Actually, as you are reading this, I am probably packing, because we are off early tomorrow morning. Whereas some people rehearse their packing months before they set off on a trip, I’m a bit more blokeish about it. This reminds me of something that made me laugh last Friday. Youngsters these days, I don’t know what the world’s coming to, particularly among the boys. I was at Harry’s place and asked him if he’s started packing yet, to which he replied, ‘No, but I have organised my fragrances.’ Later, I was chatting to one of his ‘peskies’ on the boat, and he told me it had been a last-minute decision to come to Symi, and he’d packed in a hurry. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I made sure I had the right fragrance, and then I just shovelled up whatever clothes were lying around.’ Clearly, a teenage boy’s fragrances are of much importance. In my day, it was Brut, Old Spice, or, if you were posh, Aramis. Didn’t have that? Then sweaty armpits it was.

Anyhow, one day to go and you still don’t know where we are going. According to the Rough Guide I put together, we start off in Rhodes. That, when living on Symi, is one of only two possible ways to get anywhere. The overnight Blue Star cabin experience to Athens is now too costly, so we are flying up on Saturday morning, and thence to Milan for as long as it takes to catch the train to Verona. From then on, it will be train only until we reach Bucharest. Before reaching there, though, we have other places to see, glimpse, sniff and pass through. From Verona, the next day, we make a day trip to Venice, where Neil has booked us a gondola trip. (At first, he told me he had booked half an hour with a gondolier, and I became mildly enthusiastic, but I did think to check, and it turned out to be a gondola. I must dig out my best ribboned boater.)

Back to Verona for a night and then off to Innsbruck for a night. The main point of this stop is to see things we don’t see on Symi. For example, mountains, snow and cable cars, because despite local gossip, we still don’t have a cable car on the island. From there, it’s on to Salzburg to prance about the famous fountain and learn how to make apple strudel. At least, that’s what Jenine and Neil will be doing while Harry and I visit Mozart’s birthplace and the cathedral.

No time for hanging around, however, as we’re then off to Prague for three nights over Christmas. Concerts and boat trip dinner booked, and Harry in charge of our mystery Boxing Day tour of the city.

Then what follows is an overnight journey from Prague to Brașov in Romania. There was not time or money enough to stop in Vienna, Budapest or anywhere else en route, but we do have four hours in Vienna, and I might race Harry up to take a photo of the Belvedere while the others are shopping for supplies for the onward, overnight part of the journey, where there is no buffet car, apparently.

Two or three nights in Transylvania, including a driver and car for 10 hours to see some of the locality and not just Brasov. Though I do want to visit the Black Church because last time I was there, it was on the one day of the year the church was closed to the public. I have no idea why. Yes, Bran Castle is on the list – hence my handout on how this isn’t Dracula’s castle, had very little if anything to do with Vlad the Impaler, and it’s only considered the castle of Stoker’s imagination because of the Romanian tourist board of the 1960s. Don’t get me started.

Then, finally, to Bucharest for New Year’s Eve, including a gallery visit and other attractions before, hopefully, fireworks and such like. Back for an overnight in Athens, well, about six hours at a nearby hotel, thence to Rhodes and home before dark.

So, now you know what we’ll be up to over Christmas and the New Year, let me wish you a good time, and thank you for reading this year. Who knows what the next will bring?

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Now then, you might have picked up that we’re off on a trip, and this begins on Friday. After months of planning, scrimping, saving and desperately trying to sell books, there are now only two days to go before we set off. I shan’t be following the adventure on here (though I may when we return), but there will be images on Facebook for sure.

The trip came about because of Christmas. We have spent 21 of the last 23 years celebrating Christmas with Jenine and ‘the boys’ who are now ‘the young men.’ Being us and them, our traditional Symi Christmas consists of spending too much on presents and games, food and wine, and generally ensuring the day is like a scene from the Darling Buds of May. At least, that’s how the day usually starts. By the end of it, we more resemble Hogarth’s depiction of Gin Lane.

That’ll be Sam chewing on the bone, while Harry and his best mates, the ‘peskies’, cause a riot in the background. Neil’s haggling with Sotiris at the pawn shop, while I’m off stage left pouring gin down someone’s screech, and we can all see that Jenine’s well out of it, and no-one knows where the dog came from.

This year, we decided to spend the Christmas savings on a special trip. The young men are getting no younger and soon will be off on their own family adventures, so, before it’s too late, we should do a ‘family’ trip. Except, sadly, Sam can’t come because he has to work; the decision was his, and it is respected. H, on the other hand, is chomping at his retainer to break free of the shackles of Rhodian college and see some more of the world.  All year, when we could, the four of us put money into the kitty, and at some point, Jenine produced a spreadsheet to rival those produced by NASA, and, when we could, we booked places to stay, flight tickets, and excursions, while putting some aside for spending.

