A Walk to Limnos Beach and Volissos Village

I was awake with the birds again this morning, but instead of heading to my ‘local’ place for breakfast, I’d decided to have it in Volissos later. I’d spotted a nice patisserie cafe when I was there last. Today I’m going to walk to Limnos, a neighbouring village where there are a few more facilities and a nice beach.

I set off from the street at the side of cafebar Hook, which took me up over a steep brough. At the bottom I arrived at Lefkathia, a small sand-and-pebble beach shaded by tamarisk trees. A closed-for-winter cantina sat back from the shore along with some disabled-access facilities, all looking a little lonely in the off-season light.

I followed the road around, passing a handful of modern bungalows with well-tended gardens tucked into the olive groves. Beyond them, the cloud-covered mountains still seemed to be threatening something. There was definitely something in the air that morning. The road continued up (and down) to Limnos Beach, a wider stretch of sand also backed by tamarisks and with a small organised section of sunbeds and straw parasols.

A little further along was a rocky cove, but I didn’t go beyond that point. I decided to save my energy for Volissos later, which could be steep enough on a good day. Limnos had a couple of tavernas that looked as though they offered a wider menu than Limnia. I’d have been tempted to come back one evening if it wasn’t for the hill between the two. Looking back across Limnos Beach, you can really see how high it is — not something I’d want to tackle in the dark after a glass of wine.

Walking back towards the bungalows, I noticed another road heading towards the Kastro. I followed it for a while and realised it ran parallel to the road I usually took to Volissos. This time, with the olive-grove-covered valley floor and the sheer drop at the roadside on my right. Despite the warm weather, autumn was already making its presence felt, with flashes of gold and red in the trees.

What really caught my eye were the old ruined stone towers on top of the pine-covered ridge. I hadn’t seen them before because the other road passed directly beneath them. I imagined they were old watchtowers once used to keep an eye out for invaders. I could just about make them out on Google Maps when switched to satellite view. Walking towards Volissos, my eyes were always drawn to the Kastro, and today the clouds rolling over the mountains make the view even more dramatic than usual.

On the right I passed a large apiary where brightly coloured beehives were stacked high on top of reach other. Just a little beyond where the track met the main road, I was given a slightly different perspective of the Kastro — this time with a closer view of the windmill.

As I continued on, I stumbled upon the quaintest little workshop – a traditional saddlemaker. It was hard to tell whether it was still operating as a saddelry or was now a small museum, as there was nobody around to ask.

On the approach to the village, as usual, I got distracted by the doors and knockers — a bit of an obsession of mine.

Eventually, I dragged myself away and headed up from the central square to the Voliskos patisserie café for breakfast. There was no question about what I’d order: bougatsa, obviously. The café looked out over more olive groves and up towards the cluster of houses on the lower slopes below the Kastro.

I didn’t linger for long. My host, Georgia, had messaged to say she’d be at the house around midday, and I didn’t want to miss her. As I walked back down to Limnia, it was clear the wind had picked up again. During the night, I’d heard it howling through the trees. It had calmed a little during the morning but was soon back with a vengeance.

Five minutes after I arrived back at the apartment, there was a knock at the door. Georgia was there to check how I was. She showed me photographs from her daughter’s wedding, which she’d been away attending, and handed me some wedding treats wrapped in ribbon — a very kind gesture. No sooner had she arrived than she was off again; no doubt the celebrations were continuing elsewhere on the island.

By now, the wind was at full pelt. A sailing ban had been issued, including for the sturdy old Nissos Samos. The wind was Beaufort 8, so I was left with no choice but to batten down the hatches and crack on with a blog posts. It’s a hard life!