I stayed on Paros harbour waving to Ken 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 we had wanted to go from Amorgos to Naxos, but the only convenient ferry went direct from Amorgos to Paros, missing out Naxos, so we had a few hours to spend in Paros waiting for a ferry to Naxos. Even after we had left our main luggage in a luggage store and were walking around with our smallish day bags we were 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 old Skopelitis 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 was sure that rooms were to be had (if I had wanted one) in just about any establishment I chose. I thought of the Earnest 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. 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.
[1996]
The wind is getting up. I had hung out some washing - a two sock peg wind. (I judge wind speed by the number of pegs I use to hold a sock on a washing line!) I heard a plastic chair blow along the balcony, and dashed outside and brought the chair into my room. The `balcony' runs the length of the building (two long rooms wide), and is used by those in the know as a link between the upper and lower paths though the village. My room has three windows. Both the bedroom and kitchen windows are shut. The bathroom window will not shut. I have to remember to keep bathroom door shut (I was thinking more of keeping out stinging insects than human intruders). There is a key in the bathroom door, and if I was really concerned about security (would anyone climb in through my bathroom window in Sikinos?) I could keep the bathroom door locked from the bedroom side. Lucky that I did not lock the door…………. read on!
The shutters on the kitchen window are shut; they kept the dazzling morning sun out and I did not bother re-opening them. The main shutters are open, but not fastened back. I heard shutters banging and dashed outside to fasten them back. I got to the door to come in. And found that the door had slammed shut. The key was inside the door. There was a large outside knob but no outside handle. Why that combination? It seemed to be asking for trouble in the windy Aegean; until the door slammed shut I had not appreciated that I would be stranded if the door slammed shut. Lucky for me that it was not the middle of the night! Sheepishly I padded across to landlady Maria's house to explain. Maria lived in the house next door, divided by a small garden area from the building I was staying in. I was barefoot as all my footwear was indoors. It was lucky that in my eagerness to stop that shutter banging I had not dashed out half naked. There was nothing in which to hide any nakedness except prickly pears - apart from the socks and undies on the line. Maria is not a smiley woman! Her husband climbed through my bathroom window. He was grinning broadly when he opened the door and gave me the key. Maria gestured in no uncertain terms that in future I should leave the key in the outside of the door.
In 1981 I was pleased to reach Santorini after a cramped boat ride from Paros. The island is the remnant of an extinct volcano and the main town of Thira is built on the rim of the volcano. There was then no cable car, the only way from the old harbour to the top was up the 600 odd steps on foot or by donkey taxi. The ferry landed at the new port of Athinios where two buses waited. Hundreds of passengers and rucksacks clambered on board. We saw a spactacular sunset as we wound up to Thira. Where would we all sleep? No need to have worried.
Back in 1981 the cable car had not been built and I walked up and down the steps to the old harbour a time or two, resisting the temptation to buy a ride on one of the now probably retired donkeys. The new harbour a mile or two round the coast had been built by 1981. The new harbour was not and is not a place to stay, and if there are rooms they would only be used by people waiting for or landing from a boat. There is usually a fleet of buses and hotel owned mini buses to meet the ferries, and I usually sail out of Santorini to the site of a positive convoy of these vehicles snaking their way up the hairpin road leading from the harbour. Are they so assiduous in returning you to the harbour, I always wonder. I say there are usually a large number of buses. Coming back from Anaphi there were only five passengers and a crate or two of fish on board the Express Santorini. I noticed that the ferry was not met. If anyone had been getting off at Santotini there could have been a long wait in port until the next bus appeared. Another ferry (presumably from more populated ferries) had just left port, the buses were snaking up hill, but not single one had waited to meet the ferry from Anaphi. Luckily no one (human or fish) got off.
