Folegandros. The name is a joy to pronounce, with the tongue unfurling in four curly syllables — Fol-aye-ahn-dros .
So what went wrong
I’m not quick to judge a place based on one or two incidents. I’ve heard too many people say they’ve hated Venice or Paris because a waiter was rude to them to succumb to the pitfalls of such thinking. But something about Folegandros and me just wasn’t right.
What was it? I’m still not quite sure.
I’ve been waiting to visit Folegandros for what seems like forever. I’d seen a photograph of it’s beautiful Hora on a cliff and knew I had to go. By this I mean to say that my heart was in the right place to fall in love with this little island gem, but it just wasn’t meant to be.
I felt almost immediately that it wasn’t the place for me and considered taking the first ferry to anywhere else, but I’d promised myself to give every island a three night minimum, and I fell into legalistic thinking.
Also, I saw a donkey tethered to a tree as I rounded a corner in the tiny port town, and I thought this was a good sign.
Then I came across the deal of a century in my room at the Hotel Aeolos and the friendliest man on Folegandros in the person of the hotel owner.
It all started so well.
There was something in the air though. The locals in the port were a bit too watchful. Smiling was out of fashion. The people in the promised Hora seemed curt and already so over tourists, even though the season hadn’t really started yet.
My first night in Folegandros, a children’s dance exhibition in the Hora made me wonder if I’d been too hasty in my judgement, and I firmly resolved to stay for three nights and enjoy this little rock in the Aegean, swathed in bougainville and hibiscus. But even that changed when I saw a little boy take a horrible fall on the concrete. My stomach clenches even now at the thought of it. He turned out to be fine, apart from the usual effects of such a fall, but it’s upsetting to see children come so close to real harm. It just added to my desire to leave as quickly as possible.
Some other things you should know about Folegandros:
It’s twice as expensive as most other islands.
If you decide to visit, your best bet for a meal in the port is the first restaurant you encounter as you get off the ferry. The owner’s elderly mother cooks all the meals and they only offer whatever is fresh for the day, at half the price of other places in town
Avoid the restaurant attached to the market/bakery. They overcharged me and a British couple I met the next day. I should note though that the Rupert Everett-lookalike owner of the market/bakery will give you good deals on just about everything.
I’m making it sound so bad– I don’t mean to. This was simply my experience of Folegandros for a few days in June of 2009. If you went tomorrow, you would probably have the time of your life, find it immensely charming, and exclaim “magnifique!” over the view, as the French always do. In fact, I would probably do the same thing if I went back tomorrow. Maybe.
There were no rental cars to be had, so I hoofed it or took the bus.
Later I learned that the island’s ruggedness led to its use as a place of exile for political prisoners, first by the Romans, and later, in the 20th century, by the Greeks — even as late as the military dictatorship of 1967-74.
So that’s what’s wrong: too many ghosts in confinement.
This hit home for me after I’d done my three days and was skipping to the port to catch the first ferry off the island. Poseidon began to stir things up and all ships were grounded due to high winds on the sea.
Confined to the poshest, yet unluckiest of Greek isles, exhausted from all the hill climbing of the past three weeks and the nagging something that wouldn’t leave me since arriving in Folegandros, I spent the extra day in bed, staring out the window at the turbulent sea and watching Top Chef.
© 2009 – 2011, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved.
