The Cronky Old Bus to Avgonima!
Firstly, I want to say that I’m not being insulting by calling the bus ‘Cronky’. Yes, it has seen better days, and yes, before heading up to the mountain villages, she needs a top-up of water and oil (daily), but the number 17 bus is an experience in itself. It reminded me of the old days – you know – when you used to actually carry a rucksack when island hopping. Thank God they invented cases on wheels, that’s all I can say! Because of the sense of nostalgia this bus gave me, I pay homage to it by giving it the black and white treatment!
The driver arrived at the bus station on his moped and parked on the pavement next to his bus. I say ‘his’ bus because he’s the only driver that I’ve seen drive it. Of course, he’d park his moped on the pavement because in Greece, pavements are for mopeds, motorbikes, motorcars, lamposts – you know, anything except pedestrians!
Having been on the number 17 several times before, I knew the driver’s routine. He goes into the café for a large frappe and then sits at a table outside with the locals, chatting for a while. Then he mosies over to the bus and opens up her bonnet to do the necessaries. This usually involves checking her oil levels with a dipstick and topping her up with oil and water. He keeps a rag and spare oil under the bonnet, but you have to ask yourself: if this were a daily task, how much oil and water does this old bus actually consume? Once happy with this part of the process, he’ll start the engine and listen to it as if trying to identify any sounds that shouldn’t be there. Once he’s happy and only when he’s happy, he’ll take his place in the driver’s seat and allow people to board. Well that was the other day. Today, he took his seat with a frappe in hand, and as everyone moved towards him to board, he did that Greek up-and-down movement with his palm, meaning “not yet”. Toda,y everyone will wait until he’s finished his frappe. Maybe he was having a moment of quiet contemplation before navigating those treacherous mountain hairpins — getting himself “in the zone”. I certainly wouldn’t be driving up those passes; that was obviously why I was catching the bus. Finally, an elderly lady moved towards the bus steps. Nobody is going to give her the hand gesture! Our driver rose from his seat and took her shopping bags whilst she climbed aboard. Then it was our turn. He greeted everyone with a smile calling the locals by their first names. It was a sight to behold!
I took a seat near the back to keep the front seats for the elderly (well, more elderly than me!) Far be it for me to go ‘off piste’ with the pecking order system categorised by age. One last thing before setting off was to turn on the radio. Proper old-fashioned, traditional Greek music. Since when did Greek buses stop playing music? It should be a law that all Greek buses have to play Greek music, especially this type of music full of “Sagapooooo’s” and “Agapi Moooooooous!”!
Off we set. Up through residential areas and around successive hairpin bends until the bay below disappears from sight. Conversations go back and forth across the bus with our driver included in most of them. As we reach the plateau of the island, we pass fir trees that seem to have rooted in solid rock. Just how do they do that? I tried to take a couple of videos, but this bus ride was not conducive to this type of thing. For one thing, the suspension on the bus was practically non-existent. The polyester seat covers kept sliding me off the seat, and I’d then have to shuffle my bottom back up. Every time the bus took a sharp bend (of which there were many) I nearly slid right onto the floor!
Now we are driving through a pine forest and at one point, the driver wound down his window and shouted to one of the firefighters on duty that day. He responded with a wave. There are these guys dotted all over the place, some with fire engines and some not, all on standby just in case the worst should happen. A young man sitting adjacent to me started up a conversation with me in English. He asked me if I’d been to Anavatos. I told him that I had. He seemed very keen to tell me the story of the Ottoman invasion of the island and the tragedy that took place in Anavatos. Whether I knew this story before or not was beside the point. Greek history is filled full of myth and legend, but what’s chilling about this is that it really happened.
