The island of Telendos was totally silent. No cars. No scooters. No boatloads of tourists. No hustle or bustle. There were places waiting for the tourists but the morning we were there it was deeply quiet.
We walked from one end of the settlement to the other encountering nothing but fishing boats and the distant sound of Greek music from the open windows.
It was hot and the red earth was scorched and dry. 
There would not be enough feed for a cow on this whole island – though I could live here.
At the most beautiful cafe we paused for a few hours . We ate spanakopita and drank Greek beer and sunk into the total quiet of The place. 
As the small fishing boats came and went delivering vegetables and fish to the wheelbarrow pushing residents the skippers would tie up and wander in to our cafe for a coffee or water and another spanakopita. They helped themselves, chatted for a while and wandered with ease and gentle nods back to their boats.
We watched as the little oven was totally emptied. No more food came out. And no one was ever offered a menu. Every seat faced the sea. We were able to sit for hours and rest.
Every half hour some kind of boat was available as a ferry – you just paid the skipper a couple of euro and climbed aboard with the locals.
Telendos was a view through a crack in the stone wall into another world. A world that was hard to describe as we could only view it not join it. See it, not experience it. And in this micro world it all revolved around the sea and this little port with its one short pier, the boats tied one to the other and the gentle kindness of its men to each other. Their perfect manners with the tourists. As though this has all been decided in some long ago town meeting. The women staying quietly almost out of sight – a moving shadow deep in an open doored house, cooking by a window or watching from the doorways their brooms in their hands.
These islands are spotlessly clean – everywhere. Even the alleys are shiny and in order. No bins or litter or tagging. The shutters and gates are well painted. The steps beautiful with care.
All the cafes and restaurants in Kalymnos, and this island Telendos, are outdoor. Often the kitchen is the central building with all the non locals kept out on the wide verandahs. We are not invited inside.
The life of a tourist is to see a cropped version of a place. Leaving us greedy and always wanting more. Hungry for something we cannot name.
I think I would like to live here a while. And dip more than my toe in the water.
Love celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
44 responses to “ISLAND CAFE”
Brilliant post!! “Hungry for something we cannot name”… that will be with me for a long while. Just beautiful words, C.
I miss spanakopita so much. 💜
Travel opens our minds to other lives and possibilities.
First, what IS spanakopita? Second in my own experience from living in Africa, I’ve found that you need to live in a place for a long tome until you’re accepted into the ‘inner sanctum’. That’s just as true too in these mountain villages. My guy knows practically everyone in town because he was the local ‘garbologist’ when some of the now-adults were in 1st or 2nd grade. He still calls some of them by nicknames or teases them about some prank they pulled, calls them ‘brat’ like he always has. You know, Ceci, I think you could make a go of it no matter where you went! Hats off to you, dear lady, and thank you for these gorgeous captivating pictures!
Where do people on those islands get water?
The water here is undrinkable. There are huge tanks all over the place with spigots – you just refill your bottles for free. I am not sure where that water comes from though.
silence is indeed golden. Lovely time- glad you are surrounded by family and beauty
lovely
Beautiful. Alfarnate and Alfarnatejo villages in Spain was that way. We got a glimpse. Ate in the home of a beautiful woman – and it left me wanting MORE! I would love go back in Sept – Nov when the olives are being pressed….. some day….
What a beautiful place, I can see why you could live there even without your cows! It looks quite warm, I wonder what the temperature is, I’m sure the breeze from the Mediterranean is refreshing and cooling.
A long time ago (40 years, could it have been that long!), I visited an American who had taken up permanent residence in a one room house up the hill from the main port on Kalymnos. I was living in northern Greece, and had read and heard about this curious hermit-poet. No one I met at that time on Kalymnos spoke freely to me in English, but they all knew and liked the straw-hatted American who lived alone and generally kept to himself. His name was Robert Lax, a classmate and close friend of Thomas Merton, a more well-known hermit-author. If you ever get to see any of Lax’s poems, you will grasp immediately a connection between his spiritual vision and the images and feelings you describe here. Spare, clean, pure, total simplicity are the only words that fit his art. Not so surprisingly they also begin to describe his experience of God, which I think was his reason for living there. Some years later he moved to Patmos, an understandable choice given his interest and age. Greece can bring out the poet in you,and sometimes the monk.
Ah spanakopita .. delish! Love your and those colours 😃And what would the farmy do without you!