Free car wash

Wandering back from To Vrisi the other morning, I was met by a traffic jam. Not the usual mules or goats, but the council fire trucks coming towards me with Yiannis from the village square watering the cars. I think (but I’m not sure) they were actually watering the verges, but the lads were having some fun along the way and washing down a few cars as they passed. He missed me but did manage to douse his colleague amid much laughter. The sight got my day off to a good start, unlike yesterday when I woke with indigestion at two in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep.

Still, here’s a distant shot of the water-work in progress, and a couple of others from the other morning.

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Birdwatch

I was wandering up the hill the other day, my mind full of the next chapter so I didn’t notice the aching legs, and I had a bit of a birdwatch moment. At this time of year, I’m forever disturbing flocks of partridge (or whatever they are, I’m not good at identification). They lie in wait for me along the hillside path, and just when I think I am alone, clatter up from the bushes squawking and complaining en masse. The other morning, there were a couple on the path ahead of me, waddling along minding their own beaks when they noticed me. They set off at a faster waddle until they remembered they could fly, and took off with much faffing about. It made for a humorous sight and reminded me of the Aristocats. ‘Abigail Gable and my sister, Amelia Gabble.’ ‘We’re geese, you know.’ (Thomas: ‘You don’t say!’) ‘Yes, on a walking tour of France.’ ‘Swimming most of the way.’ ‘On water, of course.’ (Much laughter.) I didn’t look that up, it’s just what I recall, but then I can probably quote most of that film in my sleep. Anyway, the birds… They were too quick to get a photo, so you’ll have to make do with this.

Also, during that birdwatch day, I heard the little owls in the trees, and it was just after sunrise. Maybe it was the same pair who were at our house earlier that morning having a contretemps on the telegraph pole. But then I saw something else, and I’ve never seen one like it before. It was about the size of a thrush, possibly slightly smaller, and ten feet ahead of me. It was grey, but I couldn’t see its belly, but it had a medium length tail that was black either side with a white strip down the middle. Maybe it was three feathers. Now I know what you’re thinking, it was a pied wagtail, but it wasn’t any kind of wagtail, it was too stout and chubby, let along too big, and its tail wasn’t that long. I tried looking it up, and the closest I could come was a gnatcatcher, but it was bigger (similar shape) and they, for a reason best known to themselves, live in North America – and South, to be fair. It was also too big to be a grey tit, and I didn’t notice a black cap on its head, so I don’t think it was a blackcap. It might have been a Sardinian warbler, according to a photo I found, but again, It wasn’t quite like the one in the picture, and it was too quick for a photo, so you’ve got this:

Whatever. It was a birdwatch moment, and seeing the waddling partridges, hearing the squabbling owls and wondering what the other bird was, I paused for a while to look at the view down to Pedi. Mainly, I looked at the trees and the outcrops of rocks because the sun was playing tricks in the distance between them, giving the kind of perspective effect you see when watching a 3D film; almost real but not quite, which was odd as it was real and, obviously, three dimensional. I tried for a photo (below), but the phone camera doesn’t give you the right depth of field.

Well, that’s my morning chat. Now I’m off to chapter ten of a new mystery. Ironically, in this one, the culprit of a poisoning could well be a poisonous bird, but not the grey one I saw, as my deadly bird is now extinct.

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Some of Neil’s photos

You might have gathered that we’ve been making more of an effort to do some walking, usually in the early morning before it gets too hot. Well, today, I have some of Neil’s photos from his walks. He tends to go to Pedi or, more recently, to Nimborio. Taking the main road from the village, down and through Yialos, around the headland and to Yala and coming back by the same route, is, according to his step counter, roughly seven miles. Today, he’s going to go all the way, which makes a change as he usually goes too far, lol. Anyway, here are some of his photos.

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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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