Nisyros and late summer

A couple of weeks ago, a travel editor for a British newspaper got in touch asking if I’d like to write a piece for them. I suggested one about exploring the islands of the Aegean on foot in the wonderful months of September and October; they loved the idea and we discussed fine details – then they changed their minds and said they’d rather do it in spring. I was gutted. Then I realised – woohoo! I don’t have the stress of having to write a newspaper article. More time for relaxing and enjoying these amazing days.

Because these months just beginning are maybe the best of the year.

In the height of August, even the cheeriest business owners are often secretly muttering that they can’t wait for the month to be over. It’s not only the busy-ness; customers are impatient and demanding, while the shop owners are working in forty degrees. Everyone looks forward to the cooler temperatures and relaxed atmosphere of September.

With the light spectacularly clear and golden, the sea warm and silky, it’s time to clear your head, stretch your muscles, breathe. The fierce summer sun mellows and you can make the most of the days, walk to remoter beaches, and that taverna dinner tastes better than ever as you watch the moonlight on the water. Nights begin to get cooler, good for sleeping.

Twenty years ago, with a job that kept me busy all summer, I first went to Nisyros in September. My then boyfriend and I packed our bikes on a cheap flight to Kos and freewheeled down to Kardamena where we picked up the local boat to the little island, the only people on deck. I can still feel the magic of that trip, when we cycled around the island and into the volcano’s caldera.

Nowadays, Nisyros still tantalises as from home in the north of Tilos I see its distinctive outline, the white village of Nikia perched up high on the caldera rim. Of course, having Lisa, I’ve switched the bike for walking boots. Once September is within our sights, my journal pages always fill with jottings of ferry connections for Nisyros, Karpathos, Astypalea, Ikaria... But this year I couldn’t wait, so I sneaked away to Nisyros for a few days in the last week of August. My friend Ariana was staying at my house and happy to look after things.

Shortly before 8am, I boarded the lovely little Nisyros boat Panayia Evangelistria, which has been doing the local routes for Tilos this year. From a mirror-calm Livadia bay, with hornets buzzing around the Greek coffee that Maria had made me very quickly at Special, we travelled into the breeze, slowly up the east coast of Tilos, the morning light bringing out the knife-edge shapes of rocks, the pink and ochre colours of others dotted with green caper bushes.

Waves rocked us as Skafi bay came into view and I thought about the pleasure of being close to sea level. The day before, in the heat of midday, from home I had had a long swim to a tiny beach where I lay on wet pebbles close to splashing waves, and watched periwinkle sea snails slowly moving around a rock pool using hair-thin feelers.

Here on the boat, Lisa was happy in the breeze, moving position to avoid the sun, only half a dozen people on deck. When I’d booked a room at Three Brothers Hotel, Antonis the owner, knowing me well, had said, ‘The island’s still busy – I don’t know if you’ll like it.’ The main village, Mandraki, gets packed in the middle of August. But I had dog treats to stock up on, at least, and would enjoy some human treats too.

Soon we were approaching Nisyros, passing hills thick with dark green trees that gently sloped down to the long beach of Lies. Emborio village came into view up on the ridge, white and stone houses in rows, then the cliffs of Cape Katsounis with their layers of white pumice, ochre, dark red, dark grey.

There are so many places you can wander freely on these islands, simple but spectacular places to take in the moment. The islands I love are ones where nature dominates. You don’t have to visit the craters to feel the volcano.

Soon the boat docked, and within minutes we were on the breezy terrace of Three Brothers. As I waited for my room to be ready, I talked to Antonis about why travelling in September and October is so good.

‘It gets cooler and you can start walking around the nice paths we have,’ he said. ‘It’s not crowded. In the middle of season people are stressy but by September we have more time to take care of you. The accommodation gets cheaper, too. If we get a little rain in October, the island starts to get greener. And the sea temperature is warmer than July.’