In 1981 I stayed at the Hotel Kavalari. I see that the hotel is now listed in various hotel guides and must have gone upmarket since my visit. I remember the novelty of having the reception on the top floor and the rooms on the floors beneath. My room was in the volcanic crater, windowless, dug out of the rock. Apart from a cave hotel I stayed in at Matamata in Tunisia, this was the only time I have ever slept in a cave. This room was reached down a tunnel and had no window, just a ventilator onto the tunnel; the cave room in Tunisia gave onto an outside platform. The Tunisian hotel was on the tourist trail; the door was only made of palm leaves and had no lock. One morning I was lounging in bed, not that late, perhaps about eight, when I heard some voices.. A tour group was exploring the hotel. I rapidly made some noises and put my head out of the door so that thay could see the room was occupied. I had no such problems at the Kavalari for although the room was in a cave it had a locking door.
I heard one couple complaining that their room was damp. To me a damp room in that heat would have been a blessing. I have different expectations when I am in Greece to when I am in England, and maybe these two had not adjusted their expectations. In England I expect a hotel room to have a fitted carpet, yet in Greece I am more than happy with a marble tiled floor and a rug or two. I have been in hotel rooms in Athens with carpets, but the carpets look tatty.
People at home often ask me "How do you find somewhere to stay? I would want to know in advance that I had somewhere to sleep at night."
I go to Greece in March-May, and September-November and have never had a problem finding anywhere to stay in the Cyclades. I have read that in summer all beds are taken, and people sleep on the beaches from necessity. I always avoid travelling in peak season for this reason - and because of the meltemi and the heat. In peak season booking ahead would be advisable. Yet one of the charms of island hopping - unless you are going back to a place that you know - is finding the place to stay that suits you. If you book ahead, you lose this flexibility.
Ratings are hard for the uninitiated to fathom. In one island an 'E' class hotel is smart with private baths, and a nearby 'D' class hotel is nowhere near so pleasant, more like a youth hostel than a hotel and with communal baths.
As accommodation standards improve generally, I find myself drawn to the more old-fashioned sort of place, which is somewhat ironic after spending years looking for "modern" accommodation.
In the earlier days of my travels in Greece, I used to be apprehensive about the standards of accommodation in the smaller islands, having read of primitive accommodation and even more primitive plumbing. Yet even on the smallest islands I have found comfortable good quality accommodation. My only fear now is that if I were to arrive on an island where there were lots of tourists, there might not be enough accommodation to go round. When I was on Lipsi, for example, I heard stories that in peak season a ‘full’ sign was put up in the harbour and tourists who had not booked accommodation in advance were not allowed to land.
On my first visit to Folegandros in 1991, I stayed in a small one roomed cottage. When I say cottage, you may imagine something far grander than it really was. Just one room. Two thirds of the floor area was taken up by a double bed that touched the walls at three sides. On the other side a bedside table, and a couple of folding chairs. There was a ledge in the wall behind the bed. That was it! I enjoyed staying there! There were sheep in a barn next door, and a bathroom outside - often with a donkey tethered outside. I went back to see the cottage a few years later. Admittedly, it was a wet day. I noticed the goatskins drying nearby and the tannery, and animal smells. Not at all idyllic on that day.
As soon as I got off the bus in 1991, I was offered the cottage. I walked with my landlord-to-be down a lane to the edge of the Chora. And there was the mini one roomed cottage, with the detached outside bathroom with superb views of the monastery. To the left was a stone barn with sheep. On some nights there was a donkey parked outside my door. The building on the other side was being converted for residential use. It was just off the track leading to what looked like an open-air disco - which was shut. Beyond was on olive grove. Perhaps not such an idyllic location when the disco was open. The cost? 500 dr. a night.
Was it a cottage, or was it a barn or sty? It was comfortable enough with its stone walls, beamed ceiling, large bed that almost filled the room and a convenient ledge in the wall behind, but my neighbours were animals! I felt in touch with the past, for this was not a cottage purpose built for tourists. There were all mod cons, across a yard, and I often had to pass a tethered donkey to do my ablutions. I say all mod cons, and so they appeared to be from inside, but outside there was a large water tank on the roof to which water was delivered by tanker. I never did work out the arrangements for delivering water. On the first day the landlord looked dubiously at the tank and said it might be OK if I had a shower the following day. I used the water sparingly and it never ran out during my stay. I saw no water delivered to my tank, either, although I did see water being delivered elsewhere in the Chora. In the centre of the village were a number of wells. There were also taps at the edge of the roads. I only used the latter for washing my hands when eating at tavernas, but I saw how the water supply would have been obtained from the streets before alternative arrangements were made to the houses. I enjoyed living in my cottage. When I went back to 'my' cottage a few years later, I saw the goatskins hanging all round the approach to the cottage. It was hard to see why I had found my stay in the little cottage so idyllic. Either the goatskins were not there in 1989, or I had not noticed them.