Soon, Avgonima came into sight. This is the same route to Anavatos, so it all looked familiar. I was confused when the bus drove straight through the village. At first, I wondered if there was another road further along that stopped closer to the village entrance, but soon the village began to look far away. What I didn’t know was that Avgonima was a request stop. I’d assumed that the driver had seen my ticket, which definitely said Avgonima, but that didn’t seem to be the case. I walked to the front of the bus as it swayed side to side and said “Avgonima?” He replied, “No Avgonima”. Oh, maybe I have to spend another afternoon at Anavatos. He did that up and down hand movement, which was clearly telling me to sit down, which I did. The Doris Day song Que Sera Sera came into my head. Just go with the flow, Stephanie, just go with the flow.
After dropping two people off at the turning circle in Anavatos, he did actually drive me back to Avgonima. There were still people on the bus continuing to Sidirounta, but this wasn’t a problem for anyone. He stopped at the entrance to the village and told me “Three and Forty Five” whilst pointing to the spot under us.
Perfect! I have a couple of hours here. I headed into the village ready to explore.
Avgonima is another of Chios’s medieval fortified villages that has undergone some restoration since it was almost abandoned in the 1960s. There is a good choice of accommodation and several tavernas to choose from. The focal point on the main square is the church, and from here the alleyways seem to radiate out in all directions past stone houses draped in bougainvillaea and potted plants. Several houses had strings of cherry tomatoes against the walls drying in the sun.
What really caught my eye was the view over the sea below. A taverna called Asteri offered the best of it and, if I did nothing else, I was determined to eat there. I normally didn’t eat a big lunch, preferring to save myself for dinner, but right there and then, I was willing to make an exception.
I took a seat on the terrace overlooking the bay. A friendly lady took my order: horta, beef in tomato sauce with orzo, and a glass of wine. The food was delicious, though I retreated inside to escape the wasps that arrived the moment the plate landed. A small group of tourists also sat inside — not because of insects, but because the mountain breeze was too cold. For someone from the North of England, the weather was perfect. Excellent meal and service.
After lunch, I took another wander around the village. With my day job hat on, as a travel consultant with Hidden Greece, I wanted to say hello to George, who owned Spitaki Cottages, one of the hotels we work with. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him at the property. I know he’s a busy man with his fingers in several pies, so I headed to the square where I’d seen a sign for honey for sale. I’m a sucker for Greek honey — especially the old Meli Pinus! 😂 (you had to be there!)
Again, there didn’t seem to be anyone around, but then I saw the owners who were having lunch. I apologised and said I’d come back later, but the lady insisted on serving me. I bought a jar of honey, and whilst paying, I asked if George was around. She pointed towards his reception. I thanked her and went in that direction. It was that time of day when everything — and everyone — seemed to be eating or asleep, and there was no sign of George. Another time.
At 3.30 I made my way back onto the road outside the village, allowing extra time to err on the side of caution. I hoped that the bus driver wouldn’t forget to pick me up. The views over the valley below and the pine forest are wonderful. This pine forest is the largest on the island so you can appreciate why there were so many firefighters around.
The bus called at Anavatos to pick up the two passengers we’d dropped earlier. It gave me the absolute willies watching the three-point turn as the bus reversed alarmingly close to the cliff edge. But our driver does this journey several times a day and has probably been doing it at least since the bus was new – and that was probably decades ago!
Our affable driver headed back down the valley. He stopped again to talk to the fire-watch man. I wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but it related to a question the Greek couple had asked. The fire-watcher pointed somewhere into the forest and we carried on. Further along, the driver began pointing at something in the valley, talking animatedly while looking everywhere except the road. Whatever they were pointing at, I never managed to spot it, despite craning my neck like the rest of them.
Further down the road, the driver dropped the couple off at the top of the track above Nea Moni, the island’s spectacular monastery. I learned later that Avgonima lies about three kilometres from Nea Moni monastery via old stone-paved tracks.
Back at the hotel, it was time to pack. I went to the patisseries close to the hotel to buy something to motivate me. The following day, I was to head to the seaside village of Limnia for a little bit of R&R where I planned to do absolutely nothing. She says!
