July 13 to 17 — Samos It Ever Was
Night buses are universally terrible experiences. Dull, sleepless, and similar. Or so I thought. However, en-route to Kusadasi, to catch a ferry to meet Nick and Paula on the island of Samos, my bus took an unexpected turn onto a ferry.
Slightly surprised, my friendly Turkish seat-mate and I stepped off the bus and onto the upper deck of the vessel. The full moon drifted in and out of dramatic clouds above, and lightning bolts from a distant electrical storm crackled above an impenetrably black, Dylan Thomas black, “fishing-boat bobbing sea.”
The rest of the ride hardly mattered.
The following day, at a large lion statue that served as our rendezvous point, I found Nick and Paula. There were no buses on Sunday, and we had no idea where to go, other than a vague sense that the west side of the island should be interesting.
We start walking west. After just a few minutes of walking and map-consulting, we come to the conclusion that Samos is big.
Pausing at a café, it seems that luck is on our side — there are buses today, and the last one leaves in fifteen minutes. We throw our bags inside and ride it as far west as we can.
Karlovassi, where we disembark, is a very different town. Gone are the throngs of tourists, the swimming pools, the beachside sunscreen stands, the en-suite rooms. In its place are concrete shells of structures, abandoned brick buildings, silent tavernas, and seemingly no people. Eventually, we find somewhere that is serving food. It is still eerily silent. Maybe everyone stays home on Sundays?
After dinner and ouzo, the Aegean sea seems incredibly inviting. So, braving mysterious effluent and razor blade rocks, we choose to go for a swim next to the highway, in what was likely the worst possible swimming location on Samos. But that too, hardly matters.
Along the way, we find a poster that seems to be advertising a musical event occurring that very same evening. We track it down to a complex of abandoned buildings not far away. Approaching, we hear Blitzkrieg Bop blasting from a garage. However, practically as soon as we arrive, the band vanishes.
There’s some people waiting, but not much happening for a little while.
The rest of the show turns out to be mostly a collection of hard rock covers, sung in Greek.
At this point, it is 12am, and we still have no place to camp or stay for the night. We decide to walk west.
The first beach that’s possibly okay for camping is at least several miles away, so we decide to check out a path that my map shows as heading up into the hills a way.
Very quickly, the path completely disappears into the side of quite a steep cliff. There’s a bit of a flat location, but its quite exposed to the roadway below. Furthermore, Nick and Paula don’t have a sleeping pad, so would have to sleep almost directly on the rocky ground of the hillside. Still, they decide to tough it out, and we set up camp.
“Does it smell like poo to you?”
It does, in fact, but only within a few inches from the ground.
“Is that an ant?”
Yes, the ground is crawling with large, red, vicious-looking ants.
“Are those cages?”
Hidden in the bushes a few meters away are two cages, one steel and one wooden, each about a 4 ft cube. I theorize that they have something to do with animal feeding, but nothing really makes that much sense.
“Did you hear that?”
Yes, we have all just heard the sound of footsteps, accompanied by a heavy panting sound, that suddenly ceased.
“Let’s find a different camp site.”
“Obviously.”
New search guidelines: no strange odors, no ants, no cages, no panting sounds from the bushes — in fact, no B-movie horror elements at all would be pretty nice.
We walk back towards the town, and stop at the beach right on the edge of development. Aside from its proximity to town, it actually looks alright. There’s already someone sleeping there, in fact, right in the middle of the only sandy spot.
It is decided that we should set up our sleeping bags “about eight feet away” as a reasonable compromise between sandiness and creepy proximity when he awakens to unanticipated neighbors.
The next morning, we set off in search of food, water, and eventually, a waterfall. Along the way, a church.
The waterfall is never quite located, but we do end upa spot labeled as a waterfall. Past the “waterfall,” we find a trail that climbs steeply out of the canyon. Along the way, we suffer a minor fruit disaster.
From there we walk and walk. Until finally, we reach cultivated land — signs of human life!
The village of Nikoloudes.
A little more food for dinner would be nice, especially some protein. The village lacks a market, but does have a small taverna, where Nick and I attempt to negotiate the purchase of a fish. However, the taverna owner only speaks Greek and German, so in an awkward comedy of primitive German and hand gestures, we attempt to explain what we want. We never find a fish, but after 30 minutes, we do end up with a bowl full of some kind of stew, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. Success!
