Phew!!

You don't do anything fast. Not in this heat. The cicadas are rasping away in the trees and the temperature, offering a threatening harbinger of weeks to come, touched 40ºC for the first time yesterday and, boy, was I glad to be out on the ocean doing a "Bay to Bay" swimming cruise on the vessel "Lindos".

The "Lindos" awaits us below

Lindos Acropolis shrinks behind us as we head north for the first stop in Haraki Bay

Yesterday's was an interesting cruise to say the least. Of the 40 guests I had on the coach, more than half were Italians, the rest were French, there were four Germans and one British couple. Not a lot of hope of communicating with the Italians then, save for the fact that their Tour operator was savvy enough to supply a rep (Martina - hi Martina!! You're the bizz, by the way) along with them too, yippee! It's funny, but you get used to knowing which nationalities will usually understand English and which ones will pose potential problems. In my experience every Scandinavian speaks my mother tongue probably better than wot I do. When I've dealt with Russians the same applies - if they're under 40. Germans usually the same. Fortunately, I do speak French, although more often than not it comes out as Freek these days, but the French guests usually see the funny side, thank goodness. Italians, by and large, nope, no English. They do, though, make up for this by an enduring bonhomie and they smile a lot too.

So, after an exhausting day of swimming in various beautiful bays and lunch in Grigori's Taverna at Stegna, I was collected at the roadside by my dearly-beloved who declared that the car had told her moments before that the temperature had crested the 40 mark (104 in the old money, ...or you're American!) for the first time this year. 

Air-con in a vehicle is wonderful, yes. The problem is that you have to get out. each time I see guests off the bus after an excursion it feels like I've just stepped into the oven as I graciously descend the steps to assist where necessary any guests who may have trouble getting off. of course, there's always the chance that a little courtesy will elicit some appreciation on the form of a small monetary contribution pressed into my sweaty palm as they leave and I wish them a fab remainder of their holiday. My hopes are usually dashed in that department. People just don't tip like they used to, ah well.

I was in Rhodes Town on Tuesday, so I thought you may like to see these...

Too small that pool, couldn't get more than one stroke done before I reached the other side.

Actually, one very nice gentleman (British, sometimes I'm proud to admit!!) did leave a ten Euro note in the driver's little dish (They usually share a bit with us escorts) and another gave me a five Euro note as he left the coach as we said goodbye after that trip, so occasionally I'm pleasantly surprised. 

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Anyway, we're off to Athens this very afternoon for the first visit (on my part anyway) for a staggering 32 years. We're making a flying visit (only a "short" hour by plane from Rhodes) and will be back home late on Sunday evening; so, rest assured, my impressions on how much the city has changed in the three decades since I last trod her pavements will follow some time next week. Photographic evidence will also be involved I shouldn't wonder.

Got to go now, need another outdoor shower before togging up for the trip. Only my third shower so far today...phew. 

I'm walking outside slowly. You don't do anything fast, not in this heat.

Bay to Bay and a Bachelor Boy

Well, after all sorts of false starts and worries, this week I finally got under way with the "Bay to Bay" cruise this season. Yes folks, this year it's called "Bay to Bay" and, among other tour operators (Polish, French and Italian for starters), I have guests who are holidaying with Olympic Holidays (UK) on my excursions for the first time in several years. 

I've been escorting excursions since 2007 now and every year I have done at least one (and often more) excursion(s) which involve the sea. I've done Symi, Marmaris, Halki and a plethora of different swimming cruises with all sorts of different boats and this year I'm adding yet another one to the list. The "Lindos" is the vessel's name and I bet you can't guess where she sails from. 'Course you can, eh?

In seven years of water-based excursions, which must mean that the number of times I've leaned over the rail of a boat whilst gazing at the wonderfully azure Aegean sea waters below is way up in the hundreds, I have seen dolphins probably only as many times as I have fingers on one hand. The best ever sighting, though, was this very Wednesday. We set out from St. Paul's Bay with the sea looking like it damn well ought to at this time of year (finally!); as the Greeks would say, it was "san lathi" (soft "th") which translates into "like [olive]oil". Of course we English-speakers are more used to "Like glass", or "Like a mill pond", but the Greeks always say "san lathi", so that'll do for me.

