Winter travel

Winter travel

We'd barely dressed, but not yet breakfasted this morning when Tassos our neighbour called in. He has a beautiful house about twice as far up the mountain than us and has a wonderful view, from lofty heights over the Straits of Maleas to the mainland peninsular opposite and also up the mainland to the mountains on each side of the plane of Sparta. As he was smoking he would not come in the house but agreed to take coffee on the kitchen patio.

'Brr it's cold. The first day of winter.' he declared.'We have not had wind like this since April.'

Yes, there is more of a wind today, but the temperature on the patio was 27'C! Some winter! It is still far to warm to sit inside without having all the doors open, despite the wind, which is really no more than a strong breeze. But of course it is all relative and we have already started to work out whether or not we needed more logs for the winter fires. The price of central heating oil has gone up 50% since last year and so that makes a big difference. The Greek government has strange legislation which means that heating oil cannot be sold between 1st June and 1st November, whatever the weather. As this is the same stuff that farmers use in their tractors and other equipment Waldo asked what they do in the summer months, if they cannot buy it. We were told that they have big tanks to store it during the summer. So they can buy it in the period concerned and use it at will. But, asked Waldo, what if the tank is not big enough? They must have a tank big enough, we were told, or they can fill it up. But they cannot do so, we puzzled. It turns out that, like most things in Greece, there is a way around this. It is illegal to actually sell the oil during the summer periods. This seems to be taken literally and there is no limit to the amount of oil which can, with the right contact, be delivered. Payment or specifically a receipt confirming payment cannot be issued during this time for that affirmation of a transaction would be illegal!

Tassos has come to tell us that he knows that the olive press, just on the road to Aghia Marina, where we went the other day, is excavating an area around it and as such there will be good earth available. Waldo has almost finished making an extra terrace and cleaning the area of thorn bushes and other bushes and a tree. This leaves quite a large area to the side of the cobbled path to the AcropoLiz and running behind the oleander hedge which only has a ear tree and to tall pine trees. We want to plant some low growing flowering bushes there and possibly some flowers in between and thus need good soil. Tassos agrees to do the negotiating on our behalf and arrange for it to be delivered to the top of our back drive. Waldo can then use Heracles with the bucket on the front to bring the earth down.

Now that we shall have the earth there is pressure to get things planted before we leave in just over  a week's time. We had planned to take the car to Athens, leave it at the hotel where we will stay in Glyfada and then stay there overnight on the way back. We were intending to take our usual trip to Kaiafus Lake thermal baths, but after a lot of Sherlock Holmes detective work we discover that this year they are closing at the end of October. So many hotels and public facilities are no longer staying open all year round; it is too expensive to pay for staff and electricity when the buildings are hardly used. So we decided to try the thermal hot springs at Methana, on the eastern side of the Peloponnese. I am not too keen to try these. Apparently the spring water is very hot and so the bathing pool reaches down to the sea where the waters mix and so do not par boil swimmers. But when you walk down to the covered bathing area you have to take a candle. If the candle goes out then you must run out of the pool and away as quickly as possible before being overcome with the sulphurous fumes. I am amazed that such a primitive device as a candle is still used. At least, I guess it is not canaries! But frighteningly only last year one elderly couple were resting in the water, and by the time they realised that their candles were out, were not nimble enough to get away quickly and so fell asleep for ever.

Despite my reservation, I allowed Waldo to awaken the adventurous side of my character and telephoned a hotel nearest to the Thermal Springs, in fact it is part of the whole complex. Now you would expect their staff to know all about the Thermal Baths, but it was not apparent. I was able to book a room no problem, but trying to find out whether the baths were open or not proved impossible. At one point I think the girl thought I wad asking if I could get a hot bath in the hotel in the winter! So we left the booking on hold.

Subsequent Internet searches, telephone calls to Methana civic offices and discussions with friends have still not enabled us to feel confident that the thermal springs will be open after we have driven there. So, now that we are on the hunt for plants and given the limited availability on the island, we have changed tack for our mini-break. We have devised a cunning and, we thought simple, plan of taking our trailer to Sparta and then using it to bring back plants. We convinced ourselves that these would be cheaper, we would have a greater choice of plants and we would have three or four different garden centres to visit to find good quality plants. So, our plan was simple. Instead of going on the little ferry to Neapoli on Tuesday 30th October, we would now go the day before. This means that we can stay at the Sparta Inn on Monday night and then spend Tuesday morning visiting different garden centres to get an idea of what we want and arrange to leave the trailer with Theo, the Skoda agent in Sparta who services our car.

Then, on our way back we would stay in Glyfada the night of the Tuesday 13th, drive to Sparti early in the morning and spend the time until the Githio ferry to Kythera on the afternoon of Thursday, sorting out and picking up our plants. This done we decided to go to the travel agent in Potamos to make our bookings. While there we could also cancel my flight ticket from Kythera to Athens which I booked ages ago when I thought I was making the trip on my own.

The first bit, the ferry to Neapoli was the simplest. yes, we have made the booking for the car, trailer and two passengers. The helpful and charming man in the travel agent made a telephone call, made the booking and confirmed it by giving us a reference number. I then asked him how much this would be. Oh, he didn't know that, but he could give us an approximate price which he calculated on the basis of a car and two passengers, which almost everyone on the island knows by heart and then added the equivalent of one passenger for the trailer. I was concerned about the approximation of the price and then he added that he was not actually an agent for the ferry in that he could not dispense tickets. We now had the choice of coming back to see him on Monday, by which time he would have the tickets ready for us, or we could go to the ticket office at the port and collect and pay for them there - something we could have done all by ourselves! Anyway it is done now and we will collect the tickets at the port as usual.

Then we came to work out our return ferry arrangements. We knew that the little ferry from Neapoli doesn't run on a Thursday in the winter. The big ferry to Githion has been out of action for a while, but is back in service this week, even running yesterday on it's usual run from Githio to Kythera in the afternoon when there was a national strike! But this week is October. The man apologised and told us that nobody knows what the timetable will be for November. Maybe it will run. Maybe it will finish. Anyway we cannot book it because he is not an agent, the agent is in Livadi. He gave us the telephone number and then added that of course even the agent in Livadi won't be able to sell us a ticket, he can only do bookings from Kythera. Bookings from Githio have be done from the office there. So we are now in the situation that we will go to Githio in time for the afternoon ferry to Kythera on the Thursday. If that is running, then we'll be home that night. If it is not running then we will drive down to Neapoli and stay in our favourite little hotel, The Arsenekos. This is run by a mother and son team where the mother makes the most wonderful breakfasts with home made preserves, locally churned butter and fresh bread, and the son, who has clearly lived in America for some time, is the spitting image of Sylvester Stallone before he had all the cosmetic surgery. He even speaks in the same distinctive way which is fascinating. Then we can catch our morning 'puddle-jumper' to Kythera.

Our third request to the travel agent, was whether or not he could cancel my Olympic air ticket or did we have to go to the airport? No trip to the airport, he could do it. I gave him the piece of paper with the reference number on it and then he told us that he would not cancel it, because that would mean we would have to pay a cancellation fee of 7 Euros. If we told him when we are next flying from Kythera to Athens, then he would transfer it and there would be no charge. So we had to leave it as we have not booked that far ahead yet. But this offer only stands until Tuesday for within a week of the travel date we will be charged 7 Euros anyway for administration charges. So, we have the weekend to think about it!

We hurriedly did the rest of our shopping and sat in the square in Potamos to have a leisurely drink of freshly squeezed orange juice and write down our revised schedules, list of things to do, people to 'phone, hotels to book or cancel and organise everything to do with our trip. As we discuss it we are distracted by so many people coming up and having a chat. In the end I manage to get the revised schedule written down before we both forgot it! I do a belt and braces job and actually write down everything we are doing, day by day before we leave. Neither of us can rely on our memories any more, whether short term or long term. I can look at a piece of paper for some minor detail of information and forget it by the time I have turned over the piece of paper!

So we now have our check list. Out to dinner tomorrow night. Out to our favourite taverna-by-the-sea for Sunday lunch and deliver a little cardigan I have knitted for the grand-daughter of the owner. Sunday evening go to a concert in Potamos put on by local school children and organised by our neighbour who is coming for a meal on Tuesday. It will be in Greek, but we will get the gist of it and it is really to show support for the local community more than anything else.  Monday, back to the travel agency, do the shopping in readiness for the meal I will prepare for neighbours coming to dinner on Tuesday, whilst shopping buy mothballs in readiness for closing up the house when we are away, check the bank and get money out if necessary. Cleaning the house and cooking on Tuesday in readiness for the visitors. Oh what a busy social life we have!

We have long since stopped worrying about future bookings and plans in Greece. In most cases things just happen eventually. And, what is the worst that can happen: we can sit in a friendly cafe in the sun and enjoy some freshly squeezed orange juice whilst people watching and talking to each other. Even worse is that we stay over in a little hotel somewhere and enjoy the company and conversation of the owners and while away a few hours. Being in Greece is about being with people, developing conversations and learning from strangers. It is about living in the here and now which is far more relaxing that always thinking about what we are doing in the future. In Greece the journey is as important as the destination and we have learnt to cherish that. We can relax into it, now that we are retired and do not have business deadlines of course!

 

Just one of those days!

Just one of those days!

We woke to another cloudless sky. It is a national strike in Greece today; the Troika are visiting and so the unions think that they are making a point. I don't understand what their point is, but I can see so much that is not working. I guess a lot of us can sit with friends and put the world to rights and wonder why those in power cannot see what we see. I think that the reality is that it is not what those in power see, but what they want for themselves which is rarely compatible with what we want for society. And, of course, there is a big gap between talking and determining what is wanted or needed and actually making it happen. Greece has the anachronistic positioning of being the centre of so much political thinking; it gave the world democracy yet no longer has such government, but a sad and corrupt copy of the original high principled discipline. Yet in other ways it is far from the centre. It sits on the edge of the European Union in the unique position that it is geographically part of mainland Europe but only in sea and air connection rather than land connection with the EU. The Turkish past gives it some unique insights and racist thoughts onto the Muslim world. It's Orthodox religion and political tendencies give it more than scant contacts with Russia. In many ways it has a long history traced back to the eons of civilisation. Yet as the nation we know it is barely one hundred years old.

