Skopelos, Greece
Let’s be clear from the very beginning. Mamma Mia is a dreadful film. Half of the cast can’t sing, and the other half can’t act. But one undeniable star of the film is the island. They were presumably after an ‘authentic’ Greek island, and chose the little island of Skopelos. And, after a similar deliberation, we did the same. And what a fantastic little island it is.
We landed at Thessaloniki, picked up a hire car and headed a few hours south to the port of Volos for the night. The next morning we rose early and boarded the first ferry to Skopelos, left the car and I headed up to the deck to soak up the sea air while Nicola snoozed on a bench. As I breathed it all in, I spotted a few dolphins leaping out of the water, crossing just behind the boat. I’d never seen dolphins before, so I was very pleased with this, and went to find Nicola who was livid that she’d missed them. She spent the rest of the ferry crossing peering at the sea, spotting a grand total of zero dolphins. After a few hours and a quick stop in Skiathos, we arrived at Skopelos.
The island of Skopelos is absolutely stunning. It’s abundant with plants and pines, with little tracks winding and carving their way around the mountains. We were there in early May, and the island was still waking up from the winter. Wildflowers were pushing up through every crack in the asphalt, creating multi-coloured borders along every road. Olive groves become pine forests as we drive higher into the hills exploring the island. There was one stretch where the air smelt like the best honey you’ve ever tasted, so we opened all the windows and let the spring breeze waft through the car. A honey-drunk wasp immediately wafted in and landed in my lap; cue much panicking, a hasty stop on a hairpin bend, and me leaping out of the car to frantically slap every inch of my clothing.
We were staying in the charming little Thea Home Hotel, and loved padding down the white stone steps each morning for a leisurely breakfast of thick creamy yoghurt, fresh fruit and honey, and slabs of still-warm chocolate orange cake. We sat for long mornings out on the terrace, refilling our cups with freshly brewed coffee and watching the fishing boats coming and going in the little harbour below.
Despite being the ‘Mamma Mia island’, there’s very little sign of tourists, especially in May when the island is still opening up. But every so often we’d spot something from the film — a little cove here, a shady grove of pine trees there, all highlighted online maps by fanatics of the film.
The sole filming location I was actually keen to visit was the Chapel of St. John, which is, as well as being the main church from Mamma Mia, is also independently a picturesque chapel. The car’s built-in sat nav took us a route which was definitely not the right way, despite Nicola insisting she could envisage Pierce Brosnan and Meryl Streep making the same journey in a buggy. We bumped through orchards, drove through knee-high grass and crossed meadows of flowers, before emerging onto a fully tarmac-ed road which we should almost certainly have been on the entire time. But it was worth it — the tiny little Chapel of St. John stands high on a little rocky outcrop in the sea, with steps hewn into the rock. It’s an incredible setting for a chapel, and we climbed to the top to look out across the sea. I can see why they chose this location for the film.
One other day we hired a speedboat from a friendly guy called Nikos, and set off to explore the coves around the island. The water was so clear you could see all the way down to the seabed. After a morning exploring the island and accidentally ending up in a shipping lane, we anchored in a little cove and bobbed about for the afternoon reading books and listening to the water gently lapping against the hull of the boat. Every so often we’d jump into the sea, realise it was far too cold, and clamber back onto the boat to warm up. It was a perfect way to spend a day.
May is still fairly early in the year, so the more touristy restaurants were still preparing to open up, with each one a little hive of activity. People were cleaning, scrubbing, sanding, stapling and getting the harbour front patios ready for the tourists. Most of the restaurants that were open were those frequented by locals — and I suspect they were all the better for it. Every night we’d head out to a different restaurant in Skopelos town and order a few plates of something delicious. One night a grilled fish, one night a small mountain of fried calamari, one night a ‘Skopelitiki’, a delicious filo and feta pie. This was all usually accompanied by a smattering of plates of Greek salad, some chips, and a jug of dubious house wine. Delicious.
It was one of our last evenings on the island when we were sitting in a quiet restaurant by the dock, patting ourselves on the back for avoiding the tourists and finding such a hidden gem of an island. Then the gentle Greek guitar background music faded. The waiter abruptly switched on Dancing Queen, and the other tables of diners began to stand up and dance and sing. Within two minutes the music had been turned up to full volume, and people were now dancing on the actual tables. A large Abba flag had been unfurled from somewhere, and the diners were singing at the top of their lungs, the chefs cheering and throwing wodges of white napkins over them like confetti.
Like I said, Skopelos is not touristy at all. A real under-the-radar kind of place.
