By and large, the west side of the island is windy and the east calm. The most popular beaches are sandy, wide and on the east side. They have fantastic colors of water and are calm, like swimming pools. Much tourism surrounds them.
The western beaches are lapped by small waves and have developed landscapes of smooth pebbles. The water is still pretty calm – but not as calm or shallow as the eastern beaches – and the breeze can be too much for some people. Kids generally do best on the big, wide, calm sandy beaches – certainly my kids prefer it most of the time, although Sennen sometimes likes some waves.
Therefore, on a day when everything feels humid and stagnant, there are a few places you can count on for some cooling air and most of those involve pebble beaches. High on the west side of the island, Lampi has a taverna and a "snack bar" with organized but cheap, uncomfortable lounge chairs. The cliff above Lampi has the only two wind turbines on the island – which tell you how strong and reliable the breeze is.
Lampi reminds me of Lovina in Bali – a beautiful beach area on powdery black sand north shore that because of mountains separating north from south is just a little too far from everything else to really take off. Sadly, Lovina had begun to gain traction in the early-to-mid 90's before a banking and economic crisis in Indonesia caused the Rupiah to plunge and development to die-off. The facilities for a larger tourism remained and the result is a beautiful, but slight ghost-townly vibe in an undervalued paradise.
Like Lovina, I have a fond spot for Lampi. The taverna is good and always grateful for my business – and the beach is never too crowded to enjoy.
Imagine my surprise when two days ago, I decided to beat the heat by lunching in Lampi – a lyrical proposition – and rolled down the hill into a swarm of French. Some were on the beach, but not enough to take away from Lampi's signature elbow-room. No, they were all at the taverna – which must have been a dream for the owner – though a shock for me as I had to walk around trying to decide which of the few remaining tables I would occupy.
Being a Francophile, I can imagine many worse situations that finding myself surrounded by French vacationers enjoying salads and freshly grilled seafood at beachside tables. It felt like an elegant picnic with people wearing very expensive swimwear and coverups. In fact, many families visited and introduced one another politely. Cheeks were frequently being kissed and cigarettes dangled with a delicacy that only an Olympic figure-skater could fully appreciate.
Were I in Cannes, I would have felt in my element. I would have summoned my inner-Cannoise, got my French head on straight and embraced everything about it – except the cigarette balancing. But something didn't spark, the engine didn't turn over. It all felt out of place. Where did they learn about Lampi? Who gave them this address and phone number? Don't they know Lampi is the ostensible dregs but secret gem of the island that isn't supposed to draw this many people? How could they be taking up all my breeze (as if it was scarce)?
I tried to settle into it. The typically slow taverna service was now slower than every with so many tables to manage and I not only was enjoying the cool air, but didn't want to cause a problem for the hard-working, erudite waiter who is a law-student during the school year. He had enough on his hands between the all the tables to serve and being out of his cultural element.
After an hour of eavesdropping and lunch, I realized I couldn't stay at Lampi for swimming. I wasn't dressed or prepared for a French beach. I also just wanted a quick swim to cool off and on any other day could have done it after eating without giving up my table. But now – between the continually arriving patrons waiting for tables (!) and the fact that sunscreening and going off two swim from my table just would have been tres gauche and possibly represented my nationality poorly – I had to go elsewhere for my refreshment.
In just two days, the French population of the island had changed far more dramatically than I expected. At evening yoga later, the entire class was French except me.
I was aware that August is when the French showing would increase, but in August 2019 the French had never wandered as far north as Lampi – at least not in those numbers. No, there was a much more modest French presence, concentrated to the south near Grikos and Petra – as is customary.
Given I just needed a quick swim and I didn't want to either pay for a lounge chair or deal with crowds, I rode up to Livadi Geranou, a gorgeous eastward facing northern beach that was actually more pebbly than I remembered. I prefer pebbled beaches – you can walk away clean. Livadi Gernaou has no lounge chairs – or what is called an organized beach. I refer to beaches without lounge chairs as disorganized beaches. Given my needs for the day, disorganized was perfect and while it had less wind than Lampi – the gorgeous, cool refreshing water with a modest number of beachgoers was perfect.
Yesterday at Petra, I was expecting French beachgoers, but not quite the number of them. It was the most full I had ever seen Petra – although there were still plenty lounge chairs chairs open. I still got a nice spot. The crowd had a different vibe than even earlier in the week. Like Lampi, Petra is far enough away that it is largely enjoyed by people spending significant time on the island and rarely by transient cruise passengers. Thus far, Greek tourists made up the vast majority of beachgoers – and their beach behaviors and sensibilities are quire similar to Americans.
Yesterday, Petra had a lot of topless women. The differences in swimwear, sunbathing habits and even how they swam made clear the cultural differences to beachgoing. Perhaps to the lounge chair operators' pleasure, the French tourists seemed to order more from the snack bar. Still, the nudity and lane swimming in the sea were a decided shift.
For the first time this summer, I heard some German on the beach too and spotted some Swiss license plates in one of the public parking lots.
"There are a lot of French people today, aren't there?" I asked one of the adult sons of the family who runs the beach concession.
"Yes, and soon there will Italians. After August 7th – that's when they come," he said with a wary sound.
It makes sense that on a small continent with so many countries packed so close together that stereotyping each other would be a pastime. Obviously, if all of these people found more in common, they wouldn't be divided into so many groups and nationalities. Unlike the North American countries which thrived off assimilation – Europe is a content of distinctions which centuries of royal intermarriages and wars to create empires could never erase. So far, the European Union has achieved many political and economic aims that French, German and Russian initiated wars and conquests never achieved. Perhaps that's precisely because the EU accepts that distinction is a bedrock facet of European life. Everyone can more or less remain who they are.