There are many other reasons for taking the trip, and one of them reminds me of the Grand Tours of the past. The Grand Tour was a traditional, multi-year European journey for wealthy young aristocrats (mainly British) from the 17th to early 19th centuries. They took in the sights of the ancients and visited places such as Venice, Florence, and Athens. The tour was, in a way, a rite of passage. To mature and gain independence before adulthood. Although not a wealthy aristocrat, I was once young, and when I was in my mid-twenties, I undertook a ‘grand tour’ of my own. With a friend, we drove through France, Germany, Italy, Austria, the Czech Republic, Germany again, the Netherlands, Luxembourg (it was closed) and Belgium – in two weeks. One day, we had breakfast in Pisa, lunch in Florence, and dinner in Venice, but that’s a tale for another day. The point was, I had unknowingly taken myself on a grand tour 80’s style, as did Jenine in the 90s when interrailing was the thing. So, these ‘grand tours’ continue, or the idea of them does, and we’re off on one in two days.

The question remains, though, what is the route?

The theory is to open eyes to as many places as possible in the time we have, and this means quick stops and not enough time to do everything those who have visited before insist you must do. However, we will be stopping for more than one night in a couple of places.

As the trip came closer, we set about organising the peripherals; the new cabin-sized backpack suitcases, boots for the cold, wet and snow, handy picnic utensils for when we’re eating on the move, thermals, and rain macs from Temu that are flimsier than tissue paper, and designed to only fit three-year-olds.

I’ve also written my own rough guide to the trip with a side handout about Dracula.

Ah, yes, the destinations. I’ll let you know tomorrow in what will be the final blog of the year.

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Earlier this year, we were in Rhodes for various things, and I bought myself a new laptop from Public. (Harry was to have my old one for his college work, hence yesterday’s side quest.) After that, we wandered along towards the new marina and came across a very pleasant café. Next door was a good-looking restaurant, but as it wasn’t eating time, we didn’t call in.

I did, though, last Friday with H.

The place is called Al Hyat, and there are many reasons for recommending it. It’s close to Akandia and the Blue Star (15-to-20-minute walk), the prices are very competitive, the staff are lovely as is the food, and the menu is extensive and varied. I’d been drawn to it because it wasn’t too far from the H house, and the menu said it did cannelloni, which I’ve not had for years – and which I thought would be soft enough to eat after my dentist appointment. In the end, I played it safe and didn’t eat anything. Since I’d only had a bowl of cornflakes at 6.30 that morning and it was, by now, 14.00, I could have chucked down half a cow. Instead, I watched as H ate a burger made from that half a cow (plus a fried egg and other dripping things in the stack, and a massive dump of chips), and calmed my growling stomach with a glass of cider.

Lunch done, we called into Pappou for shopping, and went our separate ways.

The pleasant surprise mentioned above came later, when I was minding my own business upstairs on the boat, and I heard a voice ask if he could join me. It was one of H’s besties on his way back to Symi for a surprise visit, having moved to Rhodes to finish school, and of course, I was delighted to have his company, though I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. There was no need to worry. I fell into easy conversation with this fluent English-speaking Albanian lad who, when his Greek mate joined us, chatted away in Greek to him, and the second friend in English and Greek to me. We talked about their schools, how N was doing catering college, and he proudly showed me his creations on his phone gallery, while E told me all about his forthcoming trip to Albania, his hopes for summer work (maybe back at the Kali Strata restaurant), where his brother was now living, and how he might, too, visit Denmark, and so it went on for most of the crossing.

It was unexpected and pleasant for several reasons. For a start, we’re talking about young men of 16/17 years, speaking at least two languages, conversing with a (to them) granddad who they might have known for several years, but who’s only been in the background to their mate’s family, and they were doing it all with charm and interest. When and if you recall yesterday’s tale about the forgotten and found laptop and how that made its way safely back to me, you can see where that honesty and hospitality come from.

That was lovely. Even more flattering was hearing that the boys look at this blog, and have used it to trawl back and see photos of (for example), the storm of 2017 and other things of interest. Nice.

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Last Friday, I had a main mission that came with a side quest. The mission was to attend an appointment at the dentist in Rhodes, and the side quest was to deliver Harry’s laptop to him before going out for lunch. The ferry was on time, though it left slightly late due to the number of passengers, cars, lorries, bikes, teams, school outings, everyone’s outings… But it delivered us to a sunny Rhodes in good time.

I was in no hurry, so I hung about on deck watching the quay until people started disembarking, as that’s much more interesting than standing inside in a crowd for ten minutes or more. As I do, I checked where I’d been sitting, made sure I had my bag, jacket and the laptop in its box, and off we toddled.

Akandia, through the Old Town, up the hill, out at D’Amboise Gate (top of Mandraki), down the hill, all very leisurely as I had plenty of time, and a stop at the Plaza Hotel for a cup of coffee while I waited, and 30 minutes later (check: bag, jacket, laptop) I’m in plenty of time for my appointment.

