On the Third Day…

of December 1993. Taken from my diary when I was teaching English on the island of Symi, Greece.

Can’t write well, was up to 4 a.m. thanks to a party and am forgetting how a good night’s sleep feels. I’m stale and my throat is sore. The school owner is visiting from Rhodes, so I take myself to a quiet corner of the classroom and prep there. That done, I go out to buy bread, biscuits and veg. Take coffee with K at her very quiet cafe, after collecting D’s music centre. Bigger! Louder! Better! (Well it will be when this fug clears…). A walk around the harbour reveals the pack of male teachers at Elpida’s, talking in a hearty-blokey way. Not in the mood for that at all, I go to visit MA. She’s miles better company and we chat about constructive use of time – y’know, making it matter. I eat too many biscuits because they’re warm from the bakery opposite and she tells me I’m too small. I’m easily persuaded! The weather’s fine, the laundry’s done and I’m back on the bicycle enjoying the scenery. Return from my ride in time to take a ‘phone call from my sister – she’s just landed a new, permanent job at County Hall. So happy for her! That conversation had, (my former employer) Mr J rings to discuss getting me back to work in Rhodes. He’s lined-up a group of civil servants as students to start after Christmas and has found a teacher who’s willing to come over here to ‘replace’ me (who is this mad person, I ask myself?). Anyway, no time to ponder as DS (fresh from his male-bonding at Elpida’s) is outside, at the bottom of the steps, waiting to walk me up to a teachers’ party at Dolares. It’s a Salonikan celebration and we stay until 03.15, when we walk back down – smiling and laughing all the way. Bed by 4 a.m. Again.

of December 1994. Taken from my diary when I was teaching English on the island of Rhodes, Greece.

Wake early, plagued by thoughts of no pay (again). The temperature is colder than in London, there’s an icy wind. It’s overcast, so there’ll be no hot water – nothing like a cold shower to dowse self-pity. I have an odd rash on my body – standing in front of the mirror, it appears to be a fire starting from the big toe on my left foot and spreading upwards with its flames licking my thighs, abdomen and chest. I itch. A lot. Calls from S & H to meet by Agios Athanasios church at 8 p.m. for a night out. Next, I reserve a seat to Cairo for the new year with Ethiopian Airlines at the closest travel agent. Visit M to tell her the good news and she goes to check ferry times for the trip. Nervously excited! Especially as I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it. Meet D at Academia, where we wait for our students to emerge from their FCE papers. We’re definitely far more nervous than them. KL passes and invites me over to Koskinou for a ‘final’ dinner before he leaves for Australia on Tuesday. In the afternoon, I try to nap, but it’s too cold, the girl next door is shrieking again (having forgotten being ‘shot at’ by J as a warning the last time – where’s a firearm when you need one?) and the ‘phone keeps ringing. My private lesson is OK, though my concentration is poor. I pass my bill to the student, it is not paid (of course). In the evening, D comes round to take a call from her mother in the States, the rest of the gang come round, we go to meet S & H and all go to eat at ‘Vrachos’ in Ialyssos (lovely setting and place). Back to ‘ νυν και άει’ in the Old Town, with a great DJ, before going on to a very crowded ‘Melrose’ at 1 a.m. Well, dear reader, I danced, I drank, I smoked, I sang. All with no thought of tomorrow. That can wait.

A Long November Weekend

The weekend of 6 – 8 November 1993, on the island of Symi, Greece. Recorded in my diary of the time, when I taught ESOL there. The 8 November is the festival of Archangel Michael of Panormitis. The Greek Orthodox Church states that the miraculous icon of the Archangel Michael on the island of Symi is one of the four miraculous icons of the Archangel in the Dodecanese, Greece.

Saturday dawns and I still feel rough. My fever is running high, my voice is running away and my nose is just running. There’s a teachers’ lunch in Horio but I don’t go, instead I walk the few meters to the Vapori to sit with D for a medicinal drink. She has one, too. Prophylactic reasons. Back to the apartment, I listen to old cassettes to divert myself from unproductive hovering and feeling doom-laden. F comes round to tell me I’m getting better, she’s always right, so I must be. Apparently, my illness will pass by Monday. Have a hideously bad night’s sleep.

