Olive harvest and a wintry walk

Winter seemed to come so abruptly and intensely this year, with big downpours of rain and cold winds in October and early November.

Added to which, the island is covered in Christmas lights already. I think when I first moved to Tilos there was just a simple karavaki, a boat, at the entrance to the village in December – now we have Santa Claus and reindeer everywhere.

Most tavernas have closed for winter. Just a couple of places open for food in the evening but after six-thirty, when it’s dark and cool and I’ve lit the fire and have no inclination to go back out. Thankfully, I cleaned the chimney and repaired the woodstove and put it back together early this year.

My neighbour Sotiris shouted me insistently from the gate yesterday, and then when I dashed outside, asked why I wasn’t dressed properly for the cold. He’s preparing to leave for Rhodes, fed up now he can’t go out in his fishing boat and there’s nowhere to go out to see people, or at least anyone he likes. ‘You have company, you have Lisa.’

Fields are getting ploughed, meanwhile, and people are collecting their olives. Antonis (‘Eyebrows’) asked if I wanted to help him, and it seemed a nice opportunity. I’d just sent an edit off to a client and felt like being outdoors. So for a few days, I spent two hours or so in the morning laying out sheets under the trees, beating and combing down the olives and putting them into sacks. It was lovely being out in the mild sunshine and fresh air, getting some exercise, and listening to some hilarious gossip. I only wished my Greek was good enough to catch everything.

I had a couple of days off to take Lisa to the vet in Rhodes and see if anything should be done about her deafness – which I discovered during the October thunderstorms to which she was mostly oblivious; ditto the hunter’s gunshots in Lipsi, another thing which usually would have traumatised her. Being deaf to things that terrify her is a blessing in some ways, but I wanted to be sure her ears were healthy. The vets did lots of tests and I left reassured.

On the morning of 8 November, there was no olive harvesting as it was a religious holiday, the celebration of the archangels Michael and Gabriel to whom the church in Megalo Horio is dedicated.

Not being a religious person, I started the morning instead admitting that some clothes in my wardrobe won’t get worn for at least six months, and packing them away in the apothiki, where I unearthed another bag filled with thermal tops and jumpers.

My Swedish neighbours when they left said I could pick their olives, so I then spent a while collecting those and pruning the tree, then another hour or so cutting back trees in my garden, until I was quite exhausted. But I needed to drive down to Livadia.

We still have the lovely Evangelistria running, connecting us with Kefalos on Kos, Nisyros, Halki and Kamiros Skala on Rhodes, and the rumour is that it will run all winter. I’d ordered good dog food from a shop on Nisyros that would put it on the boat.

The crazy winds the day before meant it was cancelled, but would come today instead, and I messaged Ian to ask if he felt like a walk from Livadia, which he did. I had a feeling Lisa would do a walk with him that she would refuse with only me. I picked up the box, left it in the car, and off we went.

Halfway around the bay, Lisa looked at the beach and back at me as if to say, ‘We could stop here and have a picnic and go home...’ But I resisted, and she kept going as we passed Faros and went up the hill to Ayios Ioannis, then continued up along the well-built stone footpath towards Gera. There were not only little pink colchicum flowers, but the first crocuses I’ve seen this year, hidden in thorn bushes or bashed about by the weather. Yesterday I’d seen so many cyclamen leaves in the fields, though no flowers yet. We turned off up the hill towards Pano Meri, and I realised it had been ages since I’d done that walk, and the deep pink rock was spectacular.

It felt like a classic winter walk. We emerged from shadow into late afternoon sunlight at the plateau with its stone houses still standing. The sea far below was deep blue and flat but rippling out with the force of the wind. I put on my woolly hat and kept moving, feeling the chill. I was so impressed that Lisa was enjoying the walk – she’s fourteen now, and her back legs have been shaky sometimes. I took pictures of another swathe of crocuses, one of them growing directly out of the rock, and we saw two eagles circling up above, then we started to drop back down to Livadia, cold but exhilarated.

By the time I was writing these notes with a glass of wine, hearty spag bol cooking, I was looking forward to a good sleep, and Lisa was on her bed in front of the fire.

 *

That was yesterday. Today, the wind had dropped completely. Lisa snoozed in the back of the car. I got so warm collecting olives that as soon as we finished I drove straight to an empty Eristos beach and stripped down to jump in the sea – finding the occasional stray olive.

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!