The Goats are More Educated than the Staff?

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It seems the local transport mafia mightn’t be in need of help from their Sicilian associates after all. Our rude, creepy, ripping us off, and just plain not good at his job bus driver apparently decided overnight that he needed our custom after all. So what did he do? Well it seems he made a late night visit to our fearless leader Diana’s hotel room. She struggled to find a knife before answering the knock at the door in her PJs. But no, he wasn’t there to dispense some mafia-style justice. There were apparently lots of excuses made about language related misunderstandings, which wasn’t really washing with Diana - she's lived here for thirty years and speaks fluent Greek. Next up were some creepy unreciprocated hugs, and he then disappeared back off into the night again, satisfied that all was now right with the world. Hmmm.

I leave the Rembrandts to a morning of art in a cafe at the end of Livadi Beach and head off in search of more unspecified adventure. I seem now to be forever working on the theory that if I keep walking for long enough sooner or later I’m sure to find something at least moderately interesting. I think I might be turning into Forrest Gump. I follow the coast road south from Livadi along the tops of the cliffs. I knew a lot of the locals kept chickens, but I probably wasn’t prepared for the peacocks ... in cages.

Based on what I read last night I do need to be a bit careful about where I end up along here this morning. The first beach I pass is called ... well I don’t know ... nobody seems to have done an English translation. It sounds idyllic - “crystal clear water and the view of the Chora of Astypalea … just out of this world!” Pity however about “the official nudist beach of Astypalea” designation. And it seems it’s important not to offend the great unclothed as they go about their business - ”don’t go there dressed, be quiet, and don’t carry music”. Hmmm. Next up is a turnoff to Paralia Vatses. It sounds like that might also be best avoided. “Owner of the beach bar sucks.” “Staff uneducated … the goats in the area are better.” “Tragic.” ”Never again! The rudest, most unpleasant, hostile bar owner I have ever met.” Double hmmmm.

So on I plough in true Forrest Gump style. The views across the bay to Chora and the Castle are stunning. The road has unfortunately given up on following the coastline, and I soon find myself struggling uphill towards what must be some of the highest points on the island. If the number of beehives in the paddocks is anything to go by honey production must be quite an industry here. The bitumen gives way to dirt, and I follow it downhill to Paralia Agios Konstantinos Beach. There’s a tiny church sitting just up the hill from the pebbles and sand, and it’s even open. It might be small but it’s still suitably dark and mysterious. The beach is extremely pleasant - a rustic bar, tables and chairs under shady trees, sunlounges and beach umbrellas, and yet more stunning vistas straight out across the bay to Chora and the Castle … and there’s virtually no one here.

It seems a lot hotter now than when I left Livadi, and the Google machine tells me that it’s a five kilometre trek back there up over the mountains. I’m hoping there‘s a track back down closer to the water, and there is, but it doesn’t start until I’m nearly home. I can see down to the nudist beach from the ruins of a windmill, but all’s good, the people there all seem to be suitably clad. Woah. Hang on. There’s a sight I’m not going to be able to unsee quickly. Lunch is suddenly feeling like a much lower priority than it was a few minutes ago.

I join the Rembrandts as they head up into the backstreets of Chora for a late afternoon art session. But it seems the Forrest Gump in me just won’t let go. There‘s a large hill with a windmill on it behind the port that’s just begging to be climbed. The views of the port, Chora’s windmills, Chora itself and the Castle from up here in the late afternoon light are excellent. It looks like there was a bar attached to the windmill at some stage, but there’s not too much left of it now.

We all enjoy an excellent evening meal back down in Chora next to the windmills.

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