Omani Dune Hoons

Omanis are renowned for being mild-mannered, polite and friendly but put them behind the wheel of a vehicle and meek Mohammed morphs into Crazy Kumar. The Jekyll and Hyde phenomenon reaches Mark Webber heights on the magnificent new expressways despite a 120kmh limit. But it is in the regions of Oman referred to as the “recreational sand areas” that crazy desert cowboys really let their mussars fly. And with petrol at less than 40 cents a litre why wouldn’t they open the throttle and guzzle gas like there’s no tomorrow! The dust never settles around these guys who cram numerous friends and family members into their brand new Jeeps, Toyota Landcruiser Saharas and other top range 4WDs and hoon up and down dunes with the sole intention of getting bogged so your friends in can haul you out.  

Alas this madness is not restricted to designated recreational areas. It was to become apparent a little later that it is far more fun to rev the bejeezus out of your vehicle and tear around like headless chickens in the desert proper where tourists are encouraged to experience the “silence of the sands”.

By comparison, the naive visitors in hired 4WDs approach desert areas of Oman with trepidation. We had pre-booked accommodation at the 1000 Nights Camp in the remote desert area called the Sharqiya  Sands, 40km from the nearest settlement. Having done our homework and armed with a map provided online by the camp, we pulled into the last fuel stop to deflate our tyres before the omnipresent gibber plains dissolved into sand. Immediately there was a tap on the window. “Hello, hello. Good guide. Me Sayeed. Good guide, good guide. I take you to camp.” Fortunately we had read about and expected an offer like this and negotiated half of Sayeed’s going rate. Another 4WD pulled up and the crafty Bedouin pounced, co-opting Dutchman Harry and nephew Jasper into our convoy. Harry admitted to never having driven a 4WD off-road before and was grateful for some hasty but reliable instruction from Andrew.  Meanwhile, Sayeed had ejected Jane into the back seat with a “sorry sorry” and took command. “Tyres, this way, this way, not here.” With Harry and Jasper in tow, we were directed to a tyre repair shop. 

Oh Allah be praised, shades of Montenegro, but this time to deliberately deflate the tyres for better traction in the sand. All set? Not quite, as Sayeed insisted on some Omani coffee before departure. Forever value-adding, he led us to a modest concrete shack where our party of four was introduced to coffee-bearing mother, reclining-on-couch grandmother and giggling sister. Next came a tray of dates, sticky Omani halva and fresh fruit. Did this hospitality come at a price? Of course, for next in the procession of family members came another sister with an assortment of handicrafts.  Sayeed encouraged us to take photos and this we did because handicraft sister was bedecked in the very strange Bedouin “beaked” face mask. The large mass of a brother in the doorway expedited sales of hand-woven bracelets, table runners and mobile phone pockets and, after some impressive haggling from Jane, and with no more relatives in the village for us to meet, we were able to take our leave.     

Once more in the car, Sayeed re-established control and started punching at the car radio. The volume control was a particular favourite and Omani pop music permeated the cabin.  “Music good, good.” The vast emptiness lay ahead – golden dune after golden dune, a few tufts of marram grass and the odd camel or two. Occasionally there was a fenced pen, for camels or goats, and a humble shelter. A rough gravel track was evident but Sayeed enthusiastically directed us away from this. With his hand gesturing wildly right, he would yell “Left, left” and hit the hazard light switch to indicate to Harry following behind  a change in direction. More gesticulation from Sayeed: “Stop, stop. Low range, low range.” In areas of very soft sand or going up a dune he would reach across Andrew and punch the  "second start" switch on the dashboard to stop the tyres from spinning hard. He would then smile broadly revealing a mouth of misshapen teeth and repeat (just in case we had forgotten) “Good guide, good guide”.

