For inspiration today, I’m having to fall back on photos in my ‘to be posted’ folder. During the day, I come up with all kinds of ideas for things to put here, but they’ve usually left me by morning when I sit to remember them. What remains might not have anything to do with living on a Greek island or trying to write stories, but if that’s what’s in my head, that’s what comes out. Occasionally, these thoughts can be of interest, such as this one: What exactly are those flavours?

I can admit to enjoying some reality cooking shows on television. In particular, Australian MasterChef, which is far, far superior to the UK version, has less nastiness among the contestants than the USA one (the opposite in fact), and isn’t patronising to the viewer. However, whether it’s watching that or a professional Bake Off, or anything else that involves cooking, every judge appears to be desperate to taste ‘those’ flavours. Mary Berry: ‘Don’t forget, it’s all about those flavours.’ Annoying Cherish woman who speaks like an animatron: ‘I want to taste those flavours on my pallet.’ Disgraced and slimy TV presenter in a sickeningly disappointed tone: ‘Ah, but there aren’t enough of those flavours we were looking for.’

I can’t help thinking it might be more useful if they identified what ‘those’ elusive flavours were. They are being specific without being so, and that’s no help to anyone. Why not replace ‘those’ with something more useful? They might have less to complain about if they did. ‘We will be looking for the taste of curry,’ for example. Mind you, that’s not very specific either. ‘I consumed your consommé, but it lacked taste.’ A little like the co-presenter’s costume, I may add. ‘It’s all about those important flavours…’ And so they drone on, overusing words like delicious, while never finding ‘those’ elusive bleedin’ flavours.

This is often the limit of my early morning thought process, which I always keep focused and on point. Oh look, a turtle dove.

These birds appeared in the square a couple of years ago, and it has become my aim to take a decent photo of them in the sunlight. They’re still very tame, and as you might see from the photo, they wander among the chairs and tables when the bars are quiet, coming close, but remaining wary. I’ve even walked within two feet of them as they bask in the sun with their wings spread. I’m mad about ‘those’ colours, and the fact they come so close, so I can get a good look at them, because I’ve never seen them anywhere else, here, there, or anywhere. Sensibly, they fly off when a child comes leaping down the steps six at a time, or a sweaty tourist summits the Kali Strata in triumph, but they are soon back to charm the afternoon.

Here are a few other disconnected thoughts. There was a concert in the town square last night, and I believe there is only one more to be held as part of the summer festival. There is also the Panormitis run and a church festival noted on the schedule. We’re heading towards September, which means the visitors of high summer are leaving shortly to return to those countries where August is the month to holiday abroad, schools are opening or have already done so (another couple of weeks here), and regular visitors from further north will be back on Symi shores before long. Maybe then, the turtle doves will be less regular in the square, because the mid-afternoon shift will become busier; here’s hoping. The tavernas, of course, will continue to provide MasterChef worthy meals for everyone, and there, you will be able to enjoy for yourself those non-specific and allusive things, ‘those’ flavours.

General note: please leave wild animals alone. They are not there for the benefit of your Instagram account.

There’s a place on Symi’s coastline known as ‘Seal Cave.’ Some of the around the island boat trips stop there so guests can swim around and into the cave, and anyone who has been on the Poseidon trip will remember Captain Yiannis’ famous saying, ‘No swim, no ouzo,’ before leaping into the transparent water and hanging about there while cooling off.

I, for one, have never seen a seal there, but I have seen them elsewhere around the island. One year, some time ago, we had a seal hanging out in Harani, and because it liked to bask, it had started helping itself to fishermen’s boats, those it could drag itself into, but otherwise, it was having trouble finding a place to come ashore and do whatever seals do on dry land. In this instance, some of the boat owners, or one of them, made a floating pontoon for it, so it could use that instead. Then, it was left alone.

Yesterday, I saw a short video of a seal coming ashore and basking at Yiala, the sandy-ish bay on the way to Nimborio. Where this place was used as a beach/swim venue only by a few visitors and locals, it has become more popular over the years thanks to the cantina (café) that is now there, and probably due to the road being made up and easier to use than it used to be when it was little more than a path.