The conundrum that is Greece is a fascination; like a child watching the flames of a fire, it fascinates and is full of danger. It is like the old veiled women of Greece that were at once exotic, perfumed, loved and oppressed and abused. On this warm day towards the end of October, when I look out the window I cannot but be filled with love and a great sense of privilege; what we have here, no millionaire could buy.

Reality is both kind and cruel. We were sitting on the kitchen patio, enjoying our customary leisurely breakfast when something made me look up. There was no sudden noise, no big gust of wind, nothing to attract my attention. I just sensed that I should look up. Then I heard the rush of wings and the peace and tranquillity was shattered as the Peregrine Falcon caught a tiny bird in mid air, just in front of me. This is something I have never seen and the speed of the attack was incredible. The little bird just made it's last cry and the falcon, with it's breakfast in its strong beak took it down behind the tall pine tree in our garden. Nature is cruel, but it is about survival. I feel sure that the attack was so swift, so professional that the little bird did not suffer for any length of time; death was immediate. I cannot but admire the speed and silence of the falcon. I watch him often, just hovering, remaining perfectly still whatever the wind. Then with amazing agility and quite unbelievable eyesight he just kicks back and dives down to some small creature in a bush or tree. But never have I seen him catch something in flight as I did today.

Perhaps I should have known better than to start baking today! A friend of ours has his sister and nephew to stay for a while. His wife is back in the UK where her elderly father is in hospital. I decided to make some cupcakes and a cake to take down to him so that he and his guests can enjoy them with morning coffee or afternoon tea. Recently I made some lemon and lime jelly marmalade which turned out to be a wonderful flavour and great for breakfast toast; I put aside a jar to give to them. I mixed up one of my own cupcake mixes. It was based on a recipe in the wonderful Hamlyn 200 Cupcakes book for orange flavoured sponge cupcakes.  Instead of orange juice and sugar I used some of my pear and geranium leaf jelly which I made some weeks ago and which for some reason did not set properly. To compensate for the additional liquid I put in some extra flour and for more taste added a teaspoon of cinnamon. These baked in just 20 minutes and turned out a treat.

Waldo was washing up the breakfast dishes and helpfully washed up after me as I used various baking equipment and utensils. As soon as the first batch of cakes was in the oven I set about making the second batch; malty sultana cakes. These are our favourite and are made by soaking All Bran in warm milk and leaving it to go mushy before adding large juicy raisins and agave juice instead of sugar. Again I used up my pear and geranium jelly as agave juice is impossible to get on the island and I have used up what I brought from Cardiff. I must make a note to put it on my list of 'things to bring to Kythera'! I was just about to put these in the oven when the electricity went off.

There is nothing we can do when this happens. Such is our dependence upon electricity that we have no computers to work on, no telephone to call friends with, no water to do anything with, no sewing machine to make something with, and of course no cooker, blender, mixer or bread machine! But we have plenty of alternatives. The first is to sit on the patio and enjoy a leisurely break with a cold drink and freshly baked cupcake. Then Waldo sets to fixing the rail for the curtain to go over the AcropoLiz door; he has a battery run power drill. I read my Kindle for a while and then pot up a large clump of cyclamen that Waldo brought home from Potamos yesterday. They are a beautiful pale pink with deep fuchsia centres. I've given them a good talking to, handled them with love, added some fresh compost, watered them and placed them on a ledge just outside my window. I hope these survive!

The power comes back after about 2 hours, which is good. No doubt it was just to remind people that there is a strike today! I pop the waiting tray of cakes into the oven and then spend a frustrating three-quarters of an hour when I cannot get either the house Internet signal nor the AcropoLiz one! Rather than waste time I return to my Kindle to find that the battery is flat!

My nerves are soon calmed when the little citrine wagtail comes down the path. I have put out some crumbs for him which he eagerly pecks at. I am pleased that he was not the Peregrine Falcon's breakfast. Thunderthighs lumbers over the edge of the path and sticks out his big tongue. The little bird thinks it is time to get out of here and flies to safer parts of the garden. Then, two chubby little Great Tits come to visit; they pick grubs from the gnarled branches of the tree behind the pergola vines. I watch them for a while as they go about their business, completely trusting of my presence. They finally drop down to the ground where they find some crumbs to peck at before taking off into the valley. With no more birds or wildlife to distract me, in a happier mood I return to the kitchen to realise that I had forgotten about my cakes! The burnt offerings are no good for anything. There is no way I can cut off the black bits, make a trifle or do anything to disguise the lumps of charcoal in the browned paper cases! I set about making some more, which fortunately turn out well. Just for good measure I make a lovely cake, one of Delia's recipes, which is a puddingy base because I substitute half the flour with oats then put down a layer of warmed dates mashed with a little water and spices and then I top it with the same mixture as the base, but in the heat it has become a much more crumbly consistency. I sprinkle the top with brown sugar and cinnamon and put it in the oven. I ring the changes with this cake, sometimes I use dried apricots, fresh plums, prunes or a mixture of dried fruit.

While the cake is baking I turn back to my Kindle; sitting on the kitchen patio this time to make sure that I hear the timer 'ping' and take the cake out before it gets burnt. I have just settled into the good book I am reading when the telephone rings. It is our friend's wife, whom I thought was in England. Her father is now out of hospital and plenty of help and support provided for him at home. She came on the same flights as their guests and arrived last night. Her guests are not used to travel and so having a quiet day today. She was fine and spent the morning baking and cooking for the next few days. Yes, the power cut was an inconvenience but she managed to get round it. She's tired now but quite satisfied that the has a full pantry! Would we go round to their house on Saturday for dinner? Yes, of course we would; she is a great cook, and expert on both Greek and British cooking.

I phone our Dutch neighbours who are quite fascinated with the British habit of 'tea' and invite them down for 'tea and cakes' tomorrow afternoon. I've plenty of cake, I tell them!

 

The Little Summer of Saint Demetrios

The Little Summer of Saint Demetrios

We tend to think in Britain that we have exclusivity over talking about the weather. Not so. Here on Kythera it is the topic of conversation everywhere. The fact that it is fine and warm is not unusual. The fact that it is actually hot and we have only had one day of rain, on 18th September, since the spring is unusual. The fact that we have had gentle breeze on a few days is not unusual, but that we have not had the dust driving, rain driving gale force winds for which this island is know, is unusual. A few nights ago we had an incredible sound and lighting show which lit up the skies so that we could clearly see across to the mainland; but we had no rain. But last night there was another storm and with it came some rain; only for about an hour, but for that hour is was more like the lashing rain that we are used to when the back drive runs like a river and the road is ankle deep in water. In the afternoon both Waldo and I had sensed that there was rain in the air, despite there not being a cloud in the sky. Neither of us mentioned it to the other, not yet confident of the extent to which we are both in tune with the natural environment here. Then, just before dusk Waldo called me away from the computer to look up. I won't say that the sky was black, but it was certainly peppered for, against the blue sky, we could see swifts darting about everywhere. They were quite high up and as we did our best to count them, we reckoned that there must have been over two hundred birds silently gathered and swirling about in the air currents. They made no noise, except the occasional sound of wings when one came swooping down. They did not appear to follow any pattern, simply swirling and twirling, perhaps catching insects on the wing. This lasted for just about 20 minutes then, as quickly as they gathered, they moved on. They were part of the many migrating birds that we are privileged to see this time of the year as they move south to warmer climes. I cannot help wondering where they go from here. Given the ravages of so many north African countries, the bombing and warfare, the dispersal of people I just hope they find homes to build their nests in when they arrive at their destination. I hope too that these little birds can give pleasure to people as a break from their war torn days.

I have now moved down to my office known as the AcropoLiz in homage to it's position perched on a ledge overlooking a valley down to the sea and across the Straits of Maleas to the mainland. The move has taken me deeper into the wilderness that is our land. It is actually at the dividing line between our garden and the olive terraces. Down the whole length of the building is a pergola over which the vines grow. Below that it an 'in training' oleander hedge; a bush that Waldo cut and hedged for the first time last year. It is doing well and provides a colourful wind break.  As I sit in the silence I see the little geckos out hunting during the day. They run up and down the vines trunks, stopping when they see potential prey. It is incredible how they remain so still, poised to pounce. If I had not caught the movement before they became statues it would be very difficult to see them, such is their camouflage. I notice that the geckos here are darker than the ones around the house whose hunting grounds are the pale colours of stone and painted walls. In the afternoon the little fellow sun themselves on the roof of this building and I hear them scampering across the inner ceiling panels to get to their favourite tile. Then, as the sun goes down they come in for the night. Two in particular are very curious about me. One looks over the ledge at the top of the wall just to my left; he barks until he gets my attention and then just looks. I try my gecko language, but rarely get an answer; Waldo by chattering his false teeth together is far more proficient at gecko-speak than I. The other seems to have taken up residence in the curtain to my right. He is much bolder and will come down the material, down the window edge and onto my desk. I think that it I remember to bring down Waldo's daily catch of flies he will become quite tame - the gecko I mean of course, not Waldo!

Other visitors are outside the AcropoLiz. Thunderthighs, the big lizard comes down the path and suns himself of the warm stones outside the door. He takes no notice of me and refuses to acknowledge my existence. If I get too close to him he just lumbers off disdainfully. The citrine wagtail is back for the winter. he spend a lot of time on the path, standing with his strange bobbing action, picking up grubs and insects he finds between the stones. I put bread crumbs down for him and he lets me get closer every day. I have high hopes of him coming to trust me to the extent that he will at least peck food out of my hand, it not step onto my outstretched hand. I once trained a robin to do that and it was such a rewarding experience, the little bird gave me hours of pleasure and to be so trusted by a wild creature is a great privilege.

