Now and then on Symi, parts of the island go without power. These days, we usually know when this is going to happen, and it tends to be in the winter when work is done to the cables or poles, or whatever needs doing. Sometimes, in the summer, it’s due to overuse – air conditioning, I assume, being the main culprit. So far this summer, that hasn’t happened (fingers crossed, wood knocked upon, three-legged rabbits everywhere, etc.), but I just read about a huge power outage in Athens that happened yesterday, taking out everything from traffic lights to lifts. Luckily, we don’t have traffic lights on Symi (yet), nor any lifts that I know of, but can you imagine? Stuck in a lift in this heat, or caught in a traffic jam or anywhere with no air conditioning, in Athens, in late July. Eek! The last I read, it was soon dealt with and corrected, and all is back to normal. Phew. As is the forest fire on Kalymnos yesterday. (Now under control and, I think, out.)

Major Wildfire Threatens Forest Near Kalymnos Village

This rather points up the fact that you never know what you’re going to wake up to around here. The other day, we ran out of water in the tank (long story I won’t bore you with again). Filled up on the next water day. Yesterday, the water came out a more vibrant orange than it sometimes does, so I assume when the level was low, it sucked up sediment, which, yes, we do get in a plastic tank from ‘pure’ water from our reservoirs. This morning’s surprise was the pump; now, instead of not turning on at all due to lack of water, it won’t turn off due, I guess, to a sediment buildup inside. Well, the pump turns on for the usual amount of time, and then off again, then on again, and so on. I assume some of the sediment has got into it and is causing a glitch. I turned it off completely for now, as it’s only 04.30 and I don’t want to disturb the neighbourhood, and we’ll plug it in when needed and unplug when not. (Not sure what the tenant downstairs will think about that, but that’s Symi living for you.) We have some plumbing work arranged for tomorrow morning, so all being well, both water and pump issues will be resolved then, and if not? At least we’ve not woken up stuck in a lift in Athens on the hottest day of the year. I’d be seriously concerned if I was, seeing as how we live at the other end of the country.

Seriously, though, these kinds of incidents highlight certain matters that residents are aware of, but visitors may not be. Energy use, fire and water. The elementals of day-to-day living, if you like. There are ways to avoid such incidents. I previously mentioned the nationwide ban on outdoor ‘fire’ activities in the country and from May to October, lighting fires ‘in nature’ is strictly prohibited, including barbecues and campfires. Not even on the beach. ‘In Nature’ doesn’t refer to yesterday’s post about the poor girl who could afford a holiday on Symi but not, apparently, the underwear to wear when here, but it refers to outside – anywhere outside, even in your courtyard. No BBQs, no fireworks, no campfires on the beach, none of that romance film stuff with flaming torches lighting paths to weddings and so on. Even in March, when the island held its annual celebration on 24th that involved lanterns lining the path to Evangalismos, the island’s fire services were on standby, and locals guarded the route just in case. (I believe there was an incident this year, but it was quickly brought under control.)

So, my dears, no burning your underwear, no throwing cigarette ends on the ground, not even on stone, no throwing rubbish anywhere but in the bins because sunlight on glass can set off a fire, certainly no burning rubbish in ruins as some older folk in the village used to do, or maybe still do, and general care with fire, heated things, and don’t forget not to overuse the electricity either, else we’ll all be in the dark with no air con in your fancy rental. And none of this ‘I’ll be careful,’ or ‘It won’t happen to me,’ because it can, and without care, it will.

Also be aware when the other element, the wind, is blowing, because this feeds and fans sparks, and there’s more dry brush, trees and so on around the place than you might think. ‘The island’s all stone and steps, ain’t it?’ No. We, for example, are surrounded by dead grass, dry trees, wooden roofs, scrub and shrub alike, even in the heart of the village. ‘But you’re surrounded by water?’ Yes, but if there’s a fire, you’ve got to get it from sea to somewhere immediately. How?

