The last couple of afternoons have seen busy times for the cafés in the square. The weather might have had something to do with that, because it’s been cloudy at times and, for a while yesterday, wet. Well… damp. The rain wasn’t heavy by Symi standards, but it was there, off and on. I suspect many of the café visitors were from day trip boats, and might have ventured the walk up because it is cooler now. There were also many longer-stay visitors, and it all led to a busy, chatty, sociable atmosphere.

It looked like the sky was clearing yesterday evening, but it’s still too dark outside right now for me to see what it’s doing right now.

You know the other week I was mumbling about ‘then and now’, comparing things to see how they have changed over nearly 25 years? Over the weekend, I came across another, though it isn’t specifically Symi-themed. We were watching something on YouTube, and as it was a popular programme, it was now and then interrupted by advertisements. I found myself with my finger on the remote ready to hit the ‘Skip’ button as soon as it became available, and tutting at how long we had to wait. (Something like 30 seconds, which seemed to last forever.) That reminded me of when we lived at our first house, right up at the top of the village. We had a portable TV set with a portable aerial you had to get just so if you were to see anything; no remote, no internet, no DVD player, just the old-fashioned way of viewing. We’d wait up until the magic hour of nine, when a film usually came on one of the channels, and settle in to watch, even if we’d seen it 100 times before, because it was a film in English, and came as a blessed relief after hours of shouty news and discussion programs. These films also had adverts. But…

Where, this weekend, I was itching for the adverts to hurry through their 30 seconds, back then, the advert break ran for around 15 minutes. There was usually enough time during a film or show at any time of day, to leave the house, walk down to the village supermarket, get some shopping and walk back up before the program restarted. I once counted the number of advertisements and trailers in one of these breaks: 32. Now, we have channels streaming directly onto the TV, and you can watch a whole film or documentary without interruptions. If one is needed, you can always put things on pause while you pop out for the shopping, and if you don’t like what you’re watching, you can choose from hundreds of other options, not just the five or six terrestrial stations. That has changed over time, but then, so has the price of the shopping, but let’s not go there.

Let us go, instead, into the dark work of horror stories, and in doing so, I will point you towards a re-release of a very old story of mine that has just been re-published and is now available for anyone who dares read it. Here’s the blatant advertisement, from which you should be able to reach the sales page.

Lonely House

If you want to know more about this book, see my author blog https://jacksonmarsh.com/

It looks like the wind has moved on, leaving behind a cool morning, but the temperature might get back to 25° by Monday before a west wind brings cloud. It’s around this time of year that we start preparing for winter, and that’s always an adventure. To start with, there is the house to think about. Rediscovering the hangings for the doors that keep out some of the wind, then washing the things after they’ve been in bags for several months. Dragging the suitcases from under the bed, and then discovering what you stored away in them… ‘Oh, there’s that jumper, I wonder if it still fits?’ ‘What on earth is that?’ It was a Christmas present. ‘Oh, that’s lovely, I’d forgotten about that.’ (Marked for putting back under the bed when no-one’s looking.) ‘We must have been in an H&M at some point last year… Or was this from Temu?’ And so on.

Soon, we’ll pick up some roof paint and attempt to clear the flat bathroom roof of empty water tanks so we can paint it to stop the rain coming through. Then there’s checking the gutters as best I can, and fixing back the taller plants in the courtyard so they don’t blow over. Checking the stash of old towels for when the rain comes under the doors and windows, and trying to remember where I hid my boots. Then, the heaters will need dusting and checking, though we’re loath to plug one in until absolutely necessary. The front window, open since May, will have to close (it faces north), though the bedroom one will stay slightly open all winter, except for when things get wild. Wearing socks again is always an experience, as is having to tie shoelaces after months of sandal wearing, and it adds a bothersome few seconds to getting ready to go out. There’s the replacing shorts with long trousers thing, and having to add a hoodie or jumper, and don’t get me started on coats, jackets, hats and gloves. (I’m not much of one for a scarf.)

Maybe it’s just me feeling chilly, but I went down to the Rainbow yesterday in jeans, trainers, t-shirt and hoodie, and on the way, was passed by a tourist wearing only his shorts. It’s that mindset of: ‘I’m on me holidays, I’m going to damn well wear as little as possible come ’ell or ’igh water.’ Good for you, Sir, but save it for the beach.

