The Day in the Life of a Symi Resident (with random photos to take your mind from the dreariness of my day).

Yesterday, I managed to get around to doing one of those odd jobs that have been waiting months to be done and yet takes very little time to do, so that was something of a triumph. It was the turn of the balcony floor which has been in need of a new coat of varnish for some time. I wanted to get it done before the next rain comes, and over a week ago, went to the extraordinary lengths of buying a can of varnish and a brush. Having had that on display for a few days, I decided yesterday was the day, and taking my courage in both hands, set about the quest.

Firstly, to sweep the balcony. This involved finding the broom (a surprisingly easy task), and then finding the alternative head with the stiffer bristles; not so easy a task, but I located it beneath the husband’s fins, mask and snorkel, and set about giving the woodwork a stiff telling off. After that, and seeing to some rougher parts with a piece of sandpaper just to teach it a lesson, I thought I should give it a mop. Found the bucket, simple, but then had to track down the bit that attaches so you can squeeze out the mop, which I’ve not used in months. Not because we don’t mop, we are, in fact, a two-mop household and I regularly see to the occasional floor as part of my mid-summer celebration, but these days, I use an alternative, more planet-sustaining method of floor cleaning. I attach a cloth to the Swifter and do the floors with that. Not only does this mean there’s no need to buy disposable, wet and smelly Swifter wipes, but it also means I have a flat-head mop in the good-old-days fashion, and not the straggly bits of a string or cloth that, frankly, seems to achieve nothing. While I was waiting for the balcony to dry, I also had a go at the kitchen floor. Yes, I was that fired up.

Wood dry and gleaming with cleanliness, there then followed the old screwdriver and paint pot lid removal exercise, and after that came the real work. The hands and knees method for a few seconds, followed by a classic older person’s grunt during a change of position; the half-bent back approach which can only be held for 90 seconds before permanent paralysis occurs; the semi-crouch and crab-attack stance was good for another square meter, and then a tea break. Not quite, but might as well have been. Back to the task, carried out without the use of a safety net or dignity, a pause to nod to a couple of passing and bewildered tourists below, and all the time talking to the floorboards for no discernible reason other than a way of keeping sanity, and finally – ’twas done. ’Twas brillig actually. I.e. it was “four o’clock in the afternoon, the time when you begin broiling things for dinner.” Which is the meaning of brillig, according to sources. It was, actually four, but the only thing broiling was me.

Another coat is due on Thursday if I have enough varnish left. The poor old woodwork was so parched it drank nearly the whole can. Being a wise virgin I had bought water-based varnish which may or may not be any good, but at least it was easy to wash out of the brush, and that done, I was able to rejoice in success and take the rest of the day off.

Of course, I’d already done six hours at the typowriter, made lunch, been for a walk, seen to my admin, and read two chapters of a biography of Marie Lloyd. (Real name Matilda Alice Victoria Wood, did you know? Made me wonder…) A quick ice tea at the Rainbow, back home, a salad for tea followed by most of a film, before Neil had to go back to work as he’s currently doing evenings at the Rainbow as well as the siesta shift because it has been so busy, and with no time for a siesta of my own, off to bed at nine.

Now, how’s that for an exciting day in the life of a Symi resident?

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With inspiration at something of a low ebb this morning, I scrolled through my gallery on OneDrive to see what I was up to this time last year, and found a screenshot and two photos that could not have been more different. A picture of the view from just above Nimborio, an image of Romney Marsh (not mine), and a booking for an event in Prague. And who says there’s not much to do on Symi?

The walk to Nimborio is well worth taking if you’ve never done it. My preferred route is to go over the top (and anyone who has met my husband will know what going over the top is all about). Pass the town square taking the main road on the left, and keep going up the slope which can be a bit of a challenge, to the top and then keep going with the church on your left, and you’ll cross a section of countryside with wonderfully rural views. This part gives you an idea of what the island’s hinterland is like should you ever make it over the hills above Horio. The path takes you to above Nimborio Bay, where you follow the old donkey path down to the road, and then follow that around the coast. On the way back, we usually come via the road to get the seascapes and look down onto and through the waters along the rocky shore.

The picture of Romney Marsh has something to do with a book I was working on at the time, the first in a two-part finale to The Larkspur Mysteries, and it shows a dyke (a drainage ditch, worryingly pronounced ‘dick’ in a Marsh accent). I’ve used the area in my Saddling series and used it again for the penultimate novel in the Larkspur series. I was probably using the image this time last year as pre-publicity for the book’s launch.