The thing is, unlike just about everything else in the world today, a wild animal is not a tourist attraction. You can’t buy a Get Your Guide ‘beat the queue’ ticket to the beach in advance; there’s no entry fee and no waiting in line; it’s a public beach. One that a wild seal has chosen to also use. There’s a debate about exactly what kind of seal this is – some say it is a rare Monk seal of which there are only a few hundred in the world, while others have said it’s a something else seal, and there are several hundred, and I say, for what it’s worth, that it doesn’t matter. It remains a wild animal in need of the beach and in need of privacy.

Being new to humans, it appears to be relatively tame and docile, but that’s not a reason to Instagram the hell out of it, or pose in front of it with your puffed-up lips and red-carpet swimming costume just so you can share a pic of ‘Me with the seal’ on your socials. I mean, it’ll only get seen for five seconds until the viewer scrolls on by, so really, what’s the point of all of that? So, if you’re heading that way and you see it, respect its space as you would want others to do if it was you basking in all your flubbery glory. It’s not in need of help or publicity. As one commentator said, “It’s moulting its skin, a natural process. It doesn’t need food, water, or any ‘help’ from humans – however well intentioned.” As I know this person to be a well-respected author and naturalist, I am inclined to side with that assessment.

Also in recent years, we have had other wildlife come to visit the island. For example, sea turtles are seen more often these days and have been spotted in Panormitis and closer to more densely populated areas, like Yilaos or Pedi.

We’ve also had an invasion of massive sea urchins (diadema setosum). They feature remarkably long, hollow, dark spines that can be mildly venomous, causing a painful sting if stepped on. They are typically found in shallow subtidal rocky shores and coastal habitats, commonly recorded by divers at depths ranging from 0 to 10 meters. (See this article.)

There are increasing numbers of lionfish around Greek waters, too. (Pterois miles.) The reason for this, it is thought, is easy access through the Suez Canal and rising sea temperatures, making the north more attractive to non-local species. Some of these are not only dangerous (i.e. the lionfish and others), but are also destroying the natural water habitats of existing species. The advice is to stay away and leave them to the experts. They are not there for your benefit, and don’t want to be on Instagram.

[Photos from Greek Reporter.]

My main news is, of course, that I spent a weekend writing, and you can find out what over on my pen name blog, Jackson Marsh.

Here, there and elsewhere:
After talking about moments of silence last Friday, I’ve had a few moments of non-silence this weekend. The water pump has added percussion to its repertoire. Now, every time it turns off, it does so with a dull thump. I’m not sure if that’s normal, but it wasn’t doing it before. It might be its way of telling us it’s about to give up and go home, but let’s hope not. The owner has just advertised downstairs for ‘seasonal rent’, by which I think he means a professional needing a place to live while serving short-term in the military, at a school, or with other local services. The current tenants have been lovely, but as we’ve seen from experience, there’s never enough water for both properties to exist normally, and any new tenant will soon come to learn that even a thousand-litre tank can only hold so much water between fill-up days. (The advert is in a Facebook group about Symi if you are looking for somewhere, but I can’t remember which group now, and FB has done that thing where you turn your back and the feed changes so you can’t again find what you were looking at.)

Neil’s been out and about now and then and usually early in the morning; today’s photos were taken around the area of St Evangalismos, the church above Harani.

The Nimos festival took place last night, with taxi boats working through the night until 2.00 to ferry people across from 8pm onwards. There are videos of this on Facebook too, and on Symi TV on YouTube.

For my part, I have seen only a few people these last few weeks, mostly because I work from home, and because when I do go out, it’s during the time most visitors are at the beach, and most locals are taking a pause during the afternoon. People are out there, though. On Saturday night, I was woken at around 2.30 by someone having a good old go at someone else out on the lane. Whoever she was, she wasn’t very happy, and the other person was getting a right dressing down in a language I couldn’t detect through my sleepiness. After about five minutes of this, I was able to tune away from it, treat it as white noise, and doze off for an hour, by which time the heated debate had settled back to silence. I hope they resolved their differences, whoever they were.

The weather has remained pretty much as was; up to 37° in the afternoons, around 30° overnight, over 50° in direct sunlight, sunny skies, a little breeze, some humidity… People are calling it September weather in August, so maybe we will get the August highs in September instead.

I’ve figured that my new keyboard is not suitable for my laptop. It’s a wireless one and, as far as I can make out, although it all works, the mouse isn’t compatible. I click a word to correct one of my many typos, and the whole word gets highlighted. Or I highlight a couple of words, and the thing highlights a whole section. I spent some time doing things with drivers according to online advice and thought I’d fixed it, but it’s back.