Yesterday, as well as a little treasure hunting for winter requirements, I also popped up the road around eight in the morning, and on the way back, thought to call into the bakery for a couple of their famed meat pies. I have to admit to seldom using any of our wonderful bakeries. Despite the wonderful aromas and offerings, we don’t have bread for every meal or buy pastries, but yesterday was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I felt a little sheepish having not been a customer for so long. All the same, I was greeted with a very warm, ‘Yasou, Doby mou’ in that familiar and friendly Greek way as though I came in every day. That was cheery, as were the several morning greetings exchanged along the lane and in other shops I popped into, and the warmth of greetings got my morning off to a smiley start.

Hopefully that cheeriness will continue over the weekend and onwards as we continue our winter preparations…

Here’s a thing. To be precise, here are a couple of things.

First of all, if you come to the blog via the link I put up every day on Facebook, you now can’t. They’ve changed things, and now no longer allow me more than two direct links from there to here each month. I, and all other ‘business’ pages must now pay for the privilege of adding links to our websites, and the prices are ridiculous. If I wanted to carry on as I have been with a short line and a link on the Symi Dream page five days a week, it will cost me $499.99 a month. Nearly $6,000 a year. Yup. No joke. As the website already costs me money and makes me none, there is no way I can do that.

So, from now on, you will find you’ve got to copy the link from Facebook and paste it into your web browser. At the start of next month, when I’ve got my two freebies, I will see if I can put a permanent post or link on the Symi Dream profile page, making it slightly less difficult for you. Alternatively, you can add a bookmark in your browser (to www.symidream.com), and when you click on that, you’ll come to the daily post.

Oh, the joy of living in a time when money matters more than people.

You could also bookmark my pen name author page www.jacksonmarsh.com and check in there on a Saturday (usually) when I put up a post about my books, how I write them, and my research. If you feel like offering support, you could share that link and encourage others to buy a book. Even if you/they never read one, it all helps.

Secondly, and even closer to home, I have a hoodie on for the first time since June. The wind’s up, and it’s coming from a cold direction. Where we were at 35° last week, we’re now down into the 20s, though it’s set to warm a little in a few days. Meanwhile, we’re now in our fifth week with no hot water, but we now know that a tank was due to be ordered on Monday; the plumber is aware, and something may happen in the near future. Then again, it may not, and in the meantime, we’ll just pretend we’re swimming in April, and the water will ‘feel warm once your shoulders are under.’

Hold onto your hats if you are out there today. The wind is supposed to be rising, especially this afternoon, only to force five, but from the west-northwest, so there will be a chill to the air. There shouldn’t be any cloud around today, though. The wind yesterday didn’t deter the day boats and ferries, and hopefully, that will remain the same today and into next week, when the weather forecast shows the temperature rising to and staying at 25°. (It’s usually slightly warmer here than the reports show.)

There we are. End of season approaches, and as the weather is all over the place these days, who knows how it will go. All you can do is make the most of what you have, battle on and stay positive. Neil has recently dug out an old T-shirt he had made, and was wearing it the other day. It looks like a no-entry road sign and says, ‘No Moan Zone’, and by wearing it, he quells any nearby negativity.

So, on the positive side: my proofreader now has my next novel under her scrutiny, and this means I will start discussions with my cover designer, and the book should be available next month. I will let you know how that goes so you can rush to your nearest online Amazon shop and grab a copy. Ta.

In answer to yesterday’s vaguely rhetorical question about whether the season is showing signs of closing, after a trip to Yialos, the answer must be no. We arrived not long after one of the day boats had arrived, with several already in port, and there was the familiar sight of lines of tour groups being led around the harbour. They were plugged in to their headphones, listening to their guide at the war memorial, squeezing through the narrow lane past the chandler’s shop, trudging up the few steps to the courtyard of St John’s church, and huddled in what little shade they could find. Walking to the clock tower against the tide is always a game of ‘dodge the pink and tender’, though there is more of that on the other side where the open speedboat-looking boats come in.

These are the ones that make me wince when I see them arrive. On the way over, many passengers opt to sit in the bows in full glare of the sun, or have no choice, and at first, discover how pleasant that is. Very pleasant when out at sea with a cool breeze blowing over you while you’re at speed. Very pleasant to pause with hundreds of other people in St George’s Bay, where island stayers have escaped for some tranquillity, only to find a sea of bobbing heads and an overwhelming smell of Hawaiian Tropic among a mild oil slick. Not so pleasant to later realise that, where you thought you were cool and protected, the sun’s radiation has actually reflected from the sea, been disguised by the cool air, and left you turning pink and raw for the rest of the day. Each to his own.

