From the Dardanelles to the Aegean – The Road (and Ferry) to Bozcaada

Today, we will continue the trail of discovering Greek culture in Asia Minor as we leave Canakkale and head for the small island of Bozcaada, historically known as Tenedos. Bozcaada was once home to a large Greek community that had roots on the island since antiquity. First, we need to time everything with the Canakkale to Bozcaada ferry service.

When you look at a map of Çanakkale, you’d imagine that Bozcaada would be just a short ferry ride away. In reality, getting there took a little more planning than expected. The ferry to Bozcaada departs not from Çanakkale but from the mainland port of Geyikli, about 54 kilometres to the south. And since Çanakkale’s main bus station is itself 6 km from the centre, getting there involved an extra step.

Gestas Ferry Company schedules

The September timetables had just been released, showing up to eight ferry crossings a day. The buses from Çanakkale bus station to Geyikli departed hourly with a journey time of just over an hour. With this in mind, we aimed comfortably for the 14:00 ferry, allowing time for ticket queues and any delays.

Rather than attempting to navigate the urban bus service to Canakkale bus station, we opted for a taxi to keep things simple. Canakkale bus station is large and organised, so finding the correct desk to buy tickets and the departure stand was straightforward.

The journey went smoothly. The bus followed the same road we had taken out to Troy a few days earlier, before continuing through low-lying countryside towards Geyikli. The town itself was small, but the area around the ferry port had the feel of a local holiday spot. A narrow band of golden sand stretched out on either side of the pier, with sun loungers, umbrellas, and a few cafés overlooking the water.

The ticket queue was surprisingly long. It was Friday, and it quickly became clear that many families were heading over to Bozcaada for the weekend. The line moved quickly enough, and soon we were climbing the steps to the upper deck of the ferry. We watched, fascinated, as the crew attempted to fit one last car onto the vehicle deck. There was much reversing, inching forward, hand signalling, and more reversing. They eventually managed it, though with one wheel still on the ramp – an impressive bit of parking nonetheless.

Our trip had begun on the Marmara Sea, but now we were finally out on the Aegean, where the crossing took around thirty minutes. It already seemed a lifetime since we first arrived in Istanbul!

Our arrival in Istanbul

As the island drew closer, Bozcaada’s waterfront came into view: a large square castle dominated the harbour, and several windmills lay scattered on the horizon above the town. This isn’t a mountainous island – its gentle, rolling hills form a soft backdrop to the settlement. Something about this place felt instantly familiar.

Disembarkation was hectic, so we stepped aside and let the crowd flow around us before consulting Google Maps for directions to our accommodation. The Alicante Hotel was just a short walk from the port. We had booked it only a few days earlier and, judging by the crowds, had been fortunate to find a room at all.

As we headed towards the hotel, the cobbled streets immediately evoked an instantly recognisable character – white-washed houses, blue-painted shutters, small balconies draped with potted geraniums. It felt – Greek!

We reached the hotel located on the main street in the midst of artisan craft shops and restaurants. Several tiled steps led us to a small reception desk where we were welcomed by a young man named Okan. Once checked in, he led us upstairs to our room. The interior was unmistakably Aegean in style – crisp white walls, duck-egg blue accents, and simple, uncluttered furniture. The room was spacious, bright, and freshly renovated. We didn’t have a balcony as the room is built into the sachnisi overlooking the street, but the tall windows let in plenty of light.

Okan informed us that breakfast would be served on the roof terrace, where we’d also find an area with a washing line and plenty of drying space. Perfect! We headed up there to check it out. On one side of the staircase was a bright breakfast room, and beyond that, a small terrace with a seating area. On the other side was a larger terrace which gave us views over the village and several restaurants in the alleyway below. Beyond the terracotta rooftops were the island’s windmills that stood like markers enabling us to get our bearings. In the centre of the view rose the bell tower of a church, a small indication that possibly a Greek population may still live here.

Bozcaada could have passed for any number of Greek islands I’ve visited over the years. I’d practically convinced myself of it, too, until somewhere from came the call to prayer rising soulfully into the air — a soft, haunting sound that snapped everything back into place. A reminder that this island straddles cultures, and that we were firmly on the Turkish side of the Aegean.

We were only here for 3 nights, and so we did what I call a ‘semi-unpack’. Long clothes, such as dresses and linen trousers were hung, but the rest were left in their packing cubes to serve as makeshift drawers. (Packing cubes really are the secret to organised travel!) Knowing that our time here was limited, we headed out into the bright afternoon sun.

We weren’t entirely sure where to begin, but in the distance we got a glimpse of the sea at the end of the street – a good place to get our bearings. On the way to the waterfront, we passed several lively meyhanes (though I kept instinctively calling them tavernas) — already busy with tables of friends sharing plates of meze. The food here was clearly going to be something to explore properly, but first, on with the orientation walk.

