Trip 44 — Ikaria Walk

Day 2: Magganitis to Karkinagri
Thursday, 24 October 2024

Today: 20929 steps/15.60 km/9.69 mi/3h 14m
Total: 54645 steps/42.05 km/26.13 mi/8h 13m
(Then Karkinagri to Pezi 9979 steps/6.25 km/3.88 mi/1h 47m)
(Then Pezi to Karkinagri 19760 steps/10.79 km/6.70 mi/3h 39m)

I thought about stopping by to see Roula and Kostas, but I knew I'd be there for an hour, and I needed to get moving. Today's main walk wasn't long, but I had the opportunity for a special excursion in the afternoon, and I wanted to make sure there was time.

It seemed to be a cool morning, and I put my jacket on, but I was ready to take it off after the first kilometer. I descended through Magganitis and then began to climb.

You need a special car to drive the 15 kilometers' worth of gravel road between Magganitis and Karkinagri; otherwise it's 56 kilometers via a long detour through Evdilos on the north coast. And you need good legs to walk it.

The stretch between the two towns was a series of ups and downs as the road snaked along the mountain ridge a couple hundred meters above the sea, sometimes veering inland to cross a ravine. Most of the ravines had dried up, but some had a trickle of water that crossed the road, or a significant stream that went under it.

There were a few highlights: a memorial to someone with his photograph, presumably at the spot where he had a fatal vehicle crash; clusters of beekeeping boxes; a little chapel with a bell tower and white cross.

At one point a hiking trail was signed up to the monastery at Agios Theologos. Past the sign, the dirt road climbed dramatically, turning to the right and reaching a stream — practically a waterfall — that went under the road. I paused here, even though I'd gone only five kilometers; the steady climb, on a gravel surface with pointed, uneven rocks, was discomforting my feet. And I wasn't ready to take on the steeper climb that lay ahead.

After a few minutes, I pressed on. These were slow kilometers, about 13 minutes each. For the three hours between the two towns, the only earthbound creatures I saw, apart from insects, were one motorcycle rider, five goats, and a bulldozer at the little village of Trapalo. I didn't see its driver, just the yellow vehicle itself, slowly making the rounds, nodding its blade like an elephant's trunk. If I hadn't known what it was, I might have thought it to be an animal itself.

An hour later I reached Karkinagri. I called Efi, Lazaros's mother, and she let me into a delightfully cozy suite with a sea view, a huge shared terrace, and one of those ancient-style curved stoves at the corner of the room where the smoke goes up a chimney. The couch had pillows shaped like the heads of a cat and a dog, albeit with glum faces, and the shower didn't have to be preheated.

I wouldn't see the owner, Lazaros, but he had invited me to visit his father's winery if I could make it up to Pezi. Here my paper map came in handy: Recommended trail number 19 was rated easy and led from Karkinagri up to the church of Agios Isidoros, which was only two kilometers from Pezi.

I didn't quite believe the map's guideline that one could cover the 3.1 kilometers between the church and Karkinagri in 45 minutes, even if that was meant to be the downhill timing. I became more skeptical when the sign at the trailhead said the church was three hours away. But I figured I'd see how far I got, leaving Karkinagri at 2:40. If it took me two hours, I could stay until about 5:30 and then make my way down before the sun set just before eight.

I scurried up. The trail was steep but wide and easy to follow, with large, flat stones and red blazes on the rocks, although from afar, the blazes were hard to distinguish from the red poppies that bloom at this time of year. One turn had me pushing a thornbush away as I climbed, sometimes the rocks were thin and uneven, and a brief stretch near the church was hard to follow, but in general it was a straightforward ascent.

Midway up I had to open and relatch a gate with rope, which was challenging given the way the gate swung downward as I was climbing up, but I managed to get past. I wouldn't have called the trail easy, as the map did — the steepness was tough on my legs — but I completed the 3.1-kilometer trail in just over an hour. If it was that fast going up, it should be even faster coming down.

The church was open. On the walls was a somewhat haphazard array of icons. The gilded altar had more, in a more organized arrangement. I wouldn't have minded sitting down for a while, but I was under some time pressure.

The main gate below the winery was locked, but I heard dogs barking to the right, and eventually I saw a person there. "Who are you looking for?" he asked.

"Manolis."

"Manolis is over there. Please, you can come around."

I hesitated at an open gate with two German shepherds who had clearly pondered for some time the possibility of dining on a Jew from New York.

"Come. It's OK."

The dogs stayed away. Around the bend was the side entrance to the winery. Manolis saw me and motioned to me to open the gate and enter.

"Do you want coffee? Water? Wine?" he asked when we had sat down next to his house.

"Well, wine, if you don't mind."

He brought out a repurposed Cutty Sark whisky bottle and two mismatched glasses. He poured wine into each. "This is Fokiano wine," he said. It was a red wine, sour with a hint of sweetness.

"Is the wine just for you, or do you sell it?" I asked.

"I sell it. Some tavernas, or at a panagiri" (saint's festival).

"Is there a panagiri coming up?"

"The next one is the fourteenth of May. Saint Isidoros." The church I had just visited.

He couldn't tell me at which tavernas I could find his wine, only that he sold to a few places on the island.

He also brought out a plate of pork for me. He kept pigs on the property, and I've seen pork on several menus, but the only food mammals I've seen were goats and sheep.

"How long have you had this winery?"

"It belonged to my parents. So maybe a hundred years in the family." But he had done a lot of traveling, including to American ports: He spent many years as a chief engineer on cargo ships and oil tankers.

"Do you sleep here?" Efi, his wife, had pointed to the room where he slept in Karkinagri.

