the buses had a 'Bakoni' label stuck to the windscreen. 'Bakoni' sounded like a holiday company. The other bus had a 'Korthoi' sign. Korthi was the village beyond Chora I planned to visit. I went up to this bus - Mr Bus was sitting in the driver's seat. He said 'just a minute'. I brought my big rucksack across. I was getting somewhere, or so I thought until Mr Bus got into a taxi and drove off. Blow this, I thought - and asked another taxi driver the fare to Batsi.
　
And so I arrived in Batsi by taxi. Batsi is a few miles along the coast from Gavrion, the main holiday resort on the island and , importantly for me, on the bus route to Chora. Or at least, I thought that Batsi was on the bus route to Chora, but I am getting ahead of myself.

In Batsi I saw a bus timetable and wrote down the times. Those times must have been for the peak season only, for the 16.30 and 18.30 buses to Chora were not running. When travelling out of season in Greece it is annoying to find these seductive signs offering peak season treats such as plentiful buses and food in out of the way places. Often I have, hungry and thirsty, followed a sign to a taverna only to find the place bolted and barred. But I digress. I wondered later if there would have been an earlier bus if I had changed at Stavropeda but that is anticipating. On arrival, I had never heard of Stavropeda junction, the Crewe, or Clapham Junction of the Andros bus service. Somewhere I read that Stavropeda means junction. A place name with a meaning (as I suppose most of them do) like Karavostasis means boat stop.

The 19.00 met up with the boat from Rafina. The Andros bus timetable did not recognise the existence of the Haroula the vessel on which I had arrived. The Haroula was Rafina bound (I had caught her on Paros).
The shopkeeper in whose shop the timetable was posted saw me and said "Chora. Epta." Judging by the infrequency of the buses Andros seems to be an island of locals with cars and package tourists (who are driven from boat to rooms and sent on trips to line couriers’ pockets).

I lingered in a taverna waiting for the ‘epta’. Determined not to miss the long awaited bus I was out of the taverna by half past six. I sat on a seat near the bus stop, scanning the hills across the bay for signs of a bus. The rain had by now stopped. It was gradually getting dark. Seven o'clock arrived and there was still no sign of a bus. It was now impossible to tell if the lights descending the hill opposite belonged to a bus or a lorry, so I went across to the bus stop, or rather bus stopping place, for this was a patch of tarmac between the sea and the road, mostly filled with parked cars. I arranged myself and my luggage as best I could and waited. And waited. I began to think that after all my economy in waiting for the bus I would have to catch a taxi after all. No doubt, the taxi fare from Gavrion to Chora would be less than the fares combined from Gavrion to Batsi and Batsi to Gavrion. Oh, why had I been so miserly and not gone all the way to Chora by bus. I did not even know if I would like Chora when I got there. Of Gavrion and Batsi I preferred Batsi and might come back to stay for a few days later. After all this hanging around waiting to get to Chora I might get there only to find that I preferred Batsi.

I had been watching the darkening bay for the bus, then I saw two, and looked out for the third thinking that buses the whole wide world over travelled in packs of three like those in London reputedly do. One bus was on the coast road, the other on an uphill road. I assumed the uphill bus was taking tourists to the huge stepped monstrosity covering half a hillside on the Gavrion side of Batsi. Things were moving. I was about to be moving. At last.

At 19.20, a bus arrived in Batsi. I saw that it was labelled "Korthi", so I assumed that Korthi was reached via Chora and hopped on board. Niggling at the back of my mind was the thought that I had seen a 'Korthi' bus leave Gavrion hours before.......... The conductress asked me where I was going. "Chora," I said. I noticed that the conductress told the driver where I was going, but I thought no more of it. We drove for a few minutes, and then the bus pulled up. Were we at a bus stop? It did not seem to be a bus stop.

The Korthi bus had stopped just outside Batsi, and the conductress gestured me to get off. I emerged, visualising myself stranded with no luggage on a deserted hillside. What was going on? I was being initiated into the mysteries and intricacies of the Andros bus system. On the road ahead, another bus loomed out of the darkness. "Bus for Chora" said the conductress. The other bus waited for me and I caught it OK, thank you for your concern. After four hours of waiting for it, I was not going to miss it. Why two buses - neither of them full. One could have done the journey to the junction of the Chora and Korthi roads and then changed. Thinking about it afterwards, the main road goes above Batsi, not down to the harbour. One bus must have done the uphill route, and the other the downhill route. Going to Chora, I drew the short straw.

