Is it possible to pop over to Rhodes for 3.5 hours? Yes. In fact, I’ve popped over for a shorter time. When collecting my biometric residency card a few years ago, I went on the early Blue Star, came back on the Sebeco and was home before lunch. Yesterday, was more leisurely. I left on the 10.15 and came back on the 15.30 Panagia. That gave me roughly 3.5 hours, during which time I walked from Akandia to the New Town and back again, via the optician, a spag bol at Napoleon’s, a brief rest at the Symi café in the new fish market, and a walk along the seafront because there was a very slight breeze there. Needless to say, with the temperature at 37° + and humidity at 70%, I was sweat wet before I even boarded the first boat. Not pleasant, but then I get like that when I walk to work each morning and that’s only across the porch.

I didn’t do well on photos. There was no time to stop and take any, really, but I got a few snaps from the boat. There are three sailings of this ship each day at the moment and I expected it to be virtually empty. For a boat that size, it was, but there were still plenty of people coming and going with luggage, so not on day trippers, a few young guys on mopeds and a little freight, but generally, it was a quiet and uneventful crossing there and back. The inside air con was down to -5°, it felt like, which was, at first, refreshing and then too much, so I sat up top among the noise of the engines, but luckily, the fumes were blowing the other way.

Anyhow, Rhodes was as to be expected. Busy with tourists, though Dimitris at the restaurant said it was a ‘usual season so far, not like last year when it was very busy.’ There were some cruise ships in dock, people swimming at the small beach between the harbours, and the usual fume-pumping busses carrying the inquisitive to various destinations. The authorities are extending the boardwalk around that dangerous section of road between Akandia Gate and the commercial harbour, so that’s currently even more dangerous to walk around (use the cut through at Akandia). The section at Kolona, the oldest part of the boardwalk, is quickly becoming dodgy with many loose boards, some rotten, others replaced and new, but mainly it’s getting a bit creaky and needs redoing. I hate to think how that will be by the end of this summer. And that’s about all I can think of to moan about this morning. That and the state of my chaffage – the Klunke Voks was soon washed away by sweat and I didn’t take the tin with me so couldn’t freshen up. Walking back up from the boat yesterday evening was something of a challenge after six miles and 13,000 steps.

I’m popping over to Rhodes later this morning, so no doubt, tomorrow’s blog will include some photos of that adventure. I recently had this idea to do one post a day showing the view from my office window, so you could see the change day by day. Then I realised that was totally boring because it doesn’t change much. Then I thought, I’d bung up the photos I’d got so far, so you could see what I mean. Here’s the first one.

That was on Tuesday (I can’t now find Monday’s image), and as you can see, there was a small cruise ship waiting to come into Yialos where it moored for the day. The next day…

A larger cruise ship which didn’t come in but shuttled its people back and forth instead. This was taken at roughly the same time of day and number one, but this third and last photo was taken earlier and this morning, not long after 6.00, and as you can see, it was humid out there.

That’s not snow on Nimos, it’s cloud which now at 6.52 is gradually thinning. Talking of Nimos, that is where I will probably end up for lunch later today on my way back to Akandia and the boat. It’s handy, being just inside Akandia Gate, because you don’t have so far to waddle after you’ve eaten. I’ve got a book to read for the boat journey and telling you that leads me nicely to a collection of mystery and thriller books that are currently being advertised in a special promotion. They are all on Kindle Unlimited (and in other forms) and so are immediately available. I can heartily recommend, ‘Finding a Way’ and ‘The Saddling’, though there are plenty of others to explore. Here’s the link, and I’ll be off to prepare for my adventure.

You know how it is when you wake up and think, ‘I’ve got nothing to do today, how marvellous… Oh.’ It’s water day, so there’s the washing to do, the plants to water, and I can have a shower, so I best do the exercise routine first, and I’m playing the piano at 11.00, and I want to finish that chapter, and I must sweep the courtyard, and tidy the kitchen, but that’s okay because I have nothing to do tomorrow. Oh. I’m going to Rhodes to collect a spare pair of glasses. Well, maybe Friday then… Oh. We’re meeting Harry in Yialos to buy his brother a birthday present and then go to lunch. So, roll on Saturday when I might be able to get that chapter finished at last. Hey ho!