Some people on Kythera cherish the extension of summer for with the winter comes a cool dampness that pervades every corner of old houses. It makes it impossible to dry clothes. People then live in a damp, woody atmosphere cheered only by log fires and hearty soups. For others there is the real fear that the olive harvest will be poor. The olives now are no more than mere pips; tiny, hard and with little flesh. The trees desperately need rain to take up the life-giving water through the sap and produce the rich fruit, plumped up with oil. Whilst few farmers totally rely on nature for their water, the cost of electricity to pump the water to their trees and crops is now prohibitive in Greece. Instead of collecting lots of much needed tax as the government intended, lots of farmers are simply giving up on their crops and we have the crazy situation where shops are resorting to buying lemons from Argentina, apples from the Netherlands and Apricots from Lebanon.

We are fortunate on Kythera in that we have plenty of water, but it is not always in the right place. Thus some farmers and individual house owners have to spend a large proportion of their time collecting water from natural springs or paying for the public authority to deliver water if not on mains connections. As the cost of petrol is now 2 Euros 10 cents on the island; the most expensive in Greece, the costs of collecting or delivering water are becoming far too expensive for commercial use.

The effects of the two showers that we have had are really quite amazing. Our hibiscus continues to delight us most mornings with a new flower just on the edge of our bedroom patio. The flame orange flowers on bushes nearby have come out in profusion. We thought that they had retired for the winter. The bougainvillea and oleander have star5ed to bring forth new flowers. It makes me wonder how much of flowering plants is related to the season and how much to the weather. Our toads are now edged with beautiful wild cyclamen in colours from deep fuchsia to pure white with deep pink centres. they seem to grow even in the roughest ground and even look as though they spring from collections of pine needles where the road runs through the woods. How come they won't grow in our garden? I just love the flowers and have tried replanting roadside ones, buying potted flowers and replanting them, growing from bulbs and at most I get scant blooms and then nothing. The roses in a house on a band in the road on the other side of the village are a wonderful show of colour. There are some beautiful roses which seem to combine yellow and a deep orangey red, pale pale pink, a lovely lilac colour, a deep deep red and an array of yellows, reds and yellows. Waldo waters our roses but nothing seems to be happening with them. We always seem to be away when they bloom, by the number of dead heads needed when we come back, I wistfully think 'they must have been a sight'. But for the most part it stays in my imagination.

For the local people it provides some respite between the tourists mostly leaving the island and the olive harvest. Now they start talking about going to Athens. This may be to sort out their money that they have earned during the summer and other business issues. For some it is to clean and prepare apartments that they have rented out during the summer and get them ready for their holiday over the Christmas period when they will go to Athens and spend the time with family and friends. For many it is simply to return to Athens for their winter jobs. This seasonable approach to work always fascinates me. Whereas there are many people who simply change the location but do the same work; as waiters, running shops, running restaurants, chefs and of the type of work that has transferable skills and the changing location of customers. There are a growing number of people for whom technology enables then to move easily between Athens and the islands or their homes area of Greece. In the heat of the summer the only people who are in Athens are those who cannot leave for various reasons and tourists. Those who can leave do. Those who work in advertising agencies, taxi drivers, those who work in electrical shops, give up all manner of skills for the summer as people become waiters on a summer island. Now is the time of transition.

Tomorrow, 18th October is St. Luke's Day. This is the day for the commemoration of the dead, a day when people will take to the church grain or a dish called Koliva which is a sort of thick, sliceable porridge made of grain which is also the traditional meal at funerals. People hold a vigil in the church where their relatives are buried and then have a feast, a sort of picnic really, around the tombs of their loved ones. This is particularly celebrated in a wonderful, old village in perched high on a mountain ledge in northern Greece, Metsovo because the tradition dates back to the time, just two generations ago when many of the families, who were not silversmiths, were semi-nomadic shepherds. Each year they would spend the summer in the high cooler pastures. Before leaving for their winter in the warmer lowlands, they would honour those who had died in the highlands and been buried in Metsovo. The next days would be spent preparing for the long journey down the mountains. This time of year, the weather is usually good and is often called 'The little summer of St. Demetrios', and thus the work and packing up can be done in the dry, without the inconvenience of rain. St. Demetrios' day is October 26th. and is often the last day on the high pastures, sometimes marked by a feast where the new wine is opened and tasted.

The shepherds, their families, many no doubt nursing hangovers, and their flocks would then take the familiar trails down to the lowland pastures. This used to be a wonderful sight as hundreds of sheep and goats, people, caravans of vehicles all came down the tracks, through small villages and crossed main roads. The women of the villages would all be out protecting their roses and vegetables from the goats. Many villages, even today have the roadsides, particularly in front of houses, planted with Lucern, a clover type plant which is a great favourite with both sheep and goats. This was done in the hope of distracting the greedy animals. Now the plants are left to give their bright pink flowers to adorn old walls and roadsides. All would be quiet in the villages until the nest spring, when St. George's Day 23rd April was the appointed time to return to the highlands. Now, the few shepherds that still live a transhumant life move their animals in large lorries and their families live in fixed homes, driving to visit their relatives when necessary. Not quite the same romantic pastoral scenes, but far more convenient than the old ways. It is perhaps indicative of the way society is changing to realise that the most that is retained of these old traditions is the tasting of the new wines, which is celebrated by parties and festivities in rural villages and town houses alike.










 

Customer Service - Greerk Style

Customer Service - Greek Style

Everyone is talking about the weather. Yesterday and today there were a few clouds about, but nothing threatening rain. Granted I have changed from wearing thin cotton trousers and sleeveless cotton tops to cotton jeans and short sleeved T-shirts, but I am still feeling hot. We still need to keep jugs of cod water in the 'fridge. We still need the put the air conditioning on, albeit for just half an hour, in the evening to cool the house down.

Waldo was out playing with Heracles, the Bobcat yesterday and will do so most of today. He is clearing thorn bushes and creating a new ledge just alongside the cobbled path to the AcropoLiz. Somehow or other, when I had the computer and was working in the lounge he found all manner of reasons to be in the lounge; working at his computer, talking to himself as he did so, shouting on the telephone or Skype, looking for his glasses / keys / the piece of paper he had in his hand a minute ago! He kept talking about all the work he had to do outside and how important it was to get it done before the rains come and the ground is too slippery to work. Somehow he never got round to it. It was too hot. He had to upload a new programme on the computer.

Now it has been just four days since I moved down to the AcropoLiz and Waldo has not had any distractions of heat, e-mails to reply to, telephone calls to make or programmes to download or upload! He has strimmed the grass to the back of the AcropoLiz and he has strimmed the grass to the front. He has brought out the Bobcat and cleared thorn bushes at the back of the AcropoLiz and now he is clearing to the front. What is this magic thread that keeps him wanting to be near me? It must be love!

Now that Waldo is busy, I take the opportunity to go out in the car myself. This morning we had a telephone call from the good courier service to say that he would be outside the Hotel Romantica in 10 minutes. Most unusually, it was me who took the drop-off. It was headphones which Waldo had ordered from the largest office supplies company in Athens. Now it is important to understand that Waldo is not deaf! People don't speak clearly. The telephone settings are not good. The computer headphones for Skype are just standard things and not good quality. I keep the TV sound far too low because I've got ears like a rat!

Waldo's mother was the same and when she lived with us we were forced to take action - thank goodness - when the neighbours two doors down complained about the volume of her TV! We bought her a set of headphones which solved the problem, although when she took them off I could hear them four rooms away through three closed doors! Now, when in Cardiff Waldo uses these headphones and I can have the TV at a normal volume. So during his distracted time on the computer in the lounge, he came across a set of headphones which he could use on the TV and Skype. He ordered them via the Internet and waited for them to be delivered.

About a week later we collected them from the courier at the Romantika Hotel. Eager to try them out immediately Waldo was disappointed to find that when he opened the packet he found that someone had been there before him. Perhaps it had been a display model, but the batteries were missing. The next morning we went up to Potamos and bought some batteries and rushed back to watch some news on the TV. The headphones still did not work. Waldo left them on their stand, thinking that perhaps they had to charge. Some hours later he still could not get them to work. He contacted the company concerned, via their website and directing the query to Customer Services. He heard nothing.

A few more e-mails of increasing anger were sent and still nothing. Eventually Waldo telephoned the Sales Manager who was very apologetic and said to return the headphones immediately and he would ensure a new set were sent out. So, we packed up the headphones, travelled down to Livadi and returned the goods via the courier. A few days later Waldo had a bizarre e-mail saying that as his headphones were still under warranty they could be repaired free of charge. Waldo simply forwarded this e-mail to the Sales Manager and repeated the agreement to have a new set. Another apology was forthcoming. Still nothing was heard from Customer Services.

The new headphones arrived about 10 days later, via the good courier, collected at the Romantika Hotel! Waldo started to open the box and then started to do a war dance around the lounge. He could not believe it. The batteries were in the box this time. The stand for the headphones was in the box. The connecting leads were in the box. But there were no headphones! Immediately he sent off an e-mail to Customer Services with a copy to the Sales Manager.

As expected, he heard nothing from Customer Services. Two days later, the Sales Manager telephoned with another round of apologies. Not only could he not believe the incompetence of his packing department but he also had to bring the news that the particular type of headphones were now out of stock and so there would be about a month's delay whilst new ones were delivered. In the intervening two days Waldo had been surfing the new again looking for alternative headphones. The ones that he now chose were only available through one company in Greece - yes, you've guessed it!

Arrangements were made for Waldo to cancel his original order and be refunded his money plus compensation for two sets of return courier deliveries, telephone calls and inconvenience. Waldo would also place a new order for the different headphones and the Sales Manager would personally oversee the packing and dispatch. That was yesterday and amazingly, true to his word, the package arrived this morning. Waldo has tried them out and they work! he has looked at his credit card account and seen that so far he has been credited for the price of the original headphones, less the price of the new ones. So, as for compensation we wait and see what happens. We can but wonder at the Troika's faith in Greece working its way out of the economic situation it finds itself in!

