Picture Perfect Patmos

Have you ever fallen in love with a place before you’ve even been there? Several years ago, I became obsessed with the Greek island of Patmos, after reading “The Summer of My Greek Taverna,Tom Stone’s highly addictive account of his adventures operating a taverna on the island.

Stone fell in love with the place and decided to move there with his family after a Greek friend suggested they open a taverna together. Stone’s business partner swindled him but it didn’t diminish his love for Patmos, an island that’s been occupied by the Romans, the Venetians, the Turks and the Italians again from 1912 until 1948.

I’ve been plotting a visit to the place ever since reading the book, but my wife and I had one child, and then another. We finally got to Patmos last week, and unlike many places you fantasize about long before you visit, Patmos did not disappoint.Patmos is a special place. The island is best known for being the site where St. John the Divine wrote the Book of Revelation, but it also has stunning scenery, great hikes, lovely beaches, historic monasteries with frescoes and antiquities that date to the Middle Ages, great food and a bustling port. But there are quite a few Greek islands that have all of those things. What sets Patmos apart, in my mind, is the way locals and tourists mix seamlessly in a relaxed vibe.

%Gallery-157679%

On many Greek islands and indeed many touristic places everywhere, tourists inhabit one universe and locals another, and their paths only cross in order to conduct commercial transactions, i.e. you buy, they sell. I did not have that experience in Patmos.

Unlike Kos, for example, no one thrust a menu in my face, or tried to pressure me into taking a boat excursion. I broke bread and prayed with the monks of St. John’s, I spent hours chatting with locals at Agriolivado Beach, and by the time I left the island, I felt like I knew half of its 3,000 inhabitants. I asked Kostas Chatzakis, a banker I met on the island, if there were any tourist traps to avoid.

“There are none,” he said. “If a place wasn’t any good, we wouldn’t go there and they’d go out of business.”

And he was right. I never had a bad meal on the island, and, in fact, I had some unbelievably good grilled octopus, calamari and souvlaki, always for less than 10 euros. It’s a beautiful island for hikers, a terrific spot for seafood lovers and for those with a love of history and beaches. But what I loved about the place is that I never felt like a tourist and was never treated like one.

The best way I can describe Patmos’s laid-back hospitality is to tell you about Andreas Kalatzis, an artist I met who lives in a tiny, 400 year old house in Hora, right near St. John’s Monastery. I’d heard that an artist had a small studio somewhere in Hora, but couldn’t find it. A neighbor pointed me to Andreas’s tiny house, and he answered the door in his bare feet, which were appropriately splattered in paint.

Kalatzis has a small but impressive gallery in the first floor of the house to demonstrate his work, but he has no sign outside, no website, no email address, and like everyplace else in Patmos, there is no number on the door or street name. After seeing some of the religious icons and other paintings he does, I asked him if he had a business card.

“Sure, I do,” he said, before tearing out a large piece of construction paper from a sketchbook.

He then filed off a square of paper with a razor, then dumped a big dollop of gold colored paint onto his left hand, and reached for a fine paintbrush with his right. I had no idea what was going on, but in a matter of minutes, he’d painted a beautiful little image of an angel releasing a bird. He dated it, and wrote his contact info on the back before handing it to me. (see right)

“Here you go,” he said. “There’s my business card.”

If you go: You can fly to Kos or Samos on a variety of discount and charter airlines and then Patmos is a three- to four-hour ferry ride from either place. I spent a week in a lovely two-bedroom apartment at the Hotel Australis in Skala for just 50 euros a night in late May (the price goes up deeper in the season). The family who runs this place would give you the shirts off their back.

My favorite places to eat were Pitta Konne for souvlaki and Trechantiri Taverna for seafood. And Jimmy’s Balcony in Hora has the best view of any restaurant I’ve ever been to, and the food and drinks are quite good as well.

I’d recommend using Skala as a base, but make sure you rent a car or moped for at least a day to check out all of the island’s nooks and crannies. My favorite beaches were Psili Ammos, which requires a 30-minute hike, Agriolivado, and Kambos. If you want to have a great meal right on the beach, check out the taverna on Lambi Beach, in the north of Patmos. Be sure to hike up to the Ancient Acropolis, and for a truly unforgettable experience ask the monks at St. John’s Monastery, built in 1088, about attending one of their prayer services.

Living Naked And Free On The Beach In Greece

I spent seventeen years in Catholic schools and that’s probably why you’ll never see me lolling about naked on a beach. I have no moral opposition to naturists, but like many others, I’ve observed firsthand that nudists tend to be a bit older, with many old enough to qualify for senior citizens discounts, and some aren’t exactly easy on the eyes. There’s something about the aging process that makes some people want to revert to their natural state as they grow older.

Men hear the words “nude beach” or “clothing optional beach” and their heart rates accelerate a few notches. But are you going to bump into Gisele Bundchen or Brooklyn Decker sunning themselves in the buff on a beach? Probably not.

In the Greek Isles, you can’t help but bump into people who are naked or nearly naked, even without seeking out nude or clothing optional beaches. A couple weeks ago, I saw a few portly, hardy souls, certainly from Northern Europe, looking burned like lobsters and naked as jaybirds on Tigaki Beach in Kos.

Then you also see men who have suits on, but they’re so skimpy they’re almost more of an assault on the eyes than if they were actually naked. I saw a man at the Livadi Geranou beach in Patmos last week that was actually wearing a thong bathing suit reminiscent of the one Borat used in his movie, save the shoulder straps. He appeared to be about 85 years old.The next day, a portly, middle-aged man tried to board a public bus we were on in Patmos with a tiny speedo half pulled down, exposing both pubes and half his ass. A group of Greek schoolchildren on the bus began to point at him and laugh hysterically, and he turned around and got off. (Perhaps the driver told him to get dressed, I’m not sure.)

