Just back from another sundrenched fortnight in Greece. Well, the first week was raindrenched: water flowing through our (fortunately fully-tiled) cottage, the sea red with washed down mud, roads blocked by landslides, while the second week was more normal so the tan has been topped up.
We stayed at Glyfa Beach, 5 minutes along the beach (no road) from the village of Steni Vala, a very pretty fjord-type harbour popular with yachts, containing 5 tavernas (one already shut for the winter), 2 bar-cafes (one doing the Greek sweets I love too much) and two shops selling everything (stamps ran out by the second week so we posted most real postcards in UK!) and we dutifully shared our trade among them. Not many other tourists, mostly Northern European,or Italian. Lots of fresh fish, almost straight from the boat, and good barrel wine. Actually did a couple of walks during the damp period, otherwise just chilled out, usually alone on the beach (She claims my unpleasant personal habits keep the rest away, I think it may be the aura of garlic that surrounds us - from overdosing on skorthalia and tzatziki.
We nearly went into the main town once but by then the bus had stopped for the season and we couldn't be bothered to get a taxi.
No music to speak of, though two young men did have a spontaneous bout of bouzouki playing one evening in a taverna but seemed embarrassed when we applauded.
One taverna had a resident parrot that didn't speak or sing but had a repertoire of whistles, clicks and other sound effects. We discovered the source for its impressive throat clearing sounds when we discovered an old fisherman who seemed to live on his little boat called MPIL (Bill, which was the nautical equivalent of Steptoe's Yard (old carpets, massed of demijohns and jerrycans and lots of plastic bowls) and whose singlet bore silent tribute to the variety and rich range of colours of the meals he had consumed over the past few weeks (months?).
There was a typical Roger moment when one of the barmen said my Greek was as good as his. I preened with pride until I discovered he was Romanian! He was tall, with shaven head and dressed in black. The same bar had a very wolf-like dog, grey with yellow eyes and, come to think of it, we never saw them both at the same time….
As well as reading , watching the birds on the beach: cormorants, a stork, kingfishers, and overhead the usual eagles and falcons, swifts and, in the olive trees, lots of warblers, I spend the time working on my Great Novel and Great Screenplay. Sadly, other people always rip off my ideas, alter the titles and have a success. So that is why the world will never be able to appreciate Jess of the Dormobiles, Triassic Playground, Corporal Bonetti's Ukulele, Lady of the Bangles, Carpathia and many others. However I may have hit the jackpot with my latest where Cujo mates with Lassie and produces a dog that may rip your leg off but then goes for help.
I can recommend Steni Vala for a peaceful holiday (assuming the four Italians with motorbike and speedboat are somewhere else).A group of German bikers with chopped Harleys in pristine leathers were around which is strange as there is only one decent road on the island but they were very much the Tame Ones.
Sometimes in the evening on our patio with a pre-prandial glass of something or other, the only sound we heard was the sea 20 yards away and ripe olives dropping off the tree in front of the cottage. There were the usual Greek cats around hunting lizards but, fortunately, we seemed to be adopted by the local dogs, one of which would often come for a walk with us and go to sleep on our patio and help keep the cats away.
You won't want the enhanced version of the great storm or the drama of the white horse so I'll get back to the holiday washing.
Ya Sas
RtS