Despite this, Sunday comes and I am feeling better. Well, a bit anyway. I then contrive, through hovering-with-intent, to spend the day at a friend’s house. This helps me avoid housework very nicely until 4pm. Then, fed up with mess, I clean and tidy the apartment. In the meantime, even more people have left for the festival at Panormitis and the harbor area is becoming quieter. Further attempts at hovering-with-intent-to-be-invited-in fail miserably but I have a greater reward in going for a walk in excellent company with M and S, two of this year’s teachers. Not for the first time, I thank my lucky stars for this group of good people.

The three-day weekend rolls into Monday, and the harbor’s almost completely closed up as it seems the entire local population have headed off to the monasteries at Panormitis and Michailis. Elpida’s is the only cafe open. My fever has passed, F was (as ever) right. I have lunch with her and D. She’s cooked – it’s a lovely meal, washed down with heart-searching talk and retsina. I sleep soundly for two hours in my newly-cleaned apartment, woken only by a call from a student’s father. Him: Come and collect food. Me: OK. I go. The ‘food’ consists of two bottles of wine, something described as ‘marmalade’, and a lobster. Gotta love gratitude! By the evening, Pachos has re-opened. I go for drinks with S and H over from Lindos for the day’s festivities and we’re joined by some teachers. My Lindian friends are worried for my peace of mind and want me to leave with them. I won’t. I’ll stay. But I am tempted. Really I am. The urge to bolt is never far away.

Say Do You Remember?

September 1993, that is… Back from visiting my parents in Rhodes over the weekend, I feel quite distant. Always takes me time to readjust to The Rock. Start the day by filling the well for an hour, delivering my laundry, going for a swim (really more of a ‘bob’ as there’s a swell), then to Elpida’s for coffee and OJ. Back in the classroom, am worn out by Junior A. They are distracted by a passing funeral procession; the route passes the classroom window, the kids always want to see the corpse and compete with the keening mourners. I manage to stay calm, while encouraging them down from the furniture they’ve climbed onto to get a better view, and debating bringing ear plugs to work. Expelled a student for the first time (hopefully last). This causes excitement across the harbor and, at least, gives people something ‘real’ to chat about. Competition hots up for the ‘vacant’ desk as mothers petition for their children to enrol. Indefinite wait, as none of us know when the owner will be visiting. The wind is still high, so the boat timetable is upended. There’s been no sign of the Rodos ferry, which eventually arrives 24 hours late. Two hydrofoils make it into and out of the harbor, though. Comfort comes in many forms. I picked up a BBC World Service signal again. Found five good reads in a local tourist book exchange, which I unashamedly swapped for some trashers. An invitation to birthday cake and drinks is followed by a surprise dinner at Tholos. Cycled to the restaurant, but the food was so good I ate too much. I had to walk back very slowly. Thankfully, at the school room in time to take my parents’ phone call – they’ve arrived safely in Athens. Upstairs to bed with the BBC. Much depressing talk of Russia but, more happily, Sydney’s won the bid for the 2000 Olympic Games. Taken from the diary I kept while teaching in Symi, Greece

Tuesday 23 November 1993

(This is taken from the journal I kept when I was the English teacher on Symi aka ‘The Rock’. To afford privacy, I have removed people’s names).

Bright skies give way to thunder, hail and rainstorms. The street by the school becomes a river and the side stairs to my apartment a stream, as hail bounces then floats away. Just in time, I rescue a cassette of music left for me at the gate – miraculously, it is undamaged and I listen to it while waiting for the storm to abate. A phone call – do I like the music? Yes, I do. There’s a funeral for a fisherman’s mother and the dark, somber day, with threads of light and patches of sunshine, seems appropriate somehow. She died on his name day, yesterday. I choose not to go to the funeral and instead, in a brief dry spell after lunch, go for a thoughtful, quiet walk with a good friend and her dog. The Nissos Kalymnos made it in this morning and there’s almost a party atmosphere as people emerge from winter hiding into the sunshine, while it lasts. Over-confident, I outstay the sunshine and the heavens open while I’m out. I take refuge in the doorway of the Ionian Bank. There’s a group of us, sheltering in different doorways, all caught out by the rain – we shout to each other and laugh. Oddly, we’re able to shout things we wouldn’t normally even say to each other – careless of others and convention. It’s cathartic. We agree, loudly, that we’re mavericks, before one of the men shouts over that I look like a cowgirl and that’s why he and his wife entrusted their children into my care at the school. In the absence of an alternative, I take this as a compliment (being a cowgirl was, after all, my second choice of what-I-wanted-to-do-when-I-grew-up, after being a Lost Boy was ruled out by my kind, but insistent, father). I do make a mental note to watch his children more carefully in future, though. Back at school, teaching was OK, though early turnout was low because of the weather. During the afternoon, various people jump in through the door to dodge rain and hailstones. The children take it all in their stride and classes continue uninterrupted, though in a slightly giddy Noah’s Ark-type way. Various phone calls in the breaks between classes to check I’m OK – the weather reports having traveled beyond The Rock. After school, I walk to Elpida’s for company, a drink and something to eat. There’s a female Greek teacher on the island; tall, slim and pretty – she’s flavour of the year. She’s not at the cafe, a group of her admirers are. I become an agony aunt as they all clamour for advice on how to win her over. I give it my best shot, but this wears me out by 11pm, so I leave. On the way back, I stare into the now clear night sky and see a shooting star.

