After spending half a month going to beaches and exploring villages, I felt like it was time to do something new on Skopelos: go for a hike. I found a route that passed several monasteries, so I hopped on the first bus to cross the island, and an hour later, I was starting my hike. Little did I know, I immediately began on the wrong route.
After spending ~45 minutes hiking along a winding asphalt road, I made it to the first monastery. I stopped for water and took in the view of the sea and village of Skopelos town from above. A man beside me picked small fruits from a tree. He didn’t understand me when I asked what the fruits were, but he showed me how to peel and eat them. I ate a few of the fruits he handed me and later realized they were figs! There are so many fruit trees on the island. I can see a lemon tree from my balcony, and I also think you can find other citrus fruits, plums, pomegranates, and definitely olives.
What happened next is something I will never forget. I figured I was not dressed appropriately for entering a monastary, but I thought I could at least ask. An old Greek woman sat at the entrance of the monastery’s courtyard. I asked in Greek if she spoke English; she nodded, and to be safe, I pointed to my outfit and asked if it was okay if I entered how I was dressed. She nodded and shrugged (as if it was a stupid question), and signaled me to go inside. I walked through the courtyard gates and was completely taken aback at the beauty of the courtyard. The courtyard was filled with blooming flowers and fruit trees. The whole garden and buildings were filled with soft colours and sweet smells. It was so peaceful. And then a man approached me speaking English, and I felt something was wrong.
“Excuse me, please, you have to leave. Your clothes… the monk…” he trailed off.
A few people were looking at me. “Oh, I was told my outfit was fine,” I apologized and followed him out of the courtyard. He seemed surprised by this. Amazingly, there were several pieces of flannel cloth that were available for visitors to use to cover themselves. The man disappeared, and I covered my chest and shoulders with the cloth. I wasn’t sure if I needed to cover my legs as well. I looked to the old Greek woman by the entrance for approval. She looked me up and down and nodded, signalling me to once again enter. After only a minute or so of walking around the courtyard, I heard yelling. I looked around frantically and found everyone was staring at me. The monk had emerged and was staring at me and pointing. I was under the impression that monks were disciplined, calm people. But my appearance seemed to have sent this monk into a fit of rage. “OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT”!
I scurried out feeling a little humiliated. A woman and the same man as before followed after me. They offered to help me use the clothes to cover up more, assuming that’s why I was forced to leave. I said I didn’t really feel like going back in. I turned to the Greek woman who was still sitting in her spot, completely unfazed. Had she been messing with me this whole time?
I considered ending my hike, but didn’t want to let getting yelled at by a monk ruin my day. I found the hiking path I was supposed to be on the entire time and decided to take it to the next monastery. I followed a narrow stone path lined with trees along rolling hills until I came to a road. I reached the road around the same time as a man in his 50s or 60s. I’d seen him on the bus and at the first monastery. He asked me if I was also doing the monastery hike. We chatted briefly, but I didn’t want to spend my whole hike talking to him, so I kept my distance. After 20 more minutes of walking alone in the heat with a pretty unreliable map, I caught up to him.
His name was Jacek, he is a Polish geophysicist who is on vacation in Skopelos with his family and family friends because they love Mamma Mia, but he couldn’t convince anyone to hike with him. He was quite excited about the rock formations around us and explained that the dirt was so red in some places because of the iron deposits. We walked to the next few monasteries together, and it was great to have the company and someone to navigate. We discussed science, religion, traveling, and our countries. In one of the active monastaries, he came outside where I was waiting in my inappropriate attire and said, “you should really check this one out, it’s beautiful”.
“I don’t think I’ll be allowed,” I responded.
“You can ask,” he suggested. But my wounds were too fresh.
“I’ll ask,” he offered. He spoke to the man at the front of the courtyard, pointing at me. The man shrugged, and I was allowed in. This was a much better experience than the previous one!
After hours of hiking in Greece’s midday summer heat, I was happy to jump in the ocean, but not before taking a photo with Jacek and meeting him and his daughter for a coffee .
The day of my monastery hike (August 15th) turned out to be a very holy day for me, because this also happens to be the day the Greeks celebrate the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The day starts with attending a church service and ends with an outdoor festival. “I had to get up so early this morning to go to church,” Eleni told me.
“Oh, really, what time?” I asked.
“Nine!” she answered. To her credit, 9am really is an early morning when your daily schedule tends to involve staying up until 4 or 5am and sleeping in until midday. I often wondered how young Greek people found the energy to stay up so late, singing and dancing each night. “It’s summer in Greece, we can sleep in the winter,” a tired resident told me one night.
I walked down the pedestrian pathway from Glossa to Loutraki port and met Eleni outside a crowd that had gathered around the stage where traditional Greek music and dancing was taking place. Once again, residents old and young had gathered to take part in this special tradition. I think this incident proves just how important music is to Greeks. “Oh no, an old woman has collapsed!” Eleni exclaimed. We all looked over to where a small group had formed around the woman. I anticipated some announcements to be made and people to clear a path for first responders. Instead, between lines in the song, the lead singer quickly added “…is there a doctor here..?” and continued singing. Everything carried on as normal. There is no hospital on the island, as I found out for myself. I asked Eleni what would happen if someone got seriously injured.
