A Day Around Rhodes

 

We set off 10,000 Drax lighter, having hired a little Fiat Panda for the day. With Anna navigating and Marni in the back in a makeshift carseat, we eased out onto the coastal ring road. For the most part it runs smooth and immaculate, ruler-straight along the shoreline, with the Aegean glittering on one side and the scorched hills of Rhodes rising on the other.

Our first real stop was Monolithos Castle, about 70km southwest of Rhodes Town. Perched dramatically on a rock above the sea, its ruined walls and chapels seem to cling to the cliffs, offering staggering views across to Halki and the scatter of islands beyond. From there we wound down the Z-bends — a curling, hairpin descent — until we reached a small, secluded beach directly opposite the little island of Stregilo. The sea was still, clear as glass, and we let Marni stretch her legs on the pebbles before heading on.

Back up into the hills we drove, reaching Siana, a small mountain village famous for its honey and souma (a fiery local spirit). Lunch there, however, left a bitter taste — the bill padded and the service perfunctory. From my previous Greek experiences, having lived here, it's evident that greed was beginning to backfire on the tourist trade in Greece, with overpricing leaving package holidays unsold. Sitting in Siana, it felt uncomfortably true.

From Siana we cut inland, chasing petrol. The little Panda was running low by the time we found a pump in Apolona, another hill village some 40 km inland. Refuelled, we considered pressing on to Platania, but the road ahead was little more than rubble and dust. After a cautious look at the cliff edge, we swung a U-turn, retraced our way back, and cut across the spine of the island towards Salakos.

That brought us eventually to the Valley of the Butterflies — Petaloudes. It’s a shady, green gorge about 25 km southwest of Rhodes Town, famous for the clouds of Jersey Tiger moths that gather in their thousands each summer. We parked and walked the two-mile path: bridges, wooden walkways, and endless stone steps climbing beside streams and waterfalls. Butterflies clung to tree trunks in thick clusters, flashing orange and black wings when disturbed. The climb was punishing in the August heat, made more trying by the pushy crowds (the Italian tourists in particular treating the place like a theme park), but it was worth the effort for the quiet glades at the top.

By the time we emerged, it was late afternoon, and we decided to take the long loop back around the north of the island — partly by accident, since we’d left the map in the hotel. The detour stretched the journey, but with the windows down and the coastline unspooling beside us, it was hard to complain.

Evening fell as we finally rolled into Lardos, a lively little village about 55 km south of Rhodes Town. We stopped for tea, glad to rest. But Rhodes had one more twist in store: after finishing up and setting off again, we took a wrong turn, drove for twenty minutes through the dark countryside, and somehow — impossibly — found ourselves right back in Lardos, or Lard Arse as we called it.