Three Sundays: Back in Time

On foot:
I’ve just walked back from the swimming pool – one at a nearby hotel. It’s been a quiet, unassuming weekend and it was the perfect way to spend a fading Sunday afternoon. A cold drink, a swim, time in the hot tub, a good read – all with a cheesy 80s soundtrack in the background. Added sport included beating SoundHound to naming that tune. I’ve known the town as visitor and resident for many years now, but it wasn’t until last May that I walked into this hotel to meet an old friend who was staying there before she headed to the airport. Since then, I’ve been back, summer and winter. I like it. The place itself has become a friend.

By car:
The previous Sunday saw me on a drive down to the deep south of the island to two places I’ve watched change a great deal over the years, yet which I never tire of revisiting. A friend (of tenacious longstanding) was celebrating her birthday at a beachside restaurant with a group of tourists and residents. The temperature rose, the mercifully-cooling wind blew, we ate, we drank, we chatted, we laughed and we had cake. The beach was full of happy holiday makers, the sea full of determined swimmers. A slow drive back took us to a fishing village in a small bay dominated by a ruined castle on the rocky outcrop above. The birthday cake digested, we stripped off and jumped in the water with the local ducks.

By boat:
Two weeks back now, and my Sunday was spent on as well as in the sea. The friend who’d introduced me to today’s hotel, invited me to meet her on another island at a favourite bay. One catamaran and a speedboat later, there I was and so was she. The crystal blues of the water were clearer and colder than usual – choppy, too, as the wind blew hard. On the boat and at the beach, I met two Dutch women, who talked of heartbreak, survival and fortitude with gusto and good humor. For a while, I walked alone along the shore, I had time for reflection before the return boat journey. I travelled through time at speed, remembering the first time I was there, the lasting value of the friendships made then, moving past all those made since, arriving happily, bumpily, covered in sea spray, back in the main harbour with those made that day.

Rock Fever: A Short Story ft. Symi

Once upon a time, there was a young English woman who went to live on the island of Symi for a year. She worked at a brand new English language school as the teacher and manager and lived ‘over the shop’ in the brand new apartment. She had lived there before, in the summer, and so had local friends and knew her way around.

The school opened at the beginning of September and all went well. Registrations were high, students were (by and large) happy and so was she. As the nights drew in, she met others who were on the island for the winter for the first time, too. Friendships grew and fun was had. The work was interesting, if not challenging (unlike some parents’ expectations and resulting behaviour, but that’s a PhD thesis right there) and every day life went on.

As it was long ago and far away, there was no Internet and there were no cell phones (imagine that, children!). Post arrived once a week by boat (unless the sea was up) and she took pleasure in having the letters reach her addressed simply to her first name, Symi, Greece. The phone lines were in short supply but she was lucky enough to have access to one in the school room.

But this young woman was born walking. She had a restless nature and these simple pleasures alone were not enough to contain it, nor were weekends on Rhodes (and the fun one in Athens). The walls began to close in, the animal(istic) noises at night and the burning stares around the harbour (from those who couldn’t read) became oppressive. What to do? The answer came in a phone call. Come to Paros!

She bought a one-way boat ticket and then thought ‘how will this work?’. A good friend (who’s even better now) took her to the doctor with strict instructions to look miserable and say nothing. The three outsiders (none was native to the island) sat in the consulting room and looked at each other, then the young woman cast her eyes down and her friend and the doctor talked over her. It was clear, said the doctor, that the patient was suffering from ‘Rock Fever’ and needed a pass. The usual prescription was for a few days on Rhodes. The patient shook her head miserably (as instructed). ‘Hmmm, this is the worst case I have seen in a while’, he said before signing off on a seven-day pass, sighing, and wishing the patient a safe journey.

Two other good friends (they are better now, too) were taken into confidence and the young woman set off on the high seas (and they were) to Paros. It was a long journey, but never dull, ending in the kind of docking that can only leave a lifelong admiration for the skills of Greek mariners. When told to jump, she jumped and landed safely on the harbour side. There then followed a week wrapped in quilts and tsipouro, with occasional dashes into the kitchen for her to cook nursery food or through the driving wind and rain to the food, company and real fire of a taverna.

As all good things must, this one came to an end. One of the good friends (now better), managed to contact her to say time and the game were up. Fond farewells were said and a dash was made for a light aircraft. The seven-day pass expired, the young woman felt weller and returned to work. Nothing was said, except by the children who said they’d missed her and her drawings (she used to illustrate their note books for them, you see). A rumour grew that she’d been to Paris, but it simply made her laugh and she fed it enough that it became a fact. The seven-day pass from the doctor had worked so well, there was not even a hint of ‘Rock Fever’ to follow and the young woman was able to serve out the rest of her contract calmly.

