A visit to the port of Yialos. For any but the very rich or very ill, arriving it Symi’s main port of Yialos is a watery affair. Where we have a helipad for emergency, military and occasionally private arrivals by air, and despite rumours both believed and made up that the island is to have an airport, the only way to arrive is by boat. It’s also the best way, if you ask me, but then, the only way I have arrived, so maybe choppering in from your luxury yacht is also enjoyable, but you’re not going to get the same sights.

The houses around the harbour have been described in many guides, novels and articles, and I’ve seen some cringers. Multi-coloured houses nestling… Homesteads jostle like excitable spectators awash with the colours of the Greek flag*… Like eager children rushing down to meet the azure, blue waters of the Aegean Sea…

The writers’ obsession with ‘Greece means blue’ continues into the water and a sea which has also been described as cerulean, cobalt, Capri, and Persian blue in colour. They’ve not seen it on a winter’s day when dark storms and swells keep ‘boats rocking tentatively against the ancient harbour walls where once fishermen and sponge divers plied their time-honoured…’ Oh, do give it a rest.

[* This must have been one of those AI aneurisms, because the Greek flag is only made up of blue and white, and as I was always taught that white was a shade and not a colour, and as there are few ‘blue’ houses, and none in that typical Greek blue-and-white square house design, one has to wonder what this nonsense is all about.]

I plodded off down the Kali Strata yesterday morning early, as always, so I didn’t have to rush in the hope that I would arrive at the dentist dry, rather than in my usual state of dripping wet and ‘sparkling with drops of clear diamante beads that speak of…’ [Shudders.] Said hello to a few people I knew and caught up with some quick news, nodded here, kalimera-ed there, dodging bikinis and pink flesh, and taking a minute to admire the 11.02 from Platia to Nimborio, building up steam at its station… And, after a chat with the dentist and a few laughs about life, slithered into the chair for the final stage of a root canal, which took all of five minutes and hurt not one jot. Back again on Friday for the next one, but at least, after that’s done, I will be able to eat and drink things above and below body temperature without wincing, suffering a headache for half an hour or complaining.

That done and the next visit arranged, it was a case of wandering back towards the bus stop with ten minutes to spare at least before departure, and being captivated by a cab on the way, so taking that instead. Here’s a debate finally settled; it now costs €6.00 to come up from Yialos to Horio by taxi, not, as some around me have been insisting, ‘still only a fiver.’ Still very worth it, if you ask me. It gave me time to reply to the landlord about the water problem his other property was having (no water, been here before), and how yes, the feed tap is on, no our plumber didn’t disconnect it the other day and why would he, and, for the last time, the water supply from the mains starts the day at virtually no pressure but usually perks up after it’s had its coffee, and all water arrangements at these two houses are pretty rubbish, and anyway, when’s the house opposite going to have its own feed and meter and not come through ours? (When the paperwork goes through, and as it’s taken a year with the water company already, probably not very soon.) We gave the poor neighbour a bucket we had filled to water the plants with, so she could at least flush, and together, we examined the Heath Robinson arrangements of pipes and taps, only to discover what we already knew: the water was coming in, but it would take forever to fill the tanks. Just as it took all morning to fill our new one-ton barrel because the lady downstairs had used, in my estimation, around 600 litres of water in two days. (WTF comes to mind.)

Finally home less than one hour after leaving it, the day returned to as near normal as days get around here, and life continued in its sweaty summer way.

The village changed slightly yesterday, because the extra-fine dining establishment, Barra, opened in the village last night. It’s situated where the Jean & Tonic bar used to be, opposite the two new Airbnb’s that used to be a tiny shoe shop and, beside it, George’s family butchery. That’s about all I can tell you about the new restaurant for now, except that it looks very exclusive and from some guest images I’ve seen, very modern.

Right. Now, I must get on.

Well, last week was something of an up-and-downer. We shall draw a veil over the 2.5 days without water and the day without a water pump, a contretemps with the landlord about all that, Neil going down with a mystery virus and (for the first time) being signed off work for two days by the doctor, someone trying to get into my bank card account, and some other niggles. We shall lift the same veil, though, on the help we received re the water situation and the pump, the kind attentions of the clinic and friends, and the cooler weather, and we’ll carry on, fortified by experience.

Oh my, the wind last week! One day, it was 37° and calm in the afternoon, and by the next morning, only 27°, half the leaves of the vine ended up in the porch, and some scuttled their way in through the open front door and made it as far as the kitchen. There were a couple of days when the taxi boats and small craft were unable to sail, though the day boats continued to bounce in. Strong winds up to 5 Bf are predicted for Tuesday evening this week, but otherwise, the Windfinder channel tells me it will be calm, perhaps with a force four this evening. We also had some cloud pass over briefly – the tail end of a large storm further north, I think.

