The other day, I saw one of those interestingly unusual ‘things’ on Facebook. I’m not sure what to call it; it wasn’t exactly a news headline, nor was it a throw-away piece of trash, such as a photograph of any number of world leaders or wannabe politicians who have no idea about anything other than how to look like a frog in a cloth cap. It was, in fact, an image of an owl.
Rather, two owls.
Rather, the same owl twice, and this owl appeared on a coin.
Two coins.
One, a one Euro coin and the other, a tetradrachm minted in Athens (or surrounding area) sometime between 510 BC-ish and two centuries later.

The thing is, I had one of those in my desk drawer, so I took a dodgy photo of it next to my own one-Euro coin (I only have the one), and here it is.

I have had this thing for as long as I can remember, and all I recall about it was my father telling me my grandfather found it in Palestine when he was there in WWII. I’ve known what it was in and out of my own history – discovering details and then forgetting them – and this morning I was in a ‘can’t remember’ phase, so I went and looked it up as best I could. On one side is the owl, and the coin was nicknamed ‘glaux’ (owl) because of it, and on the other side is the head of Athena looking to the right. She has a large, sharp nose and an earring, plus a flower in her hair. There is also an olive branch on the obverse, which suggests mine was minted after 479 BC, and is probably from the Athens area, although it also looks like an image I saw of one from the Cyne area, which is on the (now) Turkish mainland near Lesvos. Anyway, the thing has been around for a very long time and is usually kept locked in my lockbox, not that it is particularly valuable because there are hundreds of them sill in existence. But still, I like it.

I wonder if I should clean it, and if so, what with?

I’ll hold off on that for now.

Here’s an interesting piece about the coin from the Alpha Bank collection. https://www.alphapolitismos.gr/en/numismatic-collection/our-coins-and-banknotes/silver-tetradrachm-athens/

In other news… Oh, there’s some new paintwork at Lefteris’ kafeneion which is already causing discussion. Personally, I like it. It makes the place even more cosy, and the addition of some new plants and the latticework at Rainbow also give that a little charm-lift for the season ahead.

And, talking of ancient coins and new paintwork, here’s an ancient landscape taken from a slightly different angle. Right, I’m off into chapter 24…

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It’s all going to kick off again soon, just you wait. To what am I referring? Handtuchkriege, of course. Otherwise known as ‘towel wars’, this is a story of a skirmish which could drastically change the face of beach behaviour as we know it. You probably read the story and thought, Oh, how ridiculous, but unfortunately, it’s true. A man has successfully sued a holiday company because he was unable to find a sunbed. He was out at dawn with his towel, hoping to bag a lounger for the day ahead, and imagine his horror when he found them all already booked by other people selfishly putting down their towels before him. ‘Outrageous!’, he cries. ‘Ich bin offended. I demand retribution!’ Which he finally got through a court in Hanover. The bloke said he had tried to beat the morgendlicher liegestuhl sprint, the ‘dawn dash’, but he was never successful, and his children had to lie on concrete. Therefore, I’ll have €986.70 compensation from the travel company who are clearly responsible for the behaviour of tourists who booked with all and any other travel companies, because this is my €7,000 holiday, and someone other than me must be responsible.

Here are a few suggestions for how this situation can be avoided, Sir.

1. If no sunbeds are available, rather than choose the hardest surface you can find for your little ones, perhaps you might suggest they lie on the sand. Even pebble beaches can be made acceptable with some bum shuffling when fitting into place.

2. If your wife and progeny are not happy with their surroundings, perhaps you might take them to somewhere with a warmer, more heated clime, such as Gaza, where they will, I am sure, find plenty of abandoned beds — and homes, livelihoods, and possibly even some children who would not complain about having to sleep on a hard surface.

3. You could, of course, always bring your own sunbed. After paying €7,000 for a trip to Kos, I am sure a little extra luggage allowance wouldn’t break the bank, and after all, people take all manner of things on holiday with them these days. Holidaymakers pour from airports carrying lengths of rubber tubing for some nefarious reason, while others travel with entire sets of sports equipment: skateboards, skis, rugby posts… Why, you could even buy your personal sun lounger its own seat on a plane. These days, you could probably marry it.

And so it could go on, and probably will. Not only will the floodgates of American-style ridiculous litigation now be open, but, in Greece, the sensible parts of the government are restricting the number of beaches where the ancient teaching of ‘put down thy bed and veg out’ can be utilised. This is to keep in check with their Natura 2000 policy. “As of April 2026, Greece has expanded its “untrodden beaches” list to 251 locations within Natura 2000 protected areas, where sunbeds, umbrellas, and commercial activities are prohibited.”

