Schinoussa, a balcony to infinity

Dear Barbara,

I finally arrived in Schinoussa. It was a long journey, but only the long journeys offer an emotional payoff. It’s not about conquering or pushing yourself beyond the limits. I, after all, arrived by boat to an arid landscape; there’s nothing heroic on that. But what I found in Schinoussa was the beauty of a simple life.

Schinoussa is a remote island in the Small Cyclades complex. It lies south of Naxos, and when you look at it on the map, it resembles an odd insect. There was an aged bus waiting for a bunch of travelers, myself included. Asphalt is rare on the island, almost inexistent, and this choice betrays something about the mentality of the inhabitants. Don’t imagine a big settlement or a very advanced one. About a hundred souls are living permanently in Schinoussa, but during the summertime, the population multiplies.

The bus follows a steep road, one that would make your breath short if you were to take it on foot. The Greek islands seem to neglect straight lines when it comes to roads; the only straight line you see is the horizon. Ten minutes later, the bus arrives at the edge of the main settlement. The first impression: a few white houses and a small number of restaurants.

I arrive at the hotel that I have booked beforehand, and I stare at the view. Slopes, some bushes on them, and beyond them the sea. This is Schinousa, I say to myself, a balcony to infinity.

The Tsigouri Beach in Schinoussa

I buy water from the small mini-market next to the hotel, and I head afterward towards the Tsigouri beach, the closest beach to the settlement. The road is a mixture of stones and sand, and after ten minutes, I see the beach from above. A few trees on the sand create a cluster of natural umbrellas for the swimmers.

I don’t really want to see a beach bar, but there is one, unfortunately. I remind myself that this isn’t a fully isolated beach, and I try to accept the presence of that beach bar. Kids are running on the shore, and the adults are drinking iced coffee. I walk towards the edge of the beach, and I find a lonely tree. Its shadow is generous. My bag is full of provisions: two liters of water, a sandwich, some biscuits. I pretend that you are here, but alas, you are not.

The water feels slightly cold, but it is crystal clear. I didn’t bring goggles with me, but I consider buying a pair. I swim for an hour and then I lay on the beach. The sand is warm, and it sticks to the body. It feels like a blessing after a long winter in Berlin and a busy summer in Athens.

I want to stay there for as long as possible. The sunset is shortly before eight o’clock, and a strong wind starts to blow. It feels slightly chilly now, and I decide to climb back to the village. Scattered street lights and invisible dogs barking. I walk all alone the path towards the hotel, but I lose balance quite often: instead of looking at the path, I stare at the horizon for the leftovers of the sunset. Orange, pink, and velvet stripes are painting the burning sky.

It’s still summer and I’m still in Greece.

In a few days, mom

The best spots for stories are always mini-markets. There seems to be a secret added tax on the products: the tax of interaction. People tend to open up in the mini-markets. They would share a fleeting story, a sentiment, an idea, a fear. A man pays for his cigarettes right in front of me. He has bought three packets. The woman on the counter asks: “Cigarettes for the week?” The man nods negatively. “I’m leaving tonight, and I feel uncomfortable on the boat.” Right behind me, another man. He is in his fifties, and he talks on the phone.

“Hello, mom. How are you doing? Are you feeling dizzy? I saw you called me. On the other side of the island, the phone signal is poor. Where am I? That’s what you asked? Where am I? Well, I am in Schinoussa. Yes, in Schinoussa. Are you dizzy, mom? Are you okay? Can you hear me? You should hear me, mom. I am in this part of the island, yes, yes, the phone signal is okay here. Alright, mom, alright. I will call you in a couple of hours again. When I’m coming back? In a few days, mom, in a few days.”

Some Germans in front of me buy provisions for a long sailing trip. They order an insane amount of ice. Their cheeks are red, and their skins look fresh. In the middle of that tender night, I think of my German friends and how much they would like Schinoussa. And, obviously, I think of you, Barbara.

Take that knife

There is no bus service in Schinoussa. Most of the hotels operate vans that bring the guests to the beaches, once or twice per day. There is also one taxi on the island. But if you want to make the most out of your stay, then you should walk. I know, the sun is intense. You should wear a hat if you can’t stand the heat, you should carry a bottle of water at all times. But it’s only through walking that you ‘ll be able to explore this little island.

There are several small bays in Schinoussa, and I know I can’t explore them all. But when I walk towards Psili Ammos, a beach that enjoys views over Koufonissia, I have the feeling that this tiny island seems endless. The road to Psili Ammos is a mixture of concrete, asphalt, and stones. When I see the gas station, probably the only one on the island, I take a right turn, and I walk through Messaria. It is a small village with just a handful of houses; you can even call it a suburb of the main settlement. This is my last chance to get a bottle of water and maybe some food. The Psili Ammos beach is isolated.

There is a family taverna in Messaria, a few steps before the start of the unpaved route. A couple and their daughter are greeting me. “I’d like to buy some water,” I say, and then I add, “and I would love to buy some food. Tomatoes, cheese, some bread maybe”. They tell me that they don’t sell cheese, but they would be glad to offer me tomatoes and bread. The man holds some salt in a small box, the thickest salt I’ve ever seen. “You won’t find this anywhere. Taste it”. I’m not a big fan of salt, but it tastes good. He gives me a small portion. “For the tomatoes,” he says.

I’m about to leave, but the woman says: “Take that knife.” I somehow visualize burglars and pirates, but all she says, exactly like her husband said before, is: “For the tomatoes.”