That doesn't mean they can't make fun or find annoyance in one another. Over the years, I've heard many Patmians' impressions, feelings and observations on the nationalities that come to Patmos. For example, I've heard the sentiment that French are cool and aloof. That they do a lot of shopping and not so much buying. That you can see them time after time and never know them or have a relationship. I can see that.
Most of what I've heard about Italians are worse. While French may or may not buy as much as Patmian retailers might like, they do spend of accommodation and dining. Italians are known for packing too many people into a house, apartment or hotel room. Some come with their cars and are known for their crazy driving.
"They don't know English or Greek," the owner of one cafe told me. "And they come in here and speak Italian to me expecting me to understand."
"You seemed to sell them what they wanted," I responded.
"Yes, I just watch how they point and do my best. They usually take it in the end."
I suppose that was the criticism of Americans decades ago before English was thee lingua franca of international travel and business. Only today Google Translate and similar apps are in all of our pockets. There has to be a better way….
Italians are known for partying late, getting up late and being hard on their hotel rooms.
"In August, it's the worst," Melanie the Dutch lady who cleaned the apartments where I stayed last year told me. "Italians come in August and I come to clean in the late morning and they're still sleeping because they probably went to bed at 5 am. So I start coming later to clean. Finally, I learned not to show up until 3 or 4 and even then, sometimes I have to ask them to leave if they want their apartments cleaned."
I have also heard the occasional accusation that Italians are cheap.
Manolis who owns the organic shop gave me his ranking by nationality for which are the most economically beneficial to Patmos. the Anglophone countries are the top of the pyramid – Americans, Canadians and British being preferred customers known to spend and who are far less likely to window shop. Turks, Germans, Spanish and Mexicans were given a second-tier ranking. Italians were down at the bottom tier.
These next few weeks are Patmos' stress test. The island of 3000 permanent residents (which is a loose measure because many landowning, died-in-the-wool Patmians take long winter vacations and/or have apartments in Athens they visit off-season) peaks at a population of 20,000 during August – and that doesn't include all the day-visitors from cruise ships.
Overall, I enjoy the international character Patmos takes on this time of year. It makes things interesting and certainly a number of businesses I enjoy wouldn't exist without them. Only now, I see the tourism as something separate from myself – something that I can take or leave, but am no longer a part.
This always feel most so in moments like last night when I'm walking around picking up my take-out for dinner. Souvlaki skewers from Alas, dolmades from Sagittarius and chocolate baklava from Cheres Bakery in the back of town. I'm trying to get from one place to another while the tourists stroll, meander and point – looking at the shops, taking pictures of the beautiful narrow pathways through town and enjoying everything charming about Skala. Only they're slowing me down – which is a good reminder both to slow down myself and what a beautiful place I'm in that people are stopping to take pictures everywhere.
But nothing feels more local and less touristy than when I'm walking home during the evening, crowds milling past Cafe Mostra and I find a break in the flow to make a quick turn off the "street" and walk down the narrow path between two buildings and disappear. My house in the middle of everything, invisible to everyone, often unknown even by locals.
I suppose that's the change in my experience at Lampi – I don't want the local treasures eroded by foreign tourists! In all my past visits, Lampi was off the beaten path. Petra too is the least populated of the tourist beaches. In one sense, I'm glad tourists are enjoying this gem of an island. In another, I want some parts reserved and protected – even from fantastic French dejeuners sur la plage.
Perhaps part of me worries that Patmos will be the next Bali. When I first visited and soon after took up residence in Bali, few people at home had heard of it – no one could find it on a map – and of those who knew Bali, they rarely had heard of little Ubud where I lived. A combination of global trends and Eat Pray Love put both Bali and Ubud in particular at the forefront of public consciousness. When I first visited Ubud in 2001, I stayed in a modest, but nice bungalow with a gorgeous outdoor shower in the middle of town for $5 a night and walked along streets still dotted with rice fields. The bungalows have been rebuilt and rent for at least 30 times their former price and there are no more rice fields inside Ubud anymore – except the little one Three Monkeys keeps for the character of their restaurant. Now there's congestion several times a day – often from large tour buses turning narrow corners that block traffic until they clear.
Although as a homeowner and soon-to-be Airbnb operator, tourism might be good for my pocket, I don't want what happened to Bali to happen here. Luckily, most people at home I tell about Patmos have either never heard of it, know it because of Revelations or stopped here on a boutique cruise. I'm fine with that. Patmos' big protection is its inaccessibility. You can only get here by boat which means some planning and effort and that will likely keep things from getting completely out of control.
The island's move to court cruise ships rather than more local stays also bodes well. From what I've heard it's a practical, strategic move by the local government and their version of a chamber of commerce to continue to tap into the tourism economy without losing the character of the island. Smart move.
So what happens for the next two weeks? Will the French recede from Lampi enough for me to cool off there again? Or will I have to continue to pursue ever-more remote spots for my quick swims? Or maybe after the winds come back Tuesday, this won't be such a pressing issue…?
Either way, it's just August – the busiest time of the year. I have apparently joined the ranks of the Patmians who both love and hate August in equal measure. More visitors changes things – more energy, less room at the beach, more money being spent, fewer secret spots, more French people coming at you doing the crawl or butterfly like they're in an Olympic pool.
Lucky for me, if I feel overwhelmed, I have the option to retreat to my nice quiet yard and home just behind everything and the ability to enjoy other months and times. It's my Patmos now too, so I can afford to be gracious.