[1991]
When you get off a ferry clutching luggage, it's fairly obvious that you need a room. OK, you might already have somewhere to stay organised. But that is unlikely. So room touts descend on you like locusts. And, being a harbour, there is only one way you can walk. You are trapped. Thus it was when I arrived on Mykonos. A gaggle of room touts swarmed round me. I said no thank you to most of them. Seeing that I was alone, several shouted out "small room. One person."
I thought of double glazing and plastic window salesmen at home who, like rooms touts, carry out a war of attrition. Offer you something you do not want for long enough and you will give in, just to get some peace. Reader, I gave in. My tout shouted "Nice room. Little Venice. 3000 dr."
"Bathroom?" I asked. Foolishly, I did not say "private bathroom." I visualised what I wanted - a private bathroom.
"Balcony?" I asked. Foolishly, I did not say "private balcony". "Of course," replied the tout. Then I saw she had a minibus. The wording on the side included the words pension, sea side, and swimming pool. Hey, that was not what I wanted. I wanted to stay in town. She explained that she had other accommodations. She was taking me to a room in Little Venice. Once in the bus she became the Brisk Businesswoman. So much for the low key private accommodation I was hoping to stay in. The bus circuited the ring road. Seeing my look of alarm (where was I being taken? Why did I not stick to my resolve to avoid room touts?), Brisk Businesswoman explained that no traffic was allowed in the town, we had to go round the edge. We were certainly going a long way round the edge.
The room was in a house on a small street near the row of windmills at the back of town. A very small room. The tout's chorus of "small room - one person" still rang in my ears. This was a small room par excellence. A small double bed completely filled over half of the floor space. One small window in the wall, and another in the door. The bathroom was not private, but shared with the two rooms on that top floor and I know not how many below. By "room with bath" I meant a room with a private bath. Brisk Businesswoman knew that, her English was good enough. I was annoyed at being brought all this way. I saw a sink on the open landing, and thought that even when the bathroom was in use I would have access to water, and the room seemed to be in a quiet area. The room cost only 3000 dr. Brisk Businesswoman offered me a larger room, but it would cost more. I decided to make the best of a bad job and stayed.
"How long are you staying for?" asked Brisk Businesswoman. I had no idea. I wanted to go to Delos on the following day, and then on to Naxos or Amorgos. I had as yet no idea of the times of the boats to Delos, or the ferries on to Naxos or Amorgos. "Two nights" I said. The boat from Delos would not get me back before midday, so I would have to leave my luggage somewhere, and it might as well be in the room. "Pay now, please," said Brisk Businesswoman. I paid for the two nights. "If you want to stay longer, pay the person who comes to clean every morning." Brisk Businesswoman did not ask to see my passport, neither were there any prices on the doors of the rooms. I wondered about the legality of the set up. All tourist rooms should be registered? I knew it was illegal for a customer to buy something and not take a receipt (to avoid dodging the requirement for electronic tills and VAT registration). Was it illegal for a tourist to stay in an unregistered room? These thoughts flashed through my mind, but I could hardly ask to see Brisk Businesswoman's tourist office registration credentials. She did give me her card so I could contact her if I needed to. An otherwise law-abiding tourist was unlikely to be arrested for sleeping in an unregistered room. Or was she?
