Wine and White Sand in Winter: The Kos Trip

It was mid-November, and I was nervous as I prepared to leave for Kos on the wine trip. Wine doesn't usually make me nervous, but I’d never driven a car onto a ferry before. 

One evening in Tilos I had been thinking about sourcing some good organic wine, preferably from a nearby island (as no-one sells it here). I used to order from Embona in Rhodes, but then I remembered I’d found good stuff on Kos. I did a little internet search and found not one but two organic wineries in the middle of the island. I tried emailing Mesariano and received a very helpful response in English listing the different wines and prices; they had no problem sending to another island but the shipping cost was a little steep. This gave me an idea…

A couple of years ago, I’d taken a flight that passed over the western part of Kos, and looked down to what looked like a long stretch of wild beach. It seemed somehow unlikely on an island known for embracing touristic development, but there was no sign of hotels or villas. It stuck in my mind that I’d like to take a closer look.

And so, I had two perfect excuses for a trip. Oh, and a third – my new tent needed testing! I just needed to overcome my fear of driving a car on and off a big ferry, so that I could get to the places with Lisa – since dogs aren’t allowed on buses there – and transport the wine.

‘Eineh evkolo,’ it’s easy, said Stelios in the ticket office as I mentioned it was my first time and asked if there was anything I should know. I was lucky in one respect, though: the ferry schedule had been disrupted by a strike, so the big Blue Star that would normally travel late on Friday night had been delayed until 2pm Saturday afternoon, and was less busy than usual, and certainly less busy than in summer or en route to Rhodes – less shouting and hand-waving to deal with and fewer vehicles to avoid as I drove on.

On deck, my anxiety turned to relief, I took pleasure in watching the rugged east coast of Tilos with its very few signs of habitation as we travelled north. There was sun as we docked at Nisyros, but it was already dusk when we arrived at Kos Town. Heading for Pantheon Apartments, a cheap and dog-friendly stopover, I got sucked into a vortex of narrow one-way streets and circled a roundabout three times. I realised I had no idea about parking rules, but since it was Saturday night I did like everyone else, and parked on the pavement in between a couple of trees.  

I took Lisa for a walk around the old harbour walls and a medieval gate. I’d been hoping to do shopping in town but everything was closed, so early Saturday evening saw me at a café-bar I’d noticed but never visited before: Scholarcheio. It seemed a good sign that they had little bottles of organic red from Petra Marinou, the second winery I’d found online. I ordered a lettuce-and-pear salad sprinkled with tiny raisins and a plate of local sausage which I shared with Lisa. The place was packed by the time I left, the waiter rushed off his feet.

In the grey early morning I drove west, away from the nearby shores of Turkey, parallel to the ridge of Dikeos mountain, which I see from my house in Tilos. I saw the turnoff to Pyli, where I’d spent a couple of weeks wandering while writing Wild Abandon. I passed a little vineyard where the people used palm branches over their fence to shield it from the road – as I’d now done around my garden. I stopped briefly to pick up a few supplies in Antimacheia. The road became quieter, the surroundings more rural as I neared the narrowest part of the island before Kefalos, and randomly picked a rough track to turn off and leave the car.

And there it was: the place I’d seen from above, a long stretch of pure, pale sand, with juniper-covered dunes and low, sandy hills behind and only a scattering of houses. Heaven! On a cloudy but warm Sunday in November, we had the stretch of beach to ourselves. The sand was clean, the sea clear, the sun trying to break through the clouds. With no sign of sheep or goats around, I let Lisa run, throwing a ball for her to chase. I took off my boots and we walked far along the beautiful, empty shore. As the morning wore on, we ran into a few locals: a woman who told me she’d stopped swimming for the year in October, a couple with a young child and two fishing rods stuck in the sand, another man with six fishing rods.

Beyond to the west, the headland of Kefalos at the far end of Kos rose up to four hundred metres and was deep green with trees. In the afternoon, I drove through the resort of Kampos and uphill to Kefalos village, under which a few caves in the rock were used for keeping chickens. I filled up my bottles with treated water at the Temak dispenser in the car park, and continued to see a little of the peninsula.

The sun came out as the road wound through hills and brought out all the colours of juniper and olive trees, heather and thyme bushes. I parked at Ayios Iannis Theologos and wandered along a track, enjoying a string of beaches with pure white sand and rippling blue sea, a breeze blowing from the north. There were farmers and the bells of goats and sheep.

Returning to the village, I picked up dinner, then I drove back down to the protected south-facing beach. Sunset was magnificent; it was a long, cool night, but Lisa and I were comfortable in the new tent, and it was wonderful to wake to sunrise and the gently lapping sea. It felt so peaceful and special to be there at that moment.

Before leaving this part of the island, I swam next to the ancient ruins on the edge of Kefalos-Kampos where years ago I swam out to the island. Then I wandered down another track and found Volcania winery surrounded by a beautiful, wild, open landscape. The sun was hot, someone was herding goats and their bells were ringing melodiously. In a farmyard with a few cows and chickens, a friendly man called his mother to show me around. Maria was around seventy and told me the area had all been farmland, divided up and given to the tsopanistes and agrotous, but then tourism came, and the work was easier, and most people gave up farming. She worked for twenty-five years for the local Club Med (!) and her husband kept the farm. I bought a few bottles of wine – it wasn’t certified organic but judging by the surroundings, it should be good – and wrenched myself away and to the road back east.

People were collecting olives and pruning their trees in the lovely countryside. I stopped and climbed a hill for a distant view of the impressive medieval fortress outside Antimacheia. There were tracks leading off in all directions and nothing at the end of them according to the map – I’d love to wander there some day.

When I saw a sign for Petra Marinou winery, I turned off the road and parked next to a coop of partridges and guinea fowl. The showroom was closed for the winter but the garage next door had a display. I picked up a few bottles of last year’s Chardonnay and Syrah for a good price as well as some new windscreen wipers and the man fitted them and agreed to check the radiator fluid for me. They’d have this year’s wine soon.

At last, I continued among now busy, fast traffic to Mesariano, finding it hidden behind a big Sklavenitis supermarket, pulled up in front of a beautiful marble Turkish fountain and was greeted by Nikos. It soon transpired that the perfect English in the emails was his son’s, so we spoke in Greek. Although he’d hoped to have plenty of time to show me around, he was busy with orders that morning as well as visitors at home – it was o nomos tou Merfi, he said: Murphy’s Law. I had a super-fast visit, and packed a few boxes of organic Cabernet and Merlot into the car.

Returning to Kos Town, I learned that most shops didn’t re-open on Monday afternoon. But what more did I need? I had a car full of wine, and had discovered some wonderful beaches. I ate again at the same place, where I arrived early and the waiter was making rakomelo and gave me a glass. I slept well, and early the next morning at the harbour I saw the orange sun rise from the sea. And what’s more, I was the only car getting on the Stavros ferry. ‘Tilos!’ shouted the crew to his mate. ‘Where do we put a car for Tilos?’

I wrote half this blog post while drinking a glass or two of the delicious Mesariano Grand Reserve (2017) two months later. I think I’ll need another trip there at some point. In the meantime, I've been finishing off my new book while doing more travels. Stay tuned...