Blog Two: Folegandros, Cyclades, Greece
[29th September – 3rd October 2024]
I can only assume that my comments on Santorini have managed to offend the Greek Gods. Apollo has decided to wreak his terrible revenge, in the form of some manner of food poisoning, which has struck me during the night before we leave by Seajet for Folegandros.
Only four days into our trip, the first inter-island travel day is a blur of discomfort, and at points I doubt my ability to make the short journey. The alternative, however, is to make the trip back up the cliff into Thera and find somewhere else to stay, so we press on. As I sit slumped in a café chair in Santorini’s New Port, waiting to queue for the ferry, I muse that if I had a gun I’d happily shoot myself.
And so it comes to pass that, after managing to doze through the 50-minute sea trip, we are met by Giannis, the owner of Provalma Studios Hotel, on the Folegandros dockside. The car trip up the mountain from the port is 5 kilometres and takes six minutes. One minute into the journey, I vomit violently and copiously into a white plastic bag, which I fortunately have in my pocket.
When we alight at the stunningly situated Provalma Studios, I am holding aloft the white bag of noxious, sloshing fluid, rather like the Olympic torch bearer. I pass it to Fiona who, as if she is a runner holding the baton in the 4 X 100m relay, passes it straight into the waiting hand of a female member of Giannis’ family, who receives it without batting an eyelid and adds it to the load she is about to drive to the rubbish dump.
Well, no-one can say that I don’t know how to arrive in style. A veil will be drawn over various events during the next 48 hours to protect those of a sensitive nature.
However, as a place to recuperate, Provalma takes some beating. Our small apartment is beautiful and stylish. At this elevation, temperatures are comfortable and a cool breeze is often present. We doddle between the poolside, with its magnificent views over the bare valley to the white cube houses of the Chora opposite, the rear terrace, and our room.
The view across the azure bay to the (appropriately named) island of Sikinos is impressive. Sunrise and sunset are softly spectacular, we are superbly looked after, and I gradually return to something like normal.
After a couple of days, we venture down the valley and back up into the Chora in the evening. This trip is courtesy of a man who is perhaps the world’s least friendly taxi driver – a stiff competition. Our greetings are met with a glare as stony as the parched and empty terraced hillsides we pass. By round trip number three, we’ve got him to say good evening and goodnight. However, he is entirely reliable and very prompt, and he doesn’t charge rip-off prices – his is the only taxi on the island. One night, he brings a female companion when he comes to pick us up. She also stares at us balefully. Perhaps they’ve heard about the puking. Another night, he stops to pick up two elderly ladies, who ignore us completely.
The chora itself is a small maze of impossibly picturesque Cycladic streets and alleyways – white cube-shaped buildings, blue and green doors and shutters, impeccably paved pathways, and a number of attractive bars and tavernas. We eat there three nights in a row, with varying degrees of success, as my stomach has not yet fully recovered.
The area is undoubtedly beautiful with just a hint of twee-ness, almost as if someone had taken a photo of 1980s Mykonos Town, and tried to reproduce it in miniature. The restaurants are visually lovely but the food is a bit standard Greek, though my digestive travails, and Fiona’s ongoing limited diet, most probably influence that view.
There is a definite end-of-season vibe going on, and staff in the restaurants often seem jaded and keen for the summer season to end. An evening in the Chora affords a pleasant and enjoyable, if not too exciting, experience – at least that’s how it struck us.
Too soon, it’s time for Giannis to drive us back down to the port, for us to take the Seajet back to Santorini New Port, and switch to the much grander vessel which will take us on the 3.5 hour trip to Cycladic Island Number Three: Paros.
My dozen favourite images from our stay on Folegandros are included in the gallery below. Click on a thumbnail to see a bigger image. If you’re using a mobile phone, turn your screen sideways to see the bigger image to best effect.
Image Gallery