After Brisk Businesswoman left, I started to settle in. The other two rooms had doors open, unlet, so no problem with bathroom access. No doubt, Brisk Businesswoman would be down at the harbour when the next boat came in, hovering like a vulture to catch her next tourist prey. I decided to have a shower whilst the bathroom was free. A very pleasant, well-fitted and large bathroom. I wondered if the house was a private house in winter. I thought of the early days of tourism when tourists slept chez the locals. I was going to experience some of that. A fridge on the landing, a pleasant view onto a square, not a disco in sight. Although the room was small, this was not going to be too bad.
The bathroom had no lock on the door. No one was about so I was relaxed about showering, and had the light on. Should I splash quietly in the shower so that I could hear if anyone else arrived? Should I splash loudly so that anyone outside could hear me even if I could not hear them? Or should I sing loudly? That first shower I was quiet. When the new arrivals came (when I could get into the bathroom), I sang at the top of my voice.
The balcony/roof was pleasant enough with its marble type outside sink, tables and chairs and an outside fridge. And a view of trees. The area was probably quiet [the area was quiet - my neighbours were to prove otherwise!] (apart from loo on the other side of my wall). Padding round on the landing, I soon discovered that the outside tap did not work; it was lacking anything other than the bottom piece of the tap, and there was nothing to switch it on by.
My room was very small, with a small double bed, wardrobe and table. That was all. [Even the table was a small stool with a cover at the side of the bed]. A door (naturally!) and a small window. As I would not stay there long OK, probably. [To accept a tout or not, that is the question. ...As in all walks of life, there are touts and touts.] I paid for two nights. Daughter cleaned every day - pay her if I stay longer. At least Brisk Businesswoman did not insist on taking my passport and leaving it for me to try to make contact with daughter on her once a day visit to get the passport back. I have been wary of leaving my passport with absentee owners since the time I stayed in a private flat in Fez, Morocco, many years ago. I had arrived in Fez, unwittingly, in the middle of a conference of Islamic foreign ministers. Every hotel I tried was full. I asked at the tourist office about a room. The girl in there said that all the rooms in town were taken, but I was welcome to stay in her own flat. I said thank you but no thank you, thinking that she was out to make some money for herself. Surely all the rooms in town were not taken. The truth was probably in a comment made by a Moroccan in the tourist office. Words to the effect of "there are rooms, but not for you." Sometimes I wonder, when I am told that a hotel in Athens is full, if there would be room if I did not look as though I had slept in my clothes the night before - which I invariably have when I arrive in Athens. Thinking about it, the only time recently when I found a room straight away in Athens was on my last trip when I arrived, clean and refreshed, after a fast trip from Naxos on the High Speed...........After another spell of fruitless room searching, I went back to the tourist office. It was not as though I was stranded - I could always have caught a train and moved on. But having reached Fez, I did want to see something of the town. Her room was still free. I shared a flat in a block with several other tourists. Next morning I tried to retrieve my passport - which took quite a time to do. So I was pleased to hang on to my passport in Mykonos. At least I have not left my passport hostage.
My room on Andros twice the size of my Mykonos room. Yet the Andros room was a single. The Mykonos room was - in theory - a double! At least on Andros I had my own wash basin and use of three loos and two showers. Here there was a narrow double bed; stool with cloth posing as a table. Wardrobe with doors and an internal shelf. The only 'hook' was a nail in wall, knocked too far in to be of any use. The door had glass on a hinge and a nailed on curtain. Small 2-foot square window had a 'nailed' curtain. The only light was over the bed. The fridge was on the balcony. The lights on the balcony must be operated from inside the other rooms. Not only was the sink outside lacking a tap; the plug hole was also blocked.
Time to go out and explore. Going down the internal staircase I noticed at one turn where I would have expected some sort of handrail that someone had put a glass globe lampshade, and at another strategic position there was a bucket of water. I also noticed then that the light bulb holders were empty of light bulbs. Booby-traps for the unwary.
