Hello and welcome to the week ahead. I was just looking through the photos I took over the weekend (there were only three, it didn’t take long), and thought I’d share them this morning because they sum up what I have recently been about. A corner, dustbins and a view.

The corner is my writing station, an Ikea arrangement that has useful shelves and space for my laptop, and where I can arrange my notes. As you’ll see, it doesn’t allow room for any extras like research books, and in this case, I had to bring in the music stand. I was referring to a book of maps from 1888, a London A to Z, in effect, and there is no space to lay it open. The music stand came in very handy.

If you were wondering what I was writing, it was/is the second part of a new Victorian mystery series. Part one has been out for a week now; a full-length novel set in 1892 concerning a London cabbie and his quest for a better life. Finding a Way is available here.

So far this summer on Symi I’ve come up against various polite enquiries from new friends and old: What do you do? Are you the one that writes the books? What have you been working on? Still writing? There are other versions of the same thing, and I don’t mind any of them, then there’s the: I hear you’re a writer. (Not a question as such but a statement designed to prompt a reply other than a simple ‘Yes.’) There are also comments such as, ‘You have been prolific,’ to which I usually reply, I still am, because writing is my full-time job. By full-time, I mean six to eight our per day, with a long lunch break and time off when I feel like it. Not the full-on 16 + hours a day some people around here put in to make ends meet through the summer, nor the 10-hour days of the labourers and others who work all year round.

When I am not full-time writing in my cosy corner, I try and go for a stroll to stretch the legs and let the mind adjust from fiction world to real – or, more usually, the other way around as I plot as I walk. I tell myself the next chapter in the story and then head home and regurgitate it as a first draft. Sometimes, I wander up the hill as far as I can bear, as I did on Friday…

Other times, I take a shorter walk around the village just to get my steps in, and on other days, I walk as far as the sitting room and collapse on the sofa with a game of ‘Sherlock’ on my tablet. Most afternoons I call down to the bar to see Neil and whoever is there, as a way of taking a break from the house, and on other more productive afternoons, after pottering with words some more, I might set about one of those tasks I was telling you about the other day. Tasks that have waited months or years to get done which, when finally seen to, take no time at all. The other day I cleaned out the saucepan cupboard. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

There is no photo of the cupboard activity because, let’s face it, it’d be pretty dull. Instead, the stray cats who live up the road with the chickens.

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This week’s one-way discussion has been mainly about water; Neil and Harry diving, plumbing, sternas and water tanks, water bottles and so on. Today, I want to take you on a seabound adventure and welcome you aboard the Blue Star Patmos from Symi to Athens. I am in no way on the Blue Star payroll, nor do I receive income from them for advertising. Lol. All I am doing is sharing the experience in case you are ever interested in making the journey.

Why Should You?

For one reason, it’s more romantic than the alternative route: Boat to Rhodes, bus or taxi to airport, plane to airport, bus, train or taxi to the city, or remain at the airport for X hours before your onward flight, blah, blah.

How Much is it?

That depends on how you travel. A friend recently found a special discount offer that got her from Athens (by which I mean Piraeus) to Symi for €20.00. She did have to camp out in one of the airline seats, but many people do that anyway. At the other end of the scale, you can book a cabin and pay anything up to €150.00 or more per person, depending on the cabin you take. They have inside ones, two and four berth, and outside ones, by which they mean inside but with views of outside, and they also have ‘green’ ones for people who are allergic to modern life. You can pay a supplement and have a two berth to yourself, or you can take potluck and do a shared cabin with a  random stranger, or end up on your own. In the case of random sharing, it’s male or female only, so no worries there.

If you’re up for it, you can get a deck ticket or an airline seat, and they are much cheaper, though not as comfortable.

Ship Vs Plane.

It’s not always cheap to go by boat; sometimes it’s cheaper to fly to Athens. However, it is more fun and more adventurous, and it can be cheaper when you consider what can be involved in flying from Rhodes.

For me, a trip to Athens by plane can be more expensive and more hassle than by boat. Again, it depends on the time of year. We usually travel in the winter, because we can’t in the summer due to work, and so, often have to leave Symi a day or so ahead of the flight, in case bad weather stops the smaller ferries. In this case, we have to take into account:

Ferry to Rhodes. Overnight hotel + feeding. Taxi/bus to airport. Flight to Athens. At times, that can cost more than by sea, and it involves shifting your luggage around.