With a constant eye on Harry’s car in the rear vision mirror, Sayeed offered yet more driving advice and we deduced fairly quickly that his English did not include the word “right”. All directions were vocalized as left or straight. The hand gesture was the key. He boasted he could also speak French and rattled off bonjour and merci beaucoup but his face went blank at the mention of left (gauche) let alone droite (right)! Getting the picture? This entertaining journey had already been worth the $30 guide fee.

We had wondered, in our naivity, how many vehicles would be in the area as there were two camps other than ours. Most camp visitors are delivered by private tour agencies in sedately driven large 4WDs.  By far the majority of vehicles on our turf were the aforementioned boys in toys and Omani families looking for challenges far greater than those offered by the recreational sand areas. Consequently we were assailed by these “other vehicles” hurtling pell mell along the sand and up dunes in total disregard of traffic.

Keeping to the left or right does not apply in the desert; you pick a line, go for it and pray to Allah that there is nothing coming in the opposite direction. To his credit Sayeed kept a careful lookout for “the crazies” and motioned to Andrew to stop if he sensed approaching danger. He’d click his tongue, shake his head and mumble intelligible insults.

Our biggest driving challenge was soon to come. Approaching a large dune was a signpost to the 1000 Nights Camp. It was pointing up.  We found this on our little map and duly noted that the alternative route was marked with a skull and crossbones! So up it was but not quite yet because a large Landcruiser was bogged ahead of us. Forever the good guide, Sayeed directed Harry to remain stationary at the base of the dune while we went ahead to help. “Fast, fast,” he directed as we surged up the dune. The bogged Cruiser was axle deep in the sand which was not surprising given it was packed solid with Omanis –front, back and rear. How they get so people into a car is beyond us. Sayeed ordered the men and children out but the veiled women, obviously not averse to some hooning, stayed put. The good guide relieved the tyre pressure and dug around the wheels. Then, with the men and some extra helpers who had arrived in the interim, he pushed the vehicle out of trouble. Mission accomplished, Sayeed raced down to the bottom of the dune to instruct Harry to go “fast, fast” up the slope. The mini convoy was now back in its stride and it was not long before Sayeed decided we could manage the final 12 km on our own.  “Good road, good road. You go,” he said. After a last-minute plea for an extra few rial because he was such a good guide, he disappeared on foot into the sandy wilderness.

What an experience it had been with this pinch-faced Bedouin. We wondered how many times a day he would perform this service with the Omani coffee-handicrafts value adding. Our trip with him took 1 ½ hours. Not surprisingly the unaided return journey the next day took only ¾ hours including two wrong turns!   

The downside of Sayeed’s entertainment was arriving at the camp nigh on sunset. We raced up the dunes for some sunset photos and caught the glowing, orange orb just as it glided from view. Phew, what an afternoon! 

The 1000 Nights Camp is remote, no doubt about that, but has a swimming pool, hot and cold running water and electricity, albeit intermittent which plays havoc with the much publicized free internet facilities. An open-side central building houses a restaurant and lovely cushioned lounging area, small library and games collection. Above it is a conference hall.  The much publicized “silence of the sands” is to be savoured in the idyllic little oasis flanked by Bedouin style tent accommodation.

The tents of thick woven camel hair type fabric are mounted on carpeted concrete slabs with roofless but nicely tiled bathrooms attached at the rear. The camp does not run to air conditioning or ceiling fans but the cross breeze (if there is one) wafts gently through windows and the door which guests are encouraged to leave open. Beds are comfortable and there are chairs, a table and bedside furniture. While it is not exactly authentic with sequined cushions or veiled belly dancers,

it’s a reasonable attempt to provide what’s advertised. Everyone was looking forward to nightfall which we mistakenly thought would end the reveling of the cowboys in the adjacent dunes. But even at 2am some of them were still trying to melt their engines and burn their brakes. Convoys of headlights were visible on the dune peaks – all that was missing was doof doof music!

