A Whistle-stop tour of the Minor Cyclades Saturday, 8th October

We have wanted to visit these smaller islands for some time. Our previous trips through the Cyclades have been en-route to or from somewhere and we have been to all of the larger islands except Andros & Tinos. The minor Cyclades are bounded by Naxos & Paros to the north, Santorini to the south and Milos to the SW. Now we meandered our way around Schinoussa, Ios, Sikinos, Folegandros, Iraklia, the bottom of Naxos, and Karos (its islets Dhrima & Andikaros). They are all similar in their physical characteristics - rocky, very barren with only scrub of myrtle, sage, wild thyme, prickly bits and no trees whatsoever. However, they are very different in their feel and character.

Schinoussa was a delightful little island with a beautiful wide stone path of stairs leading straight up to the Chora, cutting across the bends of the road that snaked its way up the steep hill. Ios had a thriving little port and a very weird Chora. It looked in every respect traditional - it was very old, white-washed with narrow lanes and a maze of paths and small streets - and not a soul in sight. Every other building was a nightclub or music bar. It only started to come alive approaching midnight. No longer a real live village at all.

Sikinos had a Chora and Kastro. We wanted to take the bus up to the Chora and looked at the timetable for the following day, noting where the large bus parked in the bus stop. At no time that first day did the bus move. We went ashore, hopeful still, the following morning for the 08.40 bus. It was there, Richard could open its door and the keys were in the ignition. We could have driven ourselves! Not a soul in sight. A clapped-out car came past and drove down towards the beach. Five minutes later it came back - I pointedly looked at the bus timetable. The car came to a halt, with driver & one passenger. Driver says, you want bus? Come in, this is bus. I hopped in, called to Richard who had wandered off, as is his wont. We were joined (squeezed in the back) by a woman with a piercing voice who talked non-stop without drawing breath the whole way to the Chora. The driver dropped us off by a café; told us to come back here, have a coffee near 11.00am for the return "bus" to the port. Not enough punters for the big bus, so he just used his own falling-apart car. Health & safety rules ok here!

The Kastro village was lived in and in good shape. A white-painted path led up to a tiny monastery inhabited by one young nun - she ran a little museum, had local produce to sell, offered us water after our climb and told us the background to the monastery. She was trying to develop sufficient interest and attract other nuns so that the monastery could re-open properly as a funded religious order.
The Chora was a little maze; not a shop in sight and many of the properties were on the "unimproved" side. But it looked like it was undergoing "gentrification" with re-building work in hand. But in a place where the lanes are too narrow to take cars, cement and building supplies were still being transported by donkey, as they have been for centuries.

Like all of these islands, Sikinos had a good map of hiking trails and numbered walks, some easy along clear paths, others more challenging in terms of terrain and finding one's way. These trails and itineraries follow ancient routes and attract hiking groups in addition to regular holiday-makers.

Folegandros had been gentrified already. For such a barren island, its Chora was an oasis of shady squares, flowers, greenery and vines grown in pots and over arches to give the place a cool and arty feel.
Iraklia was a funny little place, almost nothing there, yet it had a daily Small Cycladic Lines ferry service as well as two huge Blue Star Ferries that came and went in the day and night we were there. The ferries are docking masterpieces. They waltz in to an impossibly tiny place, let fly their sizeable anchors, do a handbrake turn to dock stern to and hold themselves there (often without warps) for a quick disembark / embark turnaround in minutes.

A notable feature amongst these smaller islands is the complete absence of attempts at foreign languages. In most "tourist" places, shopkeepers and restaurant owners have some English as the lingua franca for the tourists. Here there is none. I could ask for bread and other basics, but found it difficult to understand the accents for even those few words of Greek I do know.

The last few days in this area have been spent in complete isolation, the last being in a narrow gap between two islets Dhrima & Andikaros (sons of Karos to the north). Here was the clearest turquoise water, the blackest night with the starriest sky (no light pollution, the nearest lights were on Amorgos Island 9 miles away) and the quietest night. Except for some screeching noises that sounded like a baby or cat in pain, but which were probably a couple of owls on the hunt. We saw 2 eagles soaring over the cliff. We rowed ashore and left proof of our visit with "Myrica" spelled out in stones on the little beach. A truly desert island experience.

Now it is time to head back east to Myrica's home for the winter. She gets lifted next Friday, we fly home a week Monday, so we need to start the journey back to get her ready for bed.