Visitors continued to visit, and it was good to see a few visiting families in the square in the afternoon ordering their blue lagoons and G&T’s and having a good time. It was also nice to see our neighbours back for a few weeks’ holiday. Of the houses in front of us, three out of four are holiday homes, and we only see the neighbours at this time of the year, sometimes for a short while earlier in the year, and I wonder if they were out at last night’s Symi Shrimp Festival. This is always held in the village square on the last Sunday of July, and there is one of Panormitis’ video shorts below, so you can see the dancing. (I was, of course, fast asleep by the time it started, but it sounded like it was going well.)

As for this week… I am thoroughly enjoying work on my next book, which will be different from the previous ones, though also set in the late 19th century. This time, though, it’s not about detectives in London, but a blacksmith in a small village on the Kent Downs, just off Stone Street – for anyone who knows that old Roman road. I ordered a book to help with my research, so don’t be surprised if you soon find me setting up as a farrier and blacksmith, operating out of a home smithy just off the square.

No, that’s hardly likely. When forced to do metalwork at school when I would rather have done ‘commerce’, it took me an entire term to bend a piece of steel into something resembling the shape of a hacksaw handle, which was almost as terrible as my attempts in woodwork to create a wooden fish for no discernible reason. Imagine if boys had been allowed to do ‘commerce’ instead. Only the girls were taught the useful arts of touch typing and shorthand, two things which I would have found much more useful in later life. Ah well. I continue to clatter the keyboard in the manner of an infinite number of monkeys in the hope that one word in five is types correctly… typed correctly. See?

I also have Barchester Towers to read, so as soon as I can, I shall spend my afternoon quiet time with my Trollope before lighting the forge.

In the meantime, here is that short video of the annual celebration of the Symi shrimp. Well, not just the one shrimp, but the thousands, millions probably, that are caught in season, frozen, and served up in just about every restaurant on the island throughout the summer.

This is typical of how my week has been. Yesterday, while waiting to go down for more root canal work, I created a post for Symi Dream, deleted the photos from my stick (so no hope of recovery), and scheduled the post for today only to realise I’d put it all on the wrong website. Doh!

Still, you can read the text here, and then, if you want to see the gallery, click the link at the bottom, and you should find the same post, but with the images, over on my author site.

Well, what do you expect? It’s nearing 40° in the shade.

I was thinking of fun and positive things on which to end the week, and came up with the idea of another little gallery of photos, both recent and from the last couple of years. Before that, though, I wanted to draw your attention to a free eBook, should you fancy finding out what my book blathering is all about. I’ve just finished a series of 12 novels, all mysteries, starting in June 1892 and finishing in June 1894. They are ongoing, in that characters remain and develop, so they are all linked in that way, and they are mainly set in London. (One takes us to Suffolk.)

If you want to take a free gander, you need to sign up to my newsletter before the end of the month, and as long as the ‘system’ works as it should do, you will get a link to where you can download a generic EPUB file. This, you should then be able to add to your preferred reading device, such as your Kindle. I’ve not done this before, but I am assured it is quite simple. (If you have problems, an online search will reveal how.)

To find out more about the series, click here.

To subscribe to my author’s once-a-month newsletter, click here, follow the instructions, and then verify the email you should receive afterwards. You can unsubscribe at any time, and it costs nothing.

As Tony Hart used to say and sign on Vision On, ‘And now for the gallery.’

CLICK HERE (You might need to press F5 or do a ‘refresh’ on your browser.)

Now and then on Symi, parts of the island go without power. These days, we usually know when this is going to happen, and it tends to be in the winter when work is done to the cables or poles, or whatever needs doing. Sometimes, in the summer, it’s due to overuse – air conditioning, I assume, being the main culprit. So far this summer, that hasn’t happened (fingers crossed, wood knocked upon, three-legged rabbits everywhere, etc.), but I just read about a huge power outage in Athens that happened yesterday, taking out everything from traffic lights to lifts. Luckily, we don’t have traffic lights on Symi (yet), nor any lifts that I know of, but can you imagine? Stuck in a lift in this heat, or caught in a traffic jam or anywhere with no air conditioning, in Athens, in late July. Eek! The last I read, it was soon dealt with and corrected, and all is back to normal. Phew. As is the forest fire on Kalymnos yesterday. (Now under control and, I think, out.)

Major Wildfire Threatens Forest Near Kalymnos Village

This rather points up the fact that you never know what you’re going to wake up to around here. The other day, we ran out of water in the tank (long story I won’t bore you with again). Filled up on the next water day. Yesterday, the water came out a more vibrant orange than it sometimes does, so I assume when the level was low, it sucked up sediment, which, yes, we do get in a plastic tank from ‘pure’ water from our reservoirs. This morning’s surprise was the pump; now, instead of not turning on at all due to lack of water, it won’t turn off due, I guess, to a sediment buildup inside. Well, the pump turns on for the usual amount of time, and then off again, then on again, and so on. I assume some of the sediment has got into it and is causing a glitch. I turned it off completely for now, as it’s only 04.30 and I don’t want to disturb the neighbourhood, and we’ll plug it in when needed and unplug when not. (Not sure what the tenant downstairs will think about that, but that’s Symi living for you.) We have some plumbing work arranged for tomorrow morning, so all being well, both water and pump issues will be resolved then, and if not? At least we’ve not woken up stuck in a lift in Athens on the hottest day of the year. I’d be seriously concerned if I was, seeing as how we live at the other end of the country.