We meet another man, who directs us towards the beach. He asks where we have come from, and we describe the waterfall. In what would become a running joke during our travels in Greece, he says it is about a “half-hour walk” away. It took us about four hours. Every travel time estimate we recieve on Samos is drastically different from the actual travel time. Several hypotheses are floated:
- It is a conspiracy to confuse tourists.
- There is a secret network of trails (or perhaps a subway system) that covers ground much more quickly than the dirt tracks and roads we have been using.
- No one has actually been to any of the places they are discussing.
For now, we return to walking. And walking.
“Listen to the bugs and stare intensely at the flies, and its basically Jodorowsky film,” says Nick, before wrapping his head in a towel.
From the village, we walk back towards the sea, in the direction of what is hopefully a beach. We pass olive groves and fantastic views before finally arriving at a stunning gorge and beach beyond.
We wait awkwardly a little while for the people using the beach to, er, finish.
An acceptable campsite, I’d say.
We depart Mikro Seitani the next morning. It’s hard to overstate just how vibrant the water was.
Speaking of water, at this point we had none, as the creek was stagnant at Mikro Seitani. Nick walks hopefully across Megalo Seitani, in search of a well.
On the way, we locate some nice rocks.
And, eventually, water.
Climbing back into the hills, the climate changes. Clouds move in, and the air cools. Pine predominates here.
An extremely geometric plant.
And eventually, the village of Drakei. Unfortunately, the only guest house has no rooms available, and there doesn’t seem to be a good campsite anywhere nearby. All land that is not rocky or mountainous has been turned to grape cultivation.
Regardless, we eventually find a place to eat dinner.
Nick investigates transportation options, while Paula ponders.
Another success! We find a ride in a pickup truck headed to a different part of the island. Nick: “I don’t think I’ve ever tried to find a ride to ‘anywhere’ before.”
Yes.
Back on the beachside, an evening stroll.
Last day on Samos. To go to the Cave of Pythagoras or a monastery up the mountain?
Nick is worried that the Cave of Pythagoras will resemble the “Sacred Miracle Cave.” (Breakfast of Champions) Everyone is concerned about the 600m climb up to the monastery. But, for better or worse, that’s what is choosen.
No one is home.
The path not taken.
The last bus of the day takes us back towards Samos-town, across the island through the town of Marathokampos.
Sunset from Samos-town.
Departing on the ferry in the morning.
We explore the ruins of the Basilica of St. John before leaving for the more dramatic ruins of the ancient Lycian city of Ephesus.
You’ll have to ask the Ephesians about this dude. I have no explanation.
Nick finds himself in a hole.
Trying to find out way to the Temple of Artemis (or rather, the single pillar of it which remains) we wind up stranded in a farmer’s watermelon field. It is a confusing situation all around.
♪ Everybody wants one ♪
Here’s some photos of places that caught my eye while roaming around the ruins of Ephesus, and some factoids to accompany them.
The great theater has an insane estimated seating capacity of 24,000. Actually, this is how the total population of Ephesus was estimated — take the theater capacity, and multiply by 10.
In the time of Ephesus, the plain in the background of this photo would actually have been sea. Despite now sitting 10km inland, Ephesus was a port town, and the silting of its port was a significant part of what doomed the city. (Bizarrely, the government of Turkey seems to have some sort of plan to re-flood the plain, and bring the sea back to Ephesus.)
The Library of Celsus. Well, part of it.
A geometric floor mosaic inside the terrace houses, a complex of 12 houses that were built into the hillside along the main street. The adjacent hills are also quite likely to contain similar buildings. Unearthing them, however, is a slow process.
This is simply a “cubistic modern architectural collage,” to borrow the words of the interpretive display.
Sky, hill, trees, street, columns.
As mentioned, in ancient times, Ephesus is estimated to have supported a population of about 250,000. These days, it seems to support about that many cats.
Nick waits for other tourists to leave the theater so that he can collect impulse responses.
Finally, we wait for the last dolmuş, to return to the guest house.
The next morning, Nick and Paula set off for Istanbul, and I for an emotionally ill-fated trip to Lycia.
Oh, and the title? I’m not sure I have an excuse for the pun. Maybe as some sort of comment on how easy it felt to hang out with people I knew from more familiar contexts, even after time away. It’s a stretch, but maybe.