Then on Saturday, my wife and two young boys and I found ourselves in the company of a whole host of naked people at the Psili Ammos Beach in Patmos, much to our surprise. The beach can only be reached via a boat ride or rigorous 30-minute hike, so it’s apparently an ideal place for naturists to hide out on a very religious island that frowns upon public nudity.

We noticed that a few of the nudists were actually camping on the beach, which isn’t technically legal, and I was curious about the practicalities. But how does one go about interviewing naked people on a beach? Surely approaching them naked, on their terms, would have been best, but I wasn’t going to do that.

I asked my wife, Jen, to accompany me, thinking that I might seem less like a horny stalker if I had a woman with me.

“I don’t know,” she said, clearly dreading the chore. “I feel like you need to give naked people on a beach a really wide berth.”

But she eventually agreed to accompany me on my quest to speak to naked campers. We approached a variety of naked people, feeling very awkward since we had suits on, and none admitted to being campers, though this might be because they thought I was some sort of undercover police officer.

The naturists were all friendly, and obviously not Americans. One older gentleman who we approached, sort of half rolled over when we addressed him and I accidentally caught sight of his junk – clearly a low point in our trip. It’s odd but when you’re speaking to naked people on a beach, you focus so hard on making eye contact that it’s almost ridiculous.

After a few hours on the clothing-optional beach, I told my wife I’d had enough and wanted to leave. And then just as the words left my mouth, a large group of attractive young people came hiking down the hill and plopped down right next to us on the beach. Well, not so fast, I thought. But alas, they turned out to be a wholesome group of Norwegians on a Bible study tour, and they definitely weren’t there to get naked.

For those who are interested in getting naked and camping for free on Greek beaches, check out the Captain Barefoot site, which appears to be a comprehensive guide to Greece for naturists. In some way, I kind of envy people who feel free enough to live naked and free on a remote beach in Greece, but I’m still keeping my suit on.

Read Part 2 of this story, A Prude Bares it All On a Nude Beach in Crete here.

(Photos by Dave Seminara, the second one needed blurring)

Searching For Patmos’s Ancient Acropolis

I’ve spent the better part of the last two decades getting lost all around the world. I wish I could boast that my extensive travels have left me with an impeccable sense of direction that allows me to find even the most poorly marked sites, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I spend an awful lot of time wondering where the hell I am.

Yesterday, I set off to visit an archeological site in Patmos, a stunning Greek island in the eastern Aegean, and wound up with nasty little cuts all over my legs and the mistaken impression that a small pile of rocks was Patmos’s Ancient Acropolis.

%Gallery-156753%

I had noticed a sign leading off the main road leading out of Patmos’s main port, Skala, which read “Castelli-Ancient Acropolis,” and had resolved to find it. My wife mentioned that it was billed as a good hike in the Lonely Planet Guide to the Greek Isles, so I set off early on a sunny day to try to find the site.

I walked up the gravel road in the direction the sign pointed for 20 minutes, occasionally looking back to savor the dramatic view of Skala’s harbor and the surrounding beauty. The path came to an end and I doubled back to ask a farmer where the site was. He spoke no English but got the point when I typed the word “archaeology” in a Greek dictionary app I have on my iPod.”Ah, Castelli!” he said, pointing vaguely towards the highest peak in the area.

I typed the word “path” into the app, and the farmer grimaced and said, “problem.”

I soon realized what he was talking about as I retraced my steps and couldn’t see a path to get to the top of the hill he was talking about. The land was divided by stone fences, and after some exploration I found gaps in the first few on my way toward what I thought was the site. But after a few minutes and several missteps onto prickly bushes, I had to hurdle a stone fence and then my hike slowly evolved into a rock climbing exercise as I made my way to the top of the hill.

As I neared the summit, I wondered how it could be possible that municipal authorities would post a sign leading to an archaeological site that required scaling fences and climbing rocks, but the farmer had pointed to this hill and it made sense that the site would be on the highest plateau in the area, so I continued on until I reached the top.

At the summit, I found nothing more than a small pile of neatly stacked rocks, but my efforts were rewarded with a remarkable 360-degree view of the island. I’ve been to my fair share of unimpressive archaeological sites, so I assumed I’d found my destination.

But after snapping a few photos and making a video, I noticed a small white chapel off in the distance and soon realized that my perilous rock-climbing escapade had been a mistake. The Castelli was down a ways. I went down into the little church, and since no one was around, decided to toll the bells outside it.

A short stroll brought me down to the real archaeological site, which dates to the 6th century B.C., and an actual path that led to the main road. Aha! The ruins are forgettable but the view of the rocky cliffs in every direction is one I will never forget. Goats stood on top of the ruins, staring at me as I looked out at the sea, hoping to somehow retain a piece of this glorious scene somewhere in the back of my brain.

After soaking in the scene, I made my way down to the legit path, eager to figure out how I’d failed to see it on the way up. It turns out that I followed a path at a point where I needed to go through an unmarked gate that is actually the entrance to someone’s property.

Why there is no sign here marking the path is a mystery, but the fact that this site is so hard to find also means that you’ll have the place and the magical view all to yourself.

If you go: From Skala, follow the harbor road away from Hora. After about 1 kilometer, you’ll see a sign on your left advertising Ancient Acropolis. Make that left and follow the road and bear right at the first crossroad. The road ends at a private residence, but just a stone’s throw before the end, you’ll see a gate on your right with a number 1 painted on it. That’s the path, follow it down to the little white church and then go down to the Acropolis from there.

(All photos and videos by Dave Seminara. Note: some of the photos were taken on my second hike to the Acropolis.)