The journey from Kos town to Kefalos, on the south of Kos, is only a short one but today it feels longer than I was expecting. It amazes me how fast I have got out of practice with the rhythms of a sailing life. I hope they will soon feel familiar again. But we do have fun on the trip experimenting with the sails and the wind as we travel down the southern coast, identifying all the resorts. Soon enough, after dodging a lot of hobbycat sailors, hydrofoils, and windsurfers in the last mile or so, here we are coming into Kefalos Bay – in the meantime a very familiar sight – at 4pm on a September afternoon. There is a haziness in the air and the clouds are partially blocking the sun, which makes it feel like early evening. But the water is still marvelously warm.
We have decided with our friends to sail on directly to Thilos the next day. It will be a 6-hour journey, but starting at a civilized hour. However, just as 4 pm felt quite late yesterday, 9 am seems quite early at this time of the year. (I apologise to any of you who might be reading this, who always have to get up several hours earlier than this, every day of your working life. I could say, I have also been there, but that is irrelevant. I am mainly making a comment about the seasons.) Autumn here specifically is new to us but the feeling of shortening days is quite familiar. Again, it seems like a long trip today. At the beginning, the sea is rolling. We have a long stretch where we can turn the engines off and we are actually sailing. Our mainsail is small but we have the big foresail up and are reaching reasonable speeds even though the wind is not strong. We tack so that we are sailing at a good angle to make the best of the wind. Just in the last mile or so the Sloopies overtake us in their boat, which is a bit lighter than ours, and with a bigger mainsail, thus also faster.
We arrive and anchor pretty much in the middle of this wide bay (Vathi Bay) without too much bother. This time, for once, I (wo)man the engines (under Ralph's instruction) to drive the anchor in, and it works well. We are so hungry that don't even check the anchor until after we have eaten. (A first I think.) After our late lunch I swim to the shore in the warm water and then walk from the middle of the beach up to one end and then down to the other, shrugging off the marginal chill of the breeze. I am used to colder conditions on Scottish beaches. There are only a few people out and about, and curiously most of them seem to have no clothes on, and seem very happy. I won't join them in stripping off but I feel more relaxed and happy after getting some steps. It is quiet – we are one of only 3 boats here. We are quite tired after the journey, shadow-boxing with the wind and waves; we turn in early after a very comforting dinner of rice noodles.
The next day is Saturday. (Someone asked me why I even register what day it is. I guess that even though our Saturday on the boat is similar to any other day, and even though our current rhythms and routines may be very different from other people’s back home, we are still very much connected to people for whom the weekend is different. Or maybe it is more that a whole life's training of watching time go by in days, weeks, months, years and decades is not easily put aside. I don’t know.) I wake quite early and keep myself quietly busy until Ralph is up. Clattering in the kitchen is to be avoided. It is a beautiful sparkling morning. Ralph and I go onshore with the dinghy and explore the beach area. We find a hotel with a restaurant open to the public. There is an end of season feeling of near desertion but the terrace under a roof festooned with creepers, and busy with potted plants, and surrounded by flowering bushes, is a joy. Two guests are just arranging their transport for the last day. We wonder if they are the last guests this year. It feels like the sort of quiet oasis you could come to, to finish your thesis/ write your book/ create your masterpiece, although I think the end of season is the deciding factor here.
At the end of the season time slows down. We are also slowing down. We patronize the snack shack on the beach, Kantina Stelios, consuming sausage sandwiches and fried eggs at one of the mismatched tables with their multi-coloured chairs under the ubiquitous tamarisk trees. We discover various charming little encampments under the trees and wonder who uses them. With the encampments and the nudity there seems to be a very hippy vibe in this bay.
Our afternoon is leisurely and seems to revolve largely round food! We enjoy feta, olives, pita and hummus, by invitation of the Sloopies, and later still manage a nice big plate of pasta back on OPUA. At night we sit outside on deck and watch the starry sky. It must be Ralph’s lucky day, or someone has a message for him, because he sees a shooting star. With our St Christopher’s, jinxing, and dolphin and turtle sightings we are getting all esoteric or superstitious.
On Sunday we head to Simi. At 7 am it is just starting to get light; the sun rises gloriously at about 7:15. We have chosen to travel today as it is due to be nice and calm. Sure enough the water is like oil. We motor all the way. It is very hot and very still – so much so that Ralph and I even play cards at one point on the journey.
The small bay we were hoping to anchor in – which, I learn later from an online guide, has the most beautiful waters of all of Simi – is full (maybe all those sailors read the same guide). On to the next bay – but this one is also full. Our plan was to anchor in a bay overnight and then to come to the marina in the next bay, Pethi, tomorrow to sit out the winds, but as this is not working out we head directly for the marina, and luckily as it is end of season there is plenty of space. (How many times can I say end of season in this piece? We will see.) Mooring is quickly done here. No anchoring, and only a single mooring line.
Phew, it is hot here in the marina! We sit around a bit to recover from the trip which we felt to be long and tedious. And then, like a wind-up toy or a Duracell bunny, off I go exploring...out of the marina, through the sliding gate ("it sloyds!" they shout to me helpfully in a strong south-east English accent from one boat as I try to open it normally) and out onto the narrow road round the harbour. The houses are all painted in different colours. Then here are some fisher boats. Here is an old man mending his nets. Here is the old lady in her front yard, with some family members. And here is the terrace of the blue taverna you have to walk though to keep going round the bay. The old dog snoozes under the table. I wonder if this is even a public right of way as I walk along on the narrow strip in front of the properties. But soon enough it joins the road which continues round the bay. A lot of dilapidation. A lot of charm. Some wonderful old stone buildings. I walk all the way round to the opposite side of the bay from the marina, and then make my way back. This evening the taverna is closed: we have a great fish meal at one of the 2 restaurants.