We hadn't even reached our first swim-stop, which was to be Haraki Bay, when the visitors arrived and set everyone off in a frenzy of excitement. I'm getting to know yet another crew on this boat, which consists entirely of the father and son team of Kostas (the dad) and Dimitri. Dimitri is tall and his hair quite fair for a Greek. He rather put me in mind of an American footballer or something. He's not the most outgoing of people, but he's OK. I've decided that he'll get chattier the more I get to know him. Kostas is about my age and rather more genial in nature. Both men were quick to spot the visitors, spying two dorsal fins breaking the surface of the almost flat-calm sea as we traversed Kalathos Bay going northward.

They gave me the nod, so I announced it to the 27 guests, many of whom were just settling down for a serious bit of sunbasting, sorry, sunbathing, and thus were not scanning the water's surface. Once the magic word "dolphins" was heard, every guest to a man (well, to a woman and to a child too if I'm to be PC about this) was leaning over the rail and pointing. Our visitors treated us to a leisurely swim this way and that, at times approaching to within a few metres of the wide-eyed aboard the Lindos (me included) before finally ceasing to surface and allowing us to drift back to what we were all doing before they'd arrived, which was basically nothing at all. Isn't that what this kind of boat trip is meant to be all about?

Kostas was quick to drop the engine speed to idle and bring the boat to a halt while we watched the show. It may well have been a mother and calf since both remained very close together. I'm afraid I only had the iPad available for photographing them and so the best I could do was the photo at the top of this post. But if you scan it carefully (perhaps clicking on it to get the larger view will help) you can clearly make out the smaller fin just in front of the submerged nose of "mum". Quite what it is that enchants us about these most intelligent of sea creatures it's hard to put one's finger on. But everyone feels enriched when enjoying such an encounter. I like to think it has to do with the fact that they rather like to approach boats and accompany them for a while, ostensibly simply out of curiosity. Whatever it is, bring it on. Here's hoping that we'll repeat the experience on many occasions this summer.

Whilst we were chugging sedately along with not much else to do but watch the exquisite coastline of South East Rhodes lazily sliding by, I made attempts to get a conversation out of Dimitri. I got the feeling that Kostas' occasional absence had something to do with the fact that there is a large room (cabin? Sorry, I'm not very nautical) below decks, which I rather fancy he'd retire to for a spot of the old "shut-eye" whenever he saw the opportunity, leaving his son to steer.

There are some more random candid photos of the day on the Facebook album here by the way. The first photo following the dolphin shots is a rear view of Kostas and Dimitri, Kostas to the left, obviously. So, anyway, I opened with "So, you married, Dimitri?" His reply was classic Greek bachelor-speak. 

"Me? No!! No!! I'm not forty yet. plenty of time, plenty of time."

I've mentioned on many occasions in the books and on this blog that it's entirely normal to meet a Greek married couple where the husband is at least 10 years older than his wife. Greek young men do their military service, then they concentrate on the serious business of business - ie: making a living, all the time playing the field until some time in their thirties when they finally turn their attention to the idea of choosing just the one girl (usually many years their junior, to enhance the chances of them producing a few sprogs in short order once they've jumped the broomstick) to settle down with.

Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions, but it could be added here by the more cynical commentator that, once the young (or not quite so young, by this time) Greek man gets wed, he then sets out to enjoy the fruits of the fair sex in much the same manner as he had before, while his young spouse grows plump with their first progeny. But I won't go there, OK? Right.

Anyway, as I said above, I shall look forward to prizing open yet more cracks in Dimitri's armour as the summer progesses. Meantime, here's a shot of that cozy corner of St. Paul's Bay which sits right beneath the Acropolis, taken as we chugged back into the bay at just before 5.00pm, after what had turned out to be a pretty good day on the whole.