Light meal in Psili Ammos, Schinoussa

After 400 meters I arrive at one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. Psili Ammos is a small bay, sandy, and well-protected from the wind. Two big trees are offering a generous shadow, and several people are gathered around them like the slices of a traditional pie. I have brought an umbrella with me, and I go straight in front of the sea. After more than half an hour of walking under the intense sun, all I need is to swim. Most of the people stay ashore, but two or three are swimming. I feel at this moment some sort of connection with them.

I cut the tomatoes into small pieces, and the salt makes them even more delicious. But this light meal has an enormous impact on me. A couple of minutes after finishing lunch, I fall asleep for almost thirty minutes. It’s a deep, dreamless sleep on the hot sand. I wake up from the noise of the waves, that ancient voice of the sea, and everything seems red to me: the sun is burning me. It won’t be a surprise if I’m already sunburned. I run into the water, and I swim quite a lot. I do that until seven o’clock, and then I take the way back.

Under the tamarisks

It’s Tuesday, and the boats are on strike in Greece. I haven’t seen a ferry for over two days now, and there is a particular atmosphere of isolation on the island. It is still incredibly warm (33 degrees), and I decide to walk towards the Lioliou beach. This is not an isolated beach -there are a couple of apartments to rent there and a taverna.

About a kilometer out of Chora, a car stops next to me. A woman asks: “Hey, would you like a lift? I’m going to the Lioliou beach, and I bet you too”. This free ride definitely saves me some energy, but it also offers me an insight into the island. I talk with the woman non-stop for the next two kilometers. Her father comes from Schinoussa, and she comes here every summer for three months.

“Do you see that island?” she asks. She is pointing her finger to a nearby island. I nod affirmatively. “There are three beaches of incredible beauty over there. But the shipowner, Mr. X, wants to buy everything on this island. He occupied the three beaches, and he won’t let anyone go there. He thinks they are private now. I bet the Greek Republic is on his side since none is daring to touch him”.

I’m not surprised. Every now and then, you hear such stories in Greece. Shortly afterward, the woman parks the car at the Lioliou beach. I feel ecstatic from the beauty of that rare landscape. As it’s often the case in Schinoussa, this is one small bay, but the water is turquoise and the sea totally quiet. On top of that, there are only ten or twelve people at the beach—the privileges of traveling in September.

I see a couple of tamarisks straight at the beach, and most of them are occupied. But the last one isn’t. I almost run barefoot in the hot sand, and I lay down in the shadow of the tamarisk. To be honest, I have no clue why I keep on carrying the same book with me: once again, I don’t read at all. I just follow the same routine, the same procedure every day: I swim for half an hour, I lay down for twenty minutes and then I’m back in the sea. The routine breaks only after 3 p.m. when I wash the tomatoes in the sea, I cut some slices of gruyere, and I put everything on top of a thin slice of bread. This is, as you already know, always the light meal of my vacation.

Ermis, the flying dog

The beach is called Almyros, but it actually splits into two beaches. The right one has some built-in umbrellas while the left one offers only a couple of tamarisks and pine trees. I choose the left one, and moments later, I see a dog running across the seaside. An older man has brought it here, he lives in a nearby house with an endless view over Koufonissia. Everybody seems to know Ermis, and the dog goes up and down all the time, like a submarine destined to be stationed almost ashore.

It’s an old dog, and I think it can’t speed up anymore. But Ermis enjoys the games next to the sea. A boy is always next to him, and they run continuously. The older man has disappeared. The boy took his place, and I am wondering if Ermis will disappear, and a younger dog will take his place, too. Is this a side-effect of Greek summer? Will we become younger if we run endlessly next to the sea?

But all of a sudden, Ermis jumps. For a thick moment, the dog is in the air and seems to be flying. Some Italian guy threw the ball towards the dog, and Ermis took the challenge. It was a jump from the dog’s past, and no one knows how Ermis afforded it. After that jump, the dog stays ashore and tries to sleep under the pine trees. Maybe he dreams of the leap -and this dream Ermis is a young dog again.

I walked all around Schinoussa

I think you’d love walking around Schinoussa. Every day after breakfast, I wear my old shoes, I take an umbrella from the reception, and I hit the road. Schinoussa is a small island, and even the most remote place lies not more than 45 minutes away. I feel happy, refreshed, and newborn. The simplicity of the Cyclades is everywhere: the plain houses, the dry landscape, the blue of the sea, the harsh light of the sun.

There are so many places to remember from my stay, but what I appreciate the most is the fleeting moments. The dusty roads; the starry sky at night that resembles a planetarium; the old men chatting endlessly on the benches; the sheep on the slopes starring at the open sea. I could go on forever. I have no clue when I can revisit Schinoussa, but it’s one of these places that I will daydream about all winter long.

This is my last evening in Schinoussa and I feel a bit blue. But tomorrow early in the morning, I will embark on a legendary boat. The connections are not that good though: I first have to go north, to Naxos, stay there for a couple of hours, and then take another boat towards the south. I assume that I will reach Sikinos in the late afternoon. Sikinos is an island that I haven’t visited so far. I will try to call you from there -and I will definitely write you another letter.

So long,

George

More about Schinoussa: Things to do in Schinoussa & Iraklia, the island I couldn’t visit

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Last Updated on May 1, 2020 by George Pavlopoulos