A Birthday Boat Trip Around the Archipelago of Oinousses

Today was my birthday, and naturally, I was in Greece—there’s no better place to spend it. I don’t really celebrate anymore; it’s simply another day and a quiet reminder that life is short, which only fuels my desire to squeeze every last drop of travel energy from it.

I’d already been on the beautiful island of Oinousses for five days (how time flies), and to mark the occasion I treated myself to a boat ride around the small archipelago to the southwest—an area I’d only glimpsed from a hilltop earlier in the week. That brief view had sparked a desire to see the islets up close.

Yesterday, I messaged my host, Despoina, via WhatsApp to ask if she knew anyone who could take me. Her husband, Captain Margaritis, who often acted as translator, replied within the hour with the news I’d hoped for: a local fisherman was available. I just needed to choose a time (I said 10am) and call into their shop in the morning to be directed to the boat.

Before heading down to the harbour, I stopped at the bakery for a slice of bougatsa and bought some chocolate-dipped kourabiedes to share with my guide. I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini market too—always a reliable hangout for the neighbourhood cats.

Outside the shop, I bumped into Despoina. We exchanged “Kalimera”s and, as usual, communicated largely through gestures. I asked where I’d find Captain Margaritis, and she explained that he was at their other shop. I wasn’t sure where this was, but with a firm “Kato! Kato! Kato!” she waved me down towards the harbour. That much I understood.

At the bottom of a long staircase, I found the shop and Captain Margaritis, who greeted me with a warm “Happy Birthday.” He told me he’d phoned the fisherman, who was on his way, and pointed out the boat through a gap in the buildings—a larger caique moored in the small marina. He warned me that the fisherman didn’t speak much English, but that was never a problem. A smile, body language, and a few Greek words go a long way.

A little car soon pulled up, and out stepped a sprightly elderly gentleman. As he approached, he pointed to me, then at the boat. I nodded. He boarded, started the engine, and helped me aboard. We exchanged names—he was Gregos.

Once seated, he gestured in several directions and shrugged. I gathered he was asking where I’d like to go. “Micro nisia,” I said, pointing towards the cluster of islets. And off we went.

We hugged the coastline, passing quiet coves and the pebbled Agios Ioannis beach. Then we entered a wide bay, where I recognised a hamlet and windmill I’d seen on the map earlier in the week. The first islet soon appeared, startling a group of cormorants who flapped noisily across the water before lifting away. The gulls lounging nearby barely moved.

The sea shifted through every shade—inky blue, turquoise, cobalt, and pale azure. We passed close to Gaidouronisi, a fish farm, and another fisherman heading the opposite way. The two men exchanged a wave. Gregos and I exchanged goodies. I offered him kourabiedes and he offered me sweets.

As we passed Vataki and Vatos, Pasas island came into view. I’d been told it was a military zone, and from the boat I could see buildings on the summit and a giant Greek flag painted on the hillside, asserting sovereignty across from Turkey. (No photos, of course.)

Gregos steered between Pontikonisi and Archontiko towards a beach near Disakiospito. The colours here were stunning. At Aspalathrokampos, we saw an elderly man fishing alone. Moments later, he slipped on the rocks. Gregos cut the engine and called out. The man, though shaken, pulled himself up. Gregos waited offshore until another man arrived to help him. All was well.

I’d read that Oinoussiots were tough, pragmatic people who kept to themselves—but if someone needed help, the whole island would be there. Watching this quiet exchange from the water felt like a small affirmation of that.

Next, we headed towards the small islet of Nisidi Panteleimona to get a close up look at the iconic mermaid statue known as the Mermaid of Egnoussa. I’d glimpsed her as the ship arrived on the island—but she appeared unexpectedly, and the quickly snapped photo was – well, rubbish.

As we approached, startled seagulls scattered, but she remained serene. Up close, she was far more beautiful than my quick arrival-day sighting had suggested.

The caique scooted along the front of the islet, a private islet mind you, home of the Pateros family, though the house looked a little forlorn and not as grandiose as I’d imagined for a shipping magnate.

We continued to coast along until we came to Kakopetria beach — surprisingly busy with five people! One man swam out to us. Gregos smiled and said, “Brother,” gesturing to his ring finger (brother in law!). “Photo, photo!” he encouraged. I took a quick snap, though not the best angle.