I went to see his brother Vasili downstairs, who rents out e-bikes and vehicles and does small boat trips (and even water taxis to Kardamena for Kos airport!). On his phone, he showed me photos of some of the tiny beaches he’d recently taken people to on the obsidian-and-pumice island of Yiali, twenty minutes away. He said Lisa would be welcome on the boat if I wanted to go along one day. It must be lovely in the calm of late summer.

Eventually I left my bags, went to buy dog treats at Pachos (greeted with ‘How is Tilos?’) and then for a swim at Hoklaki. I passed a fish-seller with his little truck, playing music, exchanging banter with people. I came back and ate walnut cake at the café on the harbour as the day-trippers gathered to return by boat to Kos.

That evening, I sat at Hoklaki taverna with a green-beans salad and marinated anchovies and cold white wine, listening to good Greek music and the waves crashing up on the wall right below as the sun set into the sea. The village felt rather quiet, in fact. Post-sunset, the waves became black and palest blue, the horizon a smoky grey with crimson and pink and peach and gold.

In the morning, I got up early, left Lisa snoozing and walked through the quiet alleys with their wooden balconies and frangipani flowers, locals on scooters zipping by to start their day, a quiet ‘’mera’ from someone sitting in a doorway, someone else carrying a bag of goodies from the backstreet bakery. I walked up the long alley that runs below the medieval monastery, up to the start of the path to Paliokastro, the ancient castle. Standing up on the walls of massive stone blocks, I looked across to the back of the island. 

Places to walk in cooler months, I hope.

Antrikos kafeneio in the Old People's Square

Local goats' cheese

Lisa on the way back to Tilos

It’s 8.30 am, and already baking hot outside, the sea calm and inviting, though for now I’m sitting with my coffee looking out the kitchen window, just listening. Lisa barks at someone walking by. A few cars pass. These are the busiest days of Greek summer, the 15 August tomorrow, and I’m thankful to be in a peaceful place.

These are days of enforced rest, when it’s too hot to do very much at all except take another cold shower or a nap. Water the garden, pick some figs, read a book, have a swim. Pick some more figs.

A week or so ago, ants were breaking and entering all around the house. I felt quite gleeful one day to open a cupboard and not see them scurrying around – then I realised the cupboard was actually quite empty as everything had been secured in the fridge or thrown away. The ants had eaten neat holes in plastic to get to anything tempting.

Then monstrous fat caterpillars and green grasshoppers started munching through various plants in the garden, even oleanders, leaving a trail of fat black droppings that was often the only way to find them camouflaged against the leaves. The vines have few grapes this year (having been cut right back for the building of the new pergola) so thankfully there are no hornets buzzing close to the house. The bees have been enjoying the flowers.

I’m usually getting up in the cool of morning around six, when Lisa comes to me for strokes and is excited to go for a walk to Ayios Antonis harbour. She checks out her territory and soaks herself in the sea before breakfast, before the sun’s too strong. Her siesta starts around eight in the morning and lasts until four or five in the afternoon, when she’s ready for a proper walk to a beach. Fishbags is more than happy to do the same, without the walk. 

I realise I need these days of enforced rest, close to home. I worked hard finishing off my book, AN ISLAND HOME AND A SALTY DOG, revising and revising it, then figuring out how to publish it myself – a conscious decision this time to put less pressure on and to have it available on the island and Amazon this summer. That moment of opening the first box of books was nerve-wracking but more exciting than ever. It was a kind of gift to myself, taking the time to do this and to have the pleasure then of hearing that people are enjoying it. It's been fun receiving photos from people as they start reading.

My laptop seems to be telling me it's ready for a rest too - the battery gone, the keyboard now faltering too. I have a new one but need to set it up, and that challenge is not in the least bit tempting right now. So, I’m going to sign off and go and relax with a book. Enjoy your summer, wherever you are!

 

 

Hoopoes and Swallows, Asparagus and Taramosalata...

 

When Lisa wants to go for a morning walk, all winter I’ve been used to piling on whatever warm clothes come to hand, a woolly hat over unbrushed hair. But this morning I ran into several neighbours, two of them dressed smartly in black for church. It’s the start of Easter week and more people are back on the island.