Guests at 1000 Nights are treated to the Omani equivalent of a hungi, and a  banana leaf-wrapped lamb was ceremoniously exhumed from a smouldering pit to be offered as part of a lavish and very nice bbq buffet. Soft drink, water and an array of coconut and cardamom flavoured sweet treats, beautiful fresh fruit and hot drinks completed the picture.
After dinner we were entertained by Bedouin dancers with the women in beaked masks as worn by Sayeed's sister. It was very repetitive and a bit hard on the ears but at least women were playing an active role despite looking like medieval hunting hawks in leather helmets.

We shared many travel tales with our new Dutch travelling companions. Harry was treating nephew Jasper to a Middle East holiday to celebrate his 18^th birthday and the beginning of his physiotherapy studies. They stayed on at the camp to go camel and quad bike riding. They promised to rescue us if they found us bogged on the outward journey!      

The Lovibond tour of Oman was not yet complete as the famous fortress town of Nizwa and coastal Sur remained on our list before the return to Muscat and a visit to the souk.

Nizwa is an historic and attractive town two hours inland from Muscat. Its 17^th century fort is a must see and we were fortunate to happen upon a ceremonial display of swordsmanship and chanting. The fort buildings are open to visitors and the most popular features are the “murder windows” and the towers from which boiling date oil was poured upon invaders.

Sur lies on the coast and also boasts an historic fort or three. It is the centre of traditional dhow building. There was some low tide maintenance activity occurring on dhows beached in the port evidenced by the toxic anti fouling paint leaching its red oxide into the lovely aquamarine sea. Not to worry because the otherwise very pretty beach was choked with plastic bottles and other refuse.  Near by a herd of urban goats was foraging in garbage. Sad but true.  Goats roam all over the place and are pretty neglected and folorn looking.   

We braved the manic evening traffic in Muscat to head to the souk. After the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul we knew we could handle the Arab stallholders. However, much of the merchandise was the same with an Omani emphasis on knives and daggers, “antique” brassware, camel souvenirs, fragrances, clothing and incense.   

It’s been quite a journey and it’s been good to share our travels with blog followers. The Greek Islands remain a highlight although Montenegro and Oman have certainly added a wonderful dimension and variation. And who could go past Paris? We hope you have enjoyed the ride.

Until next time, cheers Jane and Andrew.

Sultanesque Splendour

The splendiferous, ornate architecture of French kings and Byzantine priests have nothing on the opulence displayed in the palaces, mosques and other lavish public buildings in the Sultanate of Oman. His Majesty Sultan Qaboos Bin Said has invested squillions to drag his country into the 21^st century and many examples of his largesse are right in your face as soon as you hit the airport tarmac.

Chief among these architectural wonders is Sultan Qaboos’ recent gift to his people to mark the 30^th year of his reign. The Grand Mosque is quietly imposing from the outside, set in neatly laid out gardens of frangipani, callistemon and ash trees.

 This suite of graceful buildings interconnected by covered walkways is a monument to Islamic architecture in marble, tiles, crystal and gold. The first prayer hall is beautiful enough but the main one is stupendously stunning. It can accommodate 20,000 (male) worshippers and features a 70m X 60m hand loomed Persian carpet – the second largest in the world. Six hundred women took four years to weave it, a considerable feat, but the weavers and other female Omani Muslim devotees are not allowed to sully it with their feet. They have to pray in a separate area.

Despite that, Oman is very progressive in its treatment of women. While some of them wear the full burka, it is not mandatory and women have equal access to education and employment. Most men wear the traditional dishdasha white tunic with a casual kumah hat or mussar (Omani turban). It is a fair bet that dark skinned men wearing western dress are guest workers from India, Pakistan or Bangladesh – there are lots of them here. There about 3 million native Omanis but lots of ex-pats (mostly British, French, German and American) and the aforementioned guest workers who also come from Philippines and Egypt. Forty five per cent of the population is under 15 and the literacy rate is 85 per cent.

The Sultan has also built an opera house in the Islamic style and some top names have performed here we are told. He continues to lead investment in sports villages, luxury hotels, marinas and integrated business, tourism and residential developments at a rapid rate. He resides in palatial splendor in old Muscat which is, by and large, an administrative centre in a string of separate large towns which form Muscat proper.