Certainly puzzling. I suppose some people wanted dropping off at the top of Batsi, and others down below, and both bus drivers did not want to do both routes. I had learnt that on an Andriot bus a passenger does not sit back, relax, and watch the scenery (or what passes for scenery in the pitch dark), he has to keep alert for little quirks in the timetable such as this.
　
　
　
　
　
　



Kalo Taxidi - Coffee grinding grocery (in Andros Chora)

Coffee grinding grocery (in Andros Chora)
I went into old-fashioned grocery / coffee grinding shop for milk. I like NOYNOY [NOY NOY KID - when I first saw it I thought it was goat milk - then I realised it was probably designed for children] The NOYNOY was on the top shelf, i.e. ceiling height. The "light" version was lower down. [should not the heavier milk have been lower?] I thought that the young lady assistant might think I was awkward - and have to use a "claw" on a stick gadget to get it down. No - she had some tins in a compartment down below. She said to me "NOYNOY?" I thought "POO POO", confusing ns and ps. NOPLICKS - the Horlicks sign I saw on train from Cardiff to London. I had just come back from Bulgaria - and was still translating from Cyrillic to Roman. From Bulgaria I went on a day trip to Romania - how easy it was when writing was in the Roman alphabet - though I did not speak a word of Romanian I felt at home with the familiar looking letters. This time in Greece I would sometimes glance at something in Greek, and register subconsciously the English pronunciation. I did that with "kaleidoscope". I would think that I could not possibly have read that word and go back and laboriously translate it letter by letter - and realise that I was right the first time. In Belgium, where I lived in the mid 1970s, I got to the stage when I could understand fast French more easily than slow French. When French was spoken quickly I would subconsciously register the meaning without translating every word. When French was spoken more slowly I would translate each individual word into English. In fact with slow French I would put so much effort into the translation into English that I had a lesser understanding of the meaning than when I let the words soak in. Linguistic osmosis.


An extract from my book about Greece, "Kalo Taxidi".

Kalo Taxidi - Andros Café Cats

An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"



Andros Café Cats

One day when I was sitting at the café in the square outside the museum the cats began to sing, and made me think of the music thought originally (but not now) to be by Rossini. I had heard the song sung at the previous year’s last night of the Proms. That mock spitefulness - the cats were just right! Another cat arrived and they caterwauled. Quite cute - both wailed - rubbed - or nearly rubbed - noses; then put one ear near the other's ear. A person wearing a stripy long jumper at the neighbouring bar came across and looked, fascinated, as I was. Then a chap came out of the bar and said in good English "Stop that noise, you cats." The cats obviously spoke English, understood, and departed.

The cats (in Andros Chora in general, not just at the taverna) were all so healthy that I wondered if a shipping magnate had endowed a vet and paid for all the necessary treatments. There were lots of well-fed cats. Down one back street I saw a pot (an old handleless frying pan) full of water and another of full cat biscuits. One cat pulled a biscuit out of the pot with his paw, so carefully, then ate it. The fastest things in the vehicle-free Chora are on four legs.


An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"

Kalo Taxidi - Andros - Taverna with no food

An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"



Andros - Taverna with no food

Andros - the smell of food for the evening cooking yet nothing available to eat. I sat on the taverna terrace, hungry, as tantalising smells of unobtainable food wafted past. On my early visits to Greece most places would offer to rustle up an omelette if nothing else was available, but more recently I have found "eating" places at which nothing to eat is on offer.

I had walked a long way across Andros. I had passed a number of tavernas - all closed. I was thirsty. I was hungry.

Eventually I reached Ipsilou which not only had a taverna that was open, but a spacious rear terrace, with a glorious view down over Chora. The Ipsilou bus stop was just up the road; right next to the taverna was a path that seemed to head chorawards. Delicious smells were coming from inside the taverna. I was going to like Ipsilou! If the taverna was in serving mode, I would indulge. The taverna door was open and I went through to the terrace at the back. The taverna was open. My taste buds quivered. I asked for an Amstel, wanting to quench my thirst before ordering any food. The prop. was apologetic, saying that he had only just put the Amstel in the fridge and it was still warm. Would I like a different make of beer? I plumped for the warm Amstel (the beer was not that warm) and enjoyed the view from the terrace as I sipped it.