As Coleridge wrote:

Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.

But it’s not only for drinking. It’s also for putting out fires, so don’t waste it. And don’t be the cause of even a spark. There. Lecture over. Now, have a nice and safe day.

Let’s talk about something else this morning and, for now, leave the island’s water issues passing under the bridge. Let’s talk about bare mule cheeks instead.

I would, of course, write ass cheeks, because in some dialects of English and parts of various countries, an ass is an ass, but in its original form, it is an asinus, for those who read Latin or can use a search engine. We tend to call them donkeys, which asses are, but we call them that even when they are mules, which are the combination of part donkey and part horse. Ever wondered how that happens? Don’t.

We used to have lots of donkeys on the island. Well, mules mainly, but having been brought up in a fading Edwardian seaside resort, ‘donkey’ sticks even when it shouldn’t. (Ever tried donkey sticks? Also don’t.) We’ve seen fewer and fewer or them of late. I no longer see them loading up at Kampos, or hear them clomping by the house, there’s no more ‘Oshi! Oshi!’ to be heard from their herders, not in the village at least, and the only time I see one is rarely, and then, only making supermarket deliveries, not carting rocks or tourists’ luggage. Superseded, I guess, by cheap human labour and possibly mopeds and small trucks, now that more of the village has been opened up to narrow vehicles.

Instead, we have the summer asses on show, and you’ll know where this is going, or, at least, returning to. There I was, stirring my frappe with its straw and gazing idly around between kafeneion to see what was what and if anyone was worth ridiculing, when I saw my second ass of the season. It belonged to a young woman of no discernible manners, wearing a belt for a skirt, and in the primeval act of bending provocatively by her company to eject some pheromone his way. Unfortunately, she also sent an anatomy lesson our way, and the lady I was with near took a case of the vapours. I’m afraid I laughed aloud, which was a blessing because behind the laugh, jostling and eager, was a sentence, ‘Put some effing clothes on, you stupid B word.’ That’s an adapted quote from ‘Jerry Springer the Opera’, and people were lucky I didn’t try and sing it. Instead, I bubbled coffee back down the straw, turned green and said to my companion, ‘Isn’t the weather lovely today.’ I think she was still in shock brought on by the gynaecology of the situation, so I was compelled to sing her back to reality with the Waterboy’s classic, ‘(You saw) The whole of the moon,’ only with different spelling.

What is the world coming to, I ask myself, when young ladies feel able to walk about an ancient village underpant-less, and feel safe enough to go near-nude touristing when they feel like it. My Victorian grandmother would have fainted for sure. Maybe not, actually, as she was a Durham miner’s daughter turned Sister Tutor at a major London hospital, and more likely to have gone up to the circus act in question and slapped her about the head and face with her sherry bottle.

Anyway, that should have brought us back to the point of this ramble, but as it didn’t, and as there wasn’t one, I shall leave it there and get on with my day. Have a good one yourself if you will, and if you are leaving the house today, remember to wear your drawers. Please.

I read a very good point on a social media post yesterday, and it’s the kind of thing people are talking about privately, but not many have aired publicly. It relates to one of my personal bugbears, and it’s tricky to bring up, because it can sound like you’re ‘having a go’ at others who are only trying to get by. It’s also an age-old issue for the island, and something I’ve bleated on about before; the water situation. More precisely, the lack-of-water situation and the rise of Airbnb accommodation.

On July 16th, Reuters published a headline, ‘Greek islands face drought as tourist season hits,’ and said: Seven Greek islands in the Aegean Sea have declared drought emergencies this year to preserve water as climate ​change makes summers hotter and rainfall more erratic. Feeding from this, other publications listed the islands, and Symi is among them, so we’ll focus on that – and intersperse this 5.00 am ramble with random photos to break up the heavy text.