I can’t wait to hear from visitors who’ve set off at dawn to walk to a distant beach only to find a midnight Handtuchkriege raid has taken place. Every one of the 2,000 sunbeds crammed side by side is taken, leaving little room to breathe, and offering every chance of spreading a new virus and/or bad feeling because the person beside you has brought their children — how dare they! —  and those children are flatly refusing to spend their holiday on concrete. The same visitor will return earlier the next day to find the government have ordered all but six of the things off the beach because a) the beach business had greedily overstocked, b) that’s what the national law says for this ancient place, and c) they would have taken the last six, too, but the towels were stapled to the sunbed.

Honestly. I don’t know. Mutter, mutter, ‘Not like it was in my day,’ common sense has left the station…

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Symi comes in for recognition again today as the centre of the May 8th celebrations, marking the end of WWII and the signing of the surrender of the Dodecanese in the building which now houses ‘Los’ in Yialos. Services, a parade and other events are being held over a two-day period, as usual.

I remember the first time I saw this parade. I found it entirely moving, having never experienced anything similar before (apart from on television). I was working at Takis Leather by then (2003) and had a clear view of everyone passing, including the military, schools and other organisations, all led by a brass band from Rhodes. I am sure anyone in the harbour today will witness the same thing. These days, more than before, the parade will have to deal with possible interlopers such as the train trying to go the other way, and tourists piling off a day boat or two, which always seem to come in just as the parade is setting off, so its numbers are swelled by bewildered visitors. At least it looks like the weather is going to ‘turn out nice again’ for the event.

I was in the harbour the other day, and called into the Town Hall to ask about the water supply. It’s not an issue right now because we don’t have anyone below us to share the limited tank, but we’re expecting a new neighbour (who, because of the design of the house, feels more like a lodger we’re responsible for), and we’ll need more water then. Sadly, we can’t. Apparently, our section of the village runs off a much smaller reservoir than other parts (like our neighbours along the lane), and isn’t sufficient to allow for a 24/7 feed. At least, that was my understanding, and I may have it slightly wrong. So, before long, we shall be back to rationing and only using the washing machine when the mains is on, and all that malarky. Still, it was a pleasant morning and, for me, made a change. I am usually so metaphorically tied to the desk, I never manage to force myself to take time off and go down there during the mornings. The evenings are something of a no-go for me too, because of getting back up again, especially ‘off-season’ when the bus runs fewer trips and taxis are gold dust.

Here’s another thing about living in Greece that I’m still not used to after 24 years: appointments after dark. I still find it weird to make an appointment for, say, the dentist at 19.00, or 7pm for those in old money. It was bad enough during our first winter here that I had Greek lessons at 5pm, and walked to them in the dark. Going to school, dentist, doctor, shops after dark? It just wasn’t done ‘in my day’ and feels very odd. Luckily, we’re able to make appointments in the morning, which feels much more like the right time of day for such things. Not because it gets you an hour off work, that makes no sense when you ‘work’ for yourself, but because it is light in the morning, and such things are only meant to happen during daylight (in my world). I suppose that’s the same as when we used to walk to school in the dark and walk home again in the dark during winter, sometimes heading there in the morning with my pyjamas on under my uniform because it was so cold (ice on the inside of the bedroom windows kind of stuff). I’d change during the first break, by which time I’d just about warmed up. No such worries here today, where it’s set to be warm, cloudy perhaps, but certainly no ice on the windows.

And so, off into another weekend, and this time, with no plans other than to carry on with the current project and enjoy or endure or whatever comes my way.

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A while ago, and a while before that, and then, another while before then, a photo appeared on ‘the socials’ (i.e., Facebook), showing an image of the sunrise at Pedi. This photo was taken by Neil, and it became a ‘viral’ favourite. When I say ‘viral’, I don’t know exactly when something is deemed ‘viral’ or how it gains that much-sought-after status — much sought after by people who now aim for stardom rather than the stars, and fortune rather than finesse. These idiots with cameras pointing at themselves and talking away as if they were the experts on whatever they drone about are, to my mind, much to blame for the dumbing down of the population, particularly the young, and I consider their viral antics more of a virus than an influence.

‘Oh, Tais-toi, you moany old Tartuffe.’ Fair enough, moving on…

Neil’s photo was shared around, and that’s fine, but then it popped up a few times with other people claiming it was theirs, or suggesting it was theirs, at least. Well, here’s another one that may well go the same way, although this is watermarked (inside and out), and it may appear on a Symi calendar later this year, if he decides to put another one together.

I just wanted you to know that you saw it here first (or yesterday on his Facebook page, where it’s already had many likes and comments). You can see part of Harani around to the clock tower, the rising village behind, and the Vigla and hills behind that. By the light, you can tell it was taken just after sunrise.