As Waldo's headphones had arrived so quickly I thought there must be post to collect. we are both waiting for things to arrive, most of which are about 4 - 9 days overdue. So, I decided to go to the post office this morning. I also had some more DVDs to post. I do love driving on the island. Waldo always says that I drive much faster than he does; but I don't think so. The roads are mostly quite and I do like to try to get to the limit on corners where it is safe to do so. the only distraction is that when a car comes it is invariably someone we know and I have to go through the ritual of flashing lights, parping the horn and waving; all of which slows one down enormously.

The supermarket in Potamos had pineapples for sale today and so I went in and bought one; a great treat. I love pineapple and the island is totally devoid of tins of pineapple. The only fruit that are sold not fresh are tins of peach halves and bottles of cherries, and these come in large sizes more suitable for a taverna than a domestic household. On the way back I remembered that Waldo has asked me to get some butter and a bottle of lemonade, so I decided to call in George's in our village. When there I asked George when he would revert to closing the shop in the afternoons. He told me that there were still a few visitors here and so he would stay open until they have gone. They only buy some water to drink on the beach, but, he added, it not a good reputation for the island if shops are closed when visitors are here. So George stays from 7am to 11pm in his 'prison without walls', all for the good of the reputation of the island.

George would be better placed training people in Customer Services positions in big companies in Athens.

The cats at Stella's taverna

The cats at Stella's taverna

The 'Thursday Cruise Ship' is just going past, looking majestic in the sunshine. Every Tuesday she goes down to Athens and returns on a Thursday; one more of my alternative time markers.

We didn't get up until nearly lunch time today. I woke around 8.45 and discovered that there was a power cut. It is winter now and so we can expect them if not daily, then at least 5 times a week. I decided to turn over and sleep. Apparently Waldo did the same around 10.30. The power eventually came on just as were were finally getting up around 12.00. As usual it was timed after breakfast and the children set off for school and before the housewives of the island needed to start getting lunch which is usually eaten around 14.00.

We ate a leisurely brunch on the patio. It is still so warm that we needed to use the table in the shade, but today there are a few clouds in the sky; nice white fluffy ones, not menacing grey or black ones. As we ate we reflected on our bizarre day yesterday.

I buy and sell books and DVDs on Amazon and so am a regular at the post office. At the last minute Waldo decided to come with me to Potamos to buy an outside light fitting. A few nights previously I had been working so intently in the AcropoLiz that it was only when I finished that I realised that it was pitch dark. I used Skype to telephone Waldo in the house to come with a torch to fetch me! There was no way I was going to risk breaking a leg on the cobbled path or had the courage to brush past the oleander hedge where the night spiders would be weaving their webs. One diligently makes a large web that spans the cobble path, anchored on one side at the end of oleander branches and at the other side on the wall and the metal patio railings. These anchoring threads are amazingly strong. Despite the fact that every morning I break these threads, by the next morning the spider has rebuilt them. This morning I set Waldo the task of destroying the web. We wait to see what the beast will do tonight!

Waldo dropped me off at the post office and drove on into the village. Now that the tourists have gone it is quite easy to find a parking space somewhere around the platea (square). I posted off my 4 items, collected 4 newly delivered ones. The intention of having a Kindle and selling on Amazon is to reduce the number of books and DVDs we have in the house. Somehow it is not working out! Mentally I have this notion that Kindle is for the books that I will really want to keep. All the transient stuff can be bought and sold, particularly when it is cheaper in the first place than the Kindle version. I guess I am too old fashioned and missing the point somewhere!

I caught up with Waldo in the electrical shop. Whilst the girl there speaks very good English, he was having problems with his 'insides' and 'outsides'. He wanted a light to be fitted outside the house and so have all the necessary waterproofing and safety measures. He wanted the switch to operate it to be fitted inside the house, thus no need for waterproofing. But he needed it to be fitted on the surface (outside) of the wall not indented (inside) the wall. He also had the idea that if he fitted the light on the apex of the AcropoLiz roof he could fit the switch immediately inside, if only he could buy a switch with a length of cord attached, like a bathroom switch. The shop, like all Greek shops is crammed full of goods with shelves holding precariously positioned piles of goods often sticking out way beyond the shelf edge and the two walkways lined on both sides with even more of a tangle of cables, boxes, large fittings and display stands. Nikos the owner was at one end of the shop reaching out to various shelves. Waldo and the girl were at the other end of the shop. As the girl shouted out what she thought Waldo wanted, Nikos would reach for it as pass it to a lady who stood part way down the aisle who passed it to Waldo. It turned out that this lady was Nikos' mother. All around her and totally blocking the aisle were bulging carrier bags full of apples, plums, potatoes, tomatoes and a host of other just-picked fruit and vegetables. As I took in the scene an elderly man asked me to make way as he brought in even more bags. It turned out that the elderly couple were Nikos' parents who firmly believed that living, as he did, in the village, he and his family would either starve or poison themselves with shop bought goods. Hence as they had reason to come into the village for themselves they had brought his 'rations'. Nikos, the obedient son simply worked around his parents.

I managed to make my way down the free aisle to Waldo who had a switch in his hand from which protruded a length of string. He was concerned that he couldn't hear it clicking and thus that it wasn't working. The girl stepped over three plastic bags of fruit which had now been placed between her and the counter. She took the switch out of Waldo's hand telling him that he had it wrong. She demonstrated.
'On.' She pulled the string and held it tightly keeping the switch down.
'Off.' She let go of the string and the switch went up.
Waldo and I looked at each other in puzzlement.
'This means that you hold it when you want the light on?' asked Waldo incredulously.
The girl sighed. At last the xeni (foreigner) had understood. 'Yes.' she said 'That is all we have in Greece.'
Waldo capitulated immediately. 'I'll just have an ordinary switch please' he declared and immediately set up another chain reaction of the girl shouting to Nikos, who moved carefully to the relevant shelf, passed the switch to his mother who was by now almost held prisoner by bags and had to call in the services of her husband in order to get the switch to Waldo.
I just gave Waldo some money and got out of the shop as quickly as I could. I had vision of Greeks all over the place having a bath whilst holding tight to the light switch string. Or maybe they just tied the string around their big toe so that both hands were free for washing! We are both still giggling over these amazing light switches.

However much we laugh at the Greeks, they laugh at us. We may all be European but the culture divide is still enormous. Shop keepers think we are quite mad to bring our own shopping bags with us. They shake their heads in wonder at the crazy xeni who pay to bring their own bags rather than taking their freely given ones. And what do we use to take out the rubbish, they ask? We tell them that we compost everything possible and the rest goes into the store of bags that we already have collected and the occasional ones that we have when we shop on the spur of the moment and get given a plastic bag. Waldo gives cause for more laughter than I. He caused great laughter the other week when I had pulled up outside a taverna where a group of men were enjoying a stag party lunch. because we had visitors and the car was full, Waldo got into the boot. They were surprised to see that he had cushions there and was well set up. And just to please them he did his 'nodding dog' imitation. In Potamos he had parked the car near the small supermarket. As he was crossing the road to go to the electrical shop he noticed a grasshopper in the road. Fearful that the little thing would get run over he decided to move it. With no fly swatters to hand he just stamped his foot close behind the grasshopper which immediately took off, leaped in the air and landed a few feet away, still in the road. So Waldo repeated his stamping. Grasshoppers, as we have already found out, have no sense of direction. Thus is took quite a bit of stamping and hopping to zigzag out of harms way. By this time Waldo had an audience of people from the supermarket, the bakers shop, in the kafenion on the square and a motorist patiently waiting for the stamping mad man to get out of the road!

We settled back to the various tasks we had set ourselves for the rest of the day and decided to go out for a meal. The taverna on the Potamos platea has already packed up the tables, chairs and umbrella's on the square and reverted to the indoor space underneath the Bank of Greece. We set off with the intention of going there for a change. On the way down the mountain in the car we remembered that once into winter mode, not having to cater for tourists, Panaretos does not open until eight in the evening - and that would be early for most Greeks going out. We toyed with the idea of going to have a drink beforehand, but decided to forgo that, have an earlier meal and get back in time to watch an episode of Rumpole. Oh what a high life we live in our old age!

Panaretos will stay open during the winter so we can go there later on, but most of the tavernas in our village will close soon. We decided to go locally. Kaleris' taverna was laid out with three long tables; obviously they were expecting a large party. We continued on to Stella's; she does the best cheese pies on the island and her grilled courgette in batter, sprinkled with the Greek equivalent of Parmesan cheese is to die for. It is the last week of Danish tourists, the Dutch all went home and their tourist operation closed last Monday. The Danes will go on Sunday. There were a few tables taken by these tourists and, as usual, a collection of cats moved from table to table as unwanted food was dropped for them.

We headed for the opposite corner. A few of our visitors always get talking to people on the beach, people in the bars or in tavernas. We never invite such conversation, being more than happy with our own company. We do not feel the need to communicate with strangers. Besides on the rare occasions when they open lines of communication with us, we end up saying the same old things; where to go in Kythera, the weather on the island and general comments of tourist information. We are reluctant to speak about the fact that we have a home here. Perhaps we fear visitors, perhaps we fear being used in some way, perhaps we are intolerant of the superficiality of tourists, or perhaps we are just rude and eccentric and crabby in that we just like our own company and want visitors on our own terms, those who are close friends and worth spending time with.

We were just tucking into our starters when I could see a familiar figure walking along the road. It was Louli, our builder. He and his family are now living and working in Athens where they do not seem to be short of work, despite the economic climate. I wave and he comes over to greet us. After the usual greetings we invite him to join us, which he does. His Greek is excellent and he is beginning to add a few English words to his vocabulary. Nevertheless the evening's conversation relies on me being able to understand and translate what Louli says and to translate Waldo's contributions to the conversation. It is rather staccato and very tiring by we manage to cover a range of topics from his family, new baby and parents; the cost of living in Athens compared with Kythera and Cardiff; our newly found road down to Aghia Marina and the stone house being built there; the work that Louli is doing now in Kythera and where he is staying; the disruption of the riots; the Greek government, Angela Merkel's visit and the troika; Albanian economic development; Albanian tsipouro versus Greek tsipouro (this is a very strong liqueur made commercially but prefered from local sources where it is stilled after the making of ouzo from the must, twigs and remains of grapes mixed with wild herbs and raw alcohol); and we reminisce over various times when Louli and members of his family have done various projects for us around the house and land. It is a pleasant evening but I am exhausted.