Our exploration of Muscat started soon after arriving from Paris at 7.30am. We were among just a handful on our flight to stopover in Oman. The others were continuing to Bangkok or Zanzibar. We picked up our brand new 4WD and hit the road on extravagant four-lane highways.

As well as elaborate roadside sculptures (such as fountains and a giant incense burner) there still remains evidence of the old Muscat with old city gates and cliff top forts.

Parts of the old city are warrens of narrow lanes where it is best not to venture in a new 4WD! We followed a small herd of goats being ushered up a lane off the main drag. It appeared they were being led to slaughter as in a backstreet just nearby a group of men were hacking into a couple of fresh and bloody carcasses. Nice one. We won’t be eating goat tonight!!!!     

Alas the street signage and useful maps are non-existent and it took over an hour to pinpoint our hotel in the maze of one-way lanes. Once we located it (after asking many locals for assistance) we were not game to leave! We opted to walk around in 35 degree late afternoon heat rather than getting lost in the fading light. Another hotel guest had the same problem!

It is Eid festival week in Arab countries and schools and government offices here are closed. Even the souks and shops are shut until 5pm when families, groups of women, and men come out on the “cool” night air. It is just too hot to be out in the heat of the day and generally everything shuts from noon until 4pm for siesta. Apparently a lot of Omanis have flown the coop for the holiday but conversely a lot of people from the Arab Emirates have come here. They might have a change of scenery but no change in temperature! Talking of scenery, Andrew described Oman as one “giant rubble heap”.

Apart from a narrow coastal plain and the true sandy desert region, the country is extremely mountainous. Bare rocky slopes plunge into deep, deep gorges making an interconnecting system of roads across Oman impossible. It is very inhospitable but, surprisingly, it is these areas above 2000m that produce much of the country’s crops. Our 4WD took us to the high sierra of Jebel Akhdar accessed by the steepest tarmac road we have ever been on. A police road block ensures that no 2WD vehicles attempt   the ascent. Signs constantly remind you to be in low range and the 35km stretch with numerous switchbacks (shades of Montenegro) took over an hour simply because of the gradient.

The mountain and canyon views are awesome but it was a relief to reach the Saiq Plateau and our lovely hotel perched literally on top of the world. This accommodation is our treat for the trip. We were greeted with Omani coffee and dates and the heady aroma of frankincense smouldering in the incense burner. A swim in the pool set in native gardens was rather nice as well!

The hotel is the stepping off point for a trek that connects four little mountain villages at 2,004 metres. At this altitude it does actually rain and the temperatures are at least 10 deg cooler than the coast.  An elaborate system of miniature aqueducts has been created to irrigate amazing terraces supporting intensive agriculture. There are 4000 of these sophisticated and complex channels in Oman feeding various oases. They date back 1400 years and have earned world heritage status. They have been updated and kids like to play in them.

A 1 ½ hour clamber over a very uneven path led us by verdant crops of corn, orchards of apricots, peaches and pomegranates, walnut trees, grapes and olives. It was an amazing sight and it is good to see copious amounts of goat manure being put to good use. From a distance, the villages looked quite prosperous but on closer inspection both the houses and sanitation could do with a visit from the local authorities!

     

About a quarter of the total flora of Oman is found above the 1500m level where juniper and olive woodlands abound. They represent a key biodiversity group on the Arabian Peninsula. The Sultan is creating a botanical gardens in Muscat but without some form of temperature control even he may find the going tough!

Housing is a different story in towns serviced by proper roads. There are lots Arabesque McMansions with glittering mosaic front entrances and stained glass windows. While they may be sited on rubble heaps with no garden, they are often well fenced and gated with room for multiple cars. It is a strange sight indeed to happen upon a cluster of these opulent homes in the middle of nowhere as well as in the towns.

