Samos
I barely wrote while I was in Samos, other than a few scribbles in my notebook. Lorraine and I had the first complete break together for a couple of years, and the little tiny town of Kokkari, west of Samos Town formerly known as Vassey, had us relaxed in hours. Our apartment overlooked a little harbour, with one white arm shielding a dozen and half little boats. Beyond this was a rocky shore, then a mountainous ridge from where the sun and moon rose. In the mornings, we set up a yellow parasol and ate breakfast, usually yoghurt, peaches, figs and nectarines, plus local kind of biscotti that was a delicious hybrid of a rock cake and a fruit scone. In the morning, the low sun made the sea sparkle.
Twenty yards round the corner was a long stony, quickly-shelving beach with intensely turquoise and azure water. The sea here was usually choppy with white horses and a strong and welcome breeze. Lorraine and I spent many days under beach parasols, reading, listening to music, and in Lorraine's case also sewing and doing sudoku. We also had about three swims a day. I read The Spire, by William Golding, Catseye by Margaret Atwood, Nightmare Abbey by Thomas Love Peacock (which was hilarious) and a good portion of The Count of Monte Christo, which is a right page turner. On my recommendation Lorraine read A Prayer for Owen Meany, and Why be happy when you can be normal, and loved them.
We often snorkelled in the harbour, which was like floating in a vast aquarium. We saw an octopus, moving stealthily, probing between the rocks and continually keeping its eye on us. In repose its tentacles were tidied into spirals. There were all kinds of small fish, familiar to me from previous visits to Greece: ornate wrasse, blennies, damselfish, golden grey mullet and many more. There were hundred strong shoals of two inch fish, silvery with bronze neon lateral bands. When you floated among these as the sun, focused by the wavelets, strobed over them it really was breathtakingly beautiful. The harbour wall was made of big square blocks with large gaps, in which sea urchins wedged themselves like dark stars, and the occasional shrimp lurked.
The harbour floor fascinated too. Goat faced fish with long barbels, nosing along, worms like bright extra-large ragworms, areas of sea grass, and anchors, some discarded, and chains, and ropes rising up to the buoys on the surface. I even saw a lost trident, and found a brand new half litre beer glass. I emerged with it from the depths before two young Greek women on the shore like a tubby Poseidon, my glass brimming with seawater, saying Yammas! which means our health! They looked away.
Most evenings off to various harbour tavernas, with skinny cats busy with begging and cat politics. The food nice enough, although not spectacular. But great to eat Greek salads, the herby, tomatoey butter bean dish gigantes plaki, or simple spanakopita, pies made in spirals filled with spinach and feta cheese. Lorraine enjoyed lamb kleftiko the moussaka was good too. I ate pizza too, by way of variety. We drank ouzo with lemon fanta, good retsina, the local Samos wine, which is excellent and plenty of beer, particularly the Greek Mythos.
Just to have time to do nothing much was fantastic. We found ourselves spending an hour or so looking at pebbles, some of them quartz-like, which when you held them to the sun allowed light to pour through. And we watched the progress of the moon, to full and then waning. It rose over the mountains growing increasingly dusky and peach coloured, until it was near red emerging above Turkey, not far away across the water.
The locals perfectly amiable, and although some of them like our warm and friendly hostess, Despina, was clearly worried about the future for Greece, and her children, and she said her husband's who had retired, had his pension cut by two thirds, life carried on. In a curious way we felt we were supporting Greece by being there.
We had one boat trip leaving from Pythagorean, named after the Pythagoras who was born there, and we set off to a small island just off the coast, for swims. Greeted there by a pair of small bleating goats with pale barred eyes, who leapt from the rocks onto a second boat and accompanied us to another beach for a large barbecue outside, tasty barbecued mackerel and a good deal of food. On the way home, we stopped at one point at a deep water bay, where 12-year olds started jumping from the top of the double-decker boat into the water. I elbowed them aside and had a couple of leaps too. I seemed to go down a long way.
Lorraine and I also ventured into the Archaeological museum in Samos Town, I enjoyed, particularly the collection of fierce griffin heads, after we had ice cold freddoccinos after wandering about in the backstreets. A taxi home, and a cooling snorkel afterwards.
One morning I could not sleep, so leaving Lorraine snoozing, took a walk up into the hills for a couple of hours, but had my way blocked (in a tribute to Anton moment) by a formidable, and probably rabid, baying hound. Managed to photograph a cicada too, before buying more delicious biscotti and returning home for breakfast on the balcony.