There isn’t any natural water on Symi, save for some underground springs, which tend to have church complexes built over them. There is also at least one natural ‘pond’ that I know of, and that’s up in the disused farmstead above Pedi. We have the desalination plant which, as far as I understand it, was meant to serve only a small part of the island, but now must cover all of it. Something built to serve 25% of something and then spreading itself over 100% isn’t going to work, and its upkeep and success are a bone of contention hereabouts. I don’t know all the details here, but it’s been apparent for a long time that the facility isn’t up to the job; brown-orange water sometimes, salty, not drinkable, and the place has caught fire at least once due to lack of water in the cooling system.

I’ve heard people say, ‘But last winter was the wettest for ages. Where is all that water?’ Hey, a pint pot will only ever hold a pint, and you can’t force more rainwater into a reservoir once it’s full, so no matter how much it rained, the island can only collect so much. And I’ve not seen a water boat for years. Gone are the years when residents would collect winter rain in the sternas and butts and then make it last until the next rain – or are those years coming back to us now?

For those who don’t know, parts of the island, such as where we live, only have the mains taps open and flowing between roughly 08.00 and 12.00 on three days of the week. Other places have the mains open 24/7, which seems unfair. When I recently asked if we could have 24/7 water like others near us, I was told no, because we ‘are on a different tank.’ More recently, there were supply problems in another part of the village. There always have been.

But the weather, lack of water, boats and the desalination plant are not only to blame. The point raised on social media was a simple one, another facet of the problem, and one of those double-edged-sword issues: tourist accommodation. The island needs tourism so it can survive. It’s the modern equivalent of the sponge diving, trade, and boat building industries of the island’s history – and look what happened to them (over-fishing and chopping down all the trees to feed the boat building until there were no more trees to fell). However, the recent trend towards turning your granny flat, ruin, old shop, old storeroom and anything else with four walls and a roof into Airbnb accommodation is becoming the new over-fishing and tree felling. The modern tourist now comes with a sense of entitlement because only the wealthy can afford to travel to over-costly islands like Symi, and the cheap package deals of the past are few and far between. When a particular and growing type of tourist arrives, it seems, not only do they want modern fittings, all the mod cons, air conditioning and other home comforts, they also expect constantly flowing water 24/7. A shower on waking, a small wash load of a string bikini, a pair of Speedos and a towel surely won’t take much water in the machine? Oh, and a dishwasher would be nice, because they don’t use much water. (Maybe not, but they use some, and these days, some can be too much.)

Another issue mentioned was the way visitors arrive at these old cupboards and cowsheds, now souped up to take top billing on websites and get a mention in a glossy rag. Sometimes (*but by no means always), the visitor is treated to the adventure of finding their own way from the boat to the accommodation and ‘What a challenge that was, Tarquin. We had to carry our own luggage! No, it is all part of the authentic Greek experience. It was so rustic and old-fashioned, but the kitchen units came from Ikea and the homeware from Jysk, so we coped.’

What these unaccompanied arrivals are not told are the laws by which most islanders must live if they want any water at all:

Shower on, get wet, shower off, get soaped, shower on, soap off, done. That, for me, takes about the same amount of water as a bowl of washing up. (Actually, a little more because we only half fill the washing up bowl.) No washing one or two items in a 60° wash, leaving it running while you spend your holiday money on a sunbed. Only flush the toilet when there are things floating in it, not every time little Ophelia does a tinkle. Don’t leave the tap running when you clean your teeth. I don’t even wet the brush; simply add the toothpaste, brush teeth, rinse brush and mouth while washing face, and turn off the tap asap.

I can’t imagine that many privileged visitors think to do any of these things when left to their own devices in a property they have paid over €120 a night for. ‘I paid for it, I can do what I want, and everything else is someone else’s problem.’

Sadly, that is the way the influencers of the world are running the planet, but anyone living here permanently will tell you that kind of thinking ain’t going to get you far for long.