The third image, a screenshot, is a receipt for an event in Prague, but I can’t remember exactly which one. It might be a lunchtime concert at the Lobkowicz Palace, a riverboat cruise/dinner, or a performance of the Magic Flute at the Estate’s Theatre, all of which happened last April.

None of the above has yet inspired me to get to work on what must be done 365 days later, today: the author’s notes and blurb for the next book in the Delamere Files series of Victorian mysteries. The MS is due with the proofreader at the weekend, and I’d like to get all texts finalised before I send them off. So, that is today’s job, and as time is moving on, so must I.

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That was a weekend full of pleasant and interesting bits and pieces. On Friday, we had lunch in Yialos with our Neice who was set to leave for Athens on the Blue Star in the late afternoon. Due to a strike on Thursday, the boat didn’t depart until midnight, by which time Neil was at work and I was well asleep. It did go, however, and she made it to the city with no problems and has been enjoying the sights, as have a couple of regular Symi visitor friends. Apparently, entry to all monuments and museums etc. was free this weekend to celebrate European Heritage Days. Unfortunately, thanks to the gift that keeps giving (Brexit), this free entry is no longer available to UK citizens, as we’re no longer European. So, if Neil and I had gone, he could have got into anywhere for free, and I would have had to pay. Let’s not dwell on that subject, but I do have some images from earlier this year (January) when we last visited the city by way of illustration.

We’re doing it again this New Year; spending a few days in Athens with the godboy family, and this time, there’s a reason other than just because we can. We’ve booked to see a production at the Greek National Opera (alternative stage), and will be going to an early performance on New Year’s Eve. The show is my favourite Sondheim, (Into the Woods), and as far as I can make out, it will be sung in Greek. Not sure how that’s going to work, but I’m looking forward to it. We are already saving like mad because to ‘see a show’ when you live on Symi is no ordinary or cheap matter. When you add in the cost of flights or ferry, accommodation and so on, it soon adds up. (It would cost us €200 just to go to the cinema in Rhodes). If you were thinking, ‘Opera? That’ll cost you a pretty penny,’ then you’re thinking UK prices for everything and not European. Our tickets are €20.00 each for the best in the house. When Neil and I saw the Nutcracker in Budapest a few years ago, at the National Opera House, 12 rows back in the stalls, they cost us €28.00 each. When Harry and I saw The Magic Flute at the Estates Theatre in Prague last April, we had a box in the oldest theatre in the city (where Mozart premiered Don Giovani), for only €50.00. Somehow, Europe even gets its arts subsidies right. The last time I saw an opera in London was in 1996, and it cost me £120 per ticket back then. The last time we saw a play, in 2020, it was £125 each.

Anyway… not what I started out to tell you. Interesting bits and pieces… Oh yes. This weekend, I saw the police car coming up the hill to the village with its blue light flashing. This was, I think, the first time I’d seen this happen. It was 4.30 in the morning, so I can’t imagine what it was for unless they were hurrying to meet a refugee boat that had landed somewhere accessible by road. Just a guess. Also this weekend, I managed to nearly amputate my little finger while hammering a nail out of a piece of wood. It’s a long story, the lesson of which is, me and home odd jobs don’t mix, mainly because I don’t have any tools or skills, but the good news is, I should still be able to play Chopin, and will have a good excuse if I play badly.

The weather remains hot, though bad weather is again forecast for further north during the week. Things to look forward to: Lunch today with some friends, piano lesson with H, finishing the final draft of a new novel before the proofreader gets her teeth into it, reading a biography of Marie Lloyd (research and general interest), and generally beavering away on all manner of things, but not doing DIY. Mind you, I am tempted to buy a hacksaw because I have 4mm of metal to saw through and the job is done, and it seems extravagant to call in a handyman just for that, especially when I have just paid €20.00 for a ticket to the National Opera.

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You’ll be pleased to know I’ve not been ruffled by any Fakebook posts so far today. Well, one, actually. Another Greek-themed group where someone had posted a photo of a quayside in Greece showing three people walking by a row of boats. In it, it appears as though two guys are holding hands while a woman walks behind and to the side. Someone had described the image as ‘disgusting’ and so disgusted were they, that they put a second comment with the same word. I replied because I agreed with them. ‘I know,’ I wrote. ‘That woman should NOT be wearing red shorts.’ Let his feathers be ruffled, I say.