Weather report: sun, warm, torrential rain, hail, bright, rain, storm, (funeral), rainbow, clear, damp, dark. Good night.

Published on axrhodes on 23/11/2013

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

Ship’s Biscuit

Before a sea crossing, I find it always helps to be hydrated and to line the stomach. Those who are carb-phobic, look away now. Yes, the ship’s biscuit is the thing – minus weevils, of course (unless you’re truly desperate for protein). Ship’s biscuit can be toast, plain cookies, potato chips or crackers and it does the trick. This also helps, incidentally, on other occasions when you might be feeling bilious for all sorts of other reasons – but that’s another post for another day.

I don’t get seasick – so am a very fortunate island native and dweller, but for some odd reason I do like to tempt fate (as in so many areas of my life). Last night, knowing I would be taking the boat to Symi today, I decided to go out for a drink (or two-ish). I’ve long passed the stage where I needed Dutch courage to face The Rock again, so can only conclude that this now-developing habit is to test myself (Am I really immune to seasickness? etc.). Luckily, last night’s test was way short of April 2012, when prayers and talking to someone about their terminal illness (scuppering my self-pity very successfully) were all that prevented me from throwing up as we hit the waves.

I had a reasonable night’s sleep last night, though Daft Punk on a loop at 3a.m. with ‘Get Lucky’ didn’t make me feel very fortunate. A very detailed, very good dream woke me up smiling anyway. At 6.30, I checked the shipping news by looking out the window and watching a couple of yachts and a cruise ship pass the lighthouse. Hmm, choppy and windy. I packed for my two-frock-trip, took a cold shower, closed the shutters (in a, probably, vain attempt to keep out lizards and an intrepid kitten) and left the yard. Departure was delayed slightly by my getting a three-day pass.

I went to have ship’s biscuit and coffee with a friend en route to the harbour. We chatted as we always do, and, once the world was put to rights, I left. However, I forgot to use the bathroom – big mistake, boys and girls, big mistake. Parents are right to tell you to go before you go. They so are. I was on the boat ten minutes before departure and found a comfortable seat on the air-conditioned lower deck in the middle of the cabin – proud of myself, I was budging for no-one. The Pride was bursting with people and I knew that, once we set sail, all those enjoying the view on the top deck would soon be coming down below to avoid seaspray and falling overboard.

I sat tight, the boat glided past the lighthouse and the captain put his foot to the floor (yes, I do know that’s not the correct nautical term). This is when I discovered that not only had I forgotten to use the bathroom while I had the chance, I had also forgotten my headphones to drown out the sound of children screaming and the general public vomiting. I sat tight, the boat bumped and bounced while I recalled last night’s dream in an effort to distract myself, and hoped no-one would throw up over me (or even within olfactory range).

Well, I survived today’s self-imposed test (with the no-headphone variable) and set foot on dry land to head directly to the butcher’s wife’s rooms. My room wasn’t ready, the previous occupants had just left on the boat that brought me in. The cleaner took my bag, gave me a key and said I should come back in an hour. I went for a walk around the harbour, marvelled that there was (a) a breeze on Symi and (b) that the breeze was cool. Then, I remembered I needed the bathroom, urgently. I arrived at Elpida’s to hear her husband had sailed for Datça – so, I used the bathroom while she got news that he’d arrived in Turkey. She then brought me coffee, juice and ship’s biscuit (this last unordered but guess I looked like I needed it). It’s done the trick. I’m now going to my room…more from Symi later, people.

I first posted this on axrhodes on 31/08/2013

Some Like it Hot: A Weekend on Symi

Yes, it’s not hot enough for me in Rhodes Old Town, so I’ve swapped cobblestones for steps and am spending the weekend on Symi. My feet are happy, my calf and thigh muscles in shock. There’s no special occasion, it was simply high time I took the trip – so I did. This report is coming to you from Εlpida’s cafe – from her front row seats for the few super yachts which can squeeze into the harbour – in a rare space of peace and relative quiet (no shouting, yet).

