Chapter 2, part 2: Tinos

We leave Samos early on Wednesday morning, just less than a week after we got here, and set off westwards on a half wind course, motor-sailing towards Ikaria. The open bay at the very last tip of the southwest corner of the island (St George's Bay, East side) does not look at first sight to be a promising place to spend the night. It is just a front of rock. But as we come close to the yellow cliffs suddenly the wind shelter is noticeable, and we anchor comfortably. Being able to stop here alone in the middle of nowhere is a joy. There is scarcely any wind. The anchor holds well, and we can relax. We swim, we have dinner, we are happy.

Next day it is off round the corner towards a bay on Mykonos, just to break the journey to Tinos. We are the only yacht anchoring here although one or two motorboats come and go, tying up to the rocks. There is a well-populated long sandy beach. There are no restaurants, but a few holiday homes perched on the steep hills behind the beach. Unfortunately, the water is mucky and full of rubbish, and this, together with a jellyfish, puts me off from swimming much. The people on the beach and in the water seem infected with Mykonos madness; they are all very loud and overexcited. And I am turning old and crabby. Hermitcrabby. I am glad to leave the next morning and continue our journey to Tinos town, in the southwest of Tinos island.

I am particularly keen to visit Tinos as I came here in the early 1990s - 1993 I think - and am intrigued to see how it has changed and what, if anything, I recognize or remember. It is exciting to revisit somewhere from your past; it almost feels like revisiting the version of yourself you were then.

It is not possible to reserve a slot here in this very small public harbour, although we have called in advance, and sure enough when we arrive there is nothing free and we have to moor alongside on the old ferry quay on the far side of the harbour bay. Ralph is not happy with the mooring because of the swell. We read up that there are 152 ferry journeys from/to Tinos every week and we see about 7 of these just in the few hours we are sitting there waiting for a berth in the main harbour.

As soon as there is the tiniest hint that a berth might possibly be becoming free, we leap into action to claim the berth. I guess this is the kind of maritime equivalent of bagging the sunlounger, but with a lot more frenetic activity involved. We have to roll up the sunscreens to make sure we can easily move around the boat and access the cleats. Ralph bounds onto the pier to unhook 2 lines off the bollards, and the lines have to be removed from the cleats. We also have to remove mooring lines from the front of the boat, move some of the extra fenders from the port side to the starboard side, so we are protected on both sides; prepare the lines at the stern, and then watch the back, front and side of the boat as we emerge from alongside the quay, watching not to come too close to the anchor chain of the boat moored next to us. Then we chug over to the other side of the harbor bay, Ralph manoeuvres Opua into position, we drop the anchor and reverse into place before throwing the lines to the marinero, and securing them on the cleats. Talk about stressful. Another pair of hands (or two, or even three) would not have gone amiss. A manouevre beer definitely seems in order at this point.

(Sailing seems to be quite long uneventful stretches interspersed with high-tension, high activity periods lasting a few, or a few tens, of minutes.)

Now we are at least temporarily settled, I take stock of our position. The first slot in the harbour is directly at the roundabout where the main road along the pier kinks left and then to the right, and from which leads another main road up towards the beloved Panagia Megalochari church devoted to the virgin Mary. It is quite busy here at this junction. I am tickled that we are right slap bang in the middle of things. Across to our left is a row of cafes and restaurants. There are cars and scooters on the road, and people walking along the quay in front of our boat, trailing their luggage to or from the ferry port. In the evening when the road is closed to motor vehicles there is a slow stream of people in both directions, both on the quay and on the road directly in front of our cockpit (as we are stern-to). Everyone likes to look in, and we like to look out, although views both ways are partially obscured by the sun shades (back up again because of the intense heat). Pre-teen boys fish in the harbour basin and one tenacious young man, whose English is remarkably good, tries to sell us a very defeated-looking octopus he has snared after many patient hours. We decline.

In the afternoon we wander (very slowly in this baking heat, seeking out any patches of shade) up to the main drag to the church – this is absolutely a flashback for me – and listen for a moment to the incantations sung by 4 priests in the incense-laden church. The street up to the church is lined with shops selling massive 120cm votive candles, as well as icons, incense, and small platstic receptacles I guess may be used for holy water (but it is just a guess.) This is an important place of pilgrimage for Greeks of both Orthodox and Catholic faiths. There are also the usual shops catering to holidaymakers’ need to buy stuff on holiday, like jewellery, clothing, and edibles. Since I am not really on holiday (this is my life!!!!) and there is no more room in my cupboard I don’t need to buy anything. It’s nice to wander in the little backstreets, and then cool down with a cold beer in a friendly café. In the evening we enjoy a fish supper: cod and greens, with a lemon vinaigrette – delicious.

The next day we have to take action to mitigate the risk of the stern of the boat bashing into the harbour wall with the significant swell we have. The swish motoryacht next to us was moored closer to the wall than we were and nearly bashed its very expensive rump last night. So we invest quite some time and, above all, nervous energy, in attaching and adusting lines of various length and thickness at various angles and tension to various clamps, cleats, rings and bollards, as well as fine-tuning the anchor chain length. It is very hot. We are sweaty and exasperated, trying to find the optimal setup for safety and comfort, which is educated guesswork. Some jerking or squeaking or banging always manages to creep in and sometimes there just is no viable solution. A test of nerves.