For anyone who'd heard that the car parks at this end of the bay had been closed off a while back; you'll be pleased to see from the evidence below that they are now open once again. 

Now then, where did I put that Polish phrasebook..?

An Old, Wise Greek and Some Other Stuff

Can't believe it's already a couple of weeks since we last enjoyed the hospitality of our old friend Gilma, way down South, where we always get served up a perfectly-brewed Elliniko and are usually offered some interesting nibble or other to accompany it.

Sitting with him in his very old, yet sprucely maintained cottage around the turn of the month, the conversation turned to the weather. Made us feel quite British, but frankly, this year everyone's on about it. It's been the weirdest start to a summer for over fifty years, and that's official. If I had a Euro for every "false start" that this summer has made I'd have, ooh, about ten Euros by now. My better half is the weather expert, walking database that she is, and she usually says that at the start of May the daily temperatures usually crank up by about 5ºC virtually overnight. Where, during April they'd been hovering in the lower 20's, they usually turn into the mid to upper twenties and don't look back until October comes.

The same usually happens with the start of June, when they'll normally crank up even further to 30 and over. Plus, the cloud we see is sparse and scattered once May is under way. Yes, we can get a short blip and a shower now and then, but often we don't.

This year, however, the summer has made as if to start umpteen times, only to then bring us a surprise drop in temperatures and some cloudbursts well suited to the depths of winter. We're all feeling decidedly sorry for the holidaymakers, although by and large they tend to make the best of it anyway. On one of my excursions a couple of weeks back, on a day that had begun full of promise and unbroken sunshine, but had turned very murky and the rain had "spat" at us for a while in early afternoon, I'd remarked to a guest as we sat in the Top 3 Bar awaiting the arrival of the coach for the return journey, that the weather was a bit "British" and how sorry I was (like it was all my fault. Must try and get rid of this guilt complex), only to receive the reply, "Hadn't noticed. It's a darned sight warmer here than back home, so why should I worry?" Good old British Stoicism, eh?

So, returning to our chat with our wise old Greek friend, he made an interesting observation concerning the meteorological goings on this year. In answer to a comment from me about how strange it had been so far he said, and I quote, "This kind of thing often means we're in for a big one Yianni."

"A big one?" I asked. I already knew what I think he meant, but needed clarification, which soon followed. Assuming his usual conspiratorial stance, he whispered, all the while thrusting out both hands before him in a distinctly "Tommy Cooper-esque" gesture, "Seizmo, Yianni. We could be in for our next earthquake!" Now, the last big one we had here was in 2008, when we had a 6.4 on the Richter scale. Everyone remembers it because it lasted for 20 seconds or so, time enough for me and her indoors to get out of bed, slip into our robes and walk calmly (!!?**) out on to the drive before the ground stopped vibrating. It's easy to remember which year it was, because it came hot on the heels of the worst forest fires in a couple of decades, the year when even Kiotari Hotels were evacuating guests as a precaution.

So, if the earth does indeed move for us this coming summer, I'll let you know. That's always assuming that Reuters don't get there first, of course.

Actually, yesterday it really did feel like it's supposed to feel in the middle of June. The temperature hovered around 31-33ºC all day and we took a shower outside without worrying how cool the water may be on our skin. Plus, this past few days we've even taken our first real swim in the sea at our favourite stretch of beach, so things do finally look as though they're getting back to normal.

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At 5.30am this morning, after what was for me a really good night's sleep for a change, I went out to water the garden. Even though we have an extensive watering system, there are still enough plants in pots and some that are too far from an available water pipe as to require about half an hour's work every couple of days keeping them all from shrivelling up. With the temperatures finally clocking in at around normal, it's the best time of day to be exerting oneself. Only about 25ºC out and with the light just beginning to grow from the murk of night to the morning "gloaming", it was truly wonderful to be wandering around outside. Plus, it had been a full moon last night and I was stunned to see the "moonset" approaching as I stepped out with my trusty watering can in hand. Hanging just above the hill to our right (West of course) was this bright, white globe, so I dashed back inside for the camera. Now, as you'll know if you follow this stuff on a regular basis, my camera's not a posh contraption, but I took these anyway, plus one with the iPad...