That done, mission accomplished, and with only the fun side quest to go, I was off towards the far end of Kanadas Street to deliver the laptop. Again, plenty of time, so it was back up the hill to D’Amboise Gate, and across the moat to the section of road/path between that gate and St Antonio’s Gate where the shops begin once you’re through the arch. There, I sat for a moment to dry off. It must be a male menopause thing, this inability to walk for more than ten paces without breaking into a sweat. The other night, while watching a film, I suddenly found myself overheating for no reason and had to temporarily shed a couple of layers. I’ve always been a bit like it when walking, but this year it’s become beyond a joke. However, towelled down (mainly around the back of the neck), and off I went with bag, jacket and delivery, pausing by the arch to retie a shoelace I’d overlooked.

The Old Town is completely different in winter than it is in summer. When I’d arrived and walked through and up the hill, I’d more or less had the place to myself. By midday, as it was then, there were still only a few tourists about because a lone cruise ship had unloaded, and a few shops were half open. The doors are often open like this, as the owners wait inside. Some put out all their wares, others hang around darkened doorways like trapdoor spiders, ready to invite in potential customers, and only then put the lights on. I passed just one such shop just inside the arch, and a few more as I made my way down the hill, all the way to the bottom of Socrates Street to the ruined church by Virgin Mary’s Gate, and was crossing the church grounds towards Akandia when I noticed a tourist taking photos and for some reason, that sparked the realisation that I was no longer carrying the laptop.

Expletives came into play as I spun on my heels, suddenly sweating even more than I had been sweating before, and, head down, headed back up the hill at a reasonably fast pace for a man of my age who couldn’t feel half his mouth and was probably drooling into the sweat, all the time imagining the thing gone and me trying to find a policeman to report it to, and then having to explain to the godson why we weren’t going to lunch but were, instead, going to Public to buy a new laptop, and all the time thinking, ‘This is Greece, it will be there,’ and, ‘I bet it’s gone.’ And, breathe.

I knew where I’d left it (the other side of the arch where I’d tied my shoelace), and I knew it wouldn’t be there once I’d sweated up the hill, around the mosque and passed the last/first row of shops before St Antonio’s Gate…

No sign of it. I could see through the arch to the section of the UNESCO world heritage site where I’d placed the thing, and there was no trace of the modern world. ‘I expect one of the groundsmen picked it up,’ I thought, remembering that there had been gardeners at work. ‘Or maybe…’ No. No sign of it. What there was a sign of, however, was activity around the first/last shop by the arch. A man and woman came out and headed towards the arch just ahead of me, and there, in their half-opened shop doorway, was the laptop, out of its box, on a stool and plugged in. ‘You found my computer,’ rejoiced this panting, sweating, drooling creature, red in the face and generally melting. ‘Ah, it’s yours?’

There then followed much thanking and explaining, and ‘You are a very lucky man,’ from the shop keeper, and ‘You are a very kind man,’ from me, an explanation from him, too, that he had turned it on to see if he could find contact details so he could call the owner, or a friend thereof, but the thing had a password, so they were going to keep it for a while to see if anyone came back for it before handing it in… And all was well, and I was, indeed, very lucky. As the man reminded me a couple of minutes later as he passed me on his moped on the way home. There were more thanks and ‘Dóxa to theó!’ and so on, and it was only then that I realised the whole panic situation had been spoken in Greek, including me using words I didn’t know I knew. (At least, I hope they were the right ones.) Maybe being under pressure and not having time to think frees the second language. Subconscious brain: Forget inhibitions and the fear of getting it wrong; your godson’s laptop and online course are in danger, just do what needs doing.

Calm restored, I sweated my way to the Harry house and up the eight flights of stairs to his room. ‘Oh, you brought it,’ he beamed as I trickled into the room. ‘I very nearly didn’t…’ So, the explanation started, and on with the day, which was to yield a much more pleasant incident on the ferry home.

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Things to do today: Arrange boat tickets, contact the dentists, upload a new book (‘1893’), write a handout about Dracula ready for our trip, and pick up my old laptop (which I gave to Harry which he left with his mum which I now need to collect so I can take it over to Rhodes to give back to him…). Sounds like a day not to be rushed. The book, by the way, is the second set of Clearwater Tales. It’s a mid-length story of five people meeting in a railway station on Christmas Eve eve and being delayed there overnight. While they wait for their train, they tell each other stories, so we have five shorts inside a wrap-around story. Here’s the blurb and a link to where the book should appear in a day or so.

To pass the long hours, they share candid, colourful, and often amusing tales from their pasts while the attentive stationmaster listens in. Yet the youngest among the group, a stranger, grows increasingly uneasy. He bears a secret, and is the subject of mysterious messages that arrive throughout the night. Who is he, and why has he been invited to Larkspur Hall? Only by unravelling their stories can the group piece together the truth.

‘1893’ is the second collection of Clearwater Tales and can be enjoyed as a short, standalone novella. You don’t need to have read the Clearwater, Larkspur, or Delamere series, but returning readers may find extra delight in recognising familiar faces and histories.

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I am off to Rhodes again tomorrow, but should be back here on Monday. Meanwhile, here are some random photos of our changing skies this past week or so.

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