The Island

Reading through my pre-adventure blogs I see a concern was the Euro situation.  I found, as always, the Greek way of life to be one of honesty and little crime.  There was no fear of being robbed of my cash stash and the one accessible bank on the island, I was told, was functional for withdrawing via a bank card albeit on a hit and miss occasion.

The Island is a mountain in the middle of the Aegean sea.  My apartment was a third of the way up this mountain and the beach was only accessible via a steep journey.  Had I have been younger and fitter it would have been a pleasure to pound the steps up and down, and then another 20 or so steps up to my apartment.  As it was, it exhausted me and prevented more visits to the wonderful beach area and magnificent sea.  On the occasions I did the journey it was wonderful to sunbathe, swim, relax, read, drink coffee and eat ice cream.  Ahhh, now there's a little story to make you smile.

"You want something?" the young waitress girl crouching under my sunshade straw umbrella said.
"Do you have ice cream?" I enquire.  "Chocolate?"
"Yes, we have balls," came the reply. 
I can't print what I thought here but the thought was quickly replaced with an image of vanilla ice cream with mini chocolate maltesers inside, so I said, "Yes please."
"You want 2 balls?"
"Thank you," says I trying not to laugh.

Language is funny isn't it?  What one person thinks is perfectly normal another person thinks is strange.  The 'balls' were, of course, 'scoops' and I enjoyed the chocolate treat most deliciously.

The town of Chora was transport free so having left the port the coach drove uphill and round bends for an hour and dropped us at the foot of the cobbled streets that were to be 'home' for the following two weeks.  Our luggage had been dropped near to the Skyros Centre and we made our way uphill passing shops, tavernas, cafes etc. following our guide.  Having collected my suitcase, which I now wished was smaller and lighter, I bumped it up over more cobbles and steps to Melagona 2 - my apartment with a heavy wooden door that had swollen in the heat and made a very loud noise every time I went in and out!  However, the apartment was just fine and had a fantastic view of the valley and bay below. 

The Island is home to the statue and burial grave of Rupert Brooke, Poet and his statue (a naked pose) graced a high point and was visited by most of our group.  His grave, some distance away, was visited on an evening trip and situated in the shade of a forest.  Members of our group read his poems and I felt very humble to be following in his footsteps (not to be a poet but to have been where he had been so inspired).  I am not an avid poetry reader but will look him up, read some of his works and find other poets as one or two of our group recited poetry after our mornings together at breakfast.  Although I have dabbled at writing poetry, and, though I say it myself, have produced a few goods ones, I have not shared these with others.  I find a voice reading a poem to me is far more rewarding than reading them silently in my head.  I admire people who can quote poetry and 'know their stuff' as it were.

In the pre-adventure blogs I also mentioned looking forwards to 'lazy slow living nights and restful afternoons'.  It was not that sort of a holiday.  It was a working holiday on many levels.  It was personal development which meant delving into the past; it was a workshop of writing from personal experience; it was living very closely with 20-30 people each day and it was trying to fit in fun and relaxation too.  I was, thankfully, not the eldest there as I had feared; we were a mixed age group and gender; there were two couples and people had travelled from all walks of life and countries of the world. 

More Island tales to come ....... tbc