An Odyssey Across the Mediterranean

Who else has been there? You’ve landed at a southern European hub, a long journey already behind you, but the final destination is still well out of reach. Perhaps you’ll stay the night where you are and continue the journey on the following morning; perhaps you’ll stick with the theory of momentum, getting it over and done with in one, determined slog.

The Mediterranean mainlands offer no shortage of coastal allure, nor do the larger islands with international airports that make travel seamless and stress-free. But something precious awaits those willing to venture to further flung, less accessible sources. Destinations, reachable only by ferry, offer a distinct kind of disconnection from the rest of the world, and the effort of the journey is as much a part of the magic. 

When you sacrifice ease for your summer holiday and commit at least a day or two of travel to get there (I live in London and the island off the coast of Sicily which I occasionally escape to, takes 17 hours of travel), more often than not, your patience is rewarded. There is something to say about embracing your fate. The moment you step onboard, leaving behind crowded airport terminals, sweltering bus stops, and chaotic taxi ranks, almost without controlling it, you enter a state of mandatory calm. Whether the ferry takes twenty minutes or two hours, it acts as a decompression chamber where modern urgency simply dissolves. Along with your bursting luggage, you’ve embarked with mainland stress and phone notifications, both of which get carried away by the sea breeze as the boat chugs further and further away from the masses (and from reliable phone signal). Taking in the unfathomable vastness of the open waters, you’ll pass the time listening to your summer playlist while watching the waves from a wind-whipped deck, sleeping off the travel exhaustion, and reading, planning or dreaming about what awaits on the other side of your own mini-odyssey. 

In essence, the ferry crossing acts as your invitation to settle into slower island rhythms. By the time your harbour comes into view you should feel unplugged, your city-life skin has been shed, and a deep sense of relief washes over you. Your mindset has been fine-tuned to your destination.

A ferry crossing alters not only the nature of the voyage, but the experience of the journey’s end. Because reaching these remote corners of the world is inherently so taxing and time-consuming, not everyone is willing to devote themselves to it. That’s for the best. The difficulty of reaching them acts as a natural guardian against hyper-tourism preserving their ecosystems and local heritage, which hang in a careful balance. On some islands locals rely on a thriving summer season to carry them through untouched winter months but as their small and sacred home, where the land and sea is kept pristine, there is no room for overconsumption. Aside from their geographical locations, nothing else about remote Mediterranean island life is extreme. It is a harmonious existence, with a strange sort of structure to its languid soul. That is not to be disturbed.

A note for the uninitiated. Firstly, make the journey worth your while. Never spend less than a week on your island of choice. Give enough time to yourself to shake off the travel before having to submit to it once more. If you can book-end your visit with a few nights on the mainland, everything will feel even more worthwhile. Secondly, do your research. The number of ferry crossings per day can be limited and you do not want to be stranded in a Mediterranean hub at the height of summer with nowhere to go. Research the islands’ personalities too - from Greek to Italian to French and Portuguese, they are not all the same in terms of size, character, and offerings. Make sure you find the one which suits you and your needs the best. For those who require a nearby hospital, ensure that your chosen island has one, as not all do.

Thirdly, when you travel is important. Remote islands have short seasons. The peak summer months guarantee openings of all the establishments, which is naturally when they are at their busiest. There is a charm to going in shoulder season months, where you experience local living on a more acute scale. But be aware that not everything will be up and running at certain times of the year.

Finally, your renunciation of convenience doesn’t end once you disembark the ferry. Small islands do not cater to those who crave functionality, accessibility, and variety. Or rather, they are but not in their most traditional sense: small island life functions like clockwork, but ticks at its own pace and refuses to bend to yours; while you don’t have access to everything you want, you will have access to everything you need. Many islands have just a few small supermarkets, a couple of tavernas, a local bar, a pharmacy and sometimes more churches than shops. Very soon however, you’ll find you don’t crave the superfluities anymore; and perhaps there’s no endless variety of dining and shopping options, perhaps you end up at the same local bar every evening, but what you will have are endless beaches, bays, natural terrains, fruit trees, the freshest local produce and the luxury of time slowed down. Truly, quite truly, what else could you want?