Boats and Planes, But No Trains

Monday, 28th July

Finally went on the boat trip. Troy, Xanthe and I sped out of Alymrida Bay, first to inspect some caves. Which looked much like caves always do, kind of cavey. And then there is the ‘can you see what it is yet’ moment, and it’s a…. face, always. We went to Vangelis the hermit’s cave. He built it himself, and lived there alone, with no electricity or running water, for 15 years. Occasionally he would scramble over rocks to the local village, to top up his supplies of cigarettes and raki. On one of these foraging trips he met an English girl. Two years ago he married her, and moved out. I bet he goes back when they’ve had a row, though. The intrepid, i.e.: not me, braved the rocky entrance, and, dodging the rocks thrown down by a disgruntled goat, clambered up to explore this twentieth century troglodyte’s abode. ‘Let me know what size plasma he’s got.’ I quipped, trying to conceal my fear of heights.

Back on the boat, Xanthe gave her verdict. ‘Surprisingly spacious.’ Suddenly everyone’s an estate agent. Soon everyone on the boat was at it – secluded location, marvelous beach views, blah, blah, blah. If it’s not got an en suite, I’m not interested. Off then to snorkel, the high spot of this being a bright yellow jellyfish, covered in purple spots. It was gently pulsating, and two tiny fish circled underneath, as though trapped in a jelly flavoured force field.

Later, with Perry, I asked Xanthe if the jellyfish was the highlight of the trip. He looked at her levelly, ‘Amy Winehouse,’ he said. Xanthe scowled, ‘I think Mummy said snork, not snort.’

Up to Elpis in Plaka for our last night. As usual terrible service, but great food.


Tuesday, 29th July

Got up early, watched Troy do all the hard work, stripped the beds to help a bit, swam for the last time, baked in the sun to dry out, had lunch, dragged the suitcases down to the Radio Taxi Shack. Yesterday, Costas had driven us up to Plaka, and I had booked for him, or Stelios, to take us to the airport, meeting at the Shack at 3.00pm. I even rang Stelios this morning to confirm. Had an absolute karma crisis when some chap with a broad Sunderland accent asked if he could have our taxi, as his hadn’t turned up. Obviously he approached me, as the woman of the outfit would clearly be the softer touch. Ker-wrong! Not when there’s children involved. But I did feel a bit guilty as I refused. But only a bit, it’s not my fault if he can’t work out the vagaries of Greek taxi driver-dom. Actually, now I’ve written it down, I don’t think I should be beating myself up too much.

On plane, in car, home.