The smell of food wafting out from the taverna was irresistible but I had to stay hungry. Food was served only after 7 p.m. at the Ipsilou taverna - and there were no evening buses from Chora to Ipsilou! The smell was most delicious. I supposed I was lucky they were open to serve beer. When dark, there would be no view (only lights) to enjoy, and perhaps it would be too cold to sit outside. The irony of sitting, hungry, with the delicious food smells wafting over me. Not even an omelette was offered yet the props. seemed friendly enough. I thought of the bar on Serifos, with nothing on sale although outside was a huge pile of beer crates. The person in charge of the Serifos non-bar dipped a glass into a bucket of water and offered it to me. He would not accept payment. The hazards of travelling out of season.

Hungry still but no longer thirsty I set back for Chora, having taken the precaution of checking with the prop. that the path beneath the taverna was the right path. It was.


An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"

Kalo Taxidi - Andros - Chips Galore

An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"




Andros - Chips Galore

One night in Andros Chora I decided to eat in a restaurant that I had seen when walking back from another restaurant. On arrival, I gestured that I would like to see in the kitchen, but I was shown to a table and given a menu. As everything was cooked to order there was nothing to see in the kitchen.

Glancing through the menu, I noticed:
"FIFES WITH HAM + CHEESE. The Greek word was "Flogera". A flogera is a shepherd's pipe! Perhaps a sort of pasta?
ECOLOGICAL PIZZA. I wondered if this was a vegetarian pizza?

Eight middle aged French people (the lost walkers of the day I went to catch ferry to Mykonos) walked out of the restaurant as there was no fish. I felt sorry for the owners of the taverna when the group walked out. Their expectations must have been raised when the group walked in, and dashed when they walked out. I fancied smoked pork - but it was "off". The waiter looked so apologetic when he said that he had no smoked pork. Was it my imagination, or did he look relieved when solitary little me did not walk out because of the non-availability of a dish?

A delicious smell of cooking is coming from the cooking area. The delicious smell must be pizzas. I get so used to assuming that pizzas are pre-cooked that I avoided the pizza section of the menu. The pizzas served here must be fresh. There was also a wide range of pasta, and pasta sauces, on the menu. I ordered potatoes in the oven with cheese and rigani, and chicken breast. I hoped that the chicken did not come with chips. In a place I do not know I never know if chips will come automatically with a dish or not. I like fresh chips, made from fresh potatoes, but am not too keen on frozen chips. One nightmare when eating out in Greece is that a dish will be served with a pile of chips, and accompanied by a side portion of chips. A surfeit of chips. I had high hopes of the potatoes in the oven with cheese and rigani; it sounded like the dish we cook at home of par-boiled spuds finished off in the oven with cheese and rigani. My wine tour of Andros continued. The white wine was less dry than that I had drunk the night before, less sweet than the rosé at Stathmos.

The chairs here are comfortable, metal frame armchairs with padded seats and back. I could almost fall asleep. I have been here half an hour, but all I have is wine (it is not as if the kitchen is overstretched). I had better not drink all the wine before the food arrives. At least the food should be fresh (imagining the delicious potato and cheese dish). I have heard the scrape of what I assume is the "paddle" in the pizza oven - but no ping of the microwave! I hope the chicken does not come with chips.

My starter has arrived. My nightmare! A pizza size plate of chips topped with melted cheese and rigani and a lemon quarter. A chip pizza! I had envisaged sliced or quartered spuds, not chips! I should have seen that the Greek was "patates". I should have realised that "patates" is chips. Chips. A chip pizza. I had never even heard of a chip pizza before. I will keep an eagle eye open for it in the future. So that I can avoid it. Even more chips arrived with the chicken - the chicken is fresh grilled and looks good.

I wonder if Greeks think that tourists like chips. I will have chips coming out of my ears, even though I did not finish the chip pizza and the chips that came with my main course. At some tavernas, if I order chips separately, and the main dish I have ordered comes with chips, the waiter will tell me so and ask me if I really want two portions of chips. You may wonder why I order chips? To keep my veg. intake up, and often there is no other veg. on the menu. If the menu at the taverna in Andros had said, "chips cooked in oven with cheese and oregano," I would not have ordered it. Another note of things to investigate when I get home: the difference between marjoram and oregano. That night I had in total on the table a quadruple, or more, much more, portion of chips. The salt and pepper came in sachets - a Pizzeria Cafeteria. The chips, like the mule path to Aladinou, is a matter of me expecting to find what I want, not what I might realistically expect.

