October in Kos
Earlier this month I was fortunately able to escape the oppressive grey that hung over the West of England. A friend, Matthew, invited me to Kos; to hang out with other members of a 'Kos Collective' that he is gathering together. He's exploring a number of options out there and wishes to have a gang of like-minded people around him; people who can all contribute to whatever project he eventually settles on and, in return, make a little place on this island something of their own.
On the flight out Matthew recounted an earlier such journey where the pilot, an Aussie, had warned passengers that he might have to abort the landing because there was a layer of fog on the runway. Thirty seconds from landing he did indeed abort, with much application of power and no little vibration for the passengers, and diverted to Rhodes. As the plane was coming into Rhodes he came on air and apologised for the detour, then added in slow 'Strine' "Still...better to be landing in Rhodes than to be charred pieces of flesh on Kos runway..." Sometimes it takes an Aussie.
Home for the duration of the trip was a single storey building (two storeys on a Greek island home was considered rather grand until fairly recently). I shared this place with a couple from Chertsey; Richard and Sarah, and Matthew was accommodated two minutes' walk away. Richard is a critical thinker and very witty - but not deprecatingly - and Sarah exhibited that combination of gentleness and steel that I've encountered in other Australian women. They proved to be superb companions. On the first evening we retired early and I decided against deploying the mosquito net that hung in a tied-up bundle over the bed, as October seemed far too late for them to be a nuisance. How wrong I was: The following morning I found 27 bites on my left leg alone (then stopped counting). The net was down for the rest of the trip.
Kos proved to be an ideal location for personal battery charging ahead of the English winter. It has rugged hills, pines, woodland walks and striking architecture, quite apart from all the usual features that bring sun-seeking Brits to an island. The temperature reached 27 degrees or higher on most days and we dined outdoors as a matter of routine. The food throughout the stay was delicious and inexpensive. Eight mixed starters (and it was these that always seemed most interesting) seemed to feed six of us comfortably, and usually for less than £40. The staples of the Kos diet; onions, tomatoes, olives, yoghurt, mint and feta, were present at every meal but never became a bore. If beige food is your thing, avoid Kos.
Matthew's knowledge of the island (to which he has been returning for forty years) meant that we could experience it as 'travellers / explorers' rather than holidaymakers which, for me, was an important distinction. I've long felt that one can go somewhere because it's warm and has a beach or pool etc (holiday) or one can go somewhere to experience difference (travel).
Greek islanders utilise their flat roofs and ours was used for early morning reading, as the sun came up over the eastern hills. Light clouds would form as the air current met the mountainside but would be gone by noon, when the temperature was in the latter twenties. 'Trilby'-type hats, often made of paper, are very popular in Kos and I sported one for most of the trip. My reading material was Another Country by James Baldwin (purchased at the airport, of course). At the time of writing this I have not finished it but it only took 20 pages to convince me I was reading a masterwork.
Looking north towards the Mediterranean and Turkey (which is so close that one can pick out individual properties on the coast) as the sun rose was one of my morning pleasures. The sea would be illuminated first then, below me, the classic, white 'cuboid' buildings would emerge from shadow and trees would become distinctly individual. There are some stunning cypresses on the island. Kos also boasts ancient, Byzantine ruins and spectacular vistas, peppered with olive trees that, for some reason, reminded me of the work of some of the great 1930s landscape photographers.
Our most visited dining destination was the nearest; the friendly taverna in Asfendiou, run by Nikos and assistants. His mother could be seen around the place regularly; a slightly-built woman in her 70s who, nonetheless, looked capable of stopping a tank. I took the liberty of sharing this thought with Nikos, who told me that a couple of years ago he had walked with her right to the top of the hill opposite the taverna (a high, steep hill, for sure) and that she had barely paused for breath.
Other memories include the "light, personable touch" of the islanders, which Richard contrasted with the "grey, oppressive manner" one can encounter in the UK, the sight of chickens wandering about the quieter tracks, a cat with eyes of two different colours, dense wooded valleys and the near constant, brilliant blue sky.