Going by boat to Athens involves walking down to the port, getting on, leaving your suitcase below, and getting off at the other end. It’s certainly more convenient, and, coming the other way, it is door-to-door. Or it would be if the ship docked in the village which it doesn’t/can’t, but you know what I mean.

What do you Find in a Cabin?

Assuming it’s yours, you find your bed and luggage. If you wander into someone else’s who knows what you will discover. You can’t actually do that, because each cabin comes with an electronic key.

Tip: Don’t keep them with your mobile phone, otherwise you will strip the magnet strip and have to return to reception to have them reset.

Cabins can be tight. On occasion, Neil and I have had to call, ‘I’m coming out,’ when leaving the bathroom, so as not to whack the other person with the door. Oh, cabins have bathrooms, btw, or shower rooms with a shower, WC and sink. All very nice. The bunks are fold-down for the upper ones, and it’s important to remember not to move the ladder if you are below and get up before your companion, else you will leave them stranded above. There’s also a narrow wardrobe, life jackets, and the ladder, a desk, TV and a chair. There’s a phone too, so reception can ring you with an alarm call.

Again, I am basing this on the Patmos. Other ships may vary.

How Long is the Journey from Symi to Piraeus on the Blue Star?

Depends on the day of sailing. Some routes go via Tilos and Nissiros (Friday), while others miss them out and/or stop elsewhere. You’re looking at a sailing time of 14 to 16 hours, depending on the ship and the route. Usually, from Symi, you’d arrive at Piraeus in the late morning, but check.

Do You See the Islands?

If you are awake, yes. The ferry from Symi usually leaves in the evening (sometimes late afternoon) which means you tend to arrive at many of the Dodecanese islands after dark. You can stand at the stern and watch the frenetic activity below, as it’s lit up, and you get to see some islands in daylight or at sunset/sunrise. En route, you pass through the Cyclades and get views of their islands from a distance.

Coming in the other direction, Piraeus to Symi works in the same way, in that you pass by the Dodecanese islands, usually, during the night, and arrive at Symi in the early hours, or as I like to call it, lunchtime (5.30 am, 6.60 am, it depends).

What Facilities are Available?

All of them, usually.

It depends on the ship. The Patmos is my favourite because it has a very reasonably priced a la carte restaurant which adds more romance and glamour to the trip. It also has a self-service. Other ships have other dining arrangements, but all have a café or two, and one of them will stay open all night. They also have comfortable lounges, airline seats, televisions, outdoor seating, WCs, kennels for dogs, a play area for the luttle’uns, a shop, receptions, a purser, and other things to explore during your 14 to 16 hours aboard.

What Happens When You Reach Piraeus?’

You get off.

After doing that, you have a choice of how you go further, and it depends on where you are going. There is a courtesy bus to take you to the main gates, a walk of some 45 minutes otherwise, and the bus station is opposite the boat. From there, you can take a bus to the airport via a journey of around 1.30 to 1.45 hours depending on traffic. From the main gates, you cross the road and turn left to find the underground/overground (Wombling free) station and head into town. Syntagma Square is about eight or nine stops and takes about 30 to 40 minutes, I think. There’s also a train to the airport, but I’ve not used that.

If you book a taxi, say through www.welcomepickups.com (a company I recommend), they will be waiting for you when you disembark.

You Have Arrived at Your Destination.

There you go. My quick guide to travelling over water to reach Piraeus/Athens.

You can find the Blue Star Ferry website here (translate to English is on the top right of the page), or you can contact any of the travel companies on Symi who will advise you and book tickets.

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Continuing the water watch theme for the week, let’s talk sterna. I don’t mean the plural for sternum as in breastbone, but the water chambers found beneath Symi houses. Before pumps and pipes, water would be drawn from this well by hand, having been collected from the roof during the winter and any other time it rains. What you had by the end of May was what had to last you until October, or until the next heavy fall of rain. It was important to keep these chambers clean and dry, and the well opening was often in the courtyard, set in an alcove in the wall and painted white for cleanliness. Now, we have pumps that are either submerged into the sometimes-massive chambers and other times, placed above ground with the pipe down near the bottom of the sterna – but not too close to the sediment that gathers there.

These sterna can be large. The one beneath our house is the size of my study, a good 12 feet by twelve and probably just as deep. The only problem with it is, it’s broken, and has been for some years. It was invaded by the roots of a fig tree some years ago now, and to repair it would have meant knocking down a wall, taking out the pump, draining what was below the root line, killing the fig tree (which we and the neighbours did with glee), and then relining the whole thing before refilling it. Expensive, disruptive and complicated. Instead, our landlord gave as a 500-litre water tank to sit on our bathroom roof.

