Thoughts from the balcony

Another early start for me today thanks again to another early night (20.30 to 03.30, if you’re interested). I did spend a little time in this square after finishing work yesterday late afternoon, and it was good to meet a few couples who were visiting Symi for the first time, and loving it, I am pleased to say. The square tends to become busier later in the evening, but now the weather is cooling off a little, more people come up in the late afternoon, or stop off on the way back from the beach. During July and August when the temperature was up to and over 36 or 38 degrees, many people prefer to wait until the evening. Mind you, this year it wasn’t that much cooler then.

When I’m up early in the summer, I tend to sit on the balcony and have a cup of tea before firing up the computer and getting to work, and of late, I’ve had to wear a t-shirt out there.  I like the peace and quiet of that time of day. Well, I say ‘quiet’, some mornings there are still parties going on at some bars, as there was this morning. The sound doesn’t affect us, and I can only hear it faintly, bouncing off the wall of the property next door, depending on where it’s coming from. There is a club/bar/restaurant opposite us, and when the doors open the sound pours out, but again, that’s mainly during August. Other times, I guess the noise is coming from further into the harbour where we can’t see from our house; cheering, music and laughter ringing through the night.

I also get to hear more natural sounds and see some sights. The owls are regular background noise and last night while sitting outside we saw a barn owl flying overhead. I know it was a barn owl (there is a pair nesting somewhere in the village) because, well, I was once a young ornithologist and a barn owl is a barn owl. We also occasionally see the bats and little owls flying around the house, the occasional rat on the ruin wall, cats of course, and sometimes young people trying to get home in a straight line, taking a shortcut past the front of the house, following the torch of their mobile phones with varying degrees of success. And then there are the lights from boats and buildings, and the mysterious rising light over Turkey (must be some kind of weather balloon as it goes up in a straight line, waits, and then come down, fading as it descends). There’s plenty to see and hear on Symi even during the wee small hours.

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A new cantina

After posting yesterday, I went for a walk up to ‘picture corner’ as we call it. That’s up the main road, past the cantina and around the bend. (No silly comments, please!) After the first bridge, you keep going a few more yards, and at the next big corner you can stop and look down over the harbour one way and over Pedi the other. What I’ve been calling the ‘old cantina’ is now the new cantina, with tables and chair, a new van but still the same glorious view. I don’t know what time it is open, but now you have a choice of two on the main road, one lower down looking over to Pedi, and this one facing towards the harbour. Here are some photos.

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With no apology

One of the responsibilities of a blogger is to be honest, and I like to think I am, but sometimes I find myself covering up certain truths, or white-lying my way around them for the sake of my readers. People who come to my blog want to see photos of Symi and learn a little of what it is like to live here. Well, I can tell you that from my point of view, living here is currently not as attractive as it has been these last 17 years, and that has nothing to do with the island, its people or the country. It has everything to do with powers beyond my control, and when things happen over which one has no control, it’s natural to suffer a shift in emotions, from security to uncertainty, from contentment to concern, and from acceptance to frustration which leads to anger.

People often say to us, “You’re so lucky” [to be living on Symi], to which I politely reply, “Thank you”, but in reality, it had nothing to do with luck. It had a lot to do with saving money, planning, going without, taking a huge risk and then making sure it paid off. It was also my right backed up by certain fundamental securities; access to health care, the freedom to come and go, the state pension in which I had invested would one day be paid and meanwhile, contributed to by contributions made here, to name three.

Now, I have no say in what happens to my future, I have no control over it, and that’s not a very secure place to be. By moving here, one of the rules I agreed to abide by, one of the things I understood, was that after 15 years of permanent residency, I would no longer be eligible to vote in the UK. Fair enough, I understood that, although I don’t agree with it and never have, but at the time, I saw it as a reasonable pay-off for having the choice to live in another country without hassle. Back then, of course, no-one expected the Spanish Inquisition, but it has happened, and it’s only going to get worse for me and millions like me who are denied a say in their futures, or who have simply been forgotten by their country of birth, the country that one relies on for protection. One’s homeland. Well, if you’re a Brit who exercised their right to live elsewhere, you can forget all that.

“No-one knows what’s going to happen. It’ll be alright,” and other platitudes. I hear and read these daily. “It’s scaremongering. We just don’t know. I shouldn’t worry about it.” Not helpful. One of the worst things about my current situation is not knowing; the other one is knowing that whatever happens later this year, my future would have been decided for me by other people, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Yes, we don’t know what’s going to happen, but the way things are going, I can’t see how anything’s going to be coming up roses for the likes of me. Something’s going to change, and what’s so frustrating about that is that things are perfectly fine as they are.

To help you understand these honest thoughts of mine, I’m going to borrow an analogy from a post I saw on Fakebook. I’ll try and keep it brief.

Imagine Kent is the UK, and the rest of the country is Europe.

I was born in Kent. When I was in my 20s, I moved to Wiltshire for work, and later to Lancashire. I’m now living in Lancashire, working, paying my taxes, backing up my state pension for later life, paying into my state health insurance scheme the Kent government runs, popping across the county borders to see the family from time to time, and considering a job in London. Then Kent decides it doesn’t want to be part of the UK anymore. Well, a few rich people from Orpington don’t because a local newspaper and a few others lied and persuaded everyone they’d be better off going it alone. Kent sticks to its guns no matter what and there you go, it’s now no longer part of the country.