No matter how much is going on, I always seem to end up with the afternoon calm. Even when here on holiday I noticed it, and even now, from the sitting room, I notice it. Where it can be a ‘Phew!’ moment, sometimes it’s a ‘Bored now’ moment. It’s that time when all the day boats have left and the island breaths a sigh of relief. It’s somewhere between four and five, usually. I remember it from working at the leather shop. The last day trip boat would leave, and we’d not exactly put our feet up, but unwind with some light dusting and a sandwich, the ‘hard sell’ of the day being over. Around us, the bar and taverna owners were doing the same, some slipping away for a siestas, a wash and change, others chilling at their tables, witing for the evening to start, and all around was a stillness we’d forgotten existed at the height of the daily takeover.

That was over twenty years ago when there were only a few day trip boats, like four, or something. Yesterday, I counted 13, including the Sebeco tourist runs and the Panagia, and those were only the ones I could see coming in or moored. There was also a small cruise ship in the harbour. Still, come four o’clock, or just after, when the last one left, I was still left with that sense of ‘Ahhh, peace and quiet… Now what?’ There’s be none of that tomorrow because I have a plan. Arrive Rhodes around midday, walk over to the opticians, collect glasses, walk back to Akandia for lunch, walk to boat for 15.30, back to Symi by 17.00 walk up, sorted.

At least, that’s the plan. I’ll keep you informed.

Now then, may I politely direct you the About page on this website… About. It’s there in the top menu and let’s face it, there aren’t that many menu items. Here’s a summary of the About page: The blog is here to serve my self-publicity as an author. (I sell very few books from here so, frankly, I don’t know why I say that.) I am not a news agency. I don’t purport to have a clue what’s going on and anything newsy you might read here is at least second hand. Nor am I a travel agent. If you want advice about getting here or leaving here or where to stay in between, research and find a travel agent/expert. (I am not an A to Z, a Kelly’s Directory, the Yellow Pages or Tourist Information.) What I do do is put up random photos such as this one:

Cats. Not the musical but the creatures. Last night, we watched ‘A Private Function’ in which Liz Smith says, ‘No pig here….’ Well, there are no cats here, not on this page nor in this house. Cats are something else I can’t help with. Recently the number of emails I receive about stray cats has been on the increase. I know visitors are upset when they see ill, dying or dead stray cats, but writing an email to a random website email address isn’t going to help. If you want to help them, do something while you are here, even if it’s only reporting it to a nearby shop or business. You’ll likely receive the same reply, ‘Thanks for telling me, what do you expect me to do about it?’ That’s kind of how I must respond when I receive one of those emails that makes it sound as if the stray cat population on the island is my personal fault. The only thing I can suggest is to contract either the town hall or the pet shop at the bottom of the Kali Strata, as I have no idea if there is any animal welfare organisation operating on the island now. I’ve asked on Symi Facebook groups but have no website link or email to give you. Sorry.

On which note, tourism is taking over the world. I just searched for ‘Symi Town Hall’ to get their website address, and what comes up first in the search engines? Boutique hotel guides, ‘The 10 best hotels in Symi’, Hotel Symi something in German, ‘Visiting Symi, everything you need to know…’ apart from who looks after the cats, and the Town Hall website link…

Ah, here it is, in my bookmarks from years ago (so may be out of date), The address is 85600 SYMI, DODEKANISSOS. The phone number is +30 22410 72444… And no, it’s not (yet) a boutique hotel. By the way, the website link I have is out of date and the page is not found so you’re on your own.

Anyway… That’s that, and my news is, piano lessons are now officially ended because a) it’s too hot and we always stopped in July and August anyway, and b) himself is now working, and when the season ends, is off to college in Rhodes. Yesterday, we had our last lesson, and he played Mozart for me to a standard well above what I’d call grade 4 under the ABRSM programme in the UK. So, along with the other pieces last week, the scales and arpeggios and so on, that’ll be a pass, so I must make up a certificate. Yay! And, moving on…

There was some discussion yesterday about that old devil called sunbed. Again. Yawn. I know. It is, however, a popular topic of discussion in all manner of fora, so here we go. Again. A friend who was with us hadn’t read the piece I’m about to regurgitate, so, David, here is the piece I was talking about. It is a repeat from July 2023, and with no suitable photos to put with it, I’ve gone for a random few from five years ago.

Sunbeds

Continuing this week’s theme of one-word titles for blog posts, the word of today is ‘sunbeds.’ It seems to have been the word of the season so far with visitors and locals alike endlessly discussing the things at the bar and on social media. Everyone has an opinion, it seems, and when talking about beaches, lots of people have advice on what ‘they’ should do, what ‘they’ should provide and charge. Some aren’t happy with what ‘they’ are providing and for how much, and how many ‘they’ have now got on their beach, while another ‘they’ have this, and wasn’t it better when ‘they’ did that? And if only ‘they’ could do this. Whoever this ubiquitous non-gender specific ‘they’ is or are, they are not going short of advice, that’s for sure.

