As the follower of my ramblings will recall, there is no such island as Dendros among the 777 Greek islands (over 200 inhabited). Like the village in Brigadoon, it occasionally arises from mists in the Aegean and is entirely mythical. The island, its inhabitants, taverna owners, lawyers and visitors bear no relation to any real island, village, or people, alive or undead.
        Once again I was fortunate to be around when the island appeared earlier this month. Even as we sailed out of the mist we received two text messages inviting us to a meal and to pre-dinner drinks.
        No taxis having materialised the local agent offered to transport us to our accommodation in his hire car only to discover the boot, once opened, wouldn't stay shut. Not prepared to risk our luggage flying out around one of the hairpin bends to be eaten by goats, we fiddled around for some time and finally secured it to the rear wiper with the strap off the handbag Herself was using.
        We received the usual warm welcome from The Owner, complete with bottle of wine and crate of water and supply of towels and linen. He had been unable to find a mid-stay cleaner so it would be DIY. This didn't worry us as marble floors don't take much cleaning and we always emptied Those Bins daily. We preferred the wine!
        Later in a taverna we received an equally warm welcome from the Head Manager, the Cook, the Chef, the Waitress and the Younger Son as well as other regular visitors the Magician and the Famous Writer. We were alarmed to see Younger Son, as well as his spear gun, seemed to have acquired an air rifle and an interest in motorised two wheel transport in various states of repair. His eyes were on a new model but was having to make do with family hand-me-downs bereft of such luxuries as lights, paint and, regrettably, silencers. Riding, albeit within the village confines, underage, uninsured, unregistered, unlicensed, in bare feet, no helmet and carrying friends of a similar age on the pillion seem to us naïve visitors a recipe for disaster but the overindulgent family dismissed it with a shrug: "What can we do?"

        Each year I aim to have at least one Greek dish I've not had before and not repeat the main course over the 14 evenings. This was easily accomplished and I enjoyed Octopus Keftedes and Perch fillets, two firsts for me. As usual when the Magician is staying, our evening entertainment was enhanced with baffling close-up magic before any singing and dancing broke out. On one evening the Head Manager also introduced the Famous Writer to the company. "What does he want me to do?" wondered the puzzled FW "Compose a haiku or a 3-volume novel?" I pointed out reading was not mentioned!
        Mains water was being laid to the village last time the island materialised but this coincided with one of the wettest winters they've had so every sterna was full and hardly anyone bothered to get connected, especially as the relevant civil servants in the capital had no idea of either the connection charge or usage rate cost.
        A village meeting had been held to discuss the priorities for development funds available for the village. Personally, I would have thought restoring the daily refuse collection (those Bins again!)and getting a post box would have been a priority but better bins and street lighting were suggested. Visitors prefer it dark, the starscape is amazing to those of us living where light pollution has cut our home starscape.   Sadly, the usual ancient village rivalries meant there was no consensus. At least the bus service has improved with a midday and evening buses added. This last is generally attributed to the "full and frank discussion" Herself had with the mayor on an earlier visit. However, reports that she held him up against a pillar by his throat until he agreed have been greatly exaggerated.
        The village entertained several yacht crews during our stay, particularly Austrians. One was a good jazz guitarist who entertained us on the house guitar and the same evening a local doctor singer/songwriter also performed and one of his party led the Anglo-Greek-Austrian dancing. The guitarist accompanied Your Correspondent on Hoochie Coochie Man and was kind enough to thank me ( for not doing an encore?). Another evening, a British yacht crew leaving to go back on board after a musical evening said I was "a natural". Not a natural singer, obviously, idiot? show-off?   Bored by yet another rendering (ie tearing apart) of House of the Rising Sun (well, I do insist on doing a seven verse version) the Famous Writer set to work on The house of the Sinking Sponge after a visit to the sponge museum but didn't get further than an opening verse.
        We met another regular visitor who was spending his holiday scuba diving having taken it up (and the guitar) when he turned sixty- an example to us all. Now if he could only combine the two…(It has been suggested I try playing my kazoo underwater- without benefit of oxygen). On another evening an English actress sang a Greek song beautifully and her husband played mean blues harmonica.