And that’s about all I have to say today, except, I didn’t get up to very much yesterday: working, writing, playing ‘Sherlock’ on my tablet during downtime, catching a nap, watching TV… Oh, I did take the rubbish up to the bin, yahoo! We also popped out to Taverna Zoi for lunch.

After that, it was a job to move anywhere, and I didn’t much, but poor old Neil had to cover two shifts at the bar. There was a baptism up at Roukouniotis yesterday, and the after-show party was to be held at Georgio’s in the evening, no doubt making Rainbow and Lefteris bars busier than usual. I shall find out later. Tonight, in the village square, a man who would be mayor is holding his village hustings, and that’s expected to be busy too. I think the local elections are next month, and the political machine is already in motion. Tbh, I am not taking too much interest because there is nothing I can do about it. Since the yUK pulled out of the EU via Brexit (how’s that going for ya?), I have no right to vote in local or European elections. Since the ‘You-know-who’ party has still not fulfilled their promise to return voting rights to countrymen who live abroad, I have no vote in the yUK either. This means the only democratic vote I have anywhere is for the Goodreads Book Cover of the Month Awards, and similar; hardly likely to change the powers that be.

So, the build-up to the local and wider elections will rumble on with me as an outsider, and I will ramble on rumbling with my day-to-day first thoughts. Thanks for your recent comments on the FB page. Always good to read, and I’m only sorry I don’t get around to individual replies. If you want to comment on the posts you see here, you’ll have to do it through the FV page. Anyway… Off to editing land now, thence, I believe, to Yialos for lunch with our Neice before she heads to Athens on the boat that will be very late because of a strike yesterday. By the time she gets to board, I will be in the land of nod. And that’s my day planned.

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I was just having the best cup of tea of the day (the first one), and idly scrolling through Fakebook while waking up, when I came across a post which demanded a contribution. It was in a group about Greece, and, it seems, mainly populated by people who come to Greece on holiday once or twice a year and therefore know everything about the country. An innocent had wandered in to make a statement and ask for advice, and… well, talk about the slaughter of the lambs.

The enquirer had stated they were going island hopping in Greece in November and asked if anyone could recommend islands to visit between which they could travel. A simple enough enquiry you’d have thought, but oh no. The reactions and replies can be distilled into, ‘Are you mad? What do you want to go to the islands for in winter? You will find yourself stranded, marooned on a rock for weeks on end. You will have to eat your own toes because everything will be shut. The islands are the barren wilds of Hades at that time of year. No-one goes out. There’s nothing to do. Don’t do it!’

Of course, I had to put in my few cents worth and counterbalance the nonsense. I pointed out that on our relatively small island, in our village alone, we have two eateries and five bars open all year round. I could have pointed out the number of supermarkets and other facilities too, but my tea was getting cold. I did say, however, that the innocent should book accommodation in advance, and I suggested looking at the Blue Star Ferries routes to see what islands the main ferries connected to on what days. For example: If one had the time, the journey could start in Rhodes, then a weekend on Symi, the Monday boat could take them to Kos for a few days, and then on to Patmos, or others, and all the way up to Piraeus. It would work in the Dodecanese, and I assume the same can be done in other island chains.

Yes, there are downsides. Today’s photos show the weather of last November, but it’s not untypical, though an independent traveller should be prepared for weather delays and rain. However, life goes on, even without Mr and Mrs Armitage-Shanks who come to their island every year and have done so 27 times now (in September because of the climate, and George has a hip). You know, the thing about the Greek island in the winter is people live here. What do these FB nonsense non-knowers think we do in the winter? Lock ourselves away in our cave dwellings counting the days until the local taverna owner says it’s time we can come out to play?

Apart from that kind of thing (eating out and going for a drink), there is plenty to do what with name day occasions at the churches (everyone welcome), festivals, walks, exploration, and the annual stranded tourist toe-eating competition.

I hope my sharing of a little insider information turns out to be of use to the innocent who walked into the lion’s den, and I also hope that those who replied from the viewpoint of someone living on an island and basically said, ‘Don’t come, you will die’ find places to live where they can be happier in life. Want to come to the Greek islands in November? Then do some research (not in that group, though), be prepared for changeable weather, and go for it. You can’t have an adventure without being adventurous.

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