I haven’t been blogging very much recently, because it’s so much faster and easier to add some words and pictures to Facebook. But fast isn’t always the best, is it? My fast laptop has, once again, stopped connecting to the internet and will need servicing, so for the time being I am back to my slow, cheaper backup laptop, and perhaps it’s a good opportunity to slow down for a bit.
Life has been full and fulfilling as ever, with my lovely Lisa waking me up in the morning for her breakfast, and the new kitten a.k.a. Fishbags seeming to attack everything except the small creatures he’s supposed to; with major work happening on my house finally thanks to Dinos and Stelios, including a bathroom floor being entirely removed because tree roots had grown through the old lead pipes; with my work on other people’s books, and my own new book needing to be promoted; with a garden that needs watering, and of course beaches that need walking to and sea that needs swimming in.
Since I’ve only been blogging when I have a long story to tell, I’ve found no place for those lovely little snippets of life that otherwise remain as mere scribbles in my notebook, e.g. ‘Savvas licking the stamps,’ which I wrote one of those mornings when I’d gone down to Livadia to the post office so I could send some parcels to people who had ordered books from me.
I had done my best to re-use envelopes, some of which were already re-used envelopes. After all I’ve written in my book about the things we leave behind on the earth today, it wouldn’t have felt right to use a load of unnecessary new bubble-wrap. I even used the non-plastic tape I’d ordered from &Keep. I hoped the post office would be open because I live on the other side of the island from Livadia, 10 km or so. I used to be frustrated when I got there and it was closed, but I’ve come to appreciate that on an island where there’s just one postmaster, and he has two children and a dog, if the family need to go to Rhodes then Savvas can’t work.
But he was there, and as I stood watching him weigh the parcels and figure out the postage, I noticed he then licked all the stamps – sometimes about six per parcel.
‘Isn’t it horrible,’ I asked, ‘having to lick all the stamps?’
‘No. But it does make me mad,’ he said, pulling a crazed expression. ‘But they don’t stick on properly otherwise.’
I was very grateful, if I did feel a little guilty.
Another incident of island life made it into my notebook as ‘car story’ and made me even more grateful. It went something like this.
I don’t own a car, because I don’t like to use one all the time (and who needs extra expense, not to mention paperwork?), but it’s very useful to share a car with my Dutch friends who can only spend a few months a year on the island. I was due to leave it at the harbour in Livadia in late morning the next day for Rob’s arrival, but in the meantime I thought I’d use it for a walk to Lethra.
The Lethra walk is one of the best for Lisa during the warmer months because close to the start, as you pass by all the gnarled old olive trees and delightful old stone walls, set amongst the pink rocks is a constantly flowing spring with a trough under it, which is just the right size for a medium-sized dog to lie in and cool off before we make our way through the valley.
Having parked the car at the start of the path, I walked with Lisa to the beach for a relaxing hour, around the headland to Livadia, then back up to the car, and had just set off driving again when I realised from the curious sound that I had a flat tyre.
I’ve never had a flat tyre before, and rather than start messing around learning what to do, I called our island mechanic and asked if he could help. He said he could, but the best person to replace a tyre would be Zafiris at the petrol station the next morning. I wasn’t far from the venzinadiko so I slowly drove back and left the car there, and set off walking, calling Eleftheria along the way. She said she would call her brother Zafiris, and he’d take a look the next day. I sent an apologetic message to my Dutch friend Rob, explaining that he would have to take the bus.
Bright and early the next morning, Zafiris reported through Eleftheria that the new tyre would take a day to arrive on the boat; however, five minutes later, he found a reconditioned one for a very reasonable price and fitted it – and I was just in to catch the bus down.
‘Your car’s ready!’ shouted Pavlos the bus driver as Lisa and I embarked. I collected the car, thanked Zafiris profusely, and drove down to the harbour to pick up Rob – and even had time to sit and have a coffee at Rementzo while I waited, where Annie told me to call her if it happened again, as she had a tool for fixing punctured tyres.
This month has been a wonderful time for appreciating the strength of this island community, and the ingenuity of its inhabitants. The final story I’ll mention is ‘Mavis’s glasses’.
My mum and her friend Mavis come to Tilos at least twice a year for several weeks, and this September they really needed the break. Not only had they been stuck at home all year, like most people, but they’d had more than their share of challenges to deal with. So to say that we were good customers at the kafeneio in Megalo Horio in September is something of an understatement. After the first couple of nights, as soon as Telis saw us walk through the door, he’d immediately reach for a litre-jug and fill it with cold white wine.
A kafeneio is traditionally more than just a café; it’s a gathering place, a centre of village life. In Megalo Horio, the kafeneio’s upstairs terrace looks out over Eristos valley to the sea, and up to the castle above the village, and down to the church and its pebble-mosaic courtyard, and to mountains all around, and is a favourite place to sit and eat mezes for many – Greeks and Europeans who live here or visit. Just below on the enclosed terrace sit the men of the village every evening with their drinks, with not such a good view of the surrounding landscape, but arguably a better one of the ladies’ legs as they walk up the stairs. Not that they would.
Telis was busy in the kitchen every
evening since he no longer had his summer help, and so tolerated me wandering in
and re-filling our wine jug or grabbing another beer or retsina from the
fridge. At the end of the evening, he had to ask me what we’d had to eat and
drink. But he hadn’t forgotten that Mavis had broken her glasses, having lost
the little screw that holds them together. He sent us back out onto the terrace
with a last jug of wine on the house as he set to work with some pliers,
instructing Antoni to find a bit of wire he was sure he had somewhere… Lo and
behold, even if we couldn’t see very well by the time he kicked us out, Mavis
had no excuse because her glasses were fully functioning, and remained so for
the duration of her stay, until she passed by an optician’s in Rhodes on the
way to the airport.
I said that was the last story, but just one more: as I started writing this, early this Sunday morning, a red pickup truck arrived at my gate and started beeping its horn, prompting the usual barking from Lisa. It was Nikos and Rena. Yesterday evening, when I stopped at the village shop to buy fresh eggs after spending a couple of hours on Eristos beach, they didn’t have any left. Nikos said I should go and get them direct from Rena as she was down at the smallholding where she keeps her hens, and it’s on my way home. But it was hot and sultry evening and I didn’t pass that way, as I took the mountain path instead for the breeze.
So this morning, that’s why Nikos and Rena were here: to bring me a handful of fresh eggs.
Thanks to all my friends and neighbours on this little island.
And thanks to all who have bought
and read my new book, Wild Abandon. It would help me out if you could
post a review on Amazon (or Goodreads if you’re not on Amazon). The more reviews
posted, the more likely it is that others will discover it and buy it and then perhaps
my publisher will let me write another one. Of course, if you’d rather I didn’t,
that’s quite understandable… And I do have plenty of other things to do, so I'm not in any rush...
