The trip to the beach was put on hold today because of strong winds and some clouds. Plan B was quickly put into action – walk to Linopotis – which according to our map was a village lying on the road parallel to the one we had walked along to get Marmari.
Turns out that Linopotis is (a) not signposted on that road like Zipari was yesterday and (b) probably more like an area of the island than a definite village – when we looked at a couple of other maps the wording was just hovering off the side of the road instead of being a red dot like it was on our other misleading map. Boo! Maps. ‘Here there be monsters’:
As we walked along we saw a photogenic ruined farm building with a fig tree growing in it and lots of different crops growing, including tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, aubergines, watermelons, courgettes and squashes, as well as the usual olive groves and grapevines. If the Greek economy does go horribly down the tubes I think the people on Kos are pretty self-sufficient. We had no issues while we were there, but we came over with a big pile of cash and didn’t try using credit cards or anything – but in the same way we saw no refugees in Kos Town we saw no desperate queues of locals at the ATMs in town. Seems like it was business as usual wherever we went.
We gave up trying to figure out where the seemingly non-existent village was and instead just went to Marmari again; because at least we knew where we could get a drink and maybe nip to the toilet. We had a couple of very nice cappuccinos in the same beachfront taverna as last time and having used their facilities decided to walk back to Tigari along the beach.
This involved navigating the ill-reputed nudist area which lies just over halfway between Marmari and Tigaki (if you’re at all interested). We knew we were there when a naked man strode out of the sea ahead of us sporting a semi and another fatter naked man lay on the sand at the start of dunes which his enormous gut thankfully hiding his meat and two veg (according to Siggy – I had already decided to find the patch of sand immediately in front of me very interesting until the windy coast was clear). As we further traversed the area, nudists kept popping up out of the sand dunes like meerkats airing their saggy balls sacks and pitta bread breasts.
There were a lot of watersports enthusiasts enjoying the rough Aegean and an incongruous huddle of sheep that appeared to be waiting for a ferry off the island.
We had lunch at Restaurant Tigaki Beach taverna ‘just 20m from the wonderful sandy beach at Tigaki’ (says their business card). I had another counterfeit pork pitta gyro – again the bread was okay but the meat was kitchen chopping board scrapings. It was a little more palatable than the one I had at Kamari Bay but not the real McCoy like I had in Kos Town. Siggy and I agreed to pay more attention to the kitchen area of the tavernas to make sure the tell-tale elephant’s foot was on show before committing ourselves. To me having a pork pitta gyros for lunch in Greece is like having a roast pork butty with apple sauce for lunch when we go to York – essential eating and I will accept no substitutes.
We went to the bakery café further up the road for pudding and snaffled their last piece of apple pie. Then we returned to the hotel and stayed by the pool. The wind had not dropped and I finally figured out a nifty way of keeping the towel from blowing off a metal framed sunbed without the need for pegs. All you have to do is jam the towel between frame and the crosshatched plastic seating material where you can – the toughness of the plastic keeps your towel gripped in place along the edges. Works a treat.
We revisited Sagittarius taverna and I had a good mixed grill, but did note that it isn’t the cheapest of tavernas in Tigaki. While we were there I was treated to an amazing display of consumption by a Brit couple on the table opposite me. At one point I didn’t think the rotund lady was going to finish the pizza she was having all to herself, but she did. She paused every now and again to take a breath and wipe droplets of sweat from her brow and then chowed on until it was all gone. It was like watching an episode of Man vs. Food, and I know I’ve been knocking back the fat and sugar over the last week or so, but just watching it was starting to give me acid reflux. Then she rocked on her seat for a bit and drank some beer and ordered pudding. The biggest chocolate sundae I’ve ever seen in my life. I was well jell.
We tried a different cocktail bar just a few doors from the taverna called Tirbouson which is adjoined to the Marianna hotel. It was nice for a change to have cocktails that weren’t overdressed with umbrellas, sparklers, plastic monkeys etc. the cocktails were damn tasty and were accompanied by paprika crisps instead of nuts which was another good touch. Took ages to come mind.
We had a browse round a few tat shops for fridge magnets to take home and then popped into Rivotos cocktail bar which we have been in a couple of times already but I don’t think I’ve mentioned. The main waiter there is a bit of a Jean Claude van Damme character and the music choice is usually gangsta rap – 50 Cent, Snoop Dog etc. replete with the F-bomb and lots of bitches. Not somewhere to take your kids I guess.
Later in Memories a group of Welshers (and one very loud girl in particular) were doing their oblivious best to clear out all the other patrons so we just had a couple of small beers and went elsewhere. We saw the same people again on a subsequent night and they were sat near the pavement and so the girl’s voice wasn’t so loud and to be honest they were quite funny with their piss-take dancing and antics. I know I must sound really up tight in these posts and maybe I am but you have to understand I like to whinge for comedy effect and I don’t really have such strong feelings about other people having fun in their own little worlds… honest… (and by the way if you haven’t read my bio, I am from Wales myself). Hence my excitement at seeing the sheep.
We went down to the More|Meni bar and had some posh nuts and a small cocktail called ‘The Italian’ which was nice. We were going to pop back into Tirbouson on the way back to the hotel but it was rammed and so we called it a night.
All photos: Copyright 2015 Matthew Haynes