On Monday I am itching to go for a longer walk but the one I had in mind, on the far (south) side of the bay, does not look so enticing at this time in the morning as it is in full shade. Ralph joins me and we decide instead to head over northwards to the next bay, Agia Marina. We pick our way on a rust-red path between rubbly rocks and stones, occasionally scratched by dried-out thistles and shrubs. The short hike is worth it. When we descend to the bay the water is marvelously clear and refreshing and for a while we have the place to ourselves. It's a nicely-maintained setup with a good restaurant and lots of sunbeds. Soon after our swim, the first load of visitors is brought by boat and distribute themselves on the sunbeds. We make our way back and enjoy another dip in Pethi bay just minutes from our boat. It is lovely here. The end of season brings a particular tranquillity but it is still as warm as you could wish.
I want to go and explore the port of Simi and climb up the 500 steps to the top part of the town but it is so hot we agree to avoid the afternoon heat and instead get the 17:30 bus. It’s only a 10-minute journey. The bus drops us on the south-east end of the port. To our left the shops and restaurants line the road for 300m and then continue round to the north side of the bay. The coloured houses all round the bay, with the fisher boats lined along the harbour wall, make for an exquisite picture. The light is dwindling. And now in the evening the port is pretty in a different way, everything lit up and reflecting in the water. At this time of day there are fewer tourists, who are often brought by boat from nearby Rhodes; there are quite a lot of shops selling tourist wares but there is not much touting going on, everything is relatively relaxed – again I assume thanks to the end of season. It is fun to potter around the backstreets and look at stuff. I make friends with the man at the leather shop who turns out to be an artist in pyrography, and is even in the Guinness Book of Records. He creates masterpieces on leather, painted in dots created by indentations of a heated pointed instrument: the longer and harder the pressure of the instrument, the bigger and darker the dot. After a pizza we get the 9pm bus back to Pethi and stop off at the taverna for a nightcap.
The next day Ralph and I rent a moped from the local gas station to go exploring the island. We start in the main town, Ano Simi (i.e. Upper Simi). It seems to straddle two hills (a bit like the village, or villages, above Ermoupolis, the main town of Syros). We do not really know what we should be looking for, or indeed at, except perhaps the highest vantage points, from which to obtain the most gratifying views. Intentionally or not, we end up doing a big tour, on foot, of the town which is like a mountain village which has sprawled out of control. We find it an odd place and difficult to work out. Who lives here, and what is the history? Much of the architecture is very grand for a village – lots of very stately-looking houses, some of which are intact and perfectly maintained; many of which are abandoned and in ruins. But it is not sufficiently well laid-out for a town – it’s a sprawling jumble of narrow passages and collapsed walls. It looks as though there must have been an earthquake here. What is more difficult to understand is who would choose live here in amongst the rubble. Having wound our way through many streets and alleyways, with a last burst of energy, and determined to see whatever it is there is to see, we make our way up to some church or other, as the highest point, and then descend to get back on the bike, grateful for a break for our legs.
Next stop, we return to the port where we were last night. This is much easier to understand. It is extremely picturesque here, and the adjacent bay of Kharani is equally picturesque. I find myself struggling to take pictures that do it justice; and it is also difficult to put into words. Today the port is busier; huge boats disgorge their passengers visiting from Rhodes. After a smoothie we leap back onto the bike and follow the road round to the next bay (after Kharani), Emborios, where we find a mixed crowd (lots of Scandinavians, some French, and an odd mix of quite young and quite old,) enjoying the sun or snoozing under the trees. We swim in the very clear waters, and enjoy an excellent lunch of fried calamari and salad, before returning to Pethi (via 2 supermarkets), where the easy vibe is very welcome on this hot afternoon.
We are off again by boat the next day but only to another bay, on Simi. The bay is in the south west of the island and is called Panormittis, though we know it also as Turtle Bay from a friend. We anchor in the shallow waters of the south-west corner of the bay. Sure enough, we immediately spot 2 turtles! This is exciting stuff. We get into the water quickly to see if we can see one closer up. Ralph is luckier than me (with parking spots, dolphins, shooting stars and apparently also turtles) and actually swims with one for a moment. Or so he says. He turns round to call to me to swim over, and by the time he turns back the turtle has glided off silently and swiftly - what a beautifully elegant departure for something built like a flattish tank. I arrive a few moments later, disappointed and out of breath. Back on the boat, Ralph takes up turtle watch. They are most easily identified from a vantage point on the roof, perceived first as vague darkish circles which are then noticed to be moving. Ralph spots another one and I, desperate turtle-worshipper that I am, return to the water and try to glide silently and swiftly towards my magical encounter. But the turtle (if there really was one) eludes me. Still, the water is beautiful.
In the afternoon our first attempt to visit the monastery which dominates the bay – in fact there is nothing else on land at all, apart from some associated buildings and a chicken coop – is unsuccessful. Our visit coincides with the arrival of a ferry so the tiny church is thronging shoulder to shoulder like the tube and we are pushed along by the hordes. When we return later, the ferry having departed, we have the place pretty much to ourselves and can appreciate the peace of the courtyards with their black and white floors and the peaceful views over the bay. We get a sense of this as a place of contemplation and worship.
But now it is time to get organized, as tomorrow we leave Simi island, with a full heart, at first light. We hope to be back here again, ideally out of season, but fully in the groove.
Translated to German with DeepL (free version): DeepLcom, with some tweaks
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