It is a relief to get away, off the boat and out of town in our hire car which we have from 1pm for 24 hours. Town ends very soon as we drive northwards along the west coast and we pass some pleasant low-key local beaches. On our way, we see some of the famous Tinian dovecots. These are buildings the size of small dwellings, very intricately decorated with patterns not carved but built into their structures from slate in diamond, rhomboid, triangle and other shapes. I read up in the guidebook about these: apparently most of the surviving structures (of which there are literally hundreds) date from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The dovecots have an upstairs/downstairs setup, with storage in the downstairs and the doves (AKA pigeons) on the top floor with a view. Why pigeons? Because pigeon meat was prized, and pigeon droppings make great fertilizer.

Another particularly striking feature of the Tinian landscape we notice as we drive are the hundreds of miles of dry stone walls running across the steep slopes, forming narrow terraces. Most of these appear to be ancient, as the terraces appear no longer to be cultivated. My guidebook helpfully explains that these served both to shore up the slopes and to provide land for agricultural use, and helped maximise drainage.

Now that the stress of making the mooring as safe as possible is behind us, we are very ready for some lunch, and so we wind down steeply to Kalivia beach half way up the coast, to find sustenance at the very chilled beach bar. This place is a perfect stopoff for us to catch our breath and tank up on energy for our tour of Tinos. It is very laid back, and very pleasant. We cool off with ice-cold drinks before resuming our journey.

Half-following a tour detailed in my guidebook, mainly because the end point was Panormos, the village which, from what I read, must be the place I ended up at so many years ago, we first come to the village of Kardiani. It becomes apparent that sightseeing on this monstrously hot day without a breeze, is not for the faint-hearted. Every step uphill takes additional energy and of course all the villages are built into the hills and require a lot of going up and coming down, which my knee also does not care for currently. Kardiani is the first of several villages today offering a panoramic view of the sea. It is, to my untrained eye, a classic Cycladic village, all stacked up very steeply on the hill.  Steep narrow roads and walkways, shady staircases between the buildings, whitewash. The contrasts of the cool and the heat, the blazing sun, the white of the buildings and the dark blue of the water in the distance with its magical sparkle, and its occasional dots of sailboats.

The next stop on our route is Ysternia, a village meant to be a cradle for Tinian art and imbued with artistry and artisanship. It is absurdly hot. Ralph takes refuge on a gorgeous shady terrace under a sycamore tree and drinks water by the gallon. I hobble on rather feebly down through the narrow streets (not wide enough for cars), paved with marble and quite slippery in places, to get a feel for this place of great import.  In the heat of mid-afternoon, everything is closed and the town is very empty, and revelations escape me. It’s another beautiful village but one I cannot do justice to. I gaze out again at the amazing blue of the sea for a moment before staggering back up the hill to join Ralph.

From Ysternia we follow the road as it heads towards the north of the island. The landscape becomes increasingly barren, with a fascinating proliferation of dry stone walls. We are heading to Panormos now to see if any memories can be rekindled in this old head of mine.  The answer is yes and no. The buildings along the front look very familiar. I think it was here I stayed in a very simple one-room apartment. I wonder whether they finally did it up and what they charge for it nowadays. When I was here I swear there was one restaurant, or possibly two, but now there seem to be a whole load. And I really don’t remember its having been so pretty! Before it was just a fishing village. Now it is a picturesque fishing village and known tourist destination. But yes I think it was here. And no I don’t really remember anything new.

There is nowhere to park here right now and we don’t need further hydration immediately so we say goodbye to Panormos, or at least goodbye for the moment, and head to our final destination for today, Pyrgos. I’d like to say that it was thanks to my excellent research that we ended up visiting a typical Tinian (or at least Pyrgian) cottage, but actually we went there by mistake, thinking it was another museum. A fortuitous mistake in this case.

Pyrgos is quite a big village and very beautiful village and has been very well maintained.. There is marblework everywhere, in the lintels above doorways, and even in carved slabs in the pavements. It also has some really classy small shops selling hand-made craftwork including marble, which Tinos is famous for. In this heat though we don’t have the appetite for a lot of exploring, and have reached a point where we are happy to head back to town, park the car, grab dinner, and get an early night, hoping that the mooring is not too bouncy or jerky tonight. It does feel quite weird to go to bed right slap bang in the middle of all the Saturday night action, but that is what we do. The next morning we still have use of the hire car until 1pm so we drive to a wonderful beach on the south east corner of the island, jump about in the waves for a bit, and have a fruit juice.

I like it here. I am enchanted with the ambience of Tinos, which is still very much the unhappening, relaxed kind of place it always was, just somewhat updated to modern times. We have only been here for a couple of days and have only scratched the surface. My guidebook is endearingly enthusiastic about Tinos; its food, culture, history, its hardworking spirit and creative spirit and its art and architecture. Maybe that's why I am so taken with it. Or maybe it is because I personally "discovered" Tinos all those years ago. In any case I hope the harbour has not put Ralph off and I can persuade him to come back with me here, perhaps when meteorological conditions enable us to enjoy a more comfortable berth.

Translated to German with DeepL (free version): DeepL.com, with some tweaks