“My father was in a terrible motorcycle accident years ago,” she told me. “He broke almost everything on the left side of his body and had to be transported to a hospital in Volos on the mainland. The only way to get there is by ferry…” She used her hand to mimic large waves. “It was not a smooth journey; he was in pain the whole way. He’s recovered now and is back on his bike.”
Posters began appearing around the island, taped to walls, posts, and storefronts, informing everyone of the 25th annual disco party taking place later in the week. Sadly, the day before the disco, an elderly resident of the island passed away (not the woman from the festival). Eleni told me the disco would be postponed out of respect. When I went to the grocery store in Glossa that day, I found a piece of paper taped to the door that read “closed for mourning for a few days”. Joys and losses in the community are experienced by all. After a few days of my supplies – particularly toilet paper- running low, I had no choice but to hike down to the port (and then back up) to get groceries. I was told by a resident that Glossa means tongue in Greek, which is a fitting name for the village, given how much climbing up stairs you have to do if you live there.
When you think of visiting a Greek island in the summer to have fun with your friends, you might think of Mykonos, Ios, or some other party islands… But I couldn’t imagine a better place than Skopelos to spend 10 days with my best friend, Chloe. I met her in Loutraki port after her ferry arrived and had a blast watching her take in the island: feeling nauseous as the bus winds up the road to Glossa and lugging her bags up the endless stairs.
Chloe arrived just in time for the annual disco. The whole town seemed to have gathered in the school yard where the concert was held. For the first time since I arrived, I finally knew the music that was playing. They played a mix of Greek and English music from different decades: Elvis, Madonna, ABBA… In typical Greek fashion, the party didn’t really get going until midnight, which is as late as Chloe, exhausted from travel, could stay up. At around 1am, I was standing on the dancefloor chatting with my friends when a bunch of people who looked like secret security in their all black outfits began making their way through the dance floor, separating the crowd to create an aisle. Everyone looked around, confused. The regular music was cut and replaced by an eerie, intense soundtrack that sounded ritualistic. Men in all black walked down the aisle slowly, one step at a time, carrying lit torches. They were followed by a woman in all white who was slowly beating a drum. People began handing out those really crazy sparklers you see on top of birthday cakes. We weren’t sure what to do with them until the music cut again from the solemn song to an upbeat pop song about being on a throne. Four men emerged at the start of the aisle carrying a man on a throne who was dressed in a red robe, a crown, and holding a stick with a disco ball on it. A sparkly gold carpet was unrolled in front of him. Everyone lit the sparklers and cheered as he walked down the carpet. The aisle ended at the stage where he announced himself as the DJ for the evening and began playing Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff,” and everyone cheered and began dancing. I left when the party was still going at around 4am. I went to the bakery for a cheese pie, and if it wasn’t for it being completely dark outside, you would think it was the middle of the day. People filled the picnic tables in the cobblestone street outside the bakery, sitting under string lights, chatting. The Greeks are a different breed!
I spent the next 9 days with Chloe swimming, napping on the beach, cooking, painting water colours, drinking Mythos beer in the town square, playing cards, and visiting an olive oil museum. A dream come true! One day, we got a ride with Fotis and Eleni to a beach on the north side of the island. We had to access it by following a narrow trail through thick shrubs and scaling down some slippery rocks, but the view made it all worth it. The rugged coastline on the north side of the island is completely untouched and wild. The colours are so vibrant, it reminded Chloe and I of Ireland- but with warm, crystal clear water. As we struggled to access the beach, Eleni and Fotis helpfully informed us that the name of the beach in English means “She’s Dead Beach”… Great!
I revisited Amarandos Cove with Chloe, where we spent time snorkelling. We swam towards this narrow strip of white sand, floating in the warm, shallow water of a cove we had all to ourselves. The white cliffs formed a U-shape around us with pine trees growing seemingly from the rocks. We noticed a bunch of dead jellyfish floating nearby with holes in them. Fish appeared to be eating them. I also found my third octopus! After swimming, we walked around the cove and I finally saw the spot where the cast of Mamma Mia sat under trees while filming the “Our Last Summer” scene. I had completely missed this before.
I also revisited the Mamma Mia church with Chloe, but instead of the 50 euros I spent getting a taxi with my mom, we opted to do the 1-1.5h walk from Glossa. The walk was scenic and full of surprises; we saw goats and beehives. At the top of the church, we were alone with a man who was lighting candles. He excitedly spoke to us in broken English. He handed us each a candle and showed us the sign of the cross. Then he held up his hand and said, “Mamma mia, here”. And then moved his hand up higher and said, “St. John, here”, indicating that St. John, who the church is named after, is more important. We made our way down to the beach beside the church, and Chloe said, “I don’t know, I think Mamma Mia has a bigger cult following”. This beach, also on the north side of the island, was stunning. It was my favourite beach on the entire island. Chloe remarked, “its like the pine trees are trying to cling on, but the cliffs around us are just too steep”. The water was filled with large black rocks you could climb on and jump off of. There were two sailboats anchored, bobbing peacefully in the small waves.
“I’ll see you at Christmas!” I yelled to Chloe as she boarded her ferry to go back to London. We had jumped in the sea one last time while waiting for her boat. I found myself alone again, and walking, seemingly on autopilot, back up to Glossa, holding my wet bathingsuit. Solo traveling brings you periods of socializing and periods of solitude. The mixture is both incredible and melancholic.
Last Updated on November 13, 2025 by Megan Duchesne