The last time I used a sunbed was pre-2015. Having decided to take a Sunday morning off, the two of us packed up a beach bag—you know, shoved everything in as though we were going trekking for six weeks—and walked down to Pedi to claim a free sunbed at Apostolos by 9.30. The intention was to spend the morning on the beach pretending we were on holiday, stay for lunch and for me to catch the 14.30 bus back up to get to the bar for work by three. I lay down on the sunbed at 9.45, woke up at 11.45, and walked home. Not because there was anything wrong with the thing; ‘they’ had provided me with a decent one, but because, frankly, there are always better things I could be doing than lying in the shade doing nothing. On which note, why aren’t they called shade beds?

They are not for everyone, that’s for sure, and that’s partly due to the techniques that must be mastered before successfully using one. Getting onto one of the things is tricky enough in my experience. There’s an art to it.

You can sit in the middle side-saddle, then hoist yourself around in an arc to land with feet at one end, head at the other, only to realise it’s not at the correct angle, so you hoist back again, reach around to move the sloping part, unhook it and collapse face-first in an ungainly heap. Assuming you haven’t severed a few digits in this process, you then yank the back bit up while putting your weight on it and hope the slidey bit finds the correct notch, only to find it doesn’t, and you either collapse again or end up sitting upright as if in some Victorian health contraption. By this time, it’s time to cool off in the sea, so you waddle in, returning later to repeat the process.

Then there’s the straddle technique where you get one leg on either side and lower yourself to a sitting position only for the thing to clamp shut over you like a Venus Flytrap.

Of, course, you have to put your towel down first, and that’s the easy part. If you’re sensible, you can arrange the tilt angle before you mount the thing, and if you are an expert, you can glide gently to place amid oohs and ahs from an impressed stranger who has already settled in to share your intimate, semi-naked bathing space not two feet away.

I don’t advise throwing yourself face-first or even backwards onto one as they are unpredictable, and you never know what enforced yoga position you will end up in.

Once aboard, though, you can lie back and make yourself comfortable before noticing the earth has continued its orbit around the sun, and the shade has now moved, and so must you. There are two ways to complete this part of the assault course:

Grabbing the sides while still prone and spasming your way a few inches towards the shade. This method is also known as the electro-shock technique.

Or, disembarking, dragging, turning, looking up, whipping out your sextant, checking the angle of an observed object, noting the ‘dip’, sighting the horizon, the time of the zenith and the declination of the celestial orb against the desired direction divided by the length of time intending to remain, and then remount using whatever technique has been mastered. (Full details can be found in chapter six, ‘The Master and Commander Style of Sunbed Adjustment’ in my forthcoming tome, ‘Surviving a Symi Summer.’ Hardly University Press.)

That done, and all settled in and sorted, you can then fish around underneath for your bag to grab your latest Jackson Marsh and continue from chapter five, only to realise it’s way back up the beach by now, and what happened to your towel? Ah well, a few minutes catching the rays and it’s down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, with red strap marks across your back, or the imprint of a manufacturer endorsing your behind, and cool off with a dip. Later, returning to your pre-marked territory, you discover a family of nomadic circus performers has encroached, dragged the second sunbed of your pair to elsewhere, not knowing you were keeping it for no reason other than you didn’t want anyone else to sit near you.

You’ll need a lie down after all that, and on most beaches on Symi, you can do just that. How much you will pay, whether you will be on one of the new tier-and-tariff systems, paying X amount for a back row, or taking out a mortgage for the front row, or packed somewhere mid-stalls with no privacy or view, well… that depends on the beach. Whether you get your own personal torture device for free as long as you spend X amount in the café bar or restaurant depends on where you are. Whether you get a bamboo shade that leaves you with a burlap tan, or a collapsible umbrella (the use of which is the subject of an optional instruction manual), or whether you have one of those ‘set-in-a-concrete block and don’t you dare move it’ affairs, all depends on where you are.

Hopefully, you’ll find the perfect match for you, and while looking at the many beaches offering their various arrangements, you won’t think, ‘They’ should do this…’ You won’t criticise ‘They’ for not providing you with exactly what you want, or for over-providing the facilities because they are expecting an entire Virgin cruise ship to empty on their shores, and you won’t bad-mouth ‘They’ if you don’t like what you see and find. If you don’t like it, move on. There’s plenty of choice around the island. For me, I’ll continue to stay well away from the deathtraps, but that’s my choice, and I wish all the hard-working ‘Theys’ out there every success in whatever arrangements they have on offer, because, at the end of the day on the beach, everyone has to make a living.