We are sitting outside the shop on the Kali Strata discussing ideas for next year and watching the world go by on a hot August evening. I make notes for 24.
A huge, modern sailing yacht with grey sails taut in the wind glides towards the harbour below. The wind is picking up. Next door to us Hanna is having a new roof put on her house - a drill whines away sounding like a maniacal dentist at work, luckily it’s working on wood not teeth.
Two smartly dressed Italian ladies trot down the steps in a flurry of language and colour.
Dust and leaves whip up in a small whirlwind depositing debris in my eyes and ouzo; I can’t hear my music which is being played on a CD in the gallery upstairs. A fishing boat makes its way towards Yialos from Nimos, cutting a long white wake in the deep blue water. The maniac dentist on the roof is now hammering as persistent flies bite my ankles and more people pass. They are watched indifferently by the cat who sits on the wall a few steps down.
A speed boat speeds in over the waves that the wind is now whipping into small white crests. I can’t hear it but I can see it bounce as it apparently attempts to break some record or other.
Panormitis passes, his ankle now fully restored, news is that he will be dancing again soon. Neil and I talk about books we are writing and having published in paperback. There is also the possibility of a photo book. A winter project.
Some young people run down topless - the boys - as sweating tourists make their way upwards towards the village square, driven on by the thought of cold beers. Some stop and browse the shop and I think of how it was years ago with twenty five thousand people living here. We chat to visitors who all comment jokingly that we have a ‘hard life’. We smile politely and make the appropriate comments - if only they knew. Seven days a week in this heat, eleven hours a day before shopping, cleaning the house and taking care of the garden. I’m not complaining though.
A couple of Russian painters pass, covered in paint; a French mother and her daughter browse; a few English people stop and chat and a local Symiot comes in for some identity photographs. People visit the gallery and admire the view from the balcony - living art - as well as the art on the walls.
The cat still sits, still and contemplative on the wall below, until it finally moves off to somewhere more interesting. A tax boat heads out from the harbour, it must be nearing seven by now, the last pick up of the day. Clare and Bonnie stop to say hello, Bonnie is as excited as usual and won’t stop chatting until she’s had some petting.
We enjoy the view, aware that soon a house will be completed on the corner of the Kali Strata by the bar and the view will be lost forever; we should still be able to see the sea though. A boat so small that I can hardly see it but can just see its wake is now cutting slowly through the greying sea as the light starts to fade. The waves of the wake ride the swell in humps and I am reminded of a black and white photo of the Loch Ness monster.
A distant church bell, it is the day of the Assumption today. A Turkish Gullet comes in under motor, no sails on its tall masts. And pieces of roofing timber are being carried in next door. The roof dentist has stopped work for the day. The clock in the harbour quietly chimes seven. |
