The Rough Guide to the Dodecanese and the East Aegean Islands

INTRODUCTION
The Dodecanese archipelago forms the remotest territory of the modern Greek state, up to 250 nautical miles from Athens. All of it is closer to Turkey than mainland Greece, a fact not lost on either country; indeed these scattered islands have only been part of Greece since 1948, representing the last successful phase of the Megáli Idhéa, a century-long campaign to reclaim historically Greek territories. Greek nationalists began referring to the islands as the Dhodhekánisos (Twelve Islands) after 1908, though in fact there are fourteen major and four minor inhabited isles in the group, plus nine more, large and small, which make up the more northerly east Aegean islands, part of Greece since 1912. Even now numerous military bases and smaller watch-points counter the threat (real or imagined) of invasion from Turkey. Despite the high-level civilian rapprochements which have taken place between Greece and Turkey in recent years, the Greek armed forces clearly prefer to keep their powder dry.
These stepping stones en route to the Middle East or Anatolia have always been fated for invasion and occupation: too rich and strategic to be ignored, but never powerful enough to rule themselves. Romans, Byzantines, crusading Knights of St John, Genoese, Venetians, Ottomans and Italians have for varying periods controlled these islands since the time of Alexander the Great. Whatever the rigours of these occupations, their legacy includes a wonderful blend of architectural styles and cultures: frescoed Byzantine churches and fortified monasteries, castles of the Genoese and Knights of St John, Ottoman mosques and grandiose Italian Art Deco buildings. Such monuments are often juxtaposed with (or even rest upon) ancient Greek cities and temples that provide the foundation for claims of an enduring Hellenic identity down the centuries; museums, particularly on Sámos, Rhodes and Límnos, amply document the archeological evidence.
But it was medieval Greek peasants, fishermen and shepherds, working without an indigenous ruling class or formal Renaissance to impose models of taste or patronize the arts, who most tangibly and recently contributed to our idea of Greekness with their songs and dances, costumes, weaving and vernacular architecture, some unconsciously drawing on ancient antecedents. Much of this has vanished in recent decades under an avalanche of bouzoúki-instrumental cassettes, "genuine museum copies" and bawdy postcards at souvenir stalls, but enough remains in isolated pockets for visitors to marvel at its combination of form and function. Indeed, only on two islands included in this guide – Rhodes and Kós – has local character come to be determined by tourism, and even here pockets of traditional life persist.
Most visitors come primarily for hedonistic rather than cultural pursuits: going lightly dressed even on a scooter, swimming in balmy waters at dusk, talking and drinking under the stars until 3am. Such pleasures amply compensate for certain enduring weaknesses in the Greek tourism "product": don’t expect orthopedic mattresses, state-of-the-art plumbing, Cordon-Bleu cuisine or obsequious service. Except at a limited number of upmarket facilities, rooms can be box-like, and the food at its best is fresh and simply presented.
But what impresses most is how, despite the strenuous efforts of developers, arsonists and rubbish-dumpers, the Aegean environment has not yet been utterly destroyed. Seen at the right time of day or year, the Dodecanese and east Aegean conform remarkably well to their tourist-board poster image of purple-shadowed islands and promontories, floating on a cobalt-and-rose horizon. Island beaches vary from discreet crescents framed by tree-fringed cliffs to deserted, mile-long gifts deposited by small streams and backed by wild dunes, ideal for enacting Crusoe fantasies. But inland there is always civilization, whether the tiny cubist villages of the remoter outposts, or burgeoning resorts as cos