Louli invites us to have dinner with him again in two days time and we look forward to that. Just as we get up to go, I see one of the cats coming into the taverna with something in her mouth. At first I thought it was a rat, but then as she put it down at my feet I could see that it was an extremely young kitten. The little thing could not be more than 15 days old and it appeared to be the first day that it could see. I did not reach down to touch the kitten for I knew the mother would be very protective of it, but I felt pleased that she had brought the kitten for me to see. Very quickly I realised that I actually had nothing to do with. One of the other cats came running up to our corner. She miaowed and rubbed noses with the mother and then went over to sniff and lick the kitten. Within seconds about four other cats had joined us. All greeted the mother in the same way and then went to inspect the kitten. It really was such human behaviour to watch, it was clear that the mother had brought her kitten out for the other cats to see. The kitten was being introduced to Stella's taverna cat family. The poor little thing was rather frightened with all these big cats reaching out for it. It kept moving backwards. Just like any group of females some of the cats paid due attention to the kitten and then went on with their work of hunting for scraps, most stayed and purred and miaowed with the mother and two just kept playing with the kitten. Eventually they gave the little thing space, but by this time it had back up to such an extent that its back legs and bottom had fallen over the edge of the wall. Stella's taverna overlook the harbour and the floor of the taverna ends in a wall which drops straight down to the harbour walkway. the kitten clung on to the hard concrete, its eyes wide. Gradually it started to sink until just two little paws, a nose and big bright eyes could be seen until the inevitable happened and it disappeared.

Waldo-the-animal-lover immediately ran out of the taverna, around the corner, down the slope and onto the harbour walk-way. The mother cat was still with her friends and relatives, unaware of what had happened. One of the cats that had been playing with the kitten immediately turned to the mother cat, the other followed Waldo but instead of going to the harbour walk way, the small animal moved along a ledge at the side of the taverna. Waldo could not find the little animal. As the winter approaches and sea breeze at night brings a chill with it, all the tavernas unroll large plastic walls. These come from the ceiling, and in Stella's case well past the floor to ensure no draughts, but the clear plastic still allows a view over the harbour. The little kitten, being no weight was wedged by the heavy plastic and held against the wall.  The other cat, a large, strong looking ginger tabby could see this and was at the end, frantically reaching her paws in. It was calling to the kitten which managed to crawl towards the cat. The mother cat was now aware that something had happened and was by my feet spitting and growling at me as if it was my fault. The kitten eventually emerged at the end, but the cat was not able to catch hold of the little thing before it started to fall towards the concrete walkway below. But Waldo-the-hero was there and grabbed the frightened animal by the scruff of the neck.

Louli and I clapped as Waldo came back into the taverna, kitten in hand and large ginger cat by his side. The mother cat ran towards him and rubbed against his legs; she sensed that he was being kind and not a threat. Waldo put the frightened kitten down on the floor and the mother cat took over with licks and soft purring. The other cats, not wishing to frighten the little thing any more just stood and watched. We all walked out onto the road and bade our farewells.

Waldo and I were amazed at the human emotions displayed by the cats. If we had not witnessed it ourselves we perhaps would not have quite believed it possible. But it does make you wonder whether these communities of strays are enjoying a better quality of life with kinship and companionship of their own kind, rather than the life of a single cat being forced to live like a human being. These cats are always well fed and in Stella's case they have adequate shelter. They do not need to fight for scraps and look quite healthy. They certainly care for each other in ways that some humans could learn from.







 

The sound of silence

The sound of silence

Waldo and I decided yesterday that we were staying in far too much and that we were restricting ourselves to only going out when we needed to; shopping, visiting friends, going to the bank or post office; or going to the airport or port. When we have visitors we have honed our trips down to a few key ones. Over the years we have learnt that people will not spend more than about 45 minutes in the car; 'pit stops' for food, drink and toilet have to be every 2 hours or so; there should be no more than 2 old ruins per day; and by 4 o'clock everyone starts to get a bit scratchy unless we get home for a cup of tea by then!

We are intrepid travellers and for us the journey is as much an integral part of the experience as the destination. Wherever we travel, whether by car or motor-home we have our travel kit with us; binoculars, bird identification book, notepad and pen, maps and usually the Lonely Planet of wherever we are roaming. Here on Kythera we don't always remember the map, but can travel mostly by the aid of local landmarks. Maps are not necessarily essential once we have done a journey once; and we did once set off to visit friends in Belgium with a map of France in the car! In Kythera we also take a bucket and spade with us so that we can bring back various wild flowers, rocks or drift wood that might take our fancy and be deemed an attractive addition to our garden or patios.

It has been another glorious day today with the afternoon temperature reaching 34.5'C. We set off with the intention of going to explore some of the villages that sit along the spine of the island; they are not on the way to any beach, monastery or place of interest, nor have we heard of good tavernas in them and hence we have not visited them. We decided to go up our mountain road as we have not been that way for some time. In places the thorn bushes are really overgrowing the road and the car swerves drunkenly as Waldo avoids them and potholes. Our neighbours have been busy cutting down trees, no doubt to better their view and provide precious logs for the winter. I know most of the flowers on either side of the road and point out which heather bushes are in flower, the occasional beautiful pink asphodels, mountain sage, crab apples and many other old seasonal friends.

When we got to the top road, the asphalted road from Karavas to Potamos we turned left as we needed to go through Potamos to get to our villages. On the way we passed an olive press with it's door open as the owners no doubt are preparing for the harvest to come. Just to the side of the building is a road signposted to Aghia Marina, somewhere we have never been. I was just saying 'Let's go down here.' when Waldo turned down the road. At the back of the building there was a large pile of the dried remains of olive pressings, ground pips, skin and general rubbish. This must have been taken from cleaning down the system for the island presses only use oil from the first pressing. Once the thick, greenish oil is extracted the residue is packed into plastic drums and sold to bigger presses in the Peloponnese who will extract the last drops of oil from this with bigger crushers and a hot water wash; this is then sold as the cheap, thin, yellow oil of supermarkets or sold to manufacturers where olive oil is an ingredient of their goods. No self-respecting Kythera would touch this second class product.

We were surprised that the road, just a narrow single track, was cemented. This came to an end after about a mile, just before the first house along the road. This happens frequently in Greece. A road surface of cement or asphalt will end, in the middle of nowhere, with no logical explanation as to why the work was budgeted to to end so. The stoppage is usually some way short of what might be a logical place to stop. This shortage can never be accounted for until one realises that most of the driveways in the vicinity have brand new concrete or asphalt, or that a certain amount of money has been 'creamed' off as the budget is devolved through each stage of the order and building process. No government can manage a country where tax avoidance is the national game and corruption has seeped into every crevice of society - starting with the governments!

The road is pretty rough and we bounce along through a wonderful valley. On the south facing slopes there are substantial patches of cultivation with vines or olives neatly planted in rows. the occasional 'shepherds hut' is clearly visible - there are not always actually used by shepherds but in the days before the ubiquitous Toyota pick-up were the temporary residence of the olive or grape pickers who would not waste time every day walking to and from their own homes. They are still used today but more often as a one night camping treat for the children or for boozy, macho parties of Greek males who go out hunting and shooting'. There are only really hares and ptarmigan here to shoot and they are not often disturbed by these affairs which focus more on food, camp fire stories and retsina or ouzo.

The valley seems to close before us and the road winds through a huge rock crevasse and we enter a new valley; wild and unspoilt. We came to a fork in the road. A road sign of the very old Greek style was still standing; a metal square on a metal rod. A village name had once been visible but the Greek rural custom of using road signs as target practise for guns had made so many holes and pock marks, it was now unreadable. We decided to take the right hand fork. As we did so we could see, just to the left hand side of the other road a very large, unfinished property made of local stone. The building looked to be on stop, but it had the making of a large, fine property, totally isolated and with a view down the valley to the sea.

As we bounced along the potholes road we could see more and more large black birds playing in the air currents. Four, six, ten, more and more came into view. We stopped to take photographs of them and to watch then enjoying the thermals with such ease. As far as I could tell, I identified them as Alpine Choughs. There was a substantial colony for we counted 30 in the air at any one time.

The road started to run down hill for a time and in the distance we could see a new building, a large three storey house with a large patio area to the front and very large balconies on the top two floors. As we drew near we could see that work was continuing on the site, although there was nobody around today. They had already erected a small wind driven generator. What an isolated spot, so quiet and unlikely to be disturbed. The view took in some short distance of a flat area before the steep cliffs dropped down to the sea. A wonderful spot to walk along the cliff edge ad look at the navy, azure, turquoise and greens of the sea below. Suddenly a cow, or rather a young bullock came into sight. he clearly was interested to see who was around and no doubt, whether they had brought food with them. he was a fine looking beast, along the lines of a Jersey breed with large dark eyes and two tone ears. but he did not look kind and we kept our distance.

We drove on past the bullock, the house and a pile of stones dumped by the side of the road, up a small slope and then over the top and came to a narrow plateau. The road turned down to the right but we sensed that Aghia Marina might be to the left. Waldo stopped the car and we found a narrow path to the left. We walked some distance and then could see a small bay. Zigzagging over the slopes above the bay was the other road. This would have taken us down to the beach, except that we could see quite a substantial rock fall had blocked the road for some two hundred yards; we would have had to turn back anyway. The path took us past two relics of stone houses, reminders of the days when the island had a population of around 23,000 people. Those were the days when it produced wine, wheat, oats, olives, fruit and vegetables which were traded with Smyrnia on the Turkish coast. It never fails to surprise us what a vibrant island it must have been before the war. German occupation of the island provided a vital command post covering the seas towards the mainland Peloponnese and the sea between here and Crete. But the brutality of occupation followed by the devastation of the Greek civil war meant that the island population reduced to some 3000 people. Only in the past few decades has that increased with around 400 resettled Albanians and a similar number of assorted ex-patriates: German, British, Swedish, French and Italian in the main. The summer population swells to around 10,000 people which includes a transhumant working populatio0n of people who work in Athens in the winter and Kythera in the summer and those Kytheran Australians who summer 'down under' and then summer in Kythera. Long-term summer tourists who return to their family homes for months at a time account for a large proportion of the swollen population whilst the weekly or fortnightly tourists count for a few hundred.