Good to see the businesses appearing to do good business, and then not so good to see one frappe and three bottles of water between four people who remain blocking a table for over an hour just so they can have a nice sit down. Good to see a taverna full, with new customers taking the places of departing ones even before that table is cleared. Not so much fun for the owners, who now have to cover the work of the children who have gone back to school and can no longer act as staff. But… The custom is still there, and as Nikos said with glee at the taverna yesterday, ‘Only thirty more days.’

I haven’t been in Yialos much this summer, except for 12 visits to the dentist and a couple of days out. (A ‘day’ being three hours of shopping, collecting, sorting things and finding something to eat.) That’s why I hadn’t noticed the new things until yesterday. The ‘things’ are, I think, electronic notice boards. The one I saw was showing drone footage, with 90% of its time on the harbour and 10% of it showing the Castro, and looks like a good way of orienting the visitor. A kind of, ‘You are here… somewhere’ moving map seen from above. I’m not sure if they also carry advertisements or static maps of, for example, how to find the famous Kali Strata, but they also showed the time, and that’s useful. These now complement the speaking dustbins that say, ‘Thank you for using me,’ when you’ve dropped off your ice cream wrapper. Grateful dustbins? Makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a fetish club in a Berlin backstreet. (Apparently.)

Anyway, back to the rhetorical. No, there were no obvious signs that the season is ending, apart from fewer young people being at work because they are at school, vague warnings about possible high winds, and more autumnal weather. But we’re getting there. ‘Only thirty more days to go.’ Or to think of it another way, only about 16% of the season left to run.

Any signs that the season is drawing towards a close? Not yet. Traditionally, the season ends in October when charter flights start to wind down, although over in Rhodes, we’ve seen cruise ships coming in during the winter months. This doesn’t mean the tourist places there are all open between November and February. It means that when word of a ship gets around, some places in the Old Town reopen like pop-up shops, grab the visitors for the morning, and then go back to sleep. Not many, but we’ve seen it through the winter. A bright, sunny, but clear and cool day in the early spring is a perfect time to visit Rhodes and wander the cobbled streets of the Old Town with views across to Turkey from the higher parts, or the moat. There are only a few cafes and similar open, and none of that hawking you in for a boot of beer. But that’s in Rhodes.

Here on Symi, I guess we can say that the season begins to wind down proper from mid-October when, usually, the taxi boats stop running, and the more hard-to-access beaches start to close. I’ve always been told that the taxi boats have six-month licenses that run between May and October, which makes sense. There’s very little demand after that time, and no point buying an all-year license for hardly any work. The beach tavernas, too, aren’t profitable when there are no tourists, or only a few visitors, and sunbathing in December, though possible, is not always much fun. As Dickens wrote in Great Expectations: It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. That starts to happen here about now, and runs on until the weather changes its mind in spring.

There is one thing I wonder about. What happens to all those sunbeds in the winter? Do they pop off for a week’s cruise around the Med? Perhaps they stow away in the guise of on-board facilities, looking like an innocent deck lounger, but actually enjoying some time off (save for the occasional over-fed rump of a passenger taking advantage). Maybe they just get put in the closed taverna and left to recuperate for five months.

Anyway, back to: Any signs that the season is drawing towards a close? Well, yes and no. Yes, in that the weather is starting to change. A cooler breeze (with, apparently, strong winds this Thursday), shorter days, and exhausted waiters, chefs, and anyone else who has been working 16 + hour days since May with no day off. Up here, the evenings are still busy — there was a queue at Georgio’s the other evening — and reports tell me the bars are still doing good evening business. Everything remains open up here and down in town (I will be there later and can check, but it’s still too early to call it a day). So, yes, the season is approaching its end, but I’d say we’ve got another three, nearly four, weeks to go before we see a shutdown. All the same, we’re seeing visitors going for earlier dinners, some days are spent away from the beaches, there is more people-watching in cafes, it’s good walking weather, and now we have bicycles for hire, you can always go cycling. They, of course, add to the still-available cars, mopeds of all breeds, quad bikes, electric bubbles, minibuses, boats and, possibly, scooters that are almost legion, and filling the road as much as vague day trippers do after stepping off a boat.

So, it’s not over yet, but for those who have been working from nine in the morning until well after midnight, the end is in sight.