        Nature was sparse this year. We had none of the monster spiders and crickets of Ithaca in June, just the usual Pharaoh ants and cicadas. We did see a pod of dolphins- delight to tourists but gloom to local fishermen. No Eleanora's falcons this year, only gulls, cormorants, heron, sparrows, hooded crows and wheatears. We thought we were witnessing a killer whale attack on a yachtswoman on an inflatable but the whale turned out to be another inflatable blown by the wind.
        Although the Head Manager had installed a generator to cope with the occasional power cuts – only a couple this year, one scheduled for maintenance- he is still driving the car I described last year as looking like the runner up in a demolition derby. One day after setting out to collect his mother in-law it failed outside the village. Mother-in-law was given a lift by another passing motorist and he and Younger Son managed to push it to a point where it could coast into the village. Sadly, it stopped about 100 yards short of its destination whereupon the lunchtime crowd from the taverna rose as one and pushed it the rest of the way. One commented: "that's the fastest it's gone for years".   The same day another bit of excitement, the usual interesting Greek parking (a metre from the kerb) meant the dustcart couldn't get past without all the flower pots outside a taverna being moved (and they were chained down). Younger Son had suffered bee stings while pushing the car. The number grew from 5 to 500 as the story developed. He had a strange reaction to the stings- they stopped him from loading the dishwasher but not from snorkelling or bike riding. Having seen the Magician's failed efforts to remove sea urchin spines from the fool of another young visitor, he naturally declined our offers of remedies. The travelling veg & fruit man must be still dining out on our "car keys in the bananas" escapade last year as he was much chattier with Herself this year.   
        The Magician used his special skills to drive us to the splendid new archaeological museum which was inexplicably located in a remote spot in the Old Town down VERY narrow and winding streets with minimal opportunity for parking and no access for coaches.   Full disabled access inside but NO disabled parking places. We also took the new road to a taverna for lunch where the owner, a former sponge diver and teacher, chatted with his customers in Greek, English, Italian and German. Along the road there were a few isolated trees under each one was a sheltering goat. "Every tree its goat; every goat its tree" I murmured. Repeated later that evening after a few drinks, this mantra seemed to be adopted as a deep Socratic philosophy.
        I mentioned our Owner greeting us with wine and water. Two more visits from him brought further bottles of both and he checked up we were OK without power the morning it was to be off. This year he had clients staying in the downstairs apartment who set up a volleyball net (mercifully the topless sunbathers who chose this spot didn't make us of it, my old heart wouldn't have been able to take it) and had various inflatable boats and surfboards. We saw the two small boys row their sister out to one of the mooring buoys which she climbed on to and posed as the Little Mermaid.   They then rowed away and left her for about ten minutes before collecting her.
Friends stopping off at another taverna in search of coffee and a phone signal were treated to a free plate of octopus caught minutes before by the owner's young son.   Sunbed and Mooring wars seemed to be in abeyance this year but we stirred up our own by refusing to pay for unwashed sunbeds as Younger Son in charge of them was too preoccupied with motorbike to 1) clean them and 2) collect money from other users. To try to get the message across, the Magician proceeded to put all his sunbeds in the sea to give them a wash, leaving Younger Son to retrieve them . Parents approved, but wouldn't have taken any action themselves!
        When Waitress gets bored at the end of a quiet evening she often starts arranging the hair of patrons. She transformed famous Writer into a sumo with an elastic band and did strange things to my thinning locks with a scarf. Herself got her own back by turning the Waitress into Pocahontas with a pair of plaits (how much fun you can have without tv!).
        Our journey to catch the ferry before the island sank without trace again was slightly delayed by what our taxi driver referred to as "goats making babies" in the middle of the road. "At seven o'clock in the morning!" he exclaimed in disgust, taking both hands off the wheel for emphasis as we rounded a hairpin bend.
        My swimsuit survey produced the same result as in June, black and mismatched were the norm, no colour predominated.
        We don't know if the island will emerge next year but we'll be reporting from somewhere in Greece I expect.


RtS