That’s all well and good, and worked fine once we put the pump in it because he’d overlooked that minor fact, but it means we can be limited to how much water we can use. As the mains supply feeds the tank three mornings per week, it’s not usually a problem, but at Easter and other long holiday weekends, we can run dry. If we can’t fill up between Wednesday of one week and Wednesday of the following, for example. We can’t collect rainwater because the opening to the tank is too narrow. So, we’re forever on water watch, and when there’s a bank holiday, I pop onto the bathroom roof to open the tank and peer in, then give my verdict as to whether we can shower or flush that day.

People often ask if the water on Symi is safe to drink, and they get various replies depending on who they ask. Some say yes, but others say, since the desalination plant was installed, no. I say it depends on what’s in your sterna. Our tank is quite clean (being plastic there’s nothing growing at the bottom of it), and yet now and then, the water runs a strange orange colour from the taps, as if it’s run through a pocket of rust, which it might have done, but surely it would always run that colour? Odd. Anyway… We use the water for washing up, cleaning teeth and so on, and also use it for ice as I am sure, do most businesses.

The other water we have a lot of is the sea, and that’s why you have a few images from various angles showing my view of the sea, taken from my neighbourhood. (Except the last one.)

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Continuing the water theme, let’s talk bottles. I shudder to think how many plastic water bottles are used and thrown away on the island every day. I know in our household we get through about three a day between us, at least, so I hate to think what the bars and tavernas are using. Good for the suppliers, but as these things are not recycled and end up in the landfill tip… But what happens to the bottles is not today’s topic.

Opening the darn things is. Over the last couple of months, there’s been a takeover by bottles with a new design. Someone’s come up with this great idea of designing the tops so they don’t stray from the rest of the bottle, thus, keeping them from being lost or discarded in the sea, or on land, come to that. All well and good, maybe. As is making the bottles from thinner plastic, which also seems to be happening in some cases. However, they’ve also made the things more of a challenge to open. Come to that, they’re not that easy to close either. After lunch on Monday, as we left the Trawler, I realised my backpack was wet underneath. I sniffed it to make sure it wasn’t cat pee, and couldn’t work out how it got so wet. (Had it been a cat, it would have been one with an excessive bladder.) It wasn’t until I reached the taxi rank that I remembered I had a bottle of water in there, and although I thought I’d secured the lid, they are now designed to fox even the most highly qualified physicist, and it had leaked.

You see, now, there are two dangers inherent in the seemingly innocent bottle of bottled water you can buy anywhere on the island. First, opening it. The caps are now attached to the collar by a very strong isthmus of plastic, so, once opened, they don’t drop off. This has made them (some brands at least) more difficult to open, so you have to grip more tightly, and as the bottle-body plastic is flimsier, as soon as you’ve got your cap released, you’re met with a waterspout to rival Geneva. Endless amusement when in a café and the waiter doesn’t open the things for the customer.

Then, presumably refreshed, dried off and with the flood removed from the tabletop, you come to put the lids back on. This is more of a challenge because, thanks to the new design, the top doesn’t always fit. It’s something to do with the way it joined to the bottle. You fold the lid over to find it’s slipped down the neck, so you have to wiggle-waggle it back up to get it into the right place. It’s only about two millimetres, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. There’s a ‘thing’ that keeps the top folded back, and if this slips below one of the ridges on the screw thread, you have to pull the cap out, lift it, place it back in, fold it over, and then you’re free to tighten it. Or not, because often it’s hard to see if you’ve seceded and you end up with a wet bottom. Or your backpack does.

I should draw a diagram, but I won’t, and I could advise that when you get one of these good/bad new bottles, you can always use a little force and rip the blooming top from the bottle and use it like a normal one like we used to have in the good old days of two months ago.

There, only I could fill a whole page talking about plastic bottle tops.

By the way, if you want to recycle your plastic water bottles by refilling them, thus, using fewer, there’s only one way I can think of to do it. As far as I know, there are no state or business-run ‘refuelling’ stations on the island (as there are now in some places in the world), but there is a natural one. Take a walk up to the monastery on the side of the hill overlooking the Pedi valley, known locally as ‘To Vrisis’, and you can fill your bottles from the natural spring there.

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