What else…? Oh, our youngest godson turned 19 at the end of last week, and, by the looks, had a great time with new friends in Rhodes where he is working as a restaurant manager for a large hotel as part of his vocational college course. His brother, who celebrates his name day on his brother’s birthday, continues to sweat it out in the Kali Strata restaurant, which continues to be full just about every night (book in advance).

Any other ‘news’…? Nothing much comes to mind. We’re looking forward to regular September visitors returning soon, so hopefully, I’ll have something or someone more interesting to talk about soon.

I had an eerie moment in the courtyard yesterday afternoon. I was sweeping up the leaves from the permanently dying vine when something felt wrong, so I stopped and listened – and heard nothing. I mean nothing. No passing bikes, no chattering tourists on the lane, no boat noise drifting up from the harbour, no breeze, no chickens (!), no cats in heat, and not even the water pump. Nothing. And then, after a short while, a lone cicada dared break the unreal silence and another dead leaf fell from the vine. At the front of the house when I went through, the harbour was alive with boats coming and going, but as there was no breeze, the sound didn’t travel far enough to reach the back, so I could see the world hadn’t in fact stopped turning. It wasn’t long, of course, before someone roared past on a machine that needed attention, but for that short while, it was just me and silence. Wonderful.

From our last place, nearer the centre of the village, we used to be able to hear the power station working away, the sound growing louder and dimmer on the wind, until improvements began to make it quieter. Can’t hear that from here, and maybe you can’t from closer, too; I’m not sure. I’ve said before that we can sometimes hear the sea lapping at the Yialos quaysides, but that tends to be in the dark hours of the morning, and talking of sounds, we’ve not heard the owls so much this year.

Yesterday I also heard the band doing their sound check from the harbour main stage, a helicopter coming in and going away, various ferry claxons as they came and went, and the chickens started up later in the day. There’s often the sound of the dustbin lorry collecting from the bin store, a gentle chug and occasional crash of glass followed by a broom sweeping the road. Don’t get me started on the wildlife; ravens, sparrows, black redstarts, smaller twittery things in the various wild trees around us, and now and then a gull or two. All rather wonderful, but not as unusual as a moment of complete silence at three in the afternoon.

Anyway, that’s all I have in my mind this morning, that and the next chapter of a new story I am writing, on which note, I shall get back to it, and see if I can hear any more unusualness over the weekend.

The other day, we were talking about the number of places to eat and drink in Horio. Where, in recent years, there was something of a dearth, there are now 12. Some are cafés, others are restaurants; there are bars too, but I’ve not gone into the details of each, because, well, life’s too short and you’re quite capable of undertaking your own research. Let’s go on a quick walk, and please let me know if I’ve missed anything…

Starting from where the road from Yialos meets the road to Pedi, and you head up the hill into the village: Just there, on your right, you find The Secret Garden. Keep heading uphill, and you can veer off and up to the right to find the Sunrise (evenings and late nights only). If you stay on the main road and either cut through or go around the technical school, you will come to Ringo’s at ‘Kampos Corner.’ This is where the bus stops, and right behind that you will find Scena a little way up the slope into the village.

Just past there, on your right, is Taverna Zoi with its rooftop dining, and if you turn left at that junction, and pass the ‘American’ supermarket, you will find Niki’s kitchen. Double back and turn right at Zoi’s, and you follow the lane past the new Barra Resto on your left. Keep going to the square, and you find Lefteris Kafeneion (green chairs), and the Rainbow Bar (orange chairs). Next to this is Taverna George and Maria, and next to that, the Kali Strata Restaurant.

Turn right at George & Maria, and you will come to the recently reopened Windmill restaurant, Mylos. Carry on past that and down the hill, and you will be back at the Sunrise (on the left) and finally, the Secret Garden where you started.

You can add to this the two cantinas on the main road out of Horio, both of which offer spectacular views. Also in the village, there are two bakeries, three supermarkets, a corner shop and a peripteron.

Now, what have I forgotten…?

Ah, yes. These days during the summer, you are advised to reserve a table at all and any of the tavernas and restaurants on the island, just in case. Some are booked up in advance, while others might be hosting a large party or a baptism, or similar. So it’s best to investigate early and reserve.