Welcome to Monday. I was going to start this week by taking a look at how many visitors the blog had last week, but I can’t get into my stats package. I’ve sent a support ticket to Brad in Arizona who lives to serve customers at all times of day and night and asked him to reset my password. As soon as that’s done, and I’ve been sent on my way with his customary, ‘Y’ave a good day now y’hear,’ I’ll be able to see how the first week went in terms of views and visits. This is only out of idle interest, but it might be something to talk about later. As was the wind this last weekend.

Is it not sweet to hear the breeze singing
As lightly it comes from the deep rolling sea?

[Blow the Wind Southerly. Northumberland folk song, pub. 1843.]

Force five and six, what was on the vine is now in the porch, what was the dry surface of the earth is now in the sitting room, the chillies are looking forlorn, but at least the roof is clinging on. Just. The NW wind also blew a fair few undesirables our way; roaches slammed against the outside wall before scuttling into the house for shelter, blue plastic bags windsocked their way from the wasteland in front of us, over the chimney pots and onwards over the rainbow, pollen and bark flew direct from plant to nose. The sea was white with wind icing and surface squalls, shutters were doing the sabre dance, doors slamming intermittently, and there were a lot of folks saying, ‘It’s windy, isn’t it?’ Rather an unnecessary comment when you’re clinging to your toupee before it emigrates to Turkey. Otherwise, it was a pleasant weekend with the visiting bother-in-law and his daughter.

I walked down to meet them for lunch on Saturday, and rather than take the Kali Strata, I used the zigzag path near our house. I took some photos along the way, but for some reason, they’ve not yet uploaded to my cloud so I can’t download them to the PC so I can upload them here. And tech is meant to make our lives easier? Instead, I downloaded some random shots from the cloud, which is why you have one of a birthday dinner last Thursday at Giorgio & Maria, one of the Invisible Man model kit I built a couple of years ago, and one of a hansom cab. I can’t tell you why I uploaded the Invisible Man (who is clearly visible), but I know why you’ve got a hansom cab. It’s because I am currently writing a novel where the main character is a handsome hansom driver in 1892. More on that story here. And more early morning nonsense from me tomorrow if I’ve not been blown away.

And finally… Thank you to everyone for the kind messages about the return of these pages. I am glad they are enjoyed.

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‘That’s the middle of the night’, so say outraged acquaintances when I tell them what time I get up in the summer. ‘Why do you get up so early?’

What I’d love to say is, ‘Mind your own business,’ but what I usually say is, ‘Because I like to’, and it’s true. Apart from anything else, I enjoy the peace and quiet of 3.30, although ‘quiet’ is a relative term.

This morning (3.15) I crept from the room to the kitchen, turned on the light ever wary of summer bugs and spiders scuttling across the floor, and went to fill the kettle to be greeted by the first wildlife of the day; a cockroach in the washing up bowl. Convenient, as there is no escape from the bug spray. That done, kettle on, tea made, I followed my usual routine of reading the news in the sitting room, kept company by the mosquitoes delivering their overnight bulletins directly into my ear. The cockerels up the road had already started reveille, if, in fact, they’d ever stopped, and in the distance, the washing-up bug was still committed to its wheel of death around the walls of the bowl. The alleged silence of the early hours is also often disturbed by some of those unidentifiable sounds a house makes; a slightly worrying creak from up in the roof, or a loud click from the kitchen which I assume is the kettle, but you grow accustomed to them and carry on.

The headlines glanced at and those stories that interest me read in detail, and it’s out to the balcony to finish my tea. Yesterday, we had a small cruise ship in port, the 220-foot motor yacht the MS Monet. Varying up to 50 passengers, this vessel goes on cruises around the islands and Greek mainland coast, and in September, you can take a ten-day cruise for £3,895. It’s part of the Noble-Caledonian line and looks rather nice. Anyway, that was parked up outside the police station, purring away with its string of over-deck lights looking very pretty. I stood and listened to a couple of fishing boats chugging out, now and then watching the rats in the pomegranate tree next door, and watched the harbour lights waving through the water. Sometimes, when there isn’t a large ship in, it’s possible to hear the sea lapping at the harbour wall, and on other mornings, you’re treated to the romantic sight of the Blue Star rounding Nimos and heading in, lights a blaze.