Only one more blog to go folks. Tomorrow we are heading to the ancient fort town of Nizwa and a desert camp before returning to Muscat for our final night and a visit to the souk.

Death by Crème Brulee

   

 Mon Dieu! It’s a good thing we had just three days in Paris because further opportunities to dine out would probably result in an emergency visit to the cardiologist. Where are you Sam? It is so hard to skip the calorific options on the menu when variations on chocolate everything, crème brulee and crème caramel are standard fare at every eatery in Paris. And that’s just the cafes and restaurants. Needless to say, the patisseries, the chocolate specialty shops, the macaron bars and the boulangeries offer the sweetest of treats as well. Not only is the fare delicious, it is an absolute feast for the eyes. Amazingly one of the most elegant salons de sucre is at Charles de Gaulle airport where the display is superb and complements perfectly the adjacent caviar, salmon, fois gras and wine bar. And that is just in the departures area, not the club lounges. Plenty of high fliers here in Paris.

We may not have been paddling hard at the Masters Games like many of our dragon boating colleagues, but in the past few days we have given our legs a thorough workout in Paris. We have walked the famous boulevards and the narrow rues, crossed the Seine bridges and climbed the escaliers. You miss so much travelling on the Metro underground and walking certainly keeps up the circulation on these cold 10 degree days.

Today we witnessed the most interesting sight on the lawns by the L’Ouvre: about 14 dogs all with orange neck scarves being socialized and exercised by their dog sitters. They were immaculately groomed and generally well behaved. Only a couple were on leashes while the others chased each other in the shadow of the world’s most famous gallery and performed for the passersby. We noted the Labrador was content to sit by one of the dogsitters’ backpacks – no doubt guarding a stash of doggie treats.

Another unusual sight was how to move house Paris style. Don't worry about humping furniture up five flights of narrow stairs. Just use an extension ladder with a clever little travellator. But don't try it with a grand piano!

To ensure we experienced some local culture, we toured the grand opera house. Such opulence - gold and marble on every surface, grand salons and even a gallery featuring portraits of past performers, miniature models of stage sets and a library of librettos and music. The stage was being prepared for a season of Aida and we were able to view both the stage and auditorium from a private box. How decadent it would be to have a season ticket to the Paris opera and sweep up the grand staircase in one’s finery!

The lavish décor of the opera house paled in comparison with the Palace of Versailles which we visited on a double-bill day trip with Monet’s home and garden at nearby Giverny. Although it was early autumn, there were still many colourful flowers on show in the impressionist’s famous garden – gorgeous yellow sunflowers and daisies, bright red geraniums, deepest blue verbena, a profusion of pink begonias and numerous others adding to a wonderful spectacle. The roses were spent and the water lilies were not in flower but it was lovely, especially given the backdrop of the Monet’s perfect country estate. Although the house seemed quite large from the outside, the rooms that visitors were permitted to shuffle through were quite small. Having seen the Monet exhibition in Melbourne recently, it lived up to expectations but how nice it would be to have it on your own for an hour or two. There were lots of people even on a cold autumn day and thankfully the gift shop was as large as the house because everyone was hankering to buy seeds, cards, aprons, calendars and all the usual merchandise.

If half of Paris was at Monet’s Garden, then the other half was at Versailles. Being a Sunday, families were picnicking in the grounds, riding bikes, tootling around in golf carts and just enjoying the patches of sunshine. The queue to visit the apartments was so long (at least an hour to wait in the freezing cold to get in) that we opted to traverse the extensive gardens and woodlands and enjoy the Mozart and Vivaldi program accompanying the wondrous water displays in the numerous fountains. By 4pm the queue to the Hall of Mirrors and other lavish apartments had dwindled to nothing so we did a lightning tour. Versailles is dazzling from the outside but totally over the top and oppressive inside. It is not a patch on the gorgeous Winter Palace in St Petersburg. Andrew has now added palaces to his “not to do” list.

