Earlier this year, we were in Rhodes for various things, and I bought myself a new laptop from Public. (Harry was to have my old one for his college work, hence yesterday’s side quest.) After that, we wandered along towards the new marina and came across a very pleasant café. Next door was a good-looking restaurant, but as it wasn’t eating time, we didn’t call in.

I did, though, last Friday with H.

The place is called Al Hyat, and there are many reasons for recommending it. It’s close to Akandia and the Blue Star (15-to-20-minute walk), the prices are very competitive, the staff are lovely as is the food, and the menu is extensive and varied. I’d been drawn to it because it wasn’t too far from the H house, and the menu said it did cannelloni, which I’ve not had for years – and which I thought would be soft enough to eat after my dentist appointment. In the end, I played it safe and didn’t eat anything. Since I’d only had a bowl of cornflakes at 6.30 that morning and it was, by now, 14.00, I could have chucked down half a cow. Instead, I watched as H ate a burger made from that half a cow (plus a fried egg and other dripping things in the stack, and a massive dump of chips), and calmed my growling stomach with a glass of cider.

Lunch done, we called into Pappou for shopping, and went our separate ways.

The pleasant surprise mentioned above came later, when I was minding my own business upstairs on the boat, and I heard a voice ask if he could join me. It was one of H’s besties on his way back to Symi for a surprise visit, having moved to Rhodes to finish school, and of course, I was delighted to have his company, though I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. There was no need to worry. I fell into easy conversation with this fluent English-speaking Albanian lad who, when his Greek mate joined us, chatted away in Greek to him, and the second friend in English and Greek to me. We talked about their schools, how N was doing catering college, and he proudly showed me his creations on his phone gallery, while E told me all about his forthcoming trip to Albania, his hopes for summer work (maybe back at the Kali Strata restaurant), where his brother was now living, and how he might, too, visit Denmark, and so it went on for most of the crossing.

It was unexpected and pleasant for several reasons. For a start, we’re talking about young men of 16/17 years, speaking at least two languages, conversing with a (to them) granddad who they might have known for several years, but who’s only been in the background to their mate’s family, and they were doing it all with charm and interest. When and if you recall yesterday’s tale about the forgotten and found laptop and how that made its way safely back to me, you can see where that honesty and hospitality come from.

That was lovely. Even more flattering was hearing that the boys look at this blog, and have used it to trawl back and see photos of (for example), the storm of 2017 and other things of interest. Nice.

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Last Friday, I had a main mission that came with a side quest. The mission was to attend an appointment at the dentist in Rhodes, and the side quest was to deliver Harry’s laptop to him before going out for lunch. The ferry was on time, though it left slightly late due to the number of passengers, cars, lorries, bikes, teams, school outings, everyone’s outings… But it delivered us to a sunny Rhodes in good time.

I was in no hurry, so I hung about on deck watching the quay until people started disembarking, as that’s much more interesting than standing inside in a crowd for ten minutes or more. As I do, I checked where I’d been sitting, made sure I had my bag, jacket and the laptop in its box, and off we toddled.

Akandia, through the Old Town, up the hill, out at D’Amboise Gate (top of Mandraki), down the hill, all very leisurely as I had plenty of time, and a stop at the Plaza Hotel for a cup of coffee while I waited, and 30 minutes later (check: bag, jacket, laptop) I’m in plenty of time for my appointment.

That done, mission accomplished, and with only the fun side quest to go, I was off towards the far end of Kanadas Street to deliver the laptop. Again, plenty of time, so it was back up the hill to D’Amboise Gate, and across the moat to the section of road/path between that gate and St Antonio’s Gate where the shops begin once you’re through the arch. There, I sat for a moment to dry off. It must be a male menopause thing, this inability to walk for more than ten paces without breaking into a sweat. The other night, while watching a film, I suddenly found myself overheating for no reason and had to temporarily shed a couple of layers. I’ve always been a bit like it when walking, but this year it’s become beyond a joke. However, towelled down (mainly around the back of the neck), and off I went with bag, jacket and delivery, pausing by the arch to retie a shoelace I’d overlooked.

The Old Town is completely different in winter than it is in summer. When I’d arrived and walked through and up the hill, I’d more or less had the place to myself. By midday, as it was then, there were still only a few tourists about because a lone cruise ship had unloaded, and a few shops were half open. The doors are often open like this, as the owners wait inside. Some put out all their wares, others hang around darkened doorways like trapdoor spiders, ready to invite in potential customers, and only then put the lights on. I passed just one such shop just inside the arch, and a few more as I made my way down the hill, all the way to the bottom of Socrates Street to the ruined church by Virgin Mary’s Gate, and was crossing the church grounds towards Akandia when I noticed a tourist taking photos and for some reason, that sparked the realisation that I was no longer carrying the laptop.

Expletives came into play as I spun on my heels, suddenly sweating even more than I had been sweating before, and, head down, headed back up the hill at a reasonably fast pace for a man of my age who couldn’t feel half his mouth and was probably drooling into the sweat, all the time imagining the thing gone and me trying to find a policeman to report it to, and then having to explain to the godson why we weren’t going to lunch but were, instead, going to Public to buy a new laptop, and all the time thinking, ‘This is Greece, it will be there,’ and, ‘I bet it’s gone.’ And, breathe.

I knew where I’d left it (the other side of the arch where I’d tied my shoelace), and I knew it wouldn’t be there once I’d sweated up the hill, around the mosque and passed the last/first row of shops before St Antonio’s Gate…

No sign of it. I could see through the arch to the section of the UNESCO world heritage site where I’d placed the thing, and there was no trace of the modern world. ‘I expect one of the groundsmen picked it up,’ I thought, remembering that there had been gardeners at work. ‘Or maybe…’ No. No sign of it. What there was a sign of, however, was activity around the first/last shop by the arch. A man and woman came out and headed towards the arch just ahead of me, and there, in their half-opened shop doorway, was the laptop, out of its box, on a stool and plugged in. ‘You found my computer,’ rejoiced this panting, sweating, drooling creature, red in the face and generally melting. ‘Ah, it’s yours?’

