Taking It To Extremes
Our Airbnb place includes breakfast at the cute little local cafe, just up the steps and around a few corners from us. It’s one of the few places that’s open in our little village of Plaka so it’s always doing a roaring trade. Like with lots of places in Europe geared for tourists, the Milos villages go into hibernation over winter and unfurl themselves from their slumber as warmer weather blows their way. Plaka is stretching and yawning it’s way into the summer season, more and more businesses opening each day, chairs and tables set up on outdoor terraces, displays beginning to form in shop windows. We’ve come right on the cusp and things seem to be gearing up for a grand opening this coming weekend. For this reason, it is spectacularly peaceful and relaxing here right now. Before midday, apart from the odd rooster crow and a few loud goats from across the valley, it’s dead quiet. You can hear a pin drop.
Driving in from the airport we couldn’t help but notice a solitary building atop an extremely high hill. You can see it for miles around and it’s a long walk up! Ross joked that we should walk up there and check it out while we are here. Haha, ah yes, I agreed. Very funny. It turns out he wasn’t joking.
We got ourselves into serious hiking mode, sensible shoes, backpack of supplies…I even brought my hiking poles - an anniversary present from Ross (was he trying to tell me something?) Looking like the real deal, we set off for the summit, climbing the very steep stairs that went on and on (and on and on). A few cats had joined us in the climb, their soft meows well and truly drowned out by my puffing and panting. We were surrounded by beautiful wild flowers - yellow Milos daisies, some unidentified purple blooms (UPBs for short) and bright red poppies - that just grow in every nook and cranny of the rocky stairs and handmade stone walls. Just so pretty!
The view from the Milos Castle (which looks a lot like a church) was breathtaking! 360 degree views of the whole entire island and not another soul in sight for as far as the eye could see. We could even see the silhouettes of some neighbouring islands from there and the most vivid blue water we’d ever seen. After a couple of happy snaps, including one of Ross’ “Dicky Knee Selfies” where you can just see my head, looking discombobulated at the foot of the picture.
Just down the road from our place are the Catacombs, built in the 1st century!! Turning up to the ticket office we were told we needed masks to enter but sadly we’d left our masks back at the house. They had no spare masks and were adamant: “no mask, no entry.” (even though we were the only ones there). Luckily a bit of probing in the bottom of my bag unearthed a couple of scummy looking masks that had been kicking around in there for a while and by the looks of them, were only just outdated by the tombs we were about to enter.
Our tour group consisted of our guide, Ross and I. Not bad to have your own private guide! She was really informative and we were totally fascinated by the organisation of the tombs. Some even had their original decoration and painting on them. She explained all the morbid details of how the tombs were opened back up to accommodate newly passed family members. We needed a spooky music soundtrack as we explored.
Milos also has an ancient theatre - a mini (very mini) Colosseum. You have to park down the road in the carpark and walk down a track to the main attraction but we failed to see the sign (that was, after all, in Greek) and tried to drive our little car up the walking track. Ross was living out his quad bike fantasies until we ran over a few big rocks, bumping and rolling all over the place and realised something wasn’t quite right and we’d better reverse quick smart before someone saw us.
Next on our agenda was a visit to the gorgeous fishing village of Klima, its famous bright and colourful fishermen’s houses (syrmas) lining the shoreline. The drive down was hairy to say the least, with roads little wider than our tiny car. With arms stretched out the open windows of the car, we could’ve knocked on the front doors or grabbed a cup of tea from the houses on either side. It was so tight and it was 2-way! Klima hadn’t yet fully woken for the summer but we managed to buy an obligatory fridge magnet from one little gift shop that was open there. If you wanted to get away from it all, this would be the place to be. SO quiet and off the beaten track, the gorgeous turquoise sea lapping at your front steps.
We visited another couple of Milos’ beaches in our travels today, all of which were magnificent but our final destination, recommended by our French patio visitor last night, was perhaps the best. Paliochori Beach, a “volcano beach”. Imposing volcanic rocks make up the headland up one end of this long stretch and the steep walls of shimmering rock at the other, have spectacular veins of sulphur running through them in yellow and red. The clear, bluest of blue water was beckoning and we couldn’t resist a dip in its depths. It was surprisingly nippy but the coarse volcanic sand was very warm underfoot so we warmed up fast once we were out and set off, bare-footed to the car. I was thinking how nice the sand felt on my feet, even mentioning it to Rossco who readily agreed. We had both spoken too soon. Every step we took in the direction of the car, the sand seemed to heat up just a little more. It was subtle at first but then it really kicked in. Now, I’m well familiar with the old hot-footed, thongless sprint from the towel to the water on a hot-sand, hot summer’s day but this was something else entirely. Next level. In a matter of steps the sand had gone from warm…to hot…to unbearably hot…to melt-the-skin-off-your-feet-I’m-in-agony kind of hot. Oh my days!! (as Tobes would say). It was like someone had a naked flame to our tootsies! Much to the delight of the paying beach umbrella and banana chair crew right beside us, we were hopping from foot to foot, primal screams emanating from our mouths. It was frantic. Annoyingly we both had shoes and socks, not even a quick pair of thongs to whack on. I yelled to Ross “throw down your towel” and we were both marooned on our towel islands, distressed and burning. The heat was brimming right up through the towel. We had to get over that sand from hell. Shoving our feet into our shoes, we made a run for it but by the time we reached the car, I’d realised I had serious burns to my right foot. It was agony! Within a few minutes, big blisters came up right down one side and along my little toe. It was a long and painful walk back to our house from the parking lot I can tell you. What a ridiculous injury!
Rossco poured me a big bowl of cold water to soak my tortured trotter, administered Panadol and then drove back to the beach to find my lost sneaker, obviously cast-off in the confusion. What a legend. Incredibly, my shoe was still there, all alone in the carpark. When Ross walked through the village bearing just one little sneaker in his arms, one lady enquired as to whether he was looking for his Cinderella.
A subsequent Google of Paliochori Beach has been quite enlightening. Apparently there is “volcanic activity” beneath the beach and “hot springs can show up randomly in the shallows near the waterline.The same springs also heat the sand at depth in such a way…. The transition from comfortably warm to astonishingly hot is blurred.” (Yep).
I’ll tell you that for nothing.
The article said that the local restaurant uses the sand for COOKING stews and casseroles to “impress the public”.
This public was not impressed. Cooked foot was almost on the menu tonight.