He did capitulate and entered one last ecclesiastical monument in Paris to attend the 6.30pm Mass at Notre Dame. Actually we stayed only for the first 20 minutes to witness an elaborate procession of pious old men in pointy hats and fresh faced young men devoting themselves to chastity. The choir and organ shook the place to its foundations so we thought we had better leave lest we be struck by the wrath of Archbishop of Paris and his underlings, let alone the Almighty himself.

Next stop Muscat, Oman, for our 4WD adventure in the desert and then home sweet home.     

Organised Chaos in Athens

It really isn’t fair to reflect on experiences in Athens from a chic and gracious hotel room in Paris -  the undisputed culture capital of the universe.  But let’s face it, these two cities are chalk and fromage! Not that we didn’t enjoy Athens but two days of chaos was plenty.

Athens is basically the Acropolis/Parthenon which is shared with thousands of other visitors slipping and sliding on dangerous, uneven marble paving, broken concrete and rubble. The site has a commanding view over the city and beyond if the pollution level is reasonably low. Fortunately earlier rain had cleared and we were able to commune with the ancient gods under azure skies.

For us, the crowning glory of Athens is not so much this famous "mound” but the new Acropolis Museum.

This stunning architectural masterpiece was originally mooted in 1989 but planning permission, land acquisition and 130 million euros in funding was completed only in the last 10 years. It has attracted 5 million visitors in three years – more than the Acropolis – and entry fees easily cover running costs. Bill Bleathman and the TMAG crew, eat your hearts out! It houses what’s left of the valuable artifacts (friezes, statues, etc) in the most wonderful, spacious display. It certainly puts into context everything viewed on “the mound” and heightens your disdain for the ignorance of the tour groups who hound the Acropolis security guards with dumb questions like: “So what is this place anyway?” and “Is that building down there bigger than this one?”

The ancient Agora (market place)

There is still a lot of repair work being done on the Acropolis and scaffolding is everywhere. Renovations will continue forever as preservation techniques are constantly changing and improving.

 The paved promenade around the foothills of the Acropolis is lovely and a favourite haunt of Athenians who spend their evenings strolling and chatting with friends and family. The promenade links the area with other historic spots including the ancient Agora and the stadium where the first modern Olympic Games were held in 1896.

Our meanderings also took us to the “”must see” National Archaeological Museum and the noticeably less peaceful fish and meat market. This colourful and noisy place was probably on the nose but, as so many of the butchers and fishmongers were smoking, all we could smell was cigarettes! Fish is a staple in Athens and the variety on sale was amazing. The octopus, squid, anchovies and sardines were squirmingly fresh. The fresh meat market next door specialized in sheep heads and rabbits with the tail and paw fur still attached.

The fresh fruit was astounding and cheap with lots of pomegranates, melons and grapes!

We happened upon the changing of the guard at the Greek Parliament. Now we know where John Cleese received the inspiration for the Ministry of Silly Walks. How these guys maintain their composure while slowly raising their knee and then kicking out their leg is beyond me. The crowds watching the spectacle cackle and clap and the guards’ pompom-topped shoes clatter on the paving and the tassles on their hats waver about. It is so comical and it occurs every hour on the hour!

We did our best to help the Greek economy and there were a lot of visitors in the city but our hotel guy reckons the country still has a long way to go. While government employee numbers have been slashed and at least one politician is in jail for receiving kickbacks, things are still in turmoil. There are demonstrations and ad hoc strikes.  The German company which owns the new Athens airport (built for the Olympics) still won’t grant any concessions so it still has the highest landing charges in the world. 

The Greek taxi drivers have a dreadful reputation for ripping off tourists and we were constantly warned about pickpockets on the Metro in Athens. The Greek Government could take a leaf out of the Turks' book and "educate" their countrymen about how to encourage and look after visitors.

Having said that, we experienced no problems at all. 

Our hotel guy took us to the airport at 6.30am for the same price as an honest cab driver because he did not want  us to leave the country a bad impression.