There are climate issues, Gawd, yes, and most, if not all, governments around the world pay lip service to correcting them while knowing the only way they can survive the future is to ignore them and invade another country to grab what they have.

But here, as elsewhere, there are over-tourism issues, and the rise of the plague of Airbnb quick-cash accommodation is making it worse, as are other things the municipality might be offering such as: posh marinas for posh boats who, though they pay, use massive amounts of fresh water to clean down their chrome. Pay for it, fine, but replace it? How?
Constant building work doesn’t help; the never-ending job of converting much-needed local housing into three-months-of-the-year tourist havens, that takes water too. I could go on and still not come up with an answer to the problem.

Sadly, as happened with boat building and sponge diving, prosperity will, in time, become the curse that kills itself. Owners will realise that with Airbnb now coming under stricter rules (that are, thank Gawd, being more strictly enforced), and the cost of running them outweighing the quick ‘n;’ easy profit they thought they could make, may lead to a tempering of the plague, but it will not be the cure. The island still needs some way of sustaining the residents who live here all year round, and we clearly can’t rely on rain as we once did. So, what’s the answer?

I’ll let you discuss that one.

Click here for the link to the article from Reuters.

Back to the dentist today to have the temporary filling replaced with a permanent one, as long as all is well beneath, and it certainly feels like it is. This means, I have to remember to take my essentials: Hat, bottle of water, and a cheerful bonhomie. All being well, I’ll be on the bus back up and home again within the hour. Having said that, I also have a list of things to forget to do while I am down there. It’s the same list as I had last week when I went to Yialos and forgot, and as none are urgent, I’ll probably forget again, but hey ho! I must, though, remember to put factor 50 on my nose as that suffers the most in the sun.

As you can see from this photo Neil took at the weekend, the landscape is turning to the reds, ochres and hot earth colours we always see at the end of the summer, so be careful out there. (BBQs, fireworks, outside fires, etc., are banned through the summer months in Greece. So don’t.)

There’s never any harm in restating the obvious precautions, especially for those who may be visiting for the first time: hat, water, sensible shoes, sunscreen, and if going on a long walk, leave a route with the mountain rescue office, and take a mobile phone just in case. We don’t have a mountain rescue office, of course, although we do have a team of rescue professionals and volunteers, so let someone know if you intend to go off-piste and where. ‘I’ll be alright,’ doesn’t cut it in these temperatures.

Meanwhile, back at home, if you follow my story writing, you might be interested to know that I have now finished my trilogy of Victorian mystery series (link below), and have started on something new and different. Slightly. It’s still historical (1895), but rather than being set in London, it’s set on the Kent Downs in a small village and centres on a blacksmith’s shop, so I am learning all manner of interesting things about that profession. There will be a mystery, although that is the background rather than the drive of the story. I’m having great fun with my Dictionary of Kentish Dialect (1888). Reading something like that gives you an appreciation of how the Symi dialect works, or any dialect, I guess, and explains why any language learnt from spoken dialect is harder to learn.

Once upon many year ago, I took a-learning a little of the Arabic tongue as I fancied meself a’ tour guide in Egypt, so I set about me books. Later, when in the country, I spoke what I’d be a-learnin’, and them as was all about fell to cacklin’ like a goyster. When I arsked as why, they told me I were talking in Saudi-Arabic tongue, and likened me attempts to someone learning English at Oxford and speaking it in deepest Newcastle. ‘I say, my good man, a pint of your finest frothing ale at your earliest convenience,’ for example, where them as was round abouts would a-said, ‘Giss a pint.’

And so on into other nonsense.

Anyway. There was no point telling you that other than to forge a very tenuous link between talk of book projects to how you can get the first in the last mystery series for free. You’d need to sign up for my newsletter before the end of this month, and you’ll get a link to the eBook download (EPUB format to suit all) in the newsletter on August 1st. ‘Have a gander here: Newsletter.