Seriously, though, these kinds of incidents highlight certain matters that residents are aware of, but visitors may not be. Energy use, fire and water. The elementals of day-to-day living, if you like. There are ways to avoid such incidents. I previously mentioned the nationwide ban on outdoor ‘fire’ activities in the country and from May to October, lighting fires ‘in nature’ is strictly prohibited, including barbecues and campfires. Not even on the beach. ‘In Nature’ doesn’t refer to yesterday’s post about the poor girl who could afford a holiday on Symi but not, apparently, the underwear to wear when here, but it refers to outside – anywhere outside, even in your courtyard. No BBQs, no fireworks, no campfires on the beach, none of that romance film stuff with flaming torches lighting paths to weddings and so on. Even in March, when the island held its annual celebration on 24th that involved lanterns lining the path to Evangalismos, the island’s fire services were on standby, and locals guarded the route just in case. (I believe there was an incident this year, but it was quickly brought under control.)

So, my dears, no burning your underwear, no throwing cigarette ends on the ground, not even on stone, no throwing rubbish anywhere but in the bins because sunlight on glass can set off a fire, certainly no burning rubbish in ruins as some older folk in the village used to do, or maybe still do, and general care with fire, heated things, and don’t forget not to overuse the electricity either, else we’ll all be in the dark with no air con in your fancy rental. And none of this ‘I’ll be careful,’ or ‘It won’t happen to me,’ because it can, and without care, it will.

Also be aware when the other element, the wind, is blowing, because this feeds and fans sparks, and there’s more dry brush, trees and so on around the place than you might think. ‘The island’s all stone and steps, ain’t it?’ No. We, for example, are surrounded by dead grass, dry trees, wooden roofs, scrub and shrub alike, even in the heart of the village. ‘But you’re surrounded by water?’ Yes, but if there’s a fire, you’ve got to get it from sea to somewhere immediately. How?

As Coleridge wrote:

Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

But it’s not only for drinking. It’s also for putting out fires, so don’t waste it. And don’t be the cause of even a spark. There. Lecture over. Now, have a nice and safe day.

Let’s talk about something else this morning and, for now, leave the island’s water issues passing under the bridge. Let’s talk about bare mule cheeks instead.

I would, of course, write ass cheeks, because in some dialects of English and parts of various countries, an ass is an ass, but in its original form, it is an asinus, for those who read Latin or can use a search engine. We tend to call them donkeys, which asses are, but we call them that even when they are mules, which are the combination of part donkey and part horse. Ever wondered how that happens? Don’t.

We used to have lots of donkeys on the island. Well, mules mainly, but having been brought up in a fading Edwardian seaside resort, ‘donkey’ sticks even when it shouldn’t. (Ever tried donkey sticks? Also don’t.) We’ve seen fewer and fewer or them of late. I no longer see them loading up at Kampos, or hear them clomping by the house, there’s no more ‘Oshi! Oshi!’ to be heard from their herders, not in the village at least, and the only time I see one is rarely, and then, only making supermarket deliveries, not carting rocks or tourists’ luggage. Superseded, I guess, by cheap human labour and possibly mopeds and small trucks, now that more of the village has been opened up to narrow vehicles.

Instead, we have the summer asses on show, and you’ll know where this is going, or, at least, returning to. There I was, stirring my frappe with its straw and gazing idly around between kafeneion to see what was what and if anyone was worth ridiculing, when I saw my second ass of the season. It belonged to a young woman of no discernible manners, wearing a belt for a skirt, and in the primeval act of bending provocatively by her company to eject some pheromone his way. Unfortunately, she also sent an anatomy lesson our way, and the lady I was with near took a case of the vapours. I’m afraid I laughed aloud, which was a blessing because behind the laugh, jostling and eager, was a sentence, ‘Put some effing clothes on, you stupid B word.’ That’s an adapted quote from ‘Jerry Springer the Opera’, and people were lucky I didn’t try and sing it. Instead, I bubbled coffee back down the straw, turned green and said to my companion, ‘Isn’t the weather lovely today.’ I think she was still in shock brought on by the gynaecology of the situation, so I was compelled to sing her back to reality with the Waterboy’s classic, ‘(You saw) The whole of the moon,’ only with different spelling.

What is the world coming to, I ask myself, when young ladies feel able to walk about an ancient village underpant-less, and feel safe enough to go near-nude touristing when they feel like it. My Victorian grandmother would have fainted for sure. Maybe not, actually, as she was a Durham miner’s daughter turned Sister Tutor at a major London hospital, and more likely to have gone up to the circus act in question and slapped her about the head and face with her sherry bottle.

Anyway, that should have brought us back to the point of this ramble, but as it didn’t, and as there wasn’t one, I shall leave it there and get on with my day. Have a good one yourself if you will, and if you are leaving the house today, remember to wear your drawers. Please.