Wouldn't have missed that for the world. Of course, with the naked eye I could see all the details on the moon's surface, but the camera couldn't quite manage that.

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Returning to the subject of the weather for a moment. We bumped into a couple of old friends from Germany last night, Mo and Angela, who holiday on Rhodes regularly, usually staying in the Lindos Blu hotel. I usually remark to people who stay there that "that's the hotel with the rubbish view, isn't it?" Check out that website folks, see the irony!! Frankly, it's even a bit "Santorini-ish" here and there the view from that hotel.

Anyway, Mo told us that they'd arrived on Tuesday and we remarked right away that they've come at the right time, because had they come earlier they may have experienced some of this year's weather-vagaries. He replied right away that the weather's been pretty strange in Germany too. He told us that when they'd flown out here on Tuesday from Dusseldorf, it had taken them so long to reach the airport owing to heavy rains, wind and floods, that they almost didn't make it. Then he said that flights had been delayed, cancelled and diverted too owing to the wild weather, which was totally out of character for this time of year. 

See I have my own theory about all of this. I distinctly remember reading probably twenty years ago now that experts were warning that, owing to the melting ice-caps at the two poles, the worldwide seawater levels were set to rise by about a meter in the coming decades. If the sea level were to rise by a mere meter, it would drastically alter the world map almost beyond recognition. The Maldives, for example, would cease to exist. Now, despite the proof that the ice at both poles is receding at a rapid rate, the sea levels haven't changed to any appreciable degree, so where's all that extra water gone then? Want my opinion? (OK, OK, no need for that!) Well, it stands to reason to me that it's all in the atmosphere, hence higher humidity that in decades past on Greek islands, more frequent incidences of storms and deluges than ever before here, there and everywhere and in places that simply never used to experience such phenomena. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it!

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So, what we need now is something cheery, eh? I remarked at the outset that I'd had a good night's sleep, which is something I rarely experience. I've tried just about every suggested therapy, diet and potion to combat the problem. But now I'm wondering if what I really need at 10 o'clock every evening is one of these (with the contents still in it of course - well, at the outset anyway)...

Tell you what, Corona never tasted like this when I was a lad!!!

My wife was cleaning a villa or two yesterday and returned home as per usual with a couple of bags of spoil. In one of them was this at-the-time unopened bottle of Corona, which is evidently from Mexico (very Greek, eh?). Now, since we'd been out for most of the evening, at something like 10 pm we called in at Panayioti's "Meat and Grill" on the lower beach road just below the Princess Adriana hotel for a few vegetarian pittas to have for our "tea". Last night his fellow proprietor Alexi (may be his son, must ask next time) prepared them after I'd phoned our order through in advance (0030-22440-42038) and we dropped by, collected them and high-tailed it home to slob out on the sofa and munch them in front of the TV. 

Last night's were arguable the best takeaway pittas we've ever, ever had. They usually pack them solid with salad (lettuce, tomato, cucumber, onion), tzatziki and chips (see this post PDQ!), but Alexi pulled a stroke of genius and asked if we'd like some Halloumi in there too. Boy am I glad I said yes!! Anyway, so there we were tumbling in through the front door, tearing off outer garments to cool down (no other reason, OK? This is a family site) and ripping paper off the pittas too to get at them when I opened the fridge for something to wash mine down with and there was this chilled bottle of Corona, all glistening with tempting condensation on the outside, so I thought "Yea! That'll do."

Having chomped through the pittas and guzzled the Corona we went to bed and I slept and I slept and I slept. I think I've finally discovered the best sleep potion. It's evidently from Mexico and steeped in tribal tradition, ahem... yes, these ancient herbal recipes are definitely the best. Pass me another Corona...