Now, I will let you get on with your day, and I hope you have a good one!

For those who like to know these things, it was 30° in the courtyard at 04.30 this morning, and it looks like we’re in for another warm day. I know! All you talk about is the weather. Well, not all, but it is one of the few things everyone has in common with everyone else, so it’s only natural, and, I hope, of interest to people who know the island and/or don’t, but are heading this way, or just interested. Anyway, it’s not the only thing we have in common. There is also, it seems, health.

I think any gathering of people over a certain age (i.e., 50) should come with a law that says no-one in the group is allowed to talk about their ailments for more than five minutes, and only then, when they first join the group. When I go down for coffee at the bar, I often hear or fall into a conversation about ailment-related this and that. Someone is asked, ‘How are you?’ as a greeting, and the next thing you know, they are telling you. We’re British. We don’t really mean, ‘How are you?’ we mean, ‘Hello.’ Of course, the British have a variety of replies to the question, such as, ‘Fair to middling’, ‘Could be better’, ‘Mustn’t grumble.’ All of them an implied negative.
It’s the same as some other general greetings when you want to avoid a question, ‘Turned out nice again,’ spoken with something of a surprise. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’ (Said with an element of astonishment, even though you’re in the south Aegean in summer.) ‘You’re looking well!’ Also said as if the speaker had never expected to see that person living again, while actually meaning, ‘You’ve put on weight.’

Anyway, I am one of that group, and have been for a while, and yes, there are times when the enquiry is genuine, and one is concerned for someone’s health because they were recently unwell or injured, and that’s fine. But when it comes to comparing scars, hospital treatments, medications and the diagnoses given by qualified doctors, Google and now the planet-ruling AI, it can get far too technical and self-indulgent for my liking.  So, a rule of thumb from now on is to turn these greetings the other way up, so as to avoid the necessity to then listen to a half-hour soliloquy concerning someone’s recent run-in with a gall bladder operation, bunion, or worse. ‘Hello’ is a succinct and vague way of greeting a group of over 50s. You might say, ‘Greetings,’ or something more florid according to your personality. As for replies, they could be, ‘Middling to good,’ or just ‘Good’ instead of fair to, or simply, ‘Not grumbling,’ to which you can silently say to yourself, ‘Makes a change.’

Afternoon coffee time can become like a script meeting for Emergency Ward 10, or for the younger, General Hospital, for the very young, Casualty. (Showing my age here, but ‘mustn’t grumble.’)

And, of course, I am also a culprit of this, and as such, let me tell you about yesterday’s trip to the dentist. Imagine that on my return, someone asked me, ‘How was the dentist?’ I reply, ‘He was very well, thank you.’ That then forces them to ask the real question, ‘What happened?’ Even if they’re not interested, you still tell them, but in a succinct manner, as I can now: All good. Left home at 10.10, walked down (unnecessary scene setting), was in the chair at 10.30 as arranged, twenty minutes later, the root canal was done, and I was heading for the bus. Sorted. No pain (didn’t even feel the injection), a nice chat, no aftereffects, popping back Monday for a check and permanent filling, and to settle the €100 bill. Also shared a few jokes, headed off a conversation about football, and asked after the family.

And yes, that is all true. For those who have to wait months for such a thing and then pay thousands, or can’t even get to see a dentist, or can’t afford to, I’m sorry. Bring your root canals and other dental waterways to Symi where we have the best dentists to ever encounter the inside of my gob. Perfect.

And on that note, I’m off to get my fixed teeth into the weekend by starting work on a new project. That is, once I have uploaded the last of my Delamere Files series to Amazon, which I am going to do now. Collete, Anne and other great friends who support my novel writing endeavours, keep an eye on the Series page on Amazon; the book should be there in a couple of days.

As my character, Ben Baxter from Shadwell, would say, ‘Have a gander at the page, mate.’ Here’s the universal link: https://mybook.to/DelamereFiles