Children of the Night

“Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Listen to them — children of the night. What music they make.” That’s from chapter two of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and it came into my mind as stood on the balcony early on Sunday morning. So early, it was still dark, and the moon had only just risen in the north-east, a sliver of a crescent with Venus not far away. The children, in this case, were the usual night sounds of Symi, the cockerels who began at three, a couple of owls having a barney with a small rodent or each other, and a couple of boats heading out in the darkness to collect lobster pots and nets. All sounds we’ve heard through the first half of the year.

But then they were added to by sounds which haven’t been familiar since last year. A distant, quiet thump of a bassline and the occasional higher register breaking through. The bars opposite us were closed, although Los had its lights on for a while but wasn’t broadcasting club music as it sometimes does, so, I figured the party was taking place further into town. It was good to hear, and I should point out that, for us, it’s never loud enough to disturb. The owls and cockerels are far noisier. Then, around five, the children of the night must have left the party because the motorbikes started. Some chugging around towards Harani, others, louder, straining up the main road to the village, one (and I think I know who owns it) heading down, baffle-less and louder than any cockerel. Interesting word that, as I expect the youth who owns it had adjusted it to sound as loud and throaty as possible as if to compensate for something. A little while later, another came up the hill, and there must have been three lads on it because I heard three voices singing, and saw only one set of lights. That made me smile because they were having fun, and also made me worry that the sound might suddenly stop and be replaced by the screech of breaks and the shattering of a no claims bonus—if the machine was even insured.

The sounds of the night died with the dawn. I imagine everyone was grabbing a couple of hours sleep before getting up for work and doing it all again the next night. Or perhaps saving themselves for the next Saturday night out. I left them to it and sat down at my desk to get on with a day’s work, or as much of one as I could be bothered with, and Neil headed out early to walk to Nimborio. I had done my four-day walking week, so allowed myself the luxury of an extra hour at the computer, and here I am, putting this up ready for Monday. Have a good week.

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Quick rant and I’m done

I’m going to have a little vent this morning, so please excuse me, but the behaviour of some over-joyful visitors caused myself and some friends some concern the other evening, and it was unnecessary. I’ll just get it off my chest and then be done with it. [Clears throat while adding a random photo.]

There were more visitors around yesterday (Wednesday as I write). Some happily bounded up and declared they were able to get here because they had a particular passport, as if that meant they were immune from passing on whatever they might have caught on the plane. I’m not going to go on about it after this, but I just want to say: just because you’re happy you’ve got off on holiday and you’re coming to somewhere thought of as safe, it doesn’t mean you are. What you could very well be doing is bringing the thing to a place with no or little immunity. So, don’t grab and shake hands, stand over people with no mask, tap them cheerfully on the back or get too close, and certainly don’t announce with glee that you were able to bypass the ‘system’ to get yourself here for a two-week holiday. Mask. Distance. Wash. Virtual hugs and handshakes only. Basically, yes, come and visit but respect those who have not been exposed.

Enough of that, but just to add, other visitors have come quietly and respectfully, not tried to hug, asked if they should wear a mask before coming closer, played by the rules and generally appreciated how lucky they are to be able to be here. Thank you to them. And this is only one rant/thought from me up in the village, a person who works from home, hardly goes out anywhere and doesn’t have to work 16 hours a day with the day-tripping, visiting public. Can’t imagine how worried some other people are feeling. There. Done. Another random photo to finish.

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Journeys

Yesterday was about journeys, kind of. I was putting together an outline for a new story and needed to know if it was possible, in 1889, for someone to leave London at the same time a White Star Line steamer left Liverpool, and reach Queenstown, Ireland in time to intercept the ship. (Many thanks again, AH, for your expertise.) You’ll be fascinated to know that it was. While that research was going on, a ship was pulling into Yialos below, as the King Saron made the first day trip crossing of the season. Neil was down at the dentist and took a few snaps which you can find on our Facebook page.

Apparently, shopkeepers, waiters, bar owners etc. are all wearing their masks, though many of the tourists aren’t, and some were not distancing. Just so you know what to expect if you’re heading this way on the newly opened routes to Rhodes from abroad. Meanwhile, back at the desk, my research trundled on with the windows open and the fan blasting while I recovered from celebrating a godson’s 17^th birthday a little too zealously. No morning walk for me yesterday, but today, I am trying harder.

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Up the hill and far away

Another wander yesterday morning. Up the main road to the top cantina, which has now been expanded and has a more organised seating area. A great place to sit and watch the sun go down, as there aren’t many places on this side of the island where you can do that. I mean, you can, but the sun goes behind the hills rather than sinks into the sea and often, it’s behind the hills before the sky changes to those dramatic colours of a steamy, hot summer’s evening. Of course, I was there at dawn, or just after, and you have an equally beautiful view of the sun coming up over the hills and Pedi.

The wander down is always a relief, especially as I’ve not walked all the way to the cantina this year, and it’s a bit of an uphill trek. Luckily I have an excuse to stop and take photos now and then, which prevents me from passing out, but coming down offers a different challenge—namely, the use of steps as I went through the village. The road is all very well, but also flat, and by the time you’re coming down and have to bend knees to take steps, which is why I do it; to stop them seizing up. There are also the goats to negotiate.

But eventually, I made it to the path home, coming around the back of the village and looking down on the back of Yialos where, in a slightly blurred fashion, you can see the progress of the new amphitheatre.

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Monday

A Monday morning walk to the hillside. I went up the hill as Neil went down to Pedi. I like peace and quiet at the start of the day to put my mind in order and plan the day’s work – when I can be bothered to get out and do the walk. Back home by seven and on with the work.

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