The plan for the day was simple. We headed to the second largest town in Folegandros…Ana Maria. We’d hoped to poke around the town and then head to a beach. We heard that there were several you could either walk to or catch a cique to (that means boat…yes we are learning here.) So the bus let us off and as far as we could tell, this so called town consisted of one, maybe two buildings, and a lot of dirt roads leading to more dirt roads. Our companion bus riders, who appeared to be heading to the same place as we were…sporting the classic beach attire, all exited the bus with us, but in the time it took us to do a quick scan of our surroundings, these people had disappeared, and we were left standing with a Swedish mom, her two kids…..and a tiny little Greek man named Nicholas who wrapped his arms around Sarah and began talking very quickly in Greek, unphased by the fact that we had no clue as to what he was saying…he just continued to ramble on, leaving Sarah and me trying to make sense of the situation. After a few minutes, we realized just what sweet little Nicholas wanted. He was trying to convince us that the best way to the beach was to rent donkeys from him (or were they mules? or maybe hinnies?) and let him lead the way. He promised to take us to the most beautiful beach. We counted, and Nicholas spoke six words in English, so it was a real feat for us to realize that this was the offer on the table. We conferred briefly and realized that this was an opportunity we could not let go. Riding donkeys through the Folegandros countryside, lead by the tiny Greek Nicholas (he was really tiny)…And to be completely honest, what else were we gonna do? We had no idea where the beach was, and now that all the other beach goers had somehow vanished, we couldn’t even follow the crowd. The price seemed fair enough, so we shelled out the euros. And to further validate our decision, we saw that the Swedes were in as well. Even though we had no idea what exactly lay ahead of us, it was nice to know that we’d be sharing this adventure with other travelers. The mom, Monica, spoke relatively fluent English, which was a real comfort, and seemed to have a knack for communicating with Nicholas even though she didn’t speak Greek. So lots of pictures later, we had all mounted our donkeys and set off down the dirt road. Something you should know – Nicholas helped each of us on to our donkey and then lead his over to find a stone or hillside to stand on to give himself a boost on to his. In the time it took to do this, the poor Swedish kids were a quarter mile down the road. They seemed to stay pretty calm, though.
We rode along for quite awhile, really enjoying this excursion. Nicholas jabbered pretty much nonstop, which was a real mystery to us because we clearly weren’t understanding so much of what he was saying. He was a persistent fellow, though. With the added pantomime, we were able to catch bits and pieces of what he was telling us. Most of our brief conversations ended with him grinning and saying repeatedly, “No problemo.”
Many conversations later, we realized that we’d been trotting along on these donkeys for a very long while, and we wondered how we would have made this journey on foot…And where had those other beach goers disappeared to? And how were we going to make it back? Nicholas sure delivered on his promise, dropping us off at one of the most secluded and gorgeous beaches we’d seen. Relieved to have made it, we started a very long and no less confusing conversation about how to get back. It basically consisted of Nicholas saying – bus, 6 o’clock, Nicholas, penta – and then he’d point to some numbers on his watch. And we’d furrow our brows, so he’d repeat the whole routine. We were pretty hot and ready for the water, and realized that the more he repeated these phrases, the more frustrated we would become, and not get any closer to understanding the plans for our departure. We had high hopes that penta meant 5 o’clock, which seemed a likely time to make the 6 o’clock bus. We said good-bye and settled in with the water stretching out before us.
It didn’t take long for us to realize that even though this was one of the most beautiful beaches yet, it was by far the hottest. It’s like the blazing hot sun was allowed in, but even the slightest breeze was forbidden. We stretched out on our towels until we were dripping in sweat, and then headed to the water. Turns out, the water surrounding Folegandros is freezing. It was definitely refreshing, but unless we were swimming, it was almost too cold to bear. We split our time between snorkeling and sweating on the beach until we were surprised by Colin, the Swede, telling us that the donkey man was back. It was only 4 o’clock, and my first thought was that Nicholas was stealing an hour of our beach time. I thought about what to do and lifted my head from where it had been resting on my hand to find that a pool of sweat had gathered in my palm. Nick could take the last beach hour – ain’t no way I was walking back. So we gathered our things and followed the Swedes.
Here’s how the departure went: Nicholas helped Colin and his sister Christine mount their donkeys and then sent them on their way, a different way than we had come. They climbed a steep hill that lead to the top of a cliff overlooking the beach. Monica was next. My heart was beating a bit faster on behalf of the kids who had reached the cliff’s edge. I desperately wanted the rest of us to mount our donkeys so we could save the Swedes. Nicholas walked over to my donkey, but instead of helping me, he reached into the saddle bag and pulled out an unfamiliar piece of fruit. Then he peeled it and ate it. Then he pulled out another and offered it to me. So I shouted at him, “What in heaven’s name are ya thinkin, Nicholas? Forget snack time! We have to save the Swedes from plummeting into the ocean!” (Well I said it in my head.) I declined the fruit, so he ate it, and we finally started our climb up to the cliff’s edge. My heart continued to race as I watched my donkey’s hooves landing carefully on the boulders that climbed the hill in front of us. Sometimes I stopped watching, as it seemed better for my health.
The ride back was beautiful, and we were grateful to be seeing a whole new part of the island, but it was very unsettling following a man we really couldn’t talk to. We rode and rode until finally we reached the bus stop. But we kept riding. Uhhh, Nicholas? What’s the plan man? He just kept leading us toward Chora, where we were staying. I started to wonder if he would take us the whole way home. It’d be great to save the bus fare, but I was certain that our chafing selves were not up to it. Since the sun had sucked every bit of assertion I had previously possessed, I just bobbed along. Every now and then when we passed an oncoming car, I would look at the driver and say, just loud enough for Sarah to hear, “Help. I’m being held captive on a donkey.”
Just when I had mastered balancing my legs up by the donkey’s head and reclining back in the saddle (and by saddle, I mean slats of wood) we pulled over. Not at a bus stop. Not at our home. We were at a watering hole. I guess when you traipse around endlessly in the hot sun, the donkeys work up a thirst. I continued to recline on my donkey, my thoughts darting back and forth between frustrated confusion and deep gratitude for such a ridiculous experience. But mostly I was wondering if we’d ever make it home. Just when I thought we were finally going to start the last leg of the trip, Sarah whipped out her Greek phrase book. She motioned Nicholas over, seeing this as a prime opportunity for a lesson. Are you kidding me?!? I knew that Sarah had been wanting to learn the correct pronunciations of a few phrases, and I recognize this as a completely appropriate endeavor. But are you kidding me? I’d been blasted by the sun, my thighs were about to call it quits from holding me securely atop my donkey, and I was beginning to resign myself to the fact that Nicholas was just taking us home with him to be his farm hands. And I’d seen how easily he was distracted from caring for the Swedes. Remember the fruit incident? It wasn’t until he’d assisted her with an entire page of her book and I had sighed several times that we set off again.
It was indeed the last leg. Nicholas, despite the minimal communication, lead us right to where we needed to be…another bus stop directly back to Chora. And to be completely honest, he did much more than that. He showed us far more of the island than we ever would have seen on our own, took us to a beach we never would have found, kept us laughing with his nonstop charm, and all for such a low price. Here’s to that little Greek man for not selling out to make a killing off the tourists, for staying authentically Greek (and eccentric), and for teaching Sarah several phrases she has repeatedly put to good use. I did have moments of frustration during this excursion, but they were far outweighed by moments of thinking – I can’t believe that this is my life. What a ridiculously wonderful addition to my story.