Onions to Arki, Watermelons to Marathi

 

‘Manoli?’ I ask.

‘Jennifer,’ he says. ‘The girl with the dog.’ The girl with the dog has had breakfast and is doing a bit of work and a bit of planning.

I tell Manolis, the owner of Trypas taverna where I’m staying, that I’m thinking of taking the boat to Samos tomorrow to get cash and dog food and a notebook, none of which is available here on the little island of Arki. Manolis is very laid back, a man of few words, completely belied by the way he dresses: flip-flops, board shorts, panama-style hat, scarf around his neck and a different, brightly patterned, well-pressed shirt at least once a day. I asked him earlier how many shirts he owned, and he just laughed.

I arrived on Arki in the north of the Dodecanese four days ago, with the intention of staying two or three days. I stayed a little longer to do my research, because the local people are less talkative than in some other places. But I have, truth be told, found out all I really need to know about this island with about forty permanent residents and an area of about two and a half square miles. The thing is, every time I think I might leave, I find myself sitting on a beach, mesmerised by the sea. It’s such a quiet, easy place to like, with its little stone huts around the harbour where the fishermen sit, its gently undulating hills covered in green bushes and golden yellow grasses, the sound of goat bells above the village where the fantastic local cheese is produced, which the tavernas put in their salads.

The lack of cash is not really a problem yet, as everything is on the ‘pay later’ system. Paying on the same day is generally seen as a bit over the top. As Stephanos told me last night, ‘We are Greeks. Real Greeks.’ But eventually I’ll have to settle my bill. The lack of dog food to buy has been somewhat expensive, although Lisa has been perfectly happy eating tinned ham, chicken souvlaki or meat balls. She’s made it clear that she’d rather go hungry than eat the Purina dry food I brought. If I’m sampling the good local food, so will she. The diet starts tomorrow...

Anyway, Manolis asks, ‘Why don’t you take the boat to Lipsi today, the Lampi? You have one hour there to do what you need to do and come back.’

I didn’t know there was a boat to Lipsi today. Another thing that doesn’t exist on Arki is a boat schedule, except by asking a local; perhaps because most people arrive by their own boat anyway. I scribbled down the surprisingly extensive schedule in the back of my notebook listening to Manolis the other day, and it didn’t feature this one. I ask him when it leaves, and it’s in twenty minutes. I thank him and dash to my room to grab my bank card, then hurry down to the port.

It’s rather confusing but there is the old harbour and the new ‘port’, a small concrete dock, which according to a sign for a taverna there is a seven-minute walk. Next to it is the lovely main beach where I swam this morning, where residents have sprayed onto a boulder, ‘No Camping’ and underneath, ‘Sorry.’ At the taverna on the port I find my new friends from Athens with their lovely dog and we get chatting. They check with the lady from the taverna if they will sell dog food on Lipsi.

‘I think so.’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘it’s a big island.’ Then I laugh. When I stayed on Lipsi almost three decades ago, I couldn’t imagine a quieter, tinier place. Now, it feels like going to the big city. But the lady realises that I’m planning to go today.

‘The Lampi doesn’t go today – the only boat was this morning.’

There is certainly no one else waiting for it, and no sign of it coming. It seemed too good to be true. I continue chatting with the couple from Athens about this and that.

And then – a little ferry approaches fast that must be the Lampi. Great! But it goes straight past the dock and is undoubtedly heading at a fast pace for the old harbour. Confirming with the locals it is going mesa, inside to the harbour, I set off at a sprint. Lisa thinks this is a great game. I am soon out of breath – it seems that I am a little out of shape from being on a miniature island – but I have to keep running to catch it…

I arrive, panting, as some boxes are being loaded and unloaded, and Lisa and I make it onto the boat and it soon sets off. We cruise into the archipelago of tiny islets. The only other passenger, a nervous Eastern European girl with a suitcase, gets off at Marathi – I guess she is going to work at the taverna in the summer. Marathi is even smaller than Arki, with expensive yachts moored around the beach. From there on, I have a private cruise to Lipsi. We approach around the northwest of it, which seems mountainous and forbidding after Arki. I ask the young guy who is crew about the boat schedule, and he says today’s was a special service. About an hour after we set off, the town comes into view and it feels strange to see roads and street signs, and a petrol station – this must be where people from Arki get their petrol, if they need it (there are only a couple of cars).

We hop off the boat and I have one hour to do my errands. I put my plastic bottles into the famed recycling bin. I spot the Alpha Bank, one of the three branches that was almost closed down last year. I find a bakery and marvel wide-eyed over an array of products that includes wholegrain tahini and Lipsi wine and carob paximadia. I buy enough dog food to start my own specialised minimarket on Arki. Then, bags bulging, I make my way back to the boat, which is waiting with just one other passenger destined for Marathi. ‘Shall we go?’ the crew asks the captain. We are transporting a few boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables, wrapped up with tape and labelled by hand: onions for Arki, watermelons for Marathi.