Patmos is the most northerly of the Dodecanese island group, and relatively untouristy - or as much as possible, given that St John had a vision in a cave here, and dictated his Book of Revelation on the island; so of course it's on the pilgrim trail.
We went to the cave, a dark, granite overhang now built in and turned into a shrine, cluttered with icons and glass cases and paintings - but with a lovely view over the hills and valley and harbour. If I'd been an old man sleeping on rock with my head stuck into a hole in the wall, I reckon I'd've had a few lively dreams too, but I wouldn't have written them down and broadcast them. Staunch atheist that I am, I do find it disappointing to see otherwise intelligent people sucked into believing such claptrap - I mean, the bit on the cave roof where the revelatory crack splits, dividing a lump of rock into three: so that's proof of the Trinity? Give me strength. [Pause while religious readers instantly click on their X.]
The day's greatest mystery, however, was observing an old man at the end of a pier continuously sweeping his arm back and forth, holding a line tied to an octopus. He did it for ages, never stopping while I watched, and I have no idea why. Slowly beating the poor thing to death on the concrete step? Tenderising it after death and before consumption? Playing puppet-master? I'll probably never know; and that's ok by me. I have faith that there will be a practical explanation.