Roots and Culture

I'm a big Bouzouki fan. It never ceases to amaze me how much variety of music and sound can come out of this instrument. OK, so it's not quite the six-stringed orchestra that is the guitar, but it's a pretty close second. Many years ago I went to the Music Live exhibition in the NEC, Birmingham (UK) with a close friend of mine from South Wales and we were privileged to watch the guitarist Doyle Dykes playing close up. He blew the audience away with a rendering of a U2 song from the Joshua tree; can't rightly remember now, but I think it was "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For". Whatever, with just six strings he produced the entire song with all its parts, vocal, overdubbed guitars, drums and bass and it all came from that one guitar.

 

Photo courtesy of http://family-studios.com/perfect-ten-live/

Well, the Bouzouki isn't quite so versatile, yet it is capable of wringing an incredible amount of emotion out of the listener. One of Greece's greatest exponents of this instrument was the late and much revered George Zambetas (another link about him here too). Many of the songs and instrumentals that he wrote have become Bouzouki "standards" and often crop up on those Greek music CD's you buy in tourist shops, the ones that attempt to give the listener a true taste of Greece.

When we were in Naxos back in April, wandering around the old citadel above the Old Town Market area we passed a building that houses a very intimate venue for live performances. It's a very old building and one enters the performance area from the rear and above to see rough stone walls and an arena that probably doesn't even seat an audience of 100. It's a very interesting building and also serves as a museum, which has a website, here. The banner photo collage at the top of that page gives you an idea of the performance area.

The museum's curator was at the door and offered to show us around, ostensibly to get us to come to a musical event that was scheduled for the following evening. Had we not been seasoned Greek music-o-philes, we'd probably have gone, but the recital in question was very much for the kind of tourist who doesn't already know the dances and history of the Greek Rembetiko movement, which revolves around the Bouzouki as an instrument, plus they wanted 20 Euros a head. Now I'm not saying that it wouldn't be worth it for someone wishing to learn about this stuff, but all we needed was a knees-up. We found something along those lines at the Maro taverna a few nights later...

What we were on the hunt for was a bit of real "action", so to speak, but I was nevertheless pleased to pick up a piece of paper whilst looking around the place that explained very concisely the history of Bouzouki music in Greece. At the risk of boring you (but I'm kind of thinking that you're reading this because you love all things Greeks, yeh?) I'll reproduce part of the text of that leaflet here (the italic bits), augmented with some of my own research too...

"The roots of Greek music lie in the Ancient Greek and Byzantine periods. During this time a very complex system of scales and rhythmic structures was developed, which still form the basis of traditional Greek music today." Much of the music known as 'Rembetiko' is heavily infused with influences from Asia Minor, since many Greeks lived there until the great Greco-Turkish population exchange of 1923. During this fraught time, many ex-pat Greeks came back to the country of their origin, often forcibly and with only the clothes they stood up in, yet they brought with them many musical ideas steeped in Asian rhythms and scales.

Despite the origins of the term "Rembetiko", it's nowadays generally understood to apply to the Bouzouki culture of Athens and - even more so - Thessalonika, the region where most of the Greeks from Asia Minor resettled. 

"Concerning the Bouzouki as an instrument, it can be said that in its present shape it's a relatively new instrument. It was developed in the 1920's using the traditional shape of much older string instruments such as the Tamburaz (which strongly resembles an Indian Sitar) or Saz, but with changes to the tuning. Instead of using the oriental system of fine tuning, that includes microtones, it uses the Western system, which cuts the octave at even intervals. This is what the name refers to. "Bouzouk" means "broken" or "gone bad" in Arabic.

The Bouzouki, with its full, clear sound, offers to a good musician  the possibility to express himself freely through a wide range of rhythmic, melodic and harmonic elements."

Bet you'd been wondering for ages about all that stuff, eh? All those nights you've lost sleep wondering where the Bouzouki came from, yea? 

See, never let it be said that I don't make the occasional effort to raise the tone a little (there's even a pun in there. Sometimes I just can't help myself) ...