You can also see that, as it was taken yesterday, the day was calm, and the sky was blue. We reached 20+ in the courtyard’s shady corner, and normal service was resumed in the weather department. I did read that we’re in for more weather nonsense, and that will include the dust from the Sahara, but so far, Poseidon Weather Systems is not showing that. Fingers crossed.

Talking of calm, quiet days, I have another in store, and this is how it started.

That’s one of our supply ships coming in, and was taken before six, so if you want sunrise pics of your own, you’ll have to be at Pedi or up by the windmills at around 5.45 to ensure a good view. Although I was quiet at home yesterday, the harbour, apparently, was ‘rammed’, and I saw at least ten day boats of one sort or another either coming to stay for their few hours, or ferrying back and forth. Another good sign. Maybe these thousands of cancelled flights are not affecting Rhodes yet? Let’s hope all that’s going on doesn’t put people off coming, because, so far, I have seen little difference on Symi – mainly the cost of some imported items is rising, as previously discussed. I can’t comment on petrol because I don’t use it, I don’t have anything to do with bookings etc., so I can’t comment there either, and as I’ve not been on a boat for several weeks now, I can’t say if they have had to increase their prices yet. In fact, I don’t know what the point of my discussing such things is, as I only see them from the outside and hear about them second hand, but I’ve got to fill this page with something.

Eek! I didn’t want to get into all that. I just wanted to share some photos, and there you have them. Share this page, by all means, but if you share only the photo, remember to give credit, otherwise you may be considered a virus.

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Although it was chilly up here at altitude yesterday, it was warmer down near sea level. The current weather is at least giving visitors a taste of the answer to the inevitable question, ‘What’s it like in the winter?’  At times, like yesterday, it’s warm in the sun and cold in the shade. From today, it promises to be calmer and warmer, so that should start cheering people up.

I have to wonder about day visitors who set off in full tourist gear, shorts, t-shirts, sandals, with a light jacket for the evening, and come across on one of the open-fronted fast boats, stopping to swim at St George on the way. Fine to start with, even though it’s not the height of summer, because you’re fuelled with excitement and derring-do on your €50 day out, and you’re determined to enjoy it. Fab. Quite right. Sun, swimming, and the entry to our gorgeous harbour. Then, a few hours wandering the streets, enjoying a lunch, maybe taking a dip at one of the dipping places around Harani or at Nos, and then, hurrying back to secure your place in the front of the open-air fast boat back. There, you sit, all pink and satisfied, and off you go, back across the sea in the full glare of the sun, and let your hair flow behind you in the biting breeze. Put on your light jacket, and realise just how burnt your shoulders are, but face to the wind and out across the high seas, having had a great day out. The next day? Skin as stiff as a board, and a nose as red as a traffic light. The moral? Take sensible precautions, and put on sunscreen even when you think you don’t need it.

There were several large parties of herded tourists yesterday, following the half-open blue umbrellas around the town before being freed for an hour or two. The train was running, the Poseidon went out with a group from the Pedi Beach Hotel, the Trawler was busying up around midday onwards as were other eateries, and the harbour was beginning to buzz. All good signs for the summer to come, we hope.

As for me, I had a great success, and it only cost me an extra €2.50. I’d ordered a book from Amazon France, to avoid confusion and delays at customs (which you can fall foul of if you buy from Amazon UK). The seller dispatched my book, which was hard to track down, and I waited. A few weeks later, I received a message from ELTA courier (the post office one) saying that my book could not be delivered. This is standard, and we tend not to take much notice of these messages, because they are usually followed by a ‘delivery waiting for you’ one once the info has been entered into the computer, or something. In this case, though, I hadn’t had one of those, but called into the post office anyway. Nothing in our PO box, but Elias saw me and told me he had something for me, and sure enough, there was the delivery. Yay! But, it cost me €2.50, because, although I had bought it via France, the seller had, I assume, arranged to buy and send it to me from the UK. From Rawtenstall, Lancashire, to be precise, a place I visited once back in the 1980s to admire but not use the dry ski slope. All the same, a small price to pay for a hard-to-find book.

And what was this book? You ask. Mind your own business, I reply… No, seriously, it was the kind of book only someone like me would want, and in this case, need (as research for my current story set in 1894). It is the highly coveted Tower Bridge Operations Manual: 1894 to date. Wonderful! It was like being a teen again. It’s got pictures and everything, including original specs and drawings, and how the thing works. I can now delve in and see if it is possible to use the bridge’s mechanics as a murder device. Well, I never do things by halves, just, maybe, half a bridge at a time.

So, while others were going hot/cold, white/pink on day trips, I was salivating over a book, and that’s what it’s like on Symi in winter… and sometimes in May.

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