The tall thin man at the end of the ferry eyed us up and down as we shoved our luggage onto the holding rack. “You guys climbers?” he said. I looked at him quizzically, and then did a quick mental check. Yes, I was wearing my North Face down jacket, but there were no remnants of chalk or climbing tape on my hands, and I was pretty sure that I had showered within the last day or so. Had I just walked out of the gym or been hiking up to Yosemite’s El Capitan, I could understand why he would ask me. But on a small Greek ferry from the tiny Dodecanese island of Kos, to the even more remote island of Kalymnos- in the middle of winter- well, I was pretty surprised at the question.

“Um, yeah,” my husband Chris answered with a smile, “we are, actually.” The man reached out to shake our hands. “So am I,” he replied. “I own a bar over in Pothia. I’ve got all the books and climbing info that you guys might want to see. Come over for a cup of coffee when we get in and I’ll see if I can find you a place to stay.”

“Thanks, will do,” Chris said. We walked off to find our seats. “How random…” I whispered. “True,” Chris replied, “but we don’t have any other plans, do we?”

He was right. We’d arrived at the Turkish coastal resort of Bodrum, in the tourist off-season, and had had to wait a few days to catch the ferry to Kos. From Kos we managed to decipher the incredibly confusing ferry table, and made the choppy crossing to the town of Pothia on nearby Kalymnos that afternoon. From there we weren’t quite sure who or what might be around to help us get to our climbing destination of Masouri- a good 10 kilometers from Pothia. But our new friend turned out to be just the stroke of luck that we needed.

“What would you like to drink?” said the man, as we ambled into his bar later that afternoon. “Tea, coffee? Get them whatever they like,” he motioned to the man behind the counter. He disappeared into the back and returned with an armful of books and binders.

“Here you go,” he said as he piled them up on a table for us. “Unfortunately I have a meeting soon, but I’ll give my friend Sakis a call and see if he has any rooms available for you.” Soon he had arranged a place for us to stay in Masouri, at Sakis’, and also for a taxi ride to take us up there. “Thanks so much,” I said, still a little bit in disbelief. If this was Greek hospitality, I could definitely get used to it.

Sakis didn’t disappoint either. When we arrived, he stepped out and warmly took our hands. “This is my father,” he said, as he introduced us to a kindly figure next to him wearing a traditional Greek fisherman’s hat and blue sweater. Sakis owned a bar called Fatoliti’s, and he rented out rooms from another building behind his bar. Read More...