Years ago when I was in Brussels I was out with some friends and we were taking home a new arrival to Brussels. The young man had no idea where he was staying! He had faint glimmerings of the area but had not noted down the name or address. Since that experience, I have always been careful to make a note of where I am staying. Staying in different hotels although I am unlikely, (I hope) to forget the name of the hotel, I might forget what my current room number is. There was no number on this door, but I would not forget its position on the top outside landing. It was not as if I had to find a room from a row of identical doors. I got outside and went to close the door. The door handle came off in my hand. I put it back again, and remembered in future to edge the handle sideways when opening or shutting the door. Not long before I had locked myself in my bathroom at home when the door handle got stuck with the moveable lever bit stuck in the open position. Luckily, I had a screwdriver in the bathroom (I am that untidy, there is little that I cannot find in any room) and managed to unscrew the whole door handle to get myself out. I wondered what would happened if anyone managed to shut the door completely. I had a Swiss army type knife in my rucksack, I must make sure that I always carry it with me. Out in the path-street I looked for a number on the door. There was no number on the door, just a row of fairly similar looking doors. I drew a sketch of the tile pattern by the door to remind me which was mine. One way the street led to a square; there was no street name so I went to the other end. No street name there either. I was near the row of windmills out at the edge of town. How to know which street was mine? I stood back and looked for some identifying feature. No house number or street name, and no clue that the house had rooms to rent. No wonder Brisk Businesswoman had to go down to the harbour to find customers. A casual tourist passer by would never find this place. And if they did it was obvious (apart from if and when the cleaner person put in an appearance) there would be no one here to receive them.
There was an architect's sign on a building at the end of the road. I made a note of the wording on the sign so that I could identify it if I got lost. An old man and woman were sitting near the sign. The old couple looked at me, nudged each other, and smiled. They must have thought I was drawing them. I smiled back. No, I was not drawing them, just trying to find out how to get back to my room.
On my first return to the room, I found that two young Canadian women had just arrived. They were in the bathroom with the door open, scantily clad, treading washing in the way I imagine Andriotes (or perhaps Mykoniotes if they are not too sophisticated) treading grapes. There was water everywhere. I picked up everything off my bedroom floor in case the flood flowed that way. Everything was wet, wet, wet.
It was less light than before, so I switched on the light. Nothing happened. Another 'popped' light bulb I thought. I looked at the light fitting on the wall above the bed (there was only one light in the room) and found that the bulb had not popped. There was no bulb to pop. Now I saw why the fittings on the stairs were devoid of bulbs. They had all been filched for use in bedrooms. As a precaution I put my travelling light in the socket on the wall, and made sure that my torch was in the pouch. I would ring the landlady and ask for a bulb. As I went out the Canadians were still sluicing in the bathroom. Had they set up a laundry business? The line was full of clothes, no view at all, every chair on the balcony was draped with wet clothes, and the tables as well. I paddled downstairs clutching my landlady's card. Brisk Businesswoman was out. Her daughter did not understand. She kept saying there was a light in the room. Bad enough trying to explain the lack of a light bulb in person when you do not know the Greek words and have to resort to gestures. Worse on a telephone. Will I or won't I get one? I had rung as soon as I found a telephone. I was out and about for a while so hoped to find a light bulb in my room when I got back. Nothing. The bathroom door was closed and I could hear splashing sounds from within.
Enough was enough. I decided I would forego my 6000 dr. and look for a room with light and with access to the bathroom. I had seen attractive gardens at the Hotel Philippi and thought I would try there. The Hotel looked pleasant enough, but a single room without bath (I could not see how many rooms shared the communal bath) cost 5000 dr., and the room overlooked a busy main road. I had envisaged a room overlooking the courtyard. No. I would stay put. If I could get a light bulb.
Got back to my room. No bulb put in. Had put torch in pouch in readiness and switched on my travelling light. (How glad I am I did not eject that from my packing list). Went to bathroom, when I managed to get in there, - and found a range of three light bulbs! Small, bayonet and screw. Not just us that have a problem with incompatible light bulbs.
I do not know what the French foursome (who had recently arrived) thought (they were out on the balcony) when they saw me on my bed fiddling with my light. [I was to meet two of them the next morning when I was boiling water].