Once at the small bay, we sat for a few minutes, just taking things in – the glint of sunlight on the water and the sound of the waves lapping on the shore. To our right, the castle walls, almost within touching distance, rose directly from the sea. The narrow pebble beach in front of us curved around the bay, with restaurants and bars positioned along the front, some with platforms built out over the water. All of it felt instantly appealing. I liked what I’d seen of Bozcaada so far. I liked it a lot.

Despite our stomachs making their demands known, we decided to walk the village first and, of course, scout out where we might return to eat. The cobbled lanes were full of character, many lined with old stone houses featuring sachnisi — enclosed upper-level bay windows — a style I’ve always loved. Here, though, it came with a twist. Rather than the muted earth tones and weathered timber of 18th–19th century architecture, many of these houses had been painted in lilac, rose pink, or teal to match their shutters and doorframes. Fuchsia pink Bougainvillaea adorned the exterior of many properties. The effect was undeniably charming, though edging towards what I’d call ’boutiquified’. Still, it worked, and I was drawn in by its attractiveness. It’s clear that the island had embraced aesthetics, and there’s no point pretending it wasn’t extremely Instagrammable (if that’s your thing).

At the centre of the village, and what would have been the heart of the Greek community was the Church of the Virgin Mary, which we’d seen from the rooftop earlier. The church was closed, and the narrow streets around it made it difficult to appreciate its shape and form in full. I wasn’t yet sure whether it was still in active use. I’d read that the island’s Greek population is now around twenty-five people, and I was curious to see if the church still held services today. The day after tomorrow it will be Sunday, so perhaps we’ll find out.

Back on the main street, we were enticed towards the wine shops, of which there were several. Shelves were stacked with bottles from island wineries, and many offered wine tasting opportunities. Mmmm – that sounds right up my street!

Bozcaada has been known for wine since antiquity. The wine production industry was developed by the island’s Greek community, who had cultivated the local grape varieties long before the Ottoman period. Many of those same varieties are still grown today — including Alicante (after which our hotel is named), Çavuş, Karalahna and Vasilaki.

During the time the population exchange between Greece and Turkey took place, most Greeks in Asia Minor were relocated, especially those on the mainland. However, the islands of Bozcaada (Tenedos) and Gokceada (Imbros) were different, and the Greeks were allowed to remain, for a while at least. In the 1960s, conflict between the Greeks and the Turks broke out on Cyprus. Political pressures saw the implementation of land reallocation policies and restrictions on Greek-language schools, forcing many Greek families to gradually leave, including families on Bozcaada.

You’ll often see Bozcaada referred to by its ancient Greek name, Tenedos, which remained in use from classical times until well into the Byzantine period. The Turkish name Bozcaada became dominant during the Ottoman era and was formalised in the early Turkish Republic. To avoid confusion, I’ll use Bozcaada throughout this post.

When the Greek families left, the vineyards were often sold, leased or passed into Turkish ownership. The Turkish winemakers on the island today continue to use the native grape varieties, but with modernised farming practices.

As you wander around Bozcaada’s streets, you won’t fail to notice the references to vineyards and winemaking in the architecture. A lasting legacy of the Greeks!

Already, Bozcaada’s Instagram facade was beginning to reveal more depth and substance. I’d hoped this island would have some grit beneath the gloss — a fur coat with knickers (referencing a saying we have in the north of England), and it seems it just might. But for now, I’m more than happy to embrace the carefully cultivated aesthetics.

By now, we were definitely ready to eat. Some restaurants were still shaking out tablecloths and arranging chairs, but we spotted a small place down a side alley called Sandal, the one we’d spotted from the roof terrace. Benches painted blue to match the window frames, adorned with contrasting orange cushions, lined the walls. Raffia lanterns suspended above us swayed gently in the breeze. It looked inviting, and the menu even more so.

My eye was immediately drawn to the dolmades served with a sour cherry sauce. I love dolmades and I love sour cherries so it was bound to be a match made in heaven. We also ordered a spicy yoghurt dish called Atom Mesezi (a firm favourite during this trip) which was served with crisp pastries. I also ordered a beef casserole cooked with onions and peppers, served still sizzling in its clay pot. Peter ordered smoked octopus with a creamy dill sauce, which he declared the best he’d had in Turkey so far. The meal was excellent — more expensive than some places, yes, but worth it for a first night on the island.

After dinner and as dusk began to fall, we wandered through the softly lit streets, stopping at an ice cream stand to buy a tub of mixed flavours. This we consumed whilst sitting on a bench overlooking the sea. I drew in a deep breath with a sense of joy and satisfaction as I reflected on this amazing journey so far and was excited about what was still to come.

Tomorrow, we’ll venture further — beyond the cobbles, to see what else Bozcaada has tucked away.