The End.

First published on axrhodes on 13/07/2013

Running the Island

My three days on Symi are nearing an end, so I’m back at Elpida’s for ship’s biscuit – my boat sails in four hours and this time I’m going to be prepared. I’ve been able to keep my room until I leave for Rhodes, as usual. An Italian couple, who were supposed to take it today, took one look at it when they arrived on the morning boat and fled, making horrified noises. Truly, I did nothing to occasion this reaction. Really, truly.

It’s been a good, long weekend. When I arrived, it was on choppy seas so decided to spend the day in the harbour area, swim from the steps below the room, and relax. Just after settling down outside the room to read in the shade, two people (one man, one woman) ran past me at high speed. Given the afternoon temperature of 35 degrees (Celsius, US readers) and that I was perched at the top of one flight of vertiginous steps, with another two flights to clear to reach the top road, I was very impressed at their haste.

The need for speed was explained when an overweight man in yellow polo shirt (sartorial mistake), with two black pouch bags slung around him, appeared, far less swiftly, at the bottom of the steps. He whispered at me and gesticulated. I thought ‘weirdo alert’ and studiously ignored him. This did not work. He came up another two steps and said, louder and slowly: ‘Where. Are. You. From?’ I replied by pointing in the direction of Rhodes. Encouraged by this, he then said: ‘Do. Not. Worry. I. Am. Tax. Man’. Why Marvel comics did not feature this character became apparent when he puffed his way level with me and pointed in the direction of the long gone runners. I am told that arrests were made and that ‘Tax. Man’ and his colleagues have now left The Rock. In any case, yesterday still had to happen – so it did.

Saturday night, I’d spent time with friends discussing ‘What-do-we-do-if-it’s-still-choppy-out-there-tomorrow?’ I wondered if it was going to be another day swimming from the steps with ‘Tax. Man’ haunting the streets, while listening to Man U supporters sobbing into their beer. As it turned out, Sunday was plain sailing, so I headed to Agia Marina with two friends and we had a splendid time – catching the last boat back as the sun set behind The Rock. We did get soaked in the boat. We did not sing sea shanties (I was restrained).

In the evening, I ate late at Tholos – once again trying to be the last to order and once again being beat by a Greek couple. Close to midnight, a helicopter entered the harbour area and went straight to the landing pad – it emerged that a local restaurateur had suffered a heart attack and needed to be taken to hospital urgently. Luckily, he had received emergency medical attention on The Rock and the helicopter arrived in time to make a difference. I heard today that the patient is in a stable condition in hospital in Rhodes and that he may be moved to Athens for further treatment. Another reminder of the fragility of living on The Rock and the need for speed.

I wrote this for axrhodes on 02/09/2013

The Agia Marina Blues

My favourite Agia Marina is still the small bay on Symi – there the blues are as blue as they could be. Over ten years ago, the land there was bought by an Italian woman and her husband and they set about developing it at great personal cost (in many ways). What they created, and now lease to others who have added their own touches, is a great place to relax, eat, and play sport – as well as swim, of course.

I visited several times last year and plan to do so again soon, in time for the name day of Agia Marina on 17 July, but the visit I remember most fondly is one in September on the weekend of the blue moon. I went with a friend and her son and it was such a perfect day I doubt anything could have been added to improve it. It’s possible to walk to the bay, but the boat trip is part of the whole experience and means you can arrive feeling fresh and having seen those blues up close already. So, we went by boat.

We took beds and a parasol under the trees at the far end of the beach. Then we swam – I like to swim to the small islet in the middle of the bay and go for a walk there. This time I swam there with my friend’s son. Almost at the islet, wordlessly, we both stopped to tread water and look around. We could smell the dry herbs from the bay behind us and see the small chapel on the islet, but what had stopped us were the blues.

Such blues. He had plans to study abroad and I was about to leave for California. However, right there, right then, those blues we agreed were unique and would stay with us – to join whatever colour palette we put together on our travels. He swam back to the beach and I carried on to the islet, had my walk and swam back around the yachts, through the sea clear as glass.

We then ate food I still can’t quite believe I had – it was so good. The way it looked on the plate, the tastes (expected and unexpected – all a joy) and the smells. Luckily, my friend took pictures or I’d still believe I’d dreamt it. Then it was off to dodge hornets while playing table tennis – personally, I think my game improved as a result (fear of being stung, maybe). All the time, there was a soundtrack of light jazz, people chatting and children playing. Eventually, I caught as late a boat back to the main harbour as I dared, leaving just enough time to catch the night boat back to Rhodes.

This was first posted on axrhodes on 17/07/2013