I have left the equivalent of three portions of chips. Pity. I envisaged boiled potato with cheese and rigani and lemon …mmm - must try the addition of lemon in the dish we make at home. The cheese melted nicely on the chips.

This half litre of wine is very big. In a glass jug. I wondered if I had been given a litre by mistake, but was only charged for half a litre. No, I had the same size glass jug elsewhere - the bulging jug is deceptive and seems to the eye to hold more than the straight-sided metallic carafe. There is no consistency between establishments (and sometimes in the same establishment on different nights) as to whether a particular dish comes with chips automatically. This is chips galore par excellence. Chips coming out of my ears. I wish the remnants of the dead chips would be taken away while I was lingering over the large half litre of wine. The chip pizza was served in an aluminium dish and plate that was obviously designed for a pizza. That is why I nicknamed it a chip pizza. It stayed on the table so long that I got on familiar terms with it. Chips now stone cold. I wonder what cold chips are like when they are microwaved. Perhaps even in England it is possible to buy cold cooked chips to microwave.

This taverna only serves fresh cooked food. I had a disaster with all my chips, but to be fair to the place it does seem to be very good of its type i.e. not a place that serves pre-cooked oven foods. Table cloth paper, with dolphins and other "sea" motifs. The make is "Endless" with a "Swan" insignia.


An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"

Kalo Taxidi - Andros Chora - General Impressions

An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"



Andros Chora - General Impressions

My first daylight view of Andros Chora. I was impressed. Old fashioned shops, some smart, some small village like. Impressive large nineteenth century type buildings, yet not out of scale. I said nineteenth century type as if they had been in England the buildings would have been 19th century. Later I saw that the library which I had taken to be in a nineteenth century building had a "1919" date plaque. Andros was behind mainland west European styles in architecture. I was reminded of what I had read about fashions in previous centuries in England; ladies in the provinces dressed in what had been fashionable years earlier in London.

A marbled main street, in theory pedestrianised, but in practice not always, but then this is Greece. To be fair most of the few vehicles using the street were commercial vehicles making deliveries; many of the deliveries were made by a chap pushing a large wooden barrow.

The town is built along a finger of a peninsula. When I first arrived last night and saw Chora at night I did not realise how narrow the peninsula was. In the dark I went for a stroll down towards the end of the peninsula but did not quite reach the end. I was almost at the square of the Unknown Sailor, but had not realised it. With hindsight I should have guessed from the swirling wind how narrow the peninsula was.

That first morning in Andros Chora I was thinking about an imaginary computer programme into which I could feed all the bits I liked about Greece to produce my perfect Greek place. Something like Andros Chora would emerge (and then I had not even started to discover the delights of the Andros countryside). Sorry my old friends Amorgos and Naxos, but sometimes I feel that you are getting a little too spoilt [2011 update. I wrote this fifteen years ago, have not been back to Andros, and visit Naxos and Amorgos three or four times a year!] All the time I am aware that in the Greek islands so much of what one sees and one's impressions depend upon the specific conditions at the time of one's visit. If I saw Andros in mid August I might revert to favouring my old favourites, but in mid August they too would be under siege from tourists both Greek and foreign.


Some general impressions of Andros Chora. Sea, lashing against rocks; cliffs; houses overhanging cliffs; a Venetian castle; pedestrianised main street; old fashioned; few tourists and not tourist dominated; handsome buildings; a lighthouse perched precariously on a rock; a church on a rock; friendly cats; a good wine shop; great cheese pies; smart hotel with marble staircase and decorative hand-rail overlooking main pedestrianised street; the fishmonger below my room with plump attentive cats - what more could I want? A large Goulandris endowed museum - it would be too greedy to ask in my computer programme for three museums / galleries! And you have Andros Chora. Not to mention the Nautical Museum, and the library. If I plugged all this into a computer programme I would feel greedy and that no real place could possibly offer so much.

Going back to my imaginary computer programme, admittedly, I would like a nice taverna serving good food with a sea view, and good walks without the need for a bus. I later decided that my complaint about not being able to start a walk from Chora was unjustified. I can expect that from a village, but not from a town. In fact you can start a walk from Chora, but I do not like walking uphill! The bracing seaside walks from Chora are marvellous.

