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Patmos > an open book of revelations April 28, 2007

The island of Patmos has all the Mediterranean charm without the crowds. Over the centuries it was a shrine to John the Divine, now it’s one to sun, sea and cuisine

I first discovered Patmos in the late 1990s on an island-hopping cruise. I was with my family, and we promised ourselves we’d be back for more than a whirlwind afternoon tour. Recently we did just that, renting a whitewashed cube of a house above Meloi Bay for what was possibly the most relaxed two weeks of our lives.

Long a blip on the tourism horizon, Patmos, a rugged volcanic outcrop in the far-eastern Dodecannese islands, is emerging as a new favourite for people looking for sun, sea, culture and cuisine without the crush and commercialism of traditional Greek hot spots.

These modern-day seekers follow in the path of countless pilgrims over the centuries who made their way to the “Jerusalem of the Aegean,” as Patmos is also known. They came because, in the words of Hail John, a folk song popularized by the Rooftop Singers in the 1960s, “They put John on the island.” “They” were the Romans who used Patmos as a handy dumping ground for Christian troublemakers from the ancient cities of Asia Minor.

“John” was St. John the Divine, author of the Book of Revelations, a.k.a. the Apocalypse, the last book of the New Testament. Exiled to a cave on Patmos for preaching the Gospel in the pagan metropolis of Ephesus, a major Roman centre in what is now Turkey, John experienced a vision in which Jesus described the ultimate victory of good over evil, the end of the world and the creation of a new Heaven and Earth. Apocalypse is the Greek word for “reveal.”

John’s cave very quickly became a shrine, and all of Patmos considered hallowed ground. More than 300 churches are scattered from one end of its 14 kilometres to the other, some of them barely large enough to hold two or three pilgrims. Looming on the mountaintop above the cave is a huge fortified monastery, begun in the 11th century, that contains a wealth of art and religious treasures.

But while day-trippers from the cruise ships still board the buses for the run up to St. John’s cave, many more pour off the ferries every summer looking for simple creature comforts and tranquility in a traditional Greek setting.

Some take rooms in the small hotels or family-run pensions in the gently bustling port of Skala or in the town of Chora, which surrounds the monastery. Others head for more remote villages or beach resorts. Still others head to the wonderfully serviced campground just outside of town, with its excellent beach, swimming and snorkelling on Meloi Bay. Meloi is one of more than a dozen unspoiled coves and bays around the island recently discovered by yachtsmen from around the world. 

We read a lot. I’d brought one of my favourites, The Greek for Love by renowned Toronto author and food critic James Chatto. He touchingly chronicles the joys and tragedies of raising a family while renovating an abandoned house in a remote village on Corfu. The book added meaningful perspective to our much less challenging adventure.

But there were parallels. On Patmos, as in Corfu, water is a precious commodity. It must be captured during the winter rainy season and husbanded carefully during the long hot summer. If the cistern in your house runs out, the only remedy is an expensive delivery from the Patmos water seller’s tanker truck. That ominous possibility moved us very quickly to adapt to short showers, washing our dishes in shallow basins and collecting and recycling the grey water for the few plants that struggle to survive the arid months.

We mustered our energy to take some wonderful day trips to beaches around the island. Some were pebbled, others sandy, but, in every case, the water was crystal clear and as brilliantly blue as the sky.

Our favourite was Psili Ammos beach on the southwest hook of Patmos. You get there by either a 45-minute commute in a water taxi from Skala harbour or a mildly demanding half-hour hike across the craggy heights from Diakofti Junction, which keeps all but the most adventurous confined to the lesser beaches. The legacy of Patmos as a holy site is reflected in the warnings prohibiting topless and nude bathing, but by and large, naturists are left alone on their stretch of Psili Ammos.

Nightlife is definitely subdued here compared to real tourist spots such as Mykonos. Only one disco is listed in the tourism pamphlets. But countless small tavernas and estiatoria, restaurants, have offerings for every palate and budget. All encourage long, lingering meals, whether it’s a simple Greek salad and a Mythos beer, or a more elaborate spread with mezedes, souvlaki, moussaka or giant sardines, all of it washed down with Ikaria wine.

And, of course, a Greek meal that doesn’t end with a slab of honey-soaked baklava simply isn’t complete. Sitting in a cliffside taverna watching a silvery moon rise from the edge of the world far below, we were happy we had taken the road less travelled.