We loved Greece, especially the islands on our wonderful cruise. What a way to visit off the beaten track places. It was a real privilege to do that. And our stays on Santorini and Mykonos? Absolutely unbeatable...........

Monasteries, Mastic and Magma

Andrew is at the point of monastic overload but today he capitulated and visited one last icon-enriched shrine. His reward was perhaps the bluest, most turquoise, beautiful water we have ever seen, far below the Hozoviotissis Monastery. Alas the water was out of bounds for swimming but just to gaze at its purity was indeed a divine experience. While the pleasures of such a vista is questionably wasted on the three monks, five goats and 30 cats who now reside in this cave-like and claustrophobic hermitage, the visitors who climb the 329 steps to the monastery cannot help but be totally captivated by the aquamarine sea and rugged coastline of the island of Amorgos.

After a visit to the main village on the island which was in the process of being closed up for the season, we had free time to explore the lovely port town and to swim at a secluded little cove in lovely clear water. The monks may have been safely tucked away in their cliff face seclusion, but the eyes of the church were still witnessing our every move as a little church was perched on the rocks right next to the beach. 

Wonderful weather and calm seas have contributed to brilliant sightseeing on the islands of Chios, Nisyros and Symi, all of which are closer to Turkey than Greece. The highlight of a visit to the 11^th century world heritage listed Nea Moni Monastery was a baptism. The guests were turned out beautifully and it was a treat to see this iconic pla ce overflowing with Byzantine mosaics being used by Orthodox Greeks who still take their religion quite seriously when it comes to weddings, christenings and other ceremonial events. 

Chios is home to two of Greece’s more unusual villages. Pyrgi is known for its “scraffiti”. The facades of most of the old buildings are decorated with intricate geometrical grey and white patterns formed by scraping whitewash off the grey render. It is quite an amazing sight.  

Not far away is the walled fortress town of medieval Mesta. Its production of a highly-prized tree resin, mastic, continues today and it is used in the production of toothpaste, hand cream, chewing gum, icecream and other products eagerly sought by vulnerable tourists. It tastes vaguely minty and has been distilled to produce a rather unappetizing digestive drink. Mastic was a hot commodity back in the 14^th century when Ottoman pirates would ransack villages in the “Mastiohohoria” area of Chios to take their prize back to the Sultan. Apparently there have been numerous attempts to grow mastic trees in other parts of Greece and around the world but all have been unsuccessful. The fragile combination of climate and soil is unique to Chios. The mastic forms hard little lumps and is laboriously separated from the bark and leaves of the mastic tree by hand.

The Stefanos Crater on the island of Nisyros provided a stark contrast to the beaches, quaint villages, monasteries and unusual architecture to date.  Nisyros sits on a volcanic fault line and a major eruption 30,000 years ago sent 3 cubic kilometres of debris and lava over much of the island. Successive eruptions have created five craters and steam continues to pour from the fumaroles. Sulphur crystals give the crater surface a yellow tinge and murky pools of mud bubble and squelch. It is quite surreal walking down into the main crater and the gurgling beneath the surface is said to be the groaning of mythological Polyvotis who was imprisoned underground.

The best view of the huge main crater is from above in the gorgeous village (yes, another one) of Emborios. No matter how many of these lovely villages you see, they never fail to impress. You just want to sit at a sidewalk café, soak up the atmosphere and gaze at the impossibly blue Aegean. After a while you ignore the 20 or so cats that might sidle up to you hoping for a crumb or two.

We are not too sure who owns or even feeds the thousands of cats that are seen at every turn on these lovely islands. Today we counted 14 cats hanging around a door step. They must have known it was lunchtime because a man came out of the house and emptied a bucket of scraps for them. They obviously serve a purpose (rodent control) and are not feral, timid or even aggressive but some are so thin and mangey it seems cruel to let them free range. Many little villages are car free but the peace is broken by the mewing of hungry felines and the hissing and screaming of toms protecting their territories.