With its museums and art galleries I may have given the impression that Andros Chora is a sophisticated place. Not entirely true, unless the presence of donkeys and the absence of cars is taken as a sign of sophistication. I saw a donkey (doey eyed, as usual) being saddled. First on went a pink flannelette sheet, carefully positioned and then I think a blanket - no saddle sores on that donkey. I was reminded of a monk from Hozoviotissa monastery on Amorgos whom I saw on a ferry clutching a new donkey saddle frame in that traditional Greek saddle shape. I wonder how old some of the donkey frames still in use are? The design seems to be timeless.

The people here look prosperous, but not showy. Comfortable, not peasant types. I don't want to be rude about other inhabitants on some of the smaller islands, in situ they are lovely people and totally in harmony with and at peace with their surroundings, but transplant one to Andros and he or she might look a little out of place.

One of the delights of Chora was the abundance of small old-fashioned shops. I found myself wishing that nothing would ever change, but of course Chora is a living small town and is always changing; it is just that all these changes sum up to a marvellously homogenised whole.


An extract from my book "Kalo Taxidi"

Andros Café Cats

One day when I was sitting at the café in the square outside the museum the cats began to sing, and made me think of the music thought originally (but not now) to be by Rossini. I had heard the song sung at the previous year’s last night of the Proms. That mock spitefulness - the cats were just right! Another cat arrived and they caterwauled. Quite cute - both wailed - rubbed - or nearly rubbed - noses; then put one ear near the other's ear. A stripy long jumper person at the neighbouring bar came across and looked, fascinated, as I was. Then a chap came out of the bar and said in good English "Stop that noise, you cats." The cats obviously spoke English, understood, and departed.


The cats (in Andros Chora in general, not just at the taverna) were all so healthy that I wondered if a shipping magnate had endowed a vet and paid for all the necessary treatments. There were lots of well-fed cats. Down one back street I saw a pot (an old handleless frying pan) full of water and another of full cat biscuits. One cat pulled a biscuit out of the pot with his paw, so carefully, then ate it. The fastest things in the vehicle-free Chora are on four legs.

[about 1995]

Andros - The Taverna With NO Food

I had walked a long way across Andros. I had passed a number of tavernas – all closed. I was thirsty. I was hungry.

Eventually I reached Ipsilou which not only had a taverna that was open, but also a spacious rear terrace, with a glorious view down over Chora. The Ipsilou bus stop was just up the road; right next to the taverna was a path that seemed to head chorawards. Delicious smells were coming from inside the taverna. I was going to like Ipsilou! If the taverna was in serving mode, I would indulge.

The taverna door was open and I went through to the terrace at the back. The taverna was open. My taste buds quivered. I asked for an Amstel, wanting to quench my thirst before ordering any food. The owner was apologetic, saying that he had only just put the Amstel in the fridge and it was still warm. Would I like a different make of beer? I plumped for the warm Amstel (the beer was not that warm) and enjoyed the view from the terrace as I sipped it.  An Amstel is extra good after you have "earned" it by doing as long walk.

The smell of food wafting out from the taverna was irresistible but I had to stay hungry. Food was served only after 7 p.m. at the Ipsilou taverna - and there were no evening buses from Chora to Ipsilou! The smell was most delicious. I supposed I was lucky they were open to serve beer. When dark, there would be no view (only lights) to enjoy, and perhaps it would be too cold to sit outside. The irony of sitting, hungry, with the delicious food smells wafting over me. Not even an omelette was offered yet the owner seemed friendly enough. I thought of the bar on Serifos, with nothing on sale although outside was a huge pile of beer crates. The person in charge of the Serifos non-bar dipped a glass into a bucket of water and offered it to me. He would not accept payment. The hazards of travelling out of season.

Hungry still but no longer thirsty I set back for Chora, having taken the precaution of checking with the owner that the path beneath the taverna was the right path. It was.

[Late 1990s]

Rubbish problems on Andros

Not all islands are as well organised as Amorgos. 

Andros in waste management impasse - Island's authorities considering storing trash following collapse of overburdened landfill

But this does make you wonder about the stability of mountainside landfills.  Getting fuller and fuller, is an eventual landslip inevitable?