There then followed much thanking and explaining, and ‘You are a very lucky man,’ from the shop keeper, and ‘You are a very kind man,’ from me, an explanation from him, too, that he had turned it on to see if he could find contact details so he could call the owner, or a friend thereof, but the thing had a password, so they were going to keep it for a while to see if anyone came back for it before handing it in… And all was well, and I was, indeed, very lucky. As the man reminded me a couple of minutes later as he passed me on his moped on the way home. There were more thanks and ‘Dóxa to theó!’ and so on, and it was only then that I realised the whole panic situation had been spoken in Greek, including me using words I didn’t know I knew. (At least, I hope they were the right ones.) Maybe being under pressure and not having time to think frees the second language. Subconscious brain: Forget inhibitions and the fear of getting it wrong; your godson’s laptop and online course are in danger, just do what needs doing.

Calm restored, I sweated my way to the Harry house and up the eight flights of stairs to his room. ‘Oh, you brought it,’ he beamed as I trickled into the room. ‘I very nearly didn’t…’ So, the explanation started, and on with the day, which was to yield a much more pleasant incident on the ferry home.

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Things to do today: Arrange boat tickets, contact the dentists, upload a new book (‘1893’), write a handout about Dracula ready for our trip, and pick up my old laptop (which I gave to Harry which he left with his mum which I now need to collect so I can take it over to Rhodes to give back to him…). Sounds like a day not to be rushed. The book, by the way, is the second set of Clearwater Tales. It’s a mid-length story of five people meeting in a railway station on Christmas Eve eve and being delayed there overnight. While they wait for their train, they tell each other stories, so we have five shorts inside a wrap-around story. Here’s the blurb and a link to where the book should appear in a day or so.

To pass the long hours, they share candid, colourful, and often amusing tales from their pasts while the attentive stationmaster listens in. Yet the youngest among the group, a stranger, grows increasingly uneasy. He bears a secret, and is the subject of mysterious messages that arrive throughout the night. Who is he, and why has he been invited to Larkspur Hall? Only by unravelling their stories can the group piece together the truth.

‘1893’ is the second collection of Clearwater Tales and can be enjoyed as a short, standalone novella. You don’t need to have read the Clearwater, Larkspur, or Delamere series, but returning readers may find extra delight in recognising familiar faces and histories.

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I am off to Rhodes again tomorrow, but should be back here on Monday. Meanwhile, here are some random photos of our changing skies this past week or so.

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The village square plays several roles throughout the year. It’s a playground, a meeting place, a dance floor, a car park, an artists’ studio, a cut-through, a place to store building supplies, a place to celebrate, a live music venue, and a gossiping ground. It remains some of those things throughout the winter, but there’s less live music and dancing, but otherwise, pretty much the same, except it’s quieter. Much quieter.

Currently, only Georgio’s and Rainbow are open, and then, the bar only in the early evening and not always in the morning. Lefteris Kafeneion is currently closed, but on the edge of the square, the corner shop continues to keep the local economy running, as does ‘Mr Chan’s Chinese Emporium’ opposite. (I don’t know if that’s its real name, I doubt it, but it’s what everyone at the bar calls it.) Other places are open elsewhere in the village (the Sunrise, Ringo’s), but around the square, there is definitely a sense of winter, quiet time, staying indoors, and even the young’uns aren’t out playing football so much, if at all. Mind you, it’s starting to get chilly, and dark early, it’s nearly 7.00 now, and still the sun isn’t up. Ah well, anyway, onwards we go…

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I love it when the day starts with you not knowing your own name. My cover designer just sent me the full cover for the next set of Clearwater Tales (‘1893’), and very fine it looks too. She’d sent me the front cover a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been touting it around in a pre-publicity attempt to raise vague interest. However, it was only just now, when seeing the full wrap-around, that I noticed there was a C missing from my name, ‘Jackson Marsh’ had become Jakson Marsh, and I’d not even noticed. So, the two covers have been rushed back to Serbia for that amendment, and hopefully, it won’t slow down the publication process.

Meanwhile, we’re enjoying calmer weather, with the temperature up to 15° yesterday in the shade of our courtyard, though the air is chilly when you’re not in direct sunlight. Neil’s popping down town today to finalise his end-of-work paperwork and so on, while I am finishing the edits on ‘1893’ and generally doing desk-bound stuff this morning, with no plans to do anything this afternoon. That’s always a nice feeling to start with – nothing do but put your feet up with a good book… For ten minutes, and then I’m thinking, ‘I should be doing something’, but what? I can’t spend the rest of the day watching reality TV and adventure films, I should do something…’ There are 101 things I could be doing and a few more I should be doing, but there’s too much choice, so I’ll carry on reading in the hope it all goes away.

It’ll be a different story this time on Friday when I’ll be preparing for another trip to Rhodes. 7.45 boat, 10.00 possibly some shopping, 11.00 appointment, lots of walking, 12.30 meet up with the godson, lunch, boat back at 18.15, home by 20.00. However, this time in two weeks, we’ll be waking up in Innsbruck and preparing for a 10.16 train to Salzburg. That’s part of the trip the four of us are setting off on a week on Friday, which means the last blog of the year will be on the 18th, or earlier if the weather looks dodgy and we decide to leave on the Wednesday and spend three days holed up at the Castellum Suites. We shall see, but for now… On with the editing, and after that, I will write out 100 times, ‘I must learn to spell my pen name.’

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