This Greek island swapped clubbing for climbing and attracted a different type of traveler

“Ah, you’re one of those crazy people,” my taxi driver says, spotting the rock climbing helmet swinging from my pack. Soon, we’re chatting—in hand gestures and broken English—about how climbing has shaped his Greek island home of Kalymnos.

Located in the Aegean Sea, just a 30-minute ferry ride from the party-packed beaches of Kos—which I visited 15 years ago on my last trip to Greece—Kalymnos is a different world. 

Here, the clinking you hear isn’t from shot glasses; it’s the sound of carabiners clipping in on a lead climb. And on the beach, instead of lobster-red sunbathers flipping through summer bestsellers, you’ll find everyone glued to the same title: Kalymnos Climbing Guidebook.

Since 2008, Katie Roussos and her husband, mountain guide Aris Theodoropoulos, have been co-writing that very guidebook, now in its eighth edition. If anyone knows the history of rock climbing on the island, it’s them. 

“It was back in 1996 when Italian climber Andrea di Bari first visited Kalymnos on holiday and saw the potential of the rock here,” Roussos tells me. “He wasn’t looking for cliffs, but loved what he saw and returned to bolt the first 40 climbing routes.”

“It’s mostly the climbers who take care of route maintenance, bolting, and re-bolting. The locals have embraced climbing so fully that we rarely have access issues.”

- Katie Roussos, guidebook author

Theodoropoulos followed shortly after from mainland Greece, drawn by the magazine photos he’d seen of Kalymnos’ striking cliffs. “He quickly realized what a special place it was,” Roussos says. “And he started working closely with the mayor to set guidelines for safety, including hardware standards and minimum distances between bolts.”

Sound like Greek to you? Kalymnos is known for ‘sport’ climbing, where bolts are drilled into the rock face allowing climbers to clip in as they climb. Nearly three decades since those first routes were set, Kalymnos now has over 4,000 routes on crags (cliffs) all across the island—mostly bolted by passionate volunteers like Theodoropoulos.

The routes cater to everyone, from beginners like me to elite athletes, drawing climbers from around the globe. On my first day alone, I meet people at the crag from Australia, Germany, America, Canada, and South Korea.

“Local authorities want to support climbing—it’s an important part of the island’s economy,” explains Roussos. “But it’s mostly the climbers who take care of route maintenance, bolting, and re-bolting. The locals have embraced climbing so fully that we rarely have access issues.”

Simon Montmory, of Kalymnos Climbing Guide, is one of the bolters who has dedicated hundreds of days to the cause. “We keep the bolts closer together here because we want climbers to feel safe and enjoy their time on the rock,” he says. “It’s about creating a safe and welcoming environment. We don’t want accidents, especially with so many beginners.”

On the drive from the port, my driver spoke about how climbing has extended the tourist season. At a restaurant one morning, where we’re fueling up on traditional Kalymnos baked eggs and the strongest coffee of my life, my waitress reiterates: “I know nothing about climbing, but I do know we would have closed for the season already without it.”

It’s mid-October, and the villages of Myrties and Masouri—Kalymnos’ climbing hubs—are buzzing well beyond the usual July-to-September tourist rush. October and November, when cooler weather makes for ideal climbing, have now become some of the island’s busiest months, with climbers sometimes staying as late as January.

Padelis (aka Peter) Poullas runs Climb Rock. “This shop has been in my family for 20 years,” he says. “It was originally my mother’s, selling traditional tourist items. But as climbing grew, I saw an opportunity. I started with just a few climbing shoes and basic gear, but as more climbers came, I gradually converted the entire shop.”

Padelis admits he didn’t know much about climbing when he started, but he learned by joining friends on climbs and quickly began to understand what climbers need. “For the past 12 years, we’ve been solely a climbing shop,” he says.

In Kalymnos today, the typical holiday rhythm has been flipped on its head. Instead of a late-night buzz, the streets come alive as early as 7am, with climbers clad in brightly coloured gear heading out to beat the day’s heat.

Personally, I can’t imagine a better place to learn to climb. During my few days on the island, we alternate between crags overlooking the bluest ocean—cooling off with refreshing dips—and incredible climbing spots tucked away near unassuming laybys along the winding island roads. 

The limestone was slipperier than the sandstone I normally climb back home in the Blue Mountains, Australia, but it was still perfect for a beginner like me. Easier, juggy routes with big, comfortable holds sat right alongside challenging climbs with overhangs and crimps—tiny holds that test your fingertips and feel like clinging on for dear life. It was the perfect setup—plenty for a novice, while my friends crushed the tougher routes right next to me.

Despite its popularity now, there was life before climbing on Kalymnos. For centuries, the island’s economic heart was the sea sponge trade. Families passed the trade down through generations, harvesting sponges that were then exported globally.

“The sponge business has been in my family for 40 years,” explains Aleixs, owner of Alexis Str. Markis-Natural Greek Sea Sponges. “Our sponges go everywhere—they’re used for make-up, cosmetics, painting, leatherwork, cleaning.”

But this 2,000-year-old industry faces growing challenges, from both climate change and shifting demand. “The sea temperatures are rising,” he tells me. “It affects the sponges—they don’t grow like they used to.” As a result, the annual yield of sea sponges is in decline. Careful to protect this fragile resource, divers harvest entirely by hand, using generations of passed-down knowledge to avoid overfishing.

One industry that has significantly declined, arguably for the better, is the party tourism trade that still defines many other Greek islands. According to Padelis, Kalymnos pre-2008 global financial crisis was much like its neighboring islands—buzzing with nightlife, clubs, and bars. When the crisis hit, many businesses shut down.

“About four years later, the climbers started coming, and now the shops and restaurants are busy once again—but with a different type of tourist,” Padelis explains.

And it’s true. In Kalymnos today, the typical holiday rhythm has been flipped on its head. Instead of a late-night buzz, the streets come alive as early as 7am, with climbers clad in brightly coloured gear heading out to beat the day’s heat. And while there’s still a lively scene at the end of a climbing day—gatherings over dinner, beers at the Climbers Bar—it all feels refreshingly wholesome.

It’s a world away from my last trip to Greece, where (sorry, Mum) I lived up to the drunk British tourist stereotype. This kind of tourist behavior has become so common that as recently as this summer, the British Foreign Office issued warnings about the risks of excessive drinking and possible arrests on Greek islands.

As I watch my final sunset over neighboring island of Telendos—a famed ocean view from Kalymnos—I’m in awe at how a once-niche sport has breathed new life into this lesser-known Greek island. 

With rock climbing’s popularity on the global rise, thanks to its addition as an Olympic sport, and a growing trend of people prioritizing time in nature, Kalymnos seems to have found a winning tourism formula that other Greek regions could learn from.

“This is just the beginning of climbing in Greece,” says Montmory, “and we’ve already started developing other areas across the country. One of the most successful and exciting is Manikia. You have to go.” Manikia, a two-hour drive north-east from Athens, is a small town that, like Kaymnos, has also been totally revitalised by climbing.

I leave thinking about the power of a sport to transform economies and build communities. I can’t wait to come back. Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I’d now much rather end my holidays with calloused hands and aching limbs than the sunburn and hangovers of misadventure.

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