My Symi weekends start on Saturday night and end on Monday afternoon – thanks to Dodecanese Seaways’ current schedule. I leave Rhodes on Saturday at 19.00 and am usually in Symi by 19.50. Although this weekend there was a switch of boat and harbour and arrival time to 20.45, this still will impress those of you reading who remember the halcyon days of the Symi I (more than two hours, even with a following wind, and seamanship to rival Captain Pugwash – enough said). I return on the 17.00 boat – back in Rhodes by 18.30 on Monday. These days, two nights every few weeks is just about right for me.

When the boat pulls into the harbour, I still get a buzz from the view on deck. It’s one of those skylines in the world which never tires, for me, along with (say) London from the air, Colchester from the train and San Francisco from the sea. What gives me an even greater boost is knowing that my room is only five minutes’ walk from where the boat docks and, even better, there are few steps to reach it. I stay in the butcher’s wife’s rooms – Stamatia’s place.

My room has a view – all of Stamatia’s rooms have a view. It is of the sea and yachts and Turkey and my favourite restaurant (more on that later). It is set back a little from the main drag and attracts photo-hungry tourists. I’m not sure why, but it does mean that I have to be careful when going outside to remember that it’s not secluded or private (nowhere on Symi is private) and to make sure I’m decent (well, as close as, for an Essex girl).

Saturday night I’m a latchkey kid – the key is left in the door for me, I see myself in, wash, change clothes and head out. I say hello, take in some of the sights and sounds, block out some of the others, smile broadly at anyone on an expensive yacht who looks remotely sentient and go to the Vapori for a drink – I just have one for the road back round the harbour before yachties and ‘regular visitors’ arrive.

‘Regular visitors’ are a type of tourist who eschew that term – Symi and Lindos in this region, in particular, attract them. You know, they’re the ones who’ve been here 394 times (not counting that first time they came on a daytrip from Rhodes – a place they now claim to loathe) and are best friends with simply all the people who matter (but still can’t understand or use the language their best friends speak).

On Sunday (that’s today), I head out to a beach on a boat. Recently, I’ve developed a serious Agia Marina habit. That doesn’t look like it’s going to change today and I’ll probably take the 11.00 boat. Sometimes I have company, sometimes I don’t – either way it works – today, I’m waiting for a call to find out whether a friend will join me on the beach or if we’ll just meet for dinner tonight.

Monday, the furthest I’ll go is Pedi or Nimborios – push comes to shove, I can walk back from both even when the heat is blistering; because I have a boat to catch and can’t be too careful. In the morning, I walk round the harbour to have a final catch up, before heading to the butcher’s to pay. Now, here’s the thing – I could leave the money in my room, I could hand the money to Stamatia when I see her in the harbour, I could leave the money with a friend to pay when they go to buy meat, but I don’t. I really enjoy going into the butcher’s to pay the money over the blood and carcasses. It gives me a buzz – money, blood and meat. Something visceral about it. Maybe I spent too long in Sicily?

Anyway, back to dinner, my favourite restaurant, there’s another thing. After my one drink at the Vapori, I walk right the way back round the harbour, past my room, through the boatyard and on to Tholos. That is where I eat. Yes, there are loads of other restaurants to choose from – up hill and down dale, prices to suit all budgets, food to suit most tastes – but Tholos is the only place, for me. If someone asked me to describe my perfect place to eat, I would describe Tholos. Here’s why.

Location, location, location – it’s on the point at the far end of the harbour, bringing breeze and (some) peace away from the main drag. It is on the water’s edge – your dinner may be swimming at your feet and you may feed your dinner to someone else’s (future)dinner. Style – less is more. There’s no music; you can hear the sea, the wind and each other when you speak. Plain white table linen and crockery and simple, effective lighting – no walls, it’s all outside, so the decoration is the view (from all sides). Service – polite, discreet, effective, unobtrusive. Food – cooked on site, from fresh – understood and treated (as are those who eat it) with respect. I never look at the menu – food is suggested, I agree. And it’s a family affair.

I am always happy when I’m there – if I could choose where I had my last meal on this earth, that’s where it would be. I’d die smiling and haunt for second helpings.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the noise levels and heat have increased here at the cafe and I have a boat to catch.

First published on axrhodes on 21/07/2013