You know that old postcard line, ‘We get some kind of weather here every day’? Well, here on Symi in the summer season, I could well say, ‘We get some kind of oddball here every day,’ and I’m allowed to call people odd because I’m not bothered about accusations of being judgemental or ‘non-woke’, whatever that is. Why? Because other people’s insecurities are not my problem. In fact, if I had a ‘trigger’, it would be trigger warnings on book blurbs. But that’s a discussion for another day. Not.
Over the years we who like to people-watch have seen all kinds of sights and have heard all kinds of stories. I’ve already noted, here on these pages, the arrival in the village of the winners of the Miss Buttocks of the Year Award, which we give to the cheekiest girl in a thong and elastic band top who passes through on her way from the beach to their apartment as though we were the foyer of an all-inclusive hotel in Benidorm. We have recently noted the winner of the Can’t Live Without Instruction Man Award for the nob trying to find the road from Georgio’s to Yialos which is actually 360 + steps, but which the God Google-Map tells him is a main road, and he wouldn’t have any different despite the evidence of his own eyes.
Taking a photo break to draw breath and report this morning’s view. Temp at 5.30 am was 30° and humidity was at 70%.
In the past, some of us encountered a very oddball lady who, I am sure, as soon as she arrived decided the island was so tranquil she didn’t need to take her tablets ever again. Later to be seen being ejected from the island for setting a campfire in her hotel room. Then, there was a similar nominee for Dreamer of the Year, a barefoot lady who decided to marry the road sweeper and dragged him to the Town Hall to get married. I think she was also eventually escorted to Rhodes by the police (may have been the same woman, it was many years ago).
View from the office window this morning.
Men get in on the oddball act too. How about the nominee for the Idiot of the Year Award…? Actually, thinking about it, there have been several. There was the one who only wore white, thought he was Jesus, and decided he was going to buy a house on Nimos so he could let his sons drive their 4×4 up and down the mountain all day. (There’s only one house on Nimos, and the goats live there with no facilities and no roads or tracks.)
Not to be confused with ‘Twat in a Hat’ who has several stories attached to his history. A self-proclaimed fluent Greek speaker (ahem), he decided to have a chat with Phlegmsome George one afternoon and started off by asking him to guess his name. ‘Why?’ No go on, what do you think it is? ‘Why?’ Well, it’s not Yiannis, it’s not Petros, it’s not… This went on and on until George turned to me and said, in Greek, He’s a malaka, isn’t he? And the malaka asked what he’d said. Anyway, that was my introduction, and it was more painful than I make it sound. After this, he went and bought a horse in Rhodes, rented a property in Xisos which he never paid for, and when he escaped to Kos with someone else’s laundry, and the police finally caught up with him, they found two guns in his car and several more back at ‘Old Malakas Farm’ as he’d called the Xisos property. And yes, he even left out the apostrophe on Malaka’s, so a complete oddball if you ask me.
It’s the heat that drives them to it.
I am sure there have been others — there’s one here at the moment, apparently, demanding to sit in the aisle at the taverna so she can see the view, asking for things that are clearly not on a menu, and generally being ‘off the medication.’ Spend an hour in a harbour-side café or even in the village where it’s quieter, and you will see all manner of oddballs. The day trip boats are full of them. The Brits who come over on SP Cruises, sit at the front exposed to the sun, walk around topless with bellies swinging (at least I cover mine up), and then repeat the process on the way home to wake the next day the colour of a lobster and just as stiffly boiled.
There will be at least one lurking in the pack somewhere…
The award ceremony is held at the end of the season when everyone has time to kick back and reminisce on the summer just gone, so it’s not yet voting time. Keep an eye out, though, I’m sure many readers have their own stories of visiting oddities. If you do, leave them in the comments on our Facebook page, and we’ll enter them into the prize draw for later in the year. What’s the prize? A night out with a Neil Gosling of your choice… I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go, and I am going now. Bye.