Our path was littered with rocks of all shaped and colours; white, orange, silver, grey, brown and gold. They recreated the layers of the earth's crust shattered in turmoil many years ago. On the way back I collected a few attractive specimens to add to my patio collection. There were some large rocks near the car and Waldo selected three of the largest flat slabs that he could lift and put them in the car. these would be used for weighting down the clothes drying rack on the kitchen patio. No matter how large the rocks we used, at some point the wind would blow the drying rack over, lifting the rocks and the impact as they hit the ground again split them into pieces. So we were always on the lookout for new rocks.

We bounced our way back to the main road, took an easy decision to go the long way round, following asphalted roads. No matter how many times we make the trip, rounding the corner and seeing the north Eastern coastline of the island, the blue sea reaching over to the Maleas Peninsular and Aghia Pelagia nestled at the botto0m of the slope, makes us both catch our breath. Apart from our own house view, it is the best view in the world.



 

Can you hear the silence?

Can you hear the silence?

It took Waldo just a couple of hours to assemble the chair. It really is very comfortable. Over the past week we have been gradually moving my books down to the AcropoLiz. At least, Waldo has done the hard work of carrying them down the steps from the mezzanine floor, down the steps to the kitchen, down the steps from the kitchen patio, turn and then down the final steps along the end of the oleander hedge and over the rough cobbled path to what is now my office. I have had an enjoyable time acquainting myself with all my long lost friends, sorting them and organising them on shelves in some semblance of order.

When we moved a container load of our belongings out her, some 8 years ago, I know that 1826 books were brought out. I know that because they had to be counted for insurance purposes! Thanks to Amazon and weighty suitcases, I have added to that number considerably and our library must now contain some 2,300 books. I would estimate that I have read some 80% of them, skim read the remainder with the exception of about 60 books that are waiting to be read. On average I read about 3 books every two weeks; but when I am reading in preparation for writing an academic paper, journal article or checking students' work I may push this up to 6 books per week.

Waldo's part of the library accounts for some 200 books on all aspects of motor sport and care as well as a growing number of autobiographies and biographies of people associated with motor sport, political leadership and religious leadership. I too enjoy biographies and autobiographies but mainly of women whose lives have been a challenge, one of achievement, unusual, involve travel or just simply wild. Jehan Sadat used her husband's power and position to develop co-operative workshops for women in rural Egypt and to establish proper medical clinics so that every women in Egypt, even if she couldn't avoid the tradition of cliterectomies, at least they would be performed in humane, medical conditions. Naawal Al Sadawi a committed feminist, one of the founders of the Arab Women's League and whose wise writings taught me that those women who wear the veil may actually have more freedom and equality than western women who are not aware of the psychological and cultural veils that oppress them. Gertrude Bell, allie of Lawrence of Arabia, the only woman to attend the Cairo conference in 1921, friend and adviser to Winston Churchill and King Faisal of Iraq and major contributor to the British 'lines in the sand'. Waris Dirie, born a Somalian nomad, survived infection as a consequence of brutal genital mutilation with a rusty, blunt blade to become a Pirelli calendar girl and ultimately a United Nations Special Ambassador. The amazing Catalina de Erauso who, in the early 17th Century was given to a San Sebastian convent, as were all daughters of middle class Basque girls, to be educated until a suitable husband could be found for her. Wanting more from life Cataline dressed as a boy to escape her religious prison, fled Peru and Chile where she, still dressed as a boy, joined the Spanish army where she unknowingly killed her own brother in a dual, fled the army and lived the rest of her life by her wits, balancing heroic behaviour of the Robin Hood type and sheer villainy when pushed to survive the sordid life. Any woman, intent on negotiating peace in Northern Ireland, who can walk into a room to meet Martin McGuinness for the first time, take off her wig and throw it on the table and in her opening sentence call him 'Babes' had to be the prime example of a woman of confidence and Mo Mowlam must be an inspiration to women everywhere.

When not reading about women's lives I read about their travel adventures and particularly love the tales of the intrepid Victorian lady explorers. Jane Digby el Mesrab travelled from her home in Norfolk and travelled through Europe having affairs with King Ludwig or Bavaria and his son Otto before moving on to the dessert where she met, fell in love and married Sheik Medhuil el Masrab in Syria where she lived in a tent, adopted Bedouin clothes and customs, earning the respect of the people she came to know and love. Isabella Bird left Britain in 1872 to travel to Australia, Hawaii and Colorado, USA. She eventually explored her way to the Rocky Mountains where she spent years associating with a notorious character Jim Nugent, known as 'Rocky Mountain Jim'.  Lady Hester Stanhope en route to Cairo was shipwrecked near Rhodes where, unable to obtain western clothes and refusing to wear a veil she dressed in male Turkish attire to continue her journey and on to Gibraltar, Malta, the Ionian Islands, the Peloponnese, Athens, Constantinople, Rhodes, Egypt, Palestine, Lebanon and Syria. Somewhere between Damascus, Jerusalem and Palmyra she changed her clothes to wear that of a Bedouin and continued to travel the dessert with her caravan of 22 camels to carry her baggage. She ended her life living with her companion in a series of desolate monasteries until her death in 1839.

Otherwise my more academic reading tends to focus upon feminist sociology, female entrepreneurship and philosophy. I am particularly fascinated how power is acquired, used and abused. Whilst I am not particularly committed to any particular religious belief, I read quite a bit about different world religions because they are so powerful in people's lives for inner peace and calm as well as stimulating passions about difference that end up in violence and wars. No matter how much I read, I cannot equate the teachings of religious people such as Jesus Christ, Mohamed, Buddha and the various Hindu Gods and those of other religions with the acts of violence committed in the name of the religion they have founded.

More recently I have become interested in Quakerism, not least because ones religious beliefs and personal spiritual journey are private. Quaker have no creed but have a shared belief that there is something of 'God' (whoever, however that may be defined) in everyone, all people are equal, everyone has access to 'the light' and it does not require a minister or priest to act as intermediary, peace is the way forward and violence is not acceptable, and finally that ones spiritual and personal principles are empty unless converted into action and the way each person lives their life. It is this commitment to action, to lobbying, to charitable work, to influencing for the better that attracts me to Quakers. Quakers really have more influence than their numbers suggest and it is not surprising that organisations such as Greenpeace, Amnesty International, Oxfam and the Ecumenical Observers group have all been established with Quaker involvement. My library of Quaker history, Quaker testimonies, Quaker experience and Quaker spirituality already extends to some 100 books, most of which I have read.

Silence is a big part of Quaker worship and I have been wonder struck by its power. In the intimacy of silence, shared with anything between 5 to 200 people, I have been amazed how, when someone ventures forth to minister that it is on a topic I am wrestling with. How the energy, the thoughts, the power seeps through from individual to individual beats me, but I no longer question it, just accept it as something extraordinary to experience. Silence has always been an important part of my life. I cannot study to background music, I cannot think deeply when distracted by noise, I love the inspiration of that rare envelope of silence.

Now that I am in the AcropoLiz I have more than as much silence that can be expected in modern life. At the moment, as I type, I can hear absolutely nothing. Over the past three hours I have been aware of just a few things: a single distant motorcar, a scooter minus exhaust pipe, the cry of one of our birds of prey calling to his partner, the chirp of a small bird, the drone of a large insect that came inside the office buzzed around and buzzed off again, and the rest is pure silence. It envelopes me like a great comfort blanket. It transports me to another dimension. In the silence I can be me to think, reflect, think deeper, critically reflect, be creative and live the adventures in my head. It is the ultimate freedom.

 

Deliver to Edwards, Greece

Deliver to Edwards, Greece

Receiving goods in Greece is rather fraught generally. At a local level the notion persists that everyone knows each other, thus the job of the courier, carrier or postal service is to get the letter, parcel or packet as near as possible and then to rely on local knowledge. I have already described the fact that we only have two days of the week when we can genuinely expect incoming post. This is a complicated function of working hours, ferry timetables and bureaucracy.

Kythera is an island of internal and eternal idiosyncrasies. It is geographically classified as an Ionian island, one of the seven: Corfu, Paxos, Lefcas, Cephalonia, Ithaca, Zachinthos and Kythera. Unlike the other six island, it is not exactly in the Ionian sea, edging the Straights of Maleas and partly facing the Aegean. Unlike the other six islands it is not part of the Ionian Islands' administration but is bureaucratically linked to the civic offices of Pireaus, the port of Athens. Unlike the other islands it is considered part of Athens for telephone purposes and so telephoning Athens is charged as a local call. But, if we have a problem with our telephone system then we now report faults to the Patras office, in the north western Peloponnese. And, as Waldo has found out, as far as deliveries are concerned it is considered to be part of the county of Attica, which is the peninsular where Athens is located, and thus when we purchase anything from Athens the delivery is free in Attica.

We have the added disadvantage, in terms of deliveries, of being some distance up a mountain on a partly unmade road. Local couriers will not venture as far as our house either leaving goods in a vague vicinity of our village on the off-chance that we will call into the supermarket, vegetable shop or foreigner friends' houses, or they telephone when they are approaching our village and meet Waldo as the assigned Hotel Romantica, or they simply do nothing until we call at their office.

Recently Waldo had ordered a new office chair for me and was expecting delivery today. Two days ago we had a telephone call from the Lakonia transport company. They were asking us where to deliver the chair! It turns out that the office products company, that we have dealt with on numerous occasions, had simply asked them to collect the chair and given them basic delivery information: Waldo Edwards and our telephone number! No house address, no street name, no village, to indication of where in Greece it was to be delivered. I gave them our full address, but it was clear that all that was really noted was 'Kythera Island'. Clearly the man's task was to get the goods this far, it would then be over to someone else for the delivery. Waldo telephoned the company to complain about the lack of information given to the delivery company but, despite speaking to someone who spoke excellent English, the concept of such forward planning was beyond the Greek mind.