"Now I stay for one week. There's a lot to do at this time of year." He showed me the recently planted vines, including one above us on the patio. "In a few months, no sun comes through. And many tourists. I will also plant tomatoes and potatoes." He showed me his hands, black from recent work.

He kept waving a cap at his pregnant cat, mostly white but with a black snout, a pattern I'd seen around the island. The cat kept eyeing my plate of pork.

"Can I give you money for the wine and food?" I knew he'd say no, but I couldn't acknowledge his hospitality without offering.

"No, no! Ikaria...you visit someone and they give you food." After Roula's place and Manolis's, I wondered whether I would ever have another meal in a restaurant on Ikaria.

"Well, thank you very much. I should go now to get back to Karkinagri."

He walked me out past the dogs, even though by now they were fenced in. I walked the two kilometers back to the church and began the descent.

I followed the blazes until I came to the stretch where they were lacking. Someone had erected cairns to help guide the way. I'd remembered that, but at one point I found neither blazes nor cairns. There was a dry riverbed, though, and I was sure I'd rejoin the trail soon.

It didn't happen. In a few minutes I had lost the trail completely and was scrambling through the brush. I searched for a general downhill route, thinking I would find the trail eventually, but invariably I came to an excessively steep section or a riverbed that soon became unsuitable for passage.

I found a fence, which seemed likely as a perimeter of the walking possibilities, but it didn't help. And then I found it again, after a detour.

Google Maps wasn't providing much assistance, either. It kept showing me going in the right direction, but then the blue dot wouldn't move, or it showed me going the wrong way.

"Can you show me the way?" I shouted at the goats. They scampered off, uninterested.

Eventually I found a cable that I'd remembered following for a while on the way up. I followed it down, until its route became too steep.

I followed it up for a while as I pondered my options. It was almost seven. I had a weak phone signal. If it was approaching sunset and I didn't know where I was, I could call or message Efi and ask for help. Or if I could find the church again, I could go back to Manolis's place and ask if I could sleep there. Or, as a last resort, I could settle down until dawn. There weren't any dangerous animals on the mountain, and I had a power bank and a jacket.

The middle option was the most feasible, and with the cable not taking me anywhere useful, I decided to head for the church. I was closer to it than to the town, and Google Maps was reliably showing me approaching it. Heck, I could spend the night in it. That's the decision I made—

And then I saw a red blaze. The same red blaze that I had seen just before I lost the path.

What had I done wrong? I looked more closely for cairns and red dots, and I found them. But how much time did I have? It was a half-hour before sunset.

I decided to go for it. I hurried down the path. At every red blaze, I said, "Yes," and at every arrow, I said, "Aha!" This went on for a long time.

"Where's the gate?" I said. I should have come to it by now.

"Where's the gate?"

"Where's the gate‽" That was the midpoint, and also the place where the path would become slightly less steep.

"Split time twenty-three minutes..." Helga announced on MapMyWalk. I wasn't going any faster descending after all!

Finally I arrived at the gate. It was easier to pass through in the downward direction. The path kept going, not as tamely as I remembered at this section.

I saw the lights of Karkinagri. I had maybe twenty minutes of walking to go. It was past sunset, though, and I was running out of light. I connected my power bank and put my phone's flashlight on.

Soon I would find an iron implement of sorts next to the path, and then I'd come to the couple of steps by the thornbushes, and if I could make it past those, the rest would be easy.

But I lost the path again, near an abandoned house. I didn't remember the house.

I had just seen a blaze. Where was I supposed to go? Every route became impassable.

This was silly. I was so close. But I was reaching the last light. My phone wasn't going to show me the way beyond a few meters.

In a weird twist given the problems I've had with them throughout the Abecedarian Walks, my evening was saved by barking dogs.

They were distant, but I headed toward them.

"Hello!"

Vigorous barking.

"Hello!"

Insistent barking.

And then I saw a red blaze, just before the last light. I was on the path again.

"Hello!"

"Hello..." There was a flashlight.

"Hello?"

"Hello!"

Hysterical barking.

Our flashlights approached each other.

"Are you OK?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, thank you. I'm all right. Is this the path?"

"Yes. You're sure you're all right? You're sweating."

"Oh, yes, it's just been a long day."

"I thought you were a hedgehog. My dogs only bark like that when they see a hedgehog."

"They saw me, and that alerted you?"

"Yes. Come, I can show you the way down." He led me for a couple of minutes and then said, "Just follow this road now. You can't get lost."

"Thank you."

"I'd invite you for tea, but it's getting late."

"It's OK. We can both have stories about the foolish American who took the trail too late."

"Well, good night."

It was a more roundabout route to town, but I didn't have to deal with the thornbushes.

I'd rarely been so happy to be on a paved road. I found my lodging (also not so easy, as it involved crossing a bridge obstructed by a parked car and then climbing a staircase and traversing several buildings' terraces), took a break in my room, and headed out to dinner at 11 p.m. The same restaurant was open as where I'd had lunch. (That was a Greek salad, a perfect, simple meal: fresh tomatoes, cucumber, and onion, with salted olives and dressed with oregano and olive oil, under a square slab of feta cheese so big you could use it as a card table.)

I took the only unoccupied table; the others were taken by ten men engrossed in the very close playoff basketball game between Panathinaikos and Anadolu Efes. I made the mistake of asking my server which team he preferred.

"Panathinaikos," he said with a "What else?" attitude. I didn't realize until later that Anadolu Efes was a Turkish team.

I had goat in tomato sauce — hey, those goats hadn't helped me much on the trail — and a half-liter of wine, and then an after-dinner tsipouro (similar to grappa). Children came out, and then they went home. And I can barely walk after the strenuous slopes of the day, but I've got 25 kilometers to cover tomorrow, so I hope I recover overnight!

Go on to day 3