The screw bulb fits. I can see! I can see! Not that there is much to see in this cubbyhole of a room. What with a light and a free bathroom, I decided I had better stay.
The First Night at the room. The loose door handle on the outside door. I had to hold it to one side when I used it so that the handle did not fall off. In middle of night I heard giggles from my wet Canadian neighbours when they managed to do just that. The door handle keeps falling off the outside door. A lever type handle. Whatever held the handle onto the spindle has broken off. Pushing open is less of a problem, but when pulling the door to you have to veer the handle to one side so that it does not fall off. Even after leaving Andros I was still treating door handles in this gingerly fashion, in the same way as I was, Anti Paros like, averting my toes from the waste pipe when using a washbasin. Voices of wet Canadians in the night - the door handle had fallen off.
Last night I woke - I think more than once - to hear voices say "Now, is it this street?" Someone could not find "home." With no street names, no door numbers and all doors painted blue, I am not surprised. Often elsewhere in Greece I have seen house numbers painted on walls outside buildings. Often these are crossed out and renumbered several times. I saw none of that in Mykonos, at least in the street in which I was staying.
I am writing this in my mini room at about 7 a.m. The loo next door flushed so many times last night and I kept switching my now working light on by the switch above my bed, that the light eventually stopped working. Later tried the main switch near the door and the light came on. The room must have dodgy electrics.
Room lit c. 6.30 (still dark) by plug in light. Wanted coffee. I had tried to fit my water heater into the socket last night without success. The lights on the balcony seem to be operated from inside the other two rooms. This room has no such mod. con. Last night I heated water on the balcony socket - the socket has a cover to protect it from the elements. Then I had the light from my room (the light then worked) and the balcony light near the socket was on. Anyone coming out of the other room would have been able to see me. The room had a light on, but no one emerged. So this morning I took out the plug in light in my room, put my torch on (you need to be equipped). As before I could not get the heater plug to fit in the socket. With torchlight, I compared the heater plug prongs and the light plug prongs. The heater prongs were slightly wider than the light prongs. So presumably the light would fit into any socket, (or is it dangerous to put the light into a 'big' socket?) but the heater would not fit into a 'light' socket. So out I went onto the balcony with a T-shirt over my nightie. I put the heater plug into the socket over the stone sink without a tap. When I had first seen it, I thought there was an outside tap, so that one bathroom would be less of a problem - but not so - the 'tap' to the sink lacked a head to turn it on by. As I feared the bedroom door next to the socket opened, and an innocent young girl emerged. I did not want to frighten her so said casually, "Morning, I'm just boiling some water." I think she was French. She seemed completely unperturbed. Less so me in her situation, I think. Back to my room. Not thinking, I flicked on the main light switch by the door - and the light came on. Tried the bedside switch - and that was OK. Strange.
Chorus of birds outside. 7.15
No problems with bathroom access this morning.
I returned to my room after a day (or as much of a day as the boat times allowed!) on Delos. I got back to the room to find that an Italian chap (a Canadian of Italian origin?) had moved in with the sluicing Canadians. I heard him say to the girls, "Are you going to have a few?" If anything like last night's flushings, they will be passing a few. Never known such a noisy loo. All is modern in the bathroom but I rarely get chance to go in there.
The second night in my room. More giggles from my neighbours in the night when the door handle outside fell off.
On Andros, I had been woken up by the "pssht" of the fishmonger shouting at the cats. On Mykonos, I was woken up at the dead of night by the flash of my neighbours' camera.
The Sluicing Canadians and their entourage got in at about 4.30 a.m. and made merry until around six on balcony outside. I put my light on to politely make my presence felt but noise continued.
Shower soaking wet. Yesterday morning the small carpet was wet. Then the prop put in a very attractive large red woven rug. Very smart. Now that is soaking wet. The shower has a kerb so there is no need for all this wetness. Poor prop. And I say that although she is in my bad books for misleading me over the nature of the room.
Every available chair on the balcony covered in wet clothes. The two girls are forever sluicing. They did not get to bed until around 6 a.m. At 7.30, they were sluicing again.
[late 1990s]
