Skopelos: an island of people and no people

Tag : Sky Fruit

ONE-TOOTHED Maria calls out of a darkened doorway for us to stop.We are surprised to hear her voice at all because we are lost - notseriously lost, just slightly lost, as one can easily become inthis part of town. The streets are high up, just below the oldKastro, and with their polished marble steps, their washing lines,their multiple churches and cats, their wooden balconies and darkdoorways (identical to the one out of which Maria's order has justissued forth), they take some time to imprint their geography onthe newcomer. Down below, past the campanile that will become ourlandmark, the predominantly red-tiled roofs of Skopelos townglissade down to the harbour where through a small gap we can see aferry boat shuffling round to face the open sea. A little ahead ofus sits one of Maria's black-stockinged agemates on her frontsteps. "It is worth waiting," she confirms.
Moments later both of Maria's hands emerge from the darkness, eachone holding a hot spinach pie, shaped like a samosa , wrapped in a paper napkin. She disappears again. We eat. Someconversation goes on with the neighbour about the quality of thepastry. Before we have finished, Maria's hands appear again, withtwo more oven-fresh offerings. We protest, but she ignores us anddisappears again. There is more discussion with the neighbour aboutMaria's technique, on which - due to a lifetime's avoidance ofbaking - I keep my silence. Just as we are on our way, calling outour thanks and compliments to Maria, her hands appear with yet onemore pair of pies. This time we protest with some success - we dohave to keep the pies but at least we are allowed to depart. Acouple of grizzled ex-sea dogs give us a funny look as we go pasttheir doorway back to the accommodation we are renting from Maria.Moments later, through the open window, we hear voices. "Ah good! "says one of the old bruisers, evidently to Maria. "We saw thechildren going past with their pies and we were jealous."
Had I been travelling alone, I would not have tasted Maria's piesbecause I would have failed to come across her in the first place.Probably, I would not even have strayed into the 'Frankomahalas'quarter of the town with its solid, shoulder-hugging architecturethat dates all the way back to the days of Venetian control,initially brought about by the Ghizi brothers in 1207 (they alsotook over the neighbouring Sporadic islands of Skiathos, Alonnisosand Skyros). But as we enter Skopelos' grand harbour, the embraceof its hillsides a concentrated dazzle of white walls and redroofs, my travelling companion Despina notices a huge plane tree toone edge of the harbour and discovers, way above it, that a paleblue window is giving her the eye. That, she says, is where shewants to stay.
We climb. The fact that there are no signs for room rentals doesnot deter her. Somehow, she stumbles across Maria in the street,strikes up a conversation and pretty soon we discover it is noneother than Maria's window that had been staring at her as we camein on the boat. And, yes, the rooms are for rent. The views overSkopelos town and harbour are magnificent, and included just belowus are roofs that retain the round-edged blue-grey traditionalslates from Mount Pelion that once dominated the town's houses andits 123 churches. The slates have an irregularity, a feel ofcontrolled chaos about them as well as a soft, natural hue that islacking in the factory-produced red tiles.
It is a perfect beginning. And Maria's generosity will only be thefirst of many kindnesses and old-style courtesies extended to us bypeople in chance encounters on the island. It is that kind ofplace. It is also, we will be told intriguingly, a place of peopleand no people.

Myth and history