Lorraine and I had time for each other too. I loved spending time with her, and we came back feeling happy with each other, and sad to be leaving. I felt I had gained perspective on my life in general, and with a keenness to get on with things on my return. Simply a great holiday.
Twenty yards round the corner was a long stony, quickly-shelving beach with intensely turquoise and azure water. The sea here was usually choppy with white horses and a strong and welcome breeze. Lorraine and I spent many days under beach parasols, reading, listening to music, and in Lorraine's case also sewing and doing sudoku. We also had about three swims a day. I read The Spire, by William Golding, Catseye by Margaret Atwood, Nightmare Abbey by Thomas Love Peacock (which was hilarious) and a good portion of The Count of Monte Christo, which is a right page turner. On my recommendation Lorraine read A Prayer for Owen Meany, and Why be happy when you can be normal, and loved them.
We often snorkelled in the harbour, which was like floating in a vast aquarium. We saw an octopus, moving stealthily, probing between the rocks and continually keeping its eye on us. In repose its tentacles were tidied into spirals. There were all kinds of small fish, familiar to me from previous visits to Greece: ornate wrasse, blennies, damselfish, golden grey mullet and many more. There were hundred strong shoals of two inch fish, silvery with bronze neon lateral bands. When you floated among these as the sun, focused by the wavelets, strobed over them it really was breathtakingly beautiful. The harbour wall was made of big square blocks with large gaps, in which sea urchins wedged themselves like dark stars, and the occasional shrimp lurked.
The harbour floor fascinated too. Goat faced fish with long barbels, nosing along, worms like bright extra-large ragworms, areas of sea grass, and anchors, some discarded, and chains, and ropes rising up to the buoys on the surface. I even saw a lost trident, and found a brand new half litre beer glass. I emerged with it from the depths before two young Greek women on the shore like a tubby Poseidon, my glass brimming with seawater, saying Yammas! which means our health! They looked away.
Most evenings off to various harbour tavernas, with skinny cats busy with begging and cat politics. The food nice enough, although not spectacular. But great to eat Greek salads, the herby, tomatoey butter bean dish gigantes plaki, or simple spanakopita, pies made in spirals filled with spinach and feta cheese. Lorraine enjoyed lamb kleftiko the moussaka was good too. I ate pizza too, by way of variety. We drank ouzo with lemon fanta, good retsina, the local Samos wine, which is excellent and plenty of beer, particularly the Greek Mythos.
Just to have time to do nothing much was fantastic. We found ourselves spending an hour or so looking at pebbles, some of them quartz-like, which when you held them to the sun allowed light to pour through. And we watched the progress of the moon, to full and then waning. It rose over the mountains growing increasingly dusky and peach coloured, until it was near red emerging above Turkey, not far away across the water.
The locals perfectly amiable, and although some of them like our warm and friendly hostess, Despina, was clearly worried about the future for Greece, and her children, and she said her husband's who had retired, had his pension cut by two thirds, life carried on. In a curious way we felt we were supporting Greece by being there.
We had one boat trip leaving from Pythagorean, named after the Pythagoras who was born there, and we set off to a small island just off the coast, for swims. Greeted there by a pair of small bleating goats with pale barred eyes, who leapt from the rocks onto a second boat and accompanied us to another beach for a large barbecue outside, tasty barbecued mackerel and a good deal of food. On the way home, we stopped at one point at a deep water bay, where 12-year olds started jumping from the top of the double-decker boat into the water. I elbowed them aside and had a couple of leaps too. I seemed to go down a long way.
Lorraine and I also ventured into the Archaeological museum in Samos Town, I enjoyed, particularly the collection of fierce griffin heads, after we had ice cold freddoccinos after wandering about in the backstreets. A taxi home, and a cooling snorkel afterwards.
One morning I could not sleep, so leaving Lorraine snoozing, took a walk up into the hills for a couple of hours, but had my way blocked (in a tribute to Anton moment) by a formidable, and probably rabid, baying hound. Managed to photograph a cicada too, before buying more delicious biscotti and returning home for breakfast on the balcony.
Lorraine and I had time for each other too. I loved spending time with her, and we came back feeling happy with each other, and sad to be leaving. I felt I had gained perspective on my life in general, and with a keenness to get on with things on my return. Simply a great holiday.
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