Some mornings, the boy next door comes home from work at 3.30 or 4.00 in his baker’s blacks (or whites, it varies) and hurries to his flat downstairs where the lights go on, there’s a time of silence, the lights go off and I don’t see him again for another several days. Young lad, works very long hours as far as I can see, is very quiet, but when he sees us, always says hello. Now and then, the party’s still going on ‘down town’ at one of the later-night restaurants or cafés, and there are times when mopeds strain up the hill, or friends holler goodnight to each other across the cavernous void of two feet, but generally, the Symi parties have calmed by this time of night.

Then, tea drunk and kettle reheated (the bug’s still circling the bowl, though with more lethargy), it’s off to this desk to type out some nonsense, see if I’ve sold any books so we have an income two months hence, and settle down to write, exactly as I am doing now. Later, I’ll go and make another cup of tea and, later still, when Neil wakes up, listen out for the shriek from the kitchen sink as the discovery is made.

I broke off there to go and make another cup of tea only to find the thing still clattering around, so I took the otherwise empty bowl to the balcony and tipped it into the garden below, only to discover another little chap in the sink. He’s our lodger and helps keep the mosquito population in check. If he’s still there later, I’ll give him a hand out to freedom.

I’ll be back on Monday.

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Today, a shout out for a (relatively new) restaurant in the village. The Kali Strata opened last year to great success. From what I’ve seen and experienced, it doesn’t need any publicity as it’s proving so popular, but I wanted to mention it because I have an association with the building going back to my first visit to Symi in 1996.

The restaurant that was there then was called… I don’t remember, actually, was it Panorama? Or was that what later became Syllogos? Anyway, the place that was at the top of the steps… I called in there one night and tried Symi shrimps. Now then, what I am about to tell you has no bearing on the taverna that’s there now or even the one that was there then, but… I discovered I am allergic to the local delicacy, Symi shrimps. I know this because during that night, staying at the outpost that was Lavinia, I woke feeling decidedly odd and spent half an hour in the en suite having what you might call a purge. Once that had subsided, I put the light on (there hadn’t been time before) to discover I was covered in great red welts. A bit worrying for a lone traveller. Having drunk two cans of Fanta lemon and 1.5 litres of water, I went back to bed, and the next morning, was as fit as a fiddle. Phew. Since then, I’ve not gone near the things and can’t even stand the smell (sorry to all you shrimp lovers). It is fun, though, to watch the unknowing trying to peel them. Tip: if you order them, you eat them whole. Another tip: don’t order if you might have a shellfish allergy. Just so you know, I also had two weeks off work after eating oysters in Selfridges, and that’s something else I can no longer stomach. Not West End department stores, but snotty things in shells. Strange, as I was brought up with a shrimp net, winkles and welks. That paints a very unusual image of Romney Marsh, but it was the 60s.

Moving on

Later, when coming here on holiday, I visited the taverna again; To Klima, as it was known by then. This was the place where we had to rest our feet on the wall to avoid things scuttling about on the floor. It was also the place we called into during our first winter and ended up being there until about four in the morning with G & J, until crawling up to our place at Ag Triada, only to learn, the next day, that not long after we left, G had to be airlifted to hospital. But that’s another story…

Later, the taverna became Filos. We had the shop at this point and, while setting up an exhibition, booked for lunch at Filos to save time, only to find the water had given away our table because he couldn’t be bothered to put people on the upper terrace; too many steps. This was the same waiter who’d sit down at a customer’s table and open with the line, ‘Now, then. It would be so much easier for all of us if we spoke English.’ Needless to say, this incarnation didn’t last long.

Then, we celebrated the Olive Tree, and everyone said, ‘Yay!’ and everyone was happy to have an original, healthy, and laughter-filled place to have breakfast and lunch, and all my dodgy experiences of before can be forgotten. Sadly, the café had to close in 2020 because of Covid, as did many businesses, and it sat empty until 2022.

Kali Strata

Which is where we came in. With the opening of Kali Strata comes a modern approach to Greek dining, with an excellent menu, good food, a great cast of staff and the perfect view. What’s also nice for me, though, is that we have, from a distance, seen the guys who run it grow up for the last 20 + years. It also continues the tradition of family-run, with the brothers in the kitchen, dad on front of house, the grandparents on hand. Also, the staff they employ are young, thus, giving younger people a chance for work and a career so hard to come by in Greece today. One of them is our godson, working his first job, and discovering (to his delight) what it’s like to work eight hours a night, seven days a week.

And as for the actual dining: tables on the terrace, perfect service from the young staff, plenty of choice, great flavours and great food but not at inflated prices. This ain’t Santorini love, it’s Symi, and where better to spend an evening than the top of the Kali Strata at the taverna called Kali Strata?

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