From Imbros to Lesvos: A Sunrise-to-Sunset Journey, Finally Hellas-Bound

Today, we were prepared for a long day ahead. Our plan was to travel from Gökçeada and arrive on Lesvos by the end of the day, ferries and connections willing! I honestly hadn’t thought of including Lesvos as part of this trip, but thanks to Peter’s last-minute decision to fly home from Lesvos instead of Istanbul, this was now our route.

We’d decided to catch the 7am ferry, and Andreas had kindly arranged a taxi for 6.30. I did wonder whether that was cutting it a bit close to the bone, but he reassured us it would be absolutely fine. Ten minutes beforehand, we quietly carried our luggage down the stairs, through the restaurant and reception area and waited outside in the pitch black. We hoped the taxi would arrive, and sure enough it did – right on time.

Luggage loaded, we headed up to Gokceada town expecting the driver to then head straight to the port. Instead, he pulled up outside a small bakery. We didn’t begrudge him getting himself a bit of breakfast. However, we were touched when he returned with two bags that he pushed towards us in the back of the car. He’d bought us simit to send us on our way. We’re always touched by such kindness that seems to have been with us since we arrived in Turkey.

Down at the port, the ship Gökçeada 1 was waiting for us with her mouth wide open, ready to swallow us whole. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the clouds pink and purple while the horizon glowed in bright orange and gold. Our thoughtful taxi driver dropped us directly at the ticket booth, and soon we were aboard and standing out on deck.

As we set off across the strait towards Kabatepe, we retrieved our simit from our bags to settle our rumbling stomachs. A flock of seagulls tailed us, jostling for the chance of a stray crumb. Just as we decided to head inside for tea to wash the simit down, I felt a warm splat on the top of my head. I knew instantly that one seagull had not taken too kindly to us ignoring their pleas for food. I never imagined that I’d be saying to my husband, at 7.30 in the morning, ‘Did you get all the shit out of my hair? But there we were. Still — it’s supposed to be good luck. And we might just need it.

At Kabatepe Port, a small, slightly dilapidated bus was waiting. No matter — the journey across the narrow strait of the Gallipoli Peninsula was only about ten minutes. Many passengers looked like they were heading to the mainland for work. It’s these insights into local life that you get on local buses – the unfiltered glimpses of everyday life, even if it sometimes comes with frayed seats and questionable suspension.

We soon reached Eceabat, where we boarded our second ferry of the morning. From the deck, the war memorial was unmistakable — this peninsula is steeped in history, the site of battles still deeply etched into the landscape. Unsurprisingly, it draws visitors from all over the world with an interest in war heritage. The harbour wall had images depicting battle along with the words ‘They never considered turning back’ and ‘Welcome to the land of martyrs’.

Soon we’d crossed the Dardanelles and were back in Çanakkale, now so familiar that arriving felt almost routine. Though tempted to take a taxi to the bus station, we stuck to our plan and decided to take the local bus. Jumping into a taxi, although an easy option, sometimes feels like cheating. Taking the ‘proper’ route gave me a small sense of achievement — as though I’m earning my travel stripes.

Once on the right street, we stopped in a small café for tea and a second breakfast. It was going to be a long day, and we needed the fuel. Plied with something sweet and two glasses of tea, we headed over to the bus stop and on to Canakkale Bus Station on the outskirts of the town.

Back for the umpteenth time at the very organised Canakkale bus station, we purchased tickets to Ayvalık. We didn’t have to wait long for the Kamil Koç coach, all full of mod cons such as charging ports. The intercity buses in Turkey have always been excellent and I love that you still get the ‘in flight’ refreshments, however simple they may be. A Coca-Cola and a biscuit were just the right thing to break up the journey.

The journey took around two and a half hours, passing once again by the turn-off for Troy — a road we now knew rather well — and down the road inland from Geyikli, where we’d travelled earlier in the trip to reach Bozcaada. The bus cut inland through Ezine and İvrindi, rejoining the sea near Küçükkuyu, before eventually rolling into Ayvalık.

Ayvalık felt instantly different – touristy, pretty, wrapped around a deep bay and gazing out at a cluster of islands. It piqued my curiosity, and I mentally filed it away for a future trip.

First things first: we needed tickets to Mytilene. Just across the road from where the bus had dropped us were a couple of ticket agencies, and they sorted everything quickly including the customs paperwork. A queue was forming at customs point, but officials weren’t letting anyone through yet, so we walked to the port café and waited out the lull, keeping an eye on the queue whilst sipping tea.

Once the queue began to move, we joined it. After clearing customs, we walked into the harbour where two boats were waiting. We soon realised we’d booked the slower, less modern one — but it didn’t matter. It was quite entertaining watching the Greeks who had been over to Turkey for a shopping trip haul out their purchases — mainly clothes and shoes — to show to friends. I was surprised, as the cost of living in Turkey had felt higher than on our last visit, but later someone told me that clothes and shoes in the markets are still very cheap.

Well, we had set off at sunrise, and beautifully, as we approached Mytilene, the sun was beginning to set. We’d met both ends of the day, and our beloved Greece was almost within touching distance. I do believe that Peter had engineered this so he could also get a little taste of Greece before returning home. And who could blame him!

After arriving in Mytilene, we once again passed through customs, but instead of heading straight to our accommodation, we went directly to one of my favourite corners of Mytilene for food. I knew taxis could be unpredictable at the port, but I also knew exactly where the taxi rank was — and, conveniently, the taverna we chose was just a minute away from there.

At Laïkó Kafeneion, we ordered ouzo and revelled in the joy of being able to choose a bottle of booze without first having to check the price. We took a table on the cobbled street and shared a Greek salad, Greek sausage, grilled lamb and chips and a bottle of Babayianni Green — simple, honest, filling food. Exactly what we needed. It’s bloody good to be back!

Fully sated and pleasantly woozy, we finally walked the few steps to the taxi station and took the first available one to our accommodation. I’d booked The Secret Garden the moment Peter confirmed he’d be flying home from Lesvos. We probably could have walked, but after such a long day of travel, we were simply knackered.

More about The Secret Garden tomorrow. For now, we needed nothing more than a bed to collapse into.