No-one at Kent County Council is bothered about me because I am living in Lancashire. They keep my health insurance contributions and pension fund payments, but won’t let me benefit from them, and it doesn’t matter that they’ve reneged on our deal because there’s nothing I can do about it. Then Lancashire says that to carry on living and working there, I need to magic up a large sum of money and put it in the Co-Cop bank of Preston, and because I am from Kent, I can’t benefit from the county health scheme, so I have to provide my own. Even though I’m married to a Wiltshire lad under Lancashire law, I’m still not from the county, and that might become an issue. “We’re not sure yet, but don’t worry about it, you can always move back to Kent.”

Except if I do, Kent won’t protect me for at least six months because I haven’t been living there, and their living costs are far higher than they are in Lancashire, so I can’t afford to live in Kent anyway, but that’s okay, as it “Was your choice to move away, so it serves you right. And, by the way, unless you find a way to live in Kent, we’re not giving you your pension. Thanks for the money, but it’s ours now, serves you right, traitor.” (And other insults.)

If you’re in the UK and live outside the county you were born in, I am sure you can imagine how you would feel if forced to return there, leaving behind everything you have now. I am not saying that’s going to happen, I am trying to point out how worrying the possibility is, and how frustrating to have no say in the matter. And please, no platitudes. “They won’t kick you out. It’ll be fine. Wait and see.” These are as helpful as, and almost as insulting as, “You chose to live there. Serves you right. Traitor. Remoaner.”

I’ve not put that as eloquently or with as much detail as the article I read, but I hope it makes things clearer, and you start to see why so many of us immigrants from Kent to other beautiful parts of the country are worried, frustrated and angered by the behaviour of those old men in Orpington.

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Symi Saturday Photos

For the weekend, I had a trawl through my folders to see what I had to show you, and this is what I came up with. (A couple are of Tilos.)

Before that, however, a message from Next Stop Symi, the charity that raises money for refugees on the islands. “NSS has received a total of £2,850 + around £530 gift aided. Money is being paid into Taxas as quickly as possible. This is before we even get the cash into the NSS bank account.”

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Ex-pat Health Info, Refugees and thanks

I am taking a deep breath and resisting a rant, and anyone who knows my feelings on the yUk and what it’s become since 2016 will understand why. Coincidentally, as news came in that the country had continued on its decline from being one of the world’s leading democracies to the state of Germany in 1933 when the Reichstag was suspended (allegedly due to a fire but a move which also ‘suspended individual rights and due process of law’), I also received a message from the Consul in Rhodes. This information has been out there for a while, apparently, but now seems a good time to remind people of what the UK has said about anyone who may be forced to return there. It concerns health care, and I don’t profess to understand the details yet. It also came with a video which I can only share via the Facebook page it comes from, so if you’re not Facebook-connected, you may not be able to see it. It is here if you want to try. And here is the image and info that came with it.

Moving on… Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes for our anniversary-22, including Yianni Rainbow who gave us a rose. We decided that we would go to Yialos for the evening or part thereof to eat. It’s funny that after 22 years we still find ourselves in the same situation when it comes to deciding where to dine. We’re prone to do that thing where you pay verbal table tennis: ‘Where do you want to eat?’ ‘I don’t know, where do you want to eat?’ ‘What about X?’ ‘Hm, we could try Y.’ ‘You want to go to Y?’ ‘I don’t know, X does Z.’ ‘So does W, we could go there.’ ‘If you want.’ ‘Do you want to?’ ‘I don’t mind. Where do you want to go?’ And off we go again. We ended up going to Trata as it was nearest to where we’d set up the ping-pong discussion, and life, after all, is too short for table tennis.

The harbour was busy. Loads of yachts in, including two proudly showing the rainbow flag as there is a gay charter company operating in the Dodecanese – recently seen on Tilos according to my friend Maria over there. The rainbow flag was waving among the others, Turkish, Maltese, British, German, French, you name it, the UN was in town (not really), and there was a very impressive line-up of masts and crafts on both sides of the harbour. There probably is on most summer nights, but I’m not in Yialos on most summer nights, and only see the end of the harbour from our balcony. This show of luxury and fun was a contrast to the 240 + refugees seeking asylum and shelter on the island. The police and port police continue to do the best they can with the numbers and, hopefully, government and EU support, and volunteers continue to assist with donations from the generous public. Look up the Solidarity Symi pages on Facebook to see how you can help, and contact them there if you can volunteer. Remember, though, that (as far as I know) the charity is no longer in existence and the guy coordinating is also running his businesses, so try not to hassle. The best thing, I heard, is to donate cash at Taxas supermarket in Yialos. There, you sign to show you’ve donated (for accounting purposes), and the money is then used for what is needed; that works better than calling into the crowded police station with donations as the officers, though appreciative of the thought, will have more important things to attend to, i.e. people in crisis.

Donations can also be made via Next Stop Symi where, if you’re a British taxpayer, the government will contribute a percentage of what you put in. It will be explained on their pages.

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