Also back are the lovely hoopoes – I’ve seen several, not noticing the medium-sized brown birds until they take off in flight and show their flamboyant black-and-white-striped tail feathers. I’ve heard the whistling sound of bee-eaters – it seems early for them – but not seen one yet. Much more evident are the swallows, swooping low and fast, midnight-blue plumage on top and snow-white underneath, tail like two long, fine tines of a carving fork.

Yesterday morning, four young goats were playing on the old drystone wall in front of my house, two of them trotting over the rocks and head-butting each other. Despite the abundance of fresh vegetation everywhere, they stand at my fence and look greedily at the garden.

Goat farmers are much in evidence too, guarding their stock and fattening them up. ‘Don’t let the dog out of the car here!’ snarled one when, having seen him with his flock, I stopped to ask where it was OK to walk. We’re avoiding Plaka and Lethra until Easter is over, when there’ll be a lot of confused mother goats saying, ‘I haven’t seen young Johnny for days…’ ‘Meh, and my Matilda’s disappeared too… And what’s happened to that nice man who kept bringing treats?’

Livadia and Megalo Horio will also be off-bounds for the next week while firecrackers are exploding – I heard the first yesterday, while in between downpours we walked along Livadia seafront. More rocks had been washed up by powerful wind and waves from the south recently. As we walked around the bay, the pebbles looked brilliant white against a clear aquamarine sea and a brooding sky. Lisa, of course, went in for a swim.

We’ll stick to places far from firecrackers, the fields in the Eristos valley where Lisa loves to sniff for rabbits, occasionally making one leap out of a bush and safely away, while I keep an eye out for other prizes. Perhaps because we’ve had plenty of rain, or perhaps I’ve got better at looking for them, I’ve found more fresh wild asparagus than ever before, and more exquisite orchids – sending photos to my orchid-ID gurus Eleftheria and Gerry. And in the hillside terraces closer to home, I look out for tiny fragments of old pottery with an unusual pattern or glaze. Yesterday afternoon, I found a little of everything so didn’t mind that my feet were squelching in my boots from walking through wet grass. Lisa had a wonderful time, enjoyed a huge dinner and watched neighbours walk by while I pulled up weeds from the garden, enjoying the evening sunshine. By the time I lit a fire for a cosy evening, she was in a deep sleep.

 

I’ve been using the excuse of Lent and long walks to eat halva every day. My favourite from Drapetsona in Piraeus was made with carob syrup. During the ‘fasting’ periods leading up to Easter when some give up meat, certain traditional foods appear. After eating delicious white taramasalata at tavernas in Rhodes and then Astypalea during trips last month, I decided to try making my own. The pink packaged stuff is terrible in Greece compared to good supermarket taramosalata in the UK. For the first time, I bought the salted roe from the minimarket and got instructions: mashed potatoes (or bread), olive oil, lemon. Mine tasted bland until I added finely chopped onion. The ladies at the minimarket said not everyone likes it with onion.

Before this last rainy week, we had weeks of dry weather, good swims, even lying in warm sun. But the heavy rainfall this winter has been a blessing for the island.

Now big leaves have now grown back on my fig trees, and sparrows are knocking down the hard green figs, discarding them when they find they can’t eat them, looking instead for other things to eat in the soil, taking baths in Lisa’s water bowl.

For the last months, I’ve been working on revisions of the new manuscript. It’s something I was writing on and off for ages, and finally felt driven to finish last year. With the help of an excellent editor, I hope I’ve knocked it into shape. It’s about my adventures on Tilos with Lisa since we moved to this house at Ayios Antonis with its fig trees and vines, surrounded by mountains and sea, life in an amazing place with an amazing dog, woven in with stories of island life past and present. Maybe AN ISLAND HOME AND A SALTY DOG?

Ahem, says Fishbags, aren’t you forgetting someone?

The amazing salty dog just came to look at me through the open kitchen door, suggesting it might be time for another walk or another breakfast. Ah, and the power’s just gone off again – for about the tenth time in two days – so this will have to wait until later…