Gregos asked if I’d like to swim. I politely declined—another day, maybe.

We continued along the coast, with its secluded coves and small beaches that I hadn’t had the energy to walk to. Near Kastro, Gregos pointed up to the cliffs where goats were perched on impossibly narrow ledges, gazing down at us. How they kept their balance was a mystery!

As we approached Apeganos Beach, Gregos drew my attention to a church – a finger point and just two words – Agios Spiridon. This was one of the most scenic beaches along this stretch — sandier than many others and naturally beautiful, apart from the sporadic parasols along the beach.

We passed a striking white villa. Gregos said it belonged to another prominent Greek ship-owning family – Lemos. Their roots trace back to Oinousses and have made philanthropic contributions to the island, including the establishment of the local Maritime Museum. Around the bend was another villa with its own private church and bell tower—another Lemos brother, apparently. Both villas sit in prime locations on either side of the island’s finest beach.

Gregos kept to the sheltered side of the island as the waters to the east are apparently rough. From the boat, I saw a white building I’d spotted on an earlier walk that I’d initially mistaken for the monastery. After rounding the final bay, the real Monastery of Evangelismos came into view, perched beneath a marble cross.

Built in 1962 in Byzantine style, it was funded by wealthy locals. Gregos cut the motor and let us drift. We sat in comfortable silence. No words needed.

As I gazed at the beach below the monastery, I wondered if we may catch sight of the nuns taking the waters. Not today anyway.

I was kicking myself that I’d walked so close to the monastery days earlier – a little bit further and I’d have made it. I still had it in my mind to visit it before I go, but let’s see. I’m not going to put pressure on myself.

Gregos guided the caique slowly back to the port. The best view of Chora appeared, with St. Nicholas Church standing tall above the village. I could just make out Oinousses Apartments amongst the cascade of houses on the hill.

Soon we were back on land. I thanked Gregos for the memorable trip – and it really was a special day. I bade him farewell and went to a small cafe by the harbour for a drink.

My thoughts then turned to the next part of the trip. The ferry schedules had changed several times over the past months, and the latest update showed that to get to Psara, I’d need to go via Chios and then catch another ferry later that day. A small alarm bell had rung in my head yesterday when I noticed that since the Oinoussai III had returned from Chios last night, she’d stayed moored up with no signs of life—unusual for a boat normally always on the move.

I walked over to the ticket office to double-check the itinerary. The lady confirmed that the Oinoussai III had finished for the season. The Psara Glory would take over and head directly to Psara. The change would mean extending my stay by a day on Oinousses (no hardship at all!). Thankfully, Despoina said it was fine to keep the apartment for another night.

I quickly thumbed a message to my host on Diana on Psara to ask if I could shift my stay by a day. Her reply was slightly cryptic, and I wasn’t sure if she meant there was a fishing boat leaving at 6am or a fishing boat taking six hours. I decided not to worry. Getting there was the main thing, and I had no fixed itinerary. I later realised that she’d put her message into Google Translate and Psara was translated to ‘fisherman’ rather than keeping the place name.

With all the re-arrangements sorted, I spent the rest of the afternoon at Kathisma Beach, in complete solitude.

As I walked back up to hill to the apartment, I saw the Oinoussai III lying dormant and a little forlorn. Just like birds need to fly, ships need to sail. Captain Margaritis told me later that she was going into dry dock for the winter.

Later that evening, I went to To Palio Teloneio for dinner—my first time there. It looked closed at first, but the owner waved me in. A few others arrived later, and I was glad to see they offered gyros too.

With the help of Google Translate and some guesswork, I ordered Caesar salad, Mastelo cheese, and local sausage with white wine. The food was excellent—well-cooked, generous, and fairly priced.

After a few video calls with family, I climbed the steps back to the apartment. Halfway up, I heard the unmistakable sound of the Oinoussai’s horn. It sounded almost melancholic. She was leaving her home island for the winter. Later that evening, I checked her whereabouts on the Marine Traffic app and could see that she was en route to Perama, where she’d be well looked after. I’m glad to have made the acquaintance of this unique little boat.

Another year, another birthday – and this has been a brilliant one!