This morning we were peacefully eating our breakfast when the telephone rang. Expecting it to be a local courier company Waldo answered the 'phone anticipating that we would have to go to a place just outside Potamos to collect the chair. When he failed to understand what was being said, he passed the telephone over to me. All I could hear was a man shouting 'Portobello. Portobello' down the line. Now that is the name of a rather nice bar in the village and I thought that he was trying to get hold of them. I told him it was in Aghia Pelagia village and that we were not in the village, but up the mountain; he had the wrong number. The phone went dead.

Two minutes later it rang again. This time a different voice was on the line. This man told me he was outside Portobello and how to get to my office from there. I explained that it was a house, up the mountain and that he had to come along the beach front, turn up to the Romantika Hotel, and then keep going up, up and up to a big white house on the right hand side of the road. The line went dead.

Two minutes later the telephone rang again. This time the man told me that he was outside the Romantika Hotel and didn't know whether to turn left or right. I told him to keep coming up the mountain, from cement onto asphalt, turn a corner onto a bad road and then after the next corner to a cement road. The phone went dead!

A minute later the telephone rang again. Forward planning or remembering beyond one instruction was clearly not a possibility. This time he was on the tarmac and didn't know where to turn. When one lives among the tarmac tangle of motorways, main roads, double yellow lines and signage it is easy to forget that to the country Greek, the slightest tyre mark on the ground represents a possible road. I told him to turn left and keep going up. Keep going up, always. The line went dead.

Waldo hadn't finished his toast but realised that he would have to interrupt his breakfast and go scouting our mountain for a delivery vehicle. No sooner than he had reversed out of our driveway and reached the first bend then he met a rather large flatbed lorry with open sides - Lakonia Transport Company had arrived! We were amazed that for just 3 Euros they had collected the chair from Athens, driven across to Corinth, down through the Peloponnese to Neapoli, caught the ferry and then come from Diakofti, our little port to our house. I went out to speak with the men; two very happy and polite young men. It is so endearing, that even macho young Greek men will totally ignore the job that they have on hand and step to one side to admire the fantastic view that we have from our house. They breathed in the fresh air, took in the silence and just stood and smiled.

I broke the silence by thanking them for coming this far. I noticed that the lorry had lots of boxes of the same type in them and read one of them. I wasn't sure of my translation 'Food for bees'. I thought it might be 'food from bees' and said, in Greek 'honey'. No, I was told, the honey comes afterwards, this is the food for the bees. One man opened a packet and brought out a wedge of white substance that looked very much like the wax that appears on honey combs. Kytheran honey is acknowledged in Greece as being the best and it costs more than double an ordinary pot of honey; but it is thick and delicious and you only need half as much as most other Greek honey and about 20% of the cheap, thin, runny alternatives. I did not know that bee keepers actually fed bees. I was of the romantic notion that they fed on the nectar of wild herbs and flowers. I guess it is a business as much as anything else and we must be thankful that the disease affecting bees world-wide has not reached this little island.

 

Tennis or Croquet?

Tennis or Croquet?

The weather is fantastic. Usually we can guarantee that on the 27th and 28th September is will pour with rain and probably we will have a thunder storm. This year, the weather has been completely different to the usual pattern. When Britain was almost sweltering in the summer of March this year, our island had about treble the usual amount of rain. June was as warm as it usually is in July. The scorching, continuous heat of August started in July and for the whole of that month and August we did not get the house temperature below 34' day or night. Temperatures on our patio even reached 52' whilst a friend of ours measured 58' on his sheltered balcony.

September temperatures cooled to around 28' and it was time to get working again. On the 18th September we had our first rain shower since April and it was followed by an amazing 12 hour thunder and lightening show devoid of any rain. Since then, the temperatures have steadily increased again and the past week it has been a constant 35' again. Today, for the first time, the light breeze has turned to wind which blows anything not fixed down - usually into the swimming pool - and even manages to turn over the fully loaded and weighted down drying frame located on our kitchen patio.

This long standing heat after the rain has brought forth a lot of flies. I have learnt to ignore them, and succeeded, except for the occasional one landing on my nose. Waldo, however, is quite different. Depending upon where he is, he has three chosen weapons: plastic fly swatters of various sizes and state of completeness, any tea cloth or rag that comes to hand, or a can of fly spray. The fly spray is the lazy approach to fly killing; simply reach for it, remain seated, wait until the fly is in sight, aim and press the button. This is banned around food, my desk and in the bedroom but, otherwise, it does have the advantage of being effective, one fly at a time.

 The tea cloth or rag method requires more energy, but Waldo can remain seated. He simply simple flicks the cloth back and forth, like some mini punkah wallah. Occasionally a well aimed quick flick might stun or even kill a fly, but the method is not particularly effective. It is quite good for wasps and Waldo seems to have trained them to go back out of the kitchen door to the patio when he flicks at them from the kitchen table. Otherwise it can only deal with one fly at a time, does not take into account the crafty little diptera (from the Greek di = two, and ptera = wings) that buzz around to the other side of his body and attack from that side, nor the really clever ones that fly between flicks and aim straight for Waldo's face! I have tried to ban this method in the kitchen, to no avail. There is always the risk of a jar of honey, lemon curd or jug of milk landing on the terrazzo floor which is completely unforgiving. However we have not had any breakages  - yet!

Now the real exercise is gained with the fly swatters. We have about 10 of these items. The ones that were in the house were an manky collection that had seen better days and so were relegated to the garage, workshop and outdoor patios where they would get more wear and eventually break up through being hit or by the sun just baking the plastic to cracking point. I bought new ones, colour coordinated them as best I could; green for the green guest bedroom, blue for the blue bedroom, pink for the kitchen, purple for the lounge, pink for our bedroom, blue for Waldo's turquoise office. This of course involved months of shopping in various village shops  and I must have struck lucky that year because I have never since seen pink or purple; the 'made in China' designs focus on primary colours of red, blue and yellow with the occasional white or green. Fly swatters have clearly not yet reached the heights of designer home accessories for, in addition to the basic colours, there are just two styles: long handle with a circular fretwork end or long handle with a square fretwork end. We did find an amazing one in a hardware store in Cardiff. It's thick white handle is about 70 cm long and the plastic lattice square end in pink is about 20cm x 20cm. But the attachment fixing the pink plastic to the white handle has not been thought through very well and one hard 'swish' leaves the pink square flying through the air like and badly balanced Frisbee.

It never fails to amaze us how a piece of plastic many, many times larger than a fly can whizz through the air at high speed and still miss the spot where the fly has landed. Such is the sensitivity and survival instinct of the beasts that they can sense the air moving towards them as danger and move away in time.  I guess it all adds to the feeling of success when one actually does hit an offending fly! The kitchen was the main battle ground but, since last Tuesday this is not the case. I urged Waldo to look for some good old fashioned fly paper; the long spiral of yellow sticky paper that is a memory of a childhood on a farm. I have not seen any such things for sale for years, but Waldo found a pack of six for just 2 Euros in one of the local supermarkets. I immediately hung one from the light in the kitchen and within two days there were no less than 23 flies sticking to the thing. It does not look very attractive, but there were no flies buzzing around the kitchen. No matter of anti-fly sprays, time release capsules have worked in the kitchen because we tend to keep both doors open all day which dilutes the impact of any chemical.

Our bedroom is a different matter. Whilst the window is left open day and night, it has a wire mesh cover through which no insects creep. But, to Waldo's continual annoyance, one fly seems to follow us to bed every night! Without glass jars to tip over, this is where the real fly tennis takes place! I am as lazy as Waldo is active. From the time he opens his eyes in the morning he starts talking and never stops until I go to sleep, and often he is still talking then until he realises that I am asleep! He is the only person who can carry on a one-sided telephone conversation for a good twenty minutes after the lines has been cut off, without realising! Thus, I lie in bed, reading my book, tyring to focus on it rather than the nightly tennis game. Waldo is one of these people who, if left to his own devices would probably have been left-handed. But he was brought up at a time when this was not acceptable and he was forces to be right-handed. However he will play cricket and use a spade as a left-handed person. Similarly he holds his fly tennis racket in his left hand and often holds a can of fly spray in his right hand, the latter of which is banned from the bed area and can only be used near the window or in the en suite.  The ceilings of our rooms here are high, even standing on the bed, it is impossible to reach the ceiling with the fly swatter, but it can reach almost to the cement. So once I am in bed and Waldo has changed into his pyjamas, battle commences. the chase is on and Waldo has a good 15 to 25 minutes exercise as he runs around the room, into the en suite, back again, leaps onto the bed, trampolines up and down for a while before leaping off in another direction and following the dratted fly. He moans about such a little thing not getting tired as he chases it everywhere. The fly even takes refuge in one of our over bed lights, but always manages to escape when Waldo covered the front. Eventually  the wall behind our bed, the wall near the door or one of the wardrobe doors becomes a killing field. Waldo mops up and gets rid of the squashed mess and climbs into bed, exhausted!

The other evening I had laughed so much I had to get out of bed and go to the loo as Waldo was clearing up. On the floor, just in front of the toilet seat was a young grass hopper. I don't know how he had found his way in and it was unlikely that he would be able to find his way out. I shouted to Waldo who came, armed with his weapons of war. I urged no to kill the little things, but to gently encourage it out of the door. The fly swatter was immediately changed into some unusually shaped croquet bat with which the little grass hopped was lightly tapped from behind. The inevitable happened and he hopped out of the way - but of course not in the right direction! The little immature orthoptera was not tuned in to where he was supposed to go and it soon became clear that he needed not one, but two guides. I reached for a second croquet bat and between us, amid gales of laughter, we gently tapped the little grasshopper until he literally hopped out of the door. Waldo closed the door quickly so that there was no fear of his return. We have a huge hall and he would spent all night trying to find some way hour of there. he must have done so for we have not seen him since.




