Bazouki's, Souvlaki's, and Metaxa

Less than 1⅓ miles across the straits from Turkey the Greek island of Samos rises from the depths. The harbour of Pithagorio, named in 1955 after some old Greek mathematician (vague memoeies of my previous life!) looks across the strait. Tavernas replace cafes to line the quay, souvlaki’s replace donners, and Mythos replaces Efes. Life is good.



Samos is a big island, and to make the most of it we teamed up with cruising friends Hugh & Linda, on the US boat Wild Goose, hired a car and took-off to see the island.

High up the mountain above the harbour, the monastery surprised us with a church built deep within a cave. The cave, sinking deep within, was itself linked to a tunnel chiselled through the mountain in 600BC to channel water from a natural reservoir, to serve the ancient town, the old ruins of which, including temples, still preserved between the bricks and reinforced concrete of today.



At this time of year the sun is unrelenting. After March it won’t rain again till November, or perhaps later, yet we were persuaded to visit some waterfalls! The walk reminded me of Madeira. We followed the damp trickle of a stream back up the steeply sided valley. Lush vegetation, pine and cypress trees, enclosed the dusty path. Crossing rickety rustic bridges, we wound our way to the “falls” where rough-hewn planks, crudely nailed together formed an uneven staircase. There, perched high above, overhanging the valley, with a view through to the sea and beyond, was a Taverna, its’ timber structure held together with nothing more than six inch nails.



The friendly owner served up great traditional food; insisted on giving us a taste of the local wine; made us hot homemade herb bread - and more. Friendly banter became warm friendship as he shared with us how, with his son he had built the shack, then insisted that his son drove us all, first up, then down the rough unmade road to the beach – very special and truly memorable lunch.



We thought we had seen it all, and continued our circumnavigation of the island. To our delight, around each bend appeared little fishing villages in secret bays, hidden anchorages, and spectacular views.
As darkness fell, and the traditional music echoed from the tanvernas on the quay, we thought we might just have a beer.