Greece's Unsung Hero: Halki
The whitewashed buildings of Santorini, the acclaimed island of Skopelos, the long, crystalline beaches of Naxos and the cliffs of Sarakiniko in Milos are iconic, yes, I can’t disagree with that. Indeed, the Cyclades are indisputably sun-kissed and begging to be explored. But, as corny as it sounds, they are not my “home away from home”.
I can’t readily recall that ever-so strong smell of thyme and sage, that familiar buzz around the harbour or the ridiculously loud hum of crickets. Is this due to the ever-apparent summer-time tourists? Or the fact I don’t have the familiar faces of fishermen, chefs and locals to holler “yasas” to on my arrival? Whilst there is always the smattering of new faces, when we arrive on Halki, the smallest island in the Dodecanese, we are greeted as old-friends. Gerald Durrell iconically spoke of his time in Corfu, where “each day had a tranquility a timelessness about it so that you wished it would never end.” This is the sensation I have when I arrive on Greece’s unsung hero, Halki. It's a place where I can slip into island life with all too much ease.
With a permanent population of only 330 inhabitants, Halki has been deemed the Island of Peace and Friendship by UNESCO. Twelve years ago, my first view of the colourful houses of Emborio (the heart of the island) was from the water. The ferry pulled into the port to the backdrop of a slightly chaotic buzz of Greek discussion and a gaggle of people frantically waving to people onboard.
All these years later, I still return time and time again. Like any island, it’s changed, it’s developed and it’s “smartened up” in many ways. There are now cars, albeit only a few, three supermarkets—though again the label “supermarket” may be a slight exaggeration—and, though the island has its fair share of abandoned stone ruins, many of the houses have been revamped and refurbished into idyllically serene seaside retreats. What is more, it’s entirely energy self-sufficient. A tiny electric Citroën acts as the police and coast-guard vehicle, and solar panels soak up the intense, all-day sunshine. It’s charming, it’s small, it’s an idyllic summer escape. But what makes it unequivocally special is its character, it’s slightly chaotic, unruly qualities and it’s familiarity.
Skin, sizzled and sun-kissed. Hair, salty and wild from the sea-breeze. The rule of thumb on Halki: at least one ocean dip a day. And though there are no obligations, you can’t go wrong with a bowl of freshly picked figs for brekky and an oh-so smoky aubergine salad for dunking and dipping that hunk of daily-baked bread from the one baker on the island, Dimitri’s. When the rest of the island slowly stirs life, it’s the wafts of freshly baked spinach and feta pies that whir you into action. There is no need to clock-watch. As with everything on Halki, each day flows undetermined by an agenda. I am yet to even determine an opening time. Whether it’s at the crack of dawn, a 6 am sunrise or a leisurely paced 8:30am wake-up...all good things come to those who wait!
Fuelled by a freddo espresso at The Twins, or a startlingly strong dose of Greek coffee, come what may, every day is a beach day. Before the sun gets immeasurably intense, we walk over the rugged hills to Kania Beach. Home to the best aubergine salad. Indeed, I’d even go as far to say the best food on the island. And, by far, the most picturesque and accessible beach on the island.
The vivid, sunshine-yellow Giannis Express will make hay in the waves and drop you off at this turquoise bay in a matter of minutes. Days are spent idling, lollygagging and basking on the pebbles, games of cards are to be had and jumping off the pier is a rite of passage. The former kitchen, now small storage shack, was an old, somewhat sun-faded caravan. Garifallia rules the roost, as Yanis, the head chef, creates wondrous concoctions, and Marius works at the open wood-fired bbq grilling the freshly caught fish as soon as the lunch-time rush begins. A greek salad a day, a chunk of feta, the most garlicky-tzatziki, dolmades and giant beans oozing with a tomato-sauce, so flavoursome and fresh. This year, it was a calamari or fagri to be had on the grill. Though in the past, I’ve joined fisherman and friend Michaelis on his caïque, watching him catch sardines, octopus and giant swordfish with eloquence and ease as we snack on Halki shrimp straight from the net.
It’s an unforgivably small island. Like many of the Greek isles, temperatures in the Dodecanese can be extreme: it can easily soar past 35 degrees come summer and plunge right down in the winter. For this reason, the walk to the abandoned 19th century, mediaeval village of Horio is best done before the sun awakes—or in the cooler months of September and October.
Here, Kastro—the Castle of the Knights of St.John —stands mighty, and the Monastery of Panormitis offers panoramic views across the horizon and down to Trachia Beach. Head further to the west of the Island, and a two hour amble away from Emborio is the Monastery of St John. The smell of pine trees marks the spot, a courtyard offers shade and the white ornamental gates offer a stark contrast to the rocky surrounding landscapes. The island is small enough to gain a lay of the land, though much of it remains unexplored and inaccessible to those who aren’t prepared to pop on some hiking shoes and brace the heat. Take Areta Beach, for example. The walk is denoted by red dots which scatter the hilltops in a somewhat scrambled, though sensical fashion. After an endless 5 kilometres, you reach a cliffside bay where the turquoise waters lap across the large, white pebbles.
Many of these beaches are accessible only by boat, meaning they are largely deserted when you arrive. Though, a mere 35 minutes away by ferry is Tilos. An island renowned for its fantastic hiking trails and unique birdlife. Though it's bigger than Halki, it remains as remarkably untouched. Spend a few nights here: have lunch at Gorgona, Omonoia Cafe, though don’t leave without dining at least once at Delfini. A quintessential Greek taverna, it may not look entirely convincing from the exterior, but one taste of the moussaka will knock you away. A little further away is Nisyros, where an inactive volcano beckons tourists daily from its neighbouring island of Kos.
Back on Halki, as the sun falls across the village of Horio, the harbour awakens from its afternoon slumber. We head to the Queen of Halki for it’s handmade jewellery crafted from stones and polymer clay sourced from the island. Time slips away, and dinner is served later and later each day. We head to Valantis for the finest courgette fritters and imam or Magefseis for the indulgent “portion of” (aka gyros). Babis is by far the epicentre of Halki dinnertimes; it attracts the day-trippers, the tourists and the locals with its freshly grilled fish, oven-baked potatoes caked in a lemon butter and feta wrapped in filo pastry and doused with lashings of honey. From a taverna we still affectionately call "green tablecloths", due to the lack of name when we first arrived and the scattering of tables all lain with the identical green-checked tablecloths, to now a bustling hub of activity come dinnertime. It continues to startle us when “reserved” signs are placed on the table, and flocks of people queue for the waterside view.
Maybe this is a sign that our beloved Halki is changing. Though with one sip from the carafe of house wine, one mouthful of the freshly baked fava and a handful of atherina, we’re assured that it’s still the same-old, long-adored Babis.
Children run freely long after the sun goes down. We shout “kalispera” to the familiar faces along the harbour front. And with that, another day in Halki has flown by. I am itching to grab my knapsack, pack my Birkenstocks, cards and camera in tow, and explore a handful more of the 6000 islands that make up Greece, yes. But I'm all too aware that Halki will forever be my summertime escape. For this area of only 11 square miles, what it may lack in size, it certainly makes up in charm.