 

Back Again

Back Again

Greece envelopes us again, like a warm bath full of compassion and little kindnesses. We touched down at Athens airport, ten minutes before schedule thanks to British Airways and no double a tail wind. Within an hour we were in our dusty car, left in a Glyfada car park, just edging out onto the road. The sun was shining and the traffic light as we drove through the magnificent scenery of the south-west Attica coast and then on through the Peloponnese. Nobody who experiences this need ask why we love Greece so much.

We stay overnight in Sparta and are overwhelmed with the little kindnesses that are bestowed upon us. First things first and we go to a car wash and then fill up with cheap petrol at 1.82 Euros - it is 2.09 Euros in Kythera - and are given a can of Cocoa Cola for the journey. next stop is the Skoda car dealer where we need two new windscreen wipers. These are immediately fitted with no charge for fitting. Whilst that is being done, the owner of the garage personally comes out to check our oil, water and brake fluid levels; again free of charge and then gives us to cartons of drinks, for the journey. At our customary hotel, The Sparta Inn, we are given free tea and coffee on arrival and then, the next morning are given a massive 1/3rd discount on our bed and breakfast rate. We go to one of our two favourite tavernas in Sparta and are immediately welcomed with free drinks and at the end of our meal given a huge plate of deliciously sweet seedless grapes. In the morning we call into a hardware store where we are remembered from our last visit when we purchased a chain saw sharpener. After searching the shelves and back storage room we find the power-run hedge cutter that Waldo is wanting, in the window! Then Waldo finds a lethal looking chain flail attachment for his strimmer. Now that we are previous customers / old friends / locals likely to repeat business we are given a whacking discount of 70 Euros off our 250 Euro spend, and a copy of their catalogue with instructions just to 'phone to ask for whatever we want and for just 3 Euros they will put it on the ferry for Kythera.

We travel by the side of the Evrota river on our way to Githion. Leda was walking by the side of this river, when Zeus changed himself into a swan in order to get near her. As soon as he was close to her and she had not run away he turned into his mortal maleness and raped her. The outcome of this union was the beautiful Helen who was stolen from Sparta by Paris. After staying the night in Githion they fled to Troy, and the rest is a well known Greek story of continuing viciousness, rape, plunder and war. Whilst the treatment of women in Greece has changed over time, it still has high levels of domestic violence and plunder and war now refer to the corruption and war of words throughout Greek society. Those who do not participate, are nevertheless complicit as they see themselves as helpless victims without access to power 'Ti na kanoume:' 'What can we do?' they say and shrug in a dismissive way.

We stop at a superstore to fill up with all sorts of store cupboard food and drinks. Then we stop at a roadside stall to fill up with fresh local vegetables; a huge sack of potatoes, tomatoes, courgettes, cucumber, grapes, beans, onions and leeks and are then given the largest water melon the stall owner can find, just to say thank you for shopping with us.

The ferry wharf at Githion is an extension to Kythera community as we meet and chat with Nikos the best butcher on the island, Pangiotis whose father owns the supermarket in our village, George one of three brothers who runs a builder's merchants, and wave to many others less known but recognised. Paulina, who runs one of our favourite tavernas walks off the arriving ferry; she is off to Athens for a few days. She is followed by a number of Kytherians who wave to us as they rush to catch the bus to Sparta and onwards to Athens.

It seems to take forever to unload our car of luggage and shopping. The house is just as we left it. I open the kitchen curtains and two geckos chirp irritably as the folds of the material open to expose them; they scamper up the wall. I open the patio doors and the back door when Freddy croaks his greeting as soon as he hears me. He really does sound like a lonely frog. Waldo soon comes down and greets Fred who then just can't stop talking. Waldo is thrilled to find that he is using the second plank that he put down, in the corner of the pool in the shade. A green lizard scurries up the lizard ladder and into the oleander hedge. The water in the pool has gone down quite a bit since we left.

The next morning we realise that the animals with whom we share our space have recognised that we are back and adjust their territory accordingly. The pine martins leave their calling cards just outside the doors that we have opened; just to remind us that they were here first. They used to do it every might but now, even though they still do the rounds of the house at dusk every night, they no longer mark their territory each time. The grey cat stands defiantly under the palm trees at the entrance to the Muir Glen. He knows full well not to come near the house; we tolerate him sleeping on the poolside patio or on our bedroom patio when he lazes in the sun. He can even take a short cut from his hunting grounds to his sleeping quarters by walking over the patio that runs alongside out lounge and down steps past the kitchen, but whatever tempting smells might linger from my cooking he knows that the house is out of bounds.

Freddy's original plank has unwanted animal droppings on it and so Waldo sets a trap nearby. In the morning a young Roland is found dying of heat exhaustion. Waldo finishes him off; not a nice task but necessary, and then does his falcon imitation. Sure enough one Eleanora's falcon appears, closely followed by the other. Their beady eyes follow closely as Waldo empties the trap. Within seconds they have swooped down to attack the still warm flesh. Whilst Waldo does this I put tiny bread crumbs out to divert a train of ants who have found their way into a bag of crisps left in the kitchen. I have already sprayed and killed all of the column that are indoors, but want to keep the rest out. I look over the patio wall and to my surprise see Thunderthighs sunning himself just in front of the AcropoLiz doors. I have not seen him for a while but he looks healthy and seems to have grown; head to stubby tail is just over 2 foot.

We allow ourselves a day to lie late in bed and generally soak up the peace and warmth. We catch up on the gossip of the island, the challenges and joys of our friends, illnesses and new born grandchildren. I now have a waiting list for knitted items; thankfully the weather is cooler and so I shall be able to get on with this. Shopping is our next priority, stocking up in time for our visitors to arrive.

Waldo's son is arriving with his partner, partner's sister and sister's husband. We have just four days to prepare. Waldo makes his list of strimming, cleaning up the pine needles from the front drive, sorting our some of the sad looking plants that are in desperate need of water, hedge cutting, pruning the palm trees and a myriad of outdoor necessities. In turn I make shopping lists of items to buy in order to make food and make a note of all the indoor places that need clearing and cleaning as well as noting that the guest bedrooms need to be made up.

It never fails to amaze us how guests behave. We always beg guests to tell us if anything is wrong with their rooms, if any equipment is faulty, to tell us ways in which things might be improved or indeed accidents that might have happened. We do not use the guest bedrooms (perhaps we should stay in each one for a week each year!) and so can only rely on what we are told. John and Meg are our best informants and tell us straight what needs doing and adjusting. However we are missing them now as they have not been for 18 months or so. Thus when we come to sort out the rooms we find shower heads that need adjusting, screws that have come loose, bathroom glasses that have been chipped and a variety of additional bits of work that need doing. It also never fails to amaze me how various people horde to many little things they are attracted to as they holiday and then leave them all for us to clear out. This time I find the dressing table in one room covered with pine cones - all of which are cleared into the grate. Previously I have found numerous pretty stones, pebbles, ground glass, drift wood and a host of beach combing paraphernalia once thought to be taken home but forsaken when suitcases are full. We are always left with innumerable half finished bottles of shampoo, soap, sun cream, mosquito repellent and all manner of pills and potions that are either left behind by mistake or left to make room in their suitcases for gifts that they have bought or been given. I keep telling people not to bring things like that as they are already here, but still they keep coming like as if we are the world's repository for half finished plastic containers!

My kitchen store of marmalades and jams is almost empty and so I set to with replenishing the shelves. Over two days I make 10lbs of thick cut orange marmalade,  4 lbs lemon and lime shred, 3lbs lemon curd, 2lbs melon and ginger jam and 2lbs plum jam. Then over the next two days I make 18 Madeira cupcakes into which I mix some of the remains of previously made plum jam; these are delicious and I have to hide them to ensure they keep until our visitors arrive. I also make 18 more cupcakes made with All Bran and beautiful flame raisins soaked in milk and agave nectar; these healthy cakes which contain no eggs, butter or sugar have a wonderful malty, spicy flavour and puddingy texture. I then make my modification of one of Delia's old recipes for a sticky date cake which again contains no eggs or sugar and is a great make-ahead-cake because it actually improves with keeping.

Liz's adaptation of Delia's Sticky Date Cake

335 gm chopped stoned dates
285 gm large raisins (I use Fair Trade Peruvian Flame Raisins)
275 gm butter
275 ml skimmed milk
1 large-sized tin condensed milk
300 gm self-raising flour
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
1 tablespoon vanilla powder
1 heaped teaspoon cinnamon powder
1 heaped teaspoon ginger powder
1 tablespoon chunky marmalade (optional)

Line and grease a 20 cm round cake tin.

Put the dates, raisins, milk and condensed milk in a saucepan. Stirring all the time, bring to the boil and simmer for 3 minutes.
Transfer to a mixing bowl and leave to cool (about 15 - 20 minutes - I usually weigh out the rest of the ingredients into another bowl and by the time I have finished this, the mixture is cool enough)
Gradually mix in the flour mixture into the milky mixture making sure there are no lumps.
Spoon into the prepared tin.
Cover the top with tin-foil.
Bake in a 170'C oven (150'C if a fan oven. Gas mark 3 or an old oven 325'F) for about 2 - 2.5 hours).
Don't check it until about 1.5 hours of cooking - if you want a nice brown top, then you can take the foil off.
Keep in an airtight tin.

Waldo makes less progress than I. He is hampered by poor Internet connections which divert his attention, ink running out on the printer, problems with delivery of the said ink, and a myriad of other little distractions which take up hours of his time. Eventually time runs out on us both.

On the final morning I make up a sign 'The Edwards' Express' which is fitted to one side of our trailer. We hitch it up to the car and set off for the airport. Our four visitors arrive. Their luggage is stacked in the trailer. I will now drive everywhere, the largest man will sit in the passenger seat. The two women will sit in the back with the other man and Waldo will spend the next few days propped up on cushions in the boot; someone has to remember to 'let him out' every time we stop. So we set off for our mini-break with visitors.