The gentlest of breezes creeps in from the Aegean sea as I sit beside old Petros, the resident handyman at the hotel bar outside by the pool. His fingers glide through his milky white forked beard as he tells me of his many adventures and the fact he can speak five languages. I listen intently though I'm beginning to feel intoxicated through Metaxa brandy, with his broken though very passable English Petros intrigues me deeply, his eyes glimmer with wit and intelligence, his long silver hair hangs around in shoulders in curls, it's almost as though I'm sat next to Zeus himself. The reality is I'm sat in The Sporades Islands in Greece, on the island of Skiathos next to a Macedonian man whose life has been far more interesting than my own......
Arriving in Skiathos, I wasn't sure what to really expect, the airport is nothing more than a large hangar and after traversing customs rapidly we had to wait on a very old German bus with no air con. The wait was caused by a Mr Foster who evidently saw it better to jump in a taxi and head straight off to his accommodation without telling anyone, nice man eh?
The next eye opener after Mr Fosters tourist treachery had been revealed some forty-five minutes later was my hotels proximity to the airport, literally two minutes down the road and we were the first drop off, we could have walked it, thankfully flights to the island aren't regular. The lobby area of the hotel was dimly lit affair, manned by a thin dour looking Greek guy adorned in a seventies style faux leather looking jacket and bouffant quiff, he was later given the nickname 'The Fonz'. We were directed to our room, which was a second storey basic affair, though to be honest I've stayed in far worse in the past. Suitcases opened and feeling refreshed it was time to tentatively find Skiathos town which thankfully was about eight minutes walk away. So off we headed not really knowing what to expect.
What we found surpassed my expectations, a lovely little town perched by the Aegean, whitewashed Greek buildings disguising a veritable maze of alleyways containing many a hidden treasure. It wasn't long before we found a bar owned by a couple of ex pats who furnished us with some knowledge of the locality. From then on in the holiday proper began.
The word Skiathos broken down means shadow and the second part refers to mount Athos which can allegedly be seen on a clear day from the island. Skiathos is probably one of the most beautiful places I've ever been, and I've visited a fair few places in my time. Everyday I got lost in fragrant alleys and streets festooned with all kinds of flora. I didn't see any litter, there's no McDonalds or KFC here either, sure there's a few gift shops but many sell local hand crafted gifts. Skiathos seems to nestle between two hills and thus contains a few ascents here and there, though nothing too taxing really, cutting through the centre of this small town is Papadiamanti street named after the islands famous author Alexandros Papadiamantis. This street leads away from the split new and old harbours which are divided by the tiniest of tree covered peninsulas called the Bourtzi and a ferry jetty to the other side of it. The Bourtzi was once a small fort in Venetian times but now houses a civil building and museum. Along both harbour fronts there's a myriad of Greek style restaurants of varying price, though generally more expensive than the ones in the back streets. Skiathos is an island where you can eat as expensively or cheaply as you want, for instance the harbour side restaurants can charge anything from €20 upwards whilst I was eating very sizeable portions of Greek food on the back streets for as less as €4. Drinks vary in price too, so its best to ask beforehand but that said they are often large measures and the Greeks being generous sorts you find yourself with more than the odd free drink. There's many taverna's worth seeking out in and around the town.
I was told the months of May and September are best to visit, June and July are very hot and as an ex pat put it to me 'The streets and alleys are so busy it seems a horde of sunburnt penguins have taken over'. People from all over Europe, including Greece descend on the small island from June until August and the population swells from the six thousand inhabitants to a staggering eighty thousand so I was told. It's in this quarter that the Greeks make their money as the winter months are considerably colder and quiet, flights to the island ending around the 10th October. If you want to visit after then its a flight to Athens, a drive to Volos and then a ferry to Skiathos, flights begin again in the spring time.
Anyway that's enough of the factual stuff what other things did I do? Well apart from exploring the town itself and surrounding area I went on a couple of tours one which took us over to the mainland and the lovely small fishing village of Kati Yorgis. Seeing dolphins up close was definitely a magical moment and also knowing I was a few miles away from the famous pass of Thermopylae where some of you may knew a few hundred Greeks changed the course of history. The port of Volos from where my namesake led the Argonauts on their famous adventures wasn't too far away but sadly on this day at sea mount Athos seemed to be shrouded in a mystical haze. As I sailed on the azure blue Aegean that I sat imagining many things from antiquity that had happened in this stunningly beautiful part of the world. Dipping my hobbit feet into the Aegean all of my troubles and ailments seemed to fade into the background, I felt peaceful, I felt like I'd found something I'd lost long ago - for those brief moments between sea and sky everything seemed so simple and serene.
Of course I had other adventures too, the abandoned town of Kastro and its eerie emptiness. I sojourned briefly in the old town of Skiathos where I greeted an old Greek lady clad in black with 'Ya-Sas' (a general Greek 'hello/bye') and she turned and smiled warmly repeating it twice back to me with sincere conviction. The Greeks are lovely people, kind, giving, warm and love to laugh.
Oh and beer? Well I had more than a few but to be honest I drank more wine, Ouzo and Metaxa really. Apart from Mythos there's a few other continental lagers to slake your thirst but as I'm essentially more of a real ale person these days I partook sparingly.
In the grand scheme of things, my little Greek odyssey in Skiathos is probably a drop in the Aegean to what there is to do and compared to what others have done but for me personally it was a little interlude of beauty and some quality time spent with my dad, not to mention a bit of self discovery.
On the last night I sit beside old Petros once more, though I suspect he's probably in his mid fifties, years of adventure etched into his worn face. He's told me much of his experiences, working at sea, the former Yugoslav war and when he learned of the fact I live in Nottinghamshire he tells me for many years he slept with a book about Robin Hood under his pillow. We sit drinking a Macedonian bottle of spirits he'd produced, a clear liquid that pulls no punches when it courses down your throat. We laugh and joke with the barmen Nikolas, Adonis and my dad. Inside I feel pangs of sadness encroaching fast, I don't want to go home. The next day I see Petros one last time and solemnly say 'Petros, it is time for me to go'. He embraces me and reminds me of my Greek name and bids me safe journey. I turn and leave with the thought:
"Fortune favours the bold" - Virgil, The Aeneid.
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