15. Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Vera greets me when I arrive at the door. Although greet might be a strong way of putting it since the first thing she does is tell me that I’m late. When I booked the apartment, she asked me what time my ferry would arrive. I guess she’s been waiting for me the whole time I was lost.
Vera looks to be in her early 60s. She’s several inches shorter than I am with curly grey hair and a ferocious frown. To be honest, I’m a little bit afraid of her as she checks me in. Thankfully, it’s a quick process and she soon shows me my room, informing me that there are notes on the desk with some local information along with her phone number if I needed anything. I thank her as she leaves, then take a moment to check out my new room.
This studio in Symi is a big change from the hotels I’ve been staying at. The bed sheets are a bright turquoise blue rather than the traditional white. The furniture is a bit mismatched and so are the bathroom products. But I like it. It has character and feels more like a home than a typical hotel room.
I also see some little notes around the room, handwritten in neat cursive writing on pale pink paper.
“Tap water is not safe for drinking!”
“Please turn off the air conditioner when you leave the room!”
“Don’t flush paper down the toilet!”
The pale grey walls are decorated with photos of the ocean and there is a small desk and chair in the corner. A kettle with some instant coffee, four tea bags, and two floral mugs sit on top along with a small, sky blue binder.
Curious, I flip it open to the first page to read.
Welcome to Symi!
We are so happy to have you on our island! Symi is a special place and those who visit often return. But if it’s your first time here, then this is what we recommend.
Chorio soft yellows, vibrant blues, warm ochres and more.
Alongside the bags, shoes, and jackets is leather artwork. Images of landscapes and people alike on pieces of leather hang on the walls.
“Pyrography” he tells me. I look at him confused, having never heard the word before.
“Here, I will show you.”
I’m led to the artist’s desk, covered in various scraps of coloured leather and an array of metal tools.
He then shows me how he uses a metal pen-like tool to burn designs into the leather. It’s absolutely incredible and I watch in awe as he creates an intricate pattern in front of me.
I snap a couple of photos with his permission and thank him for the demonstration before purchasing the bag that originally caught my eye. I don’t need a new purse but I like the looks of this one and it feels more special now that I met the man who made it. Besides, aside from my evil eye bracelet from Rhodes, I haven’t done any shopping at all.
Next, I spot the sea sponge shop mentioned in the blue binder. It can’t be missed with the pale-yellow sponges overflowing from woven baskets and out onto the street. They vary in shape and size and I soon learn that they have a multitude of uses. Some are used for eczema while others can be used to decorate a home aquarium. There are small face sponges for cleansing and loofah sponges for exfoliating. I even spot a sign marking a specific basket as sponges for washing cars.
It turns out that sea sponges were once a big part of the local economy in Symi. For many years the local men would free dive down to the depths of the sea to harvest the sponges, using a heavy rock to weigh them down to reach the seabed. At one point, the island had over 200 sponge boats and Symi sponges were sold across North Africa, the UK, and the USA. Today, however, only a handful of people still dive for sponges. It’s not nearly as profitable as it used to be and the number of sea sponges has declined drastically due to climate change.
As recommended, I purchase several different sponges as souvenirs for myself as well as my mom and Mel, figuring they are lightweight and easy enough to pack in my suitcase. It will be fun to share the story behind them, plus I love that it’s something that can be used, not just stuck on a shelf to collect dust.
The funniest shop experience I have, however, takes place at a spice store. Also located on the waterfront, my eye is quickly drawn to the neatly packaged herbs and spices lined up on the outdoor display. Each little packet has a colourful sticker on the front with bold letters stating what the spice mix is best for. Chicken, steak, fish, curry, barbeque, and lamb are all listed. There are also more specific mixes like lemon chicken, potatoes, souvlaki, gyros, Greek salad, and moussaka.
I grab a couple different packets to take home, and wait my turn to pay. I watch as the man in front of me hands over a stack of a dozen or so spice mixes. The shopkeeper quickly adds them up and tells him the total. Trading cash for the bag of spices, the tourist turns to leave but is quickly called back. The shopkeeper hands over a much smaller packet with a cheeky wink. I peek at the label before it too gets tucked into the bag, “Sex Tea”. I bite back a laugh before passing my packets over for purchase. But I guess the sex tea is only for men because I’m not given any.
As the sky turns a dusky purple I head back in the direction of my apartment. My wallet a little lighter and my bag a little heavier with the souvenirs I purchased. I debate dropping them off before dinner but, knowing me, I’d get to my room and not want to leave again. Since I skipped lunch today, I know I need to eat something for dinner.
Instead, I scan the signs of the restaurants I pass, trying to remember the names of the ones recommended in the blue binder. Unfortunately, nothing sounds familiar. Clearly, I didn’t pay much attention. So instead, I assess the patrons of the restaurants instead. I was much more comfortable with eating alone now, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be the only one dining. However, at the same time, I also didn’t want to try to find a table for one somewhere that was incredibly busy. Not that that seemed like it would be an issue here tonight.
“Well, hello again.”
A familiar voice rings out to my left and I turn to see the old man from the bench.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d be seeing you around?” Like me, he’s changed his outfit and I can’t help but hope he got a ride up the hill rather than walking.
“You sure did,” I answer. “How is your evening going?”
“Oh, better now.” His head bobs in a quick nod, “My friends have arrived. We’re all meeting for dinner.”
“That sounds lovely,” I tell him honestly. “Enjoy!”
“Say, have you had dinner yet?”
I tell him I haven’t and he rewards me with a broad smile.
“Would you like to join us? We may be a bunch of old folks but I promise we’re fun.”
He chuckles a little as he looks at me in hopeful anticipation.
“Oh, I don’t want to crash your reunion with your friends…”
“Nonsense. There’s always room for new friends. Besides, it would be nice to have someone to go with me since…”
He trails off, but I get his meaning. Since he’s alone now. Since he lost Anne.
I had planned for a quiet evening by myself, but I can’t say no to the hopeful look on my new friend’s face. Besides, if my time in Greece has taught me anything it’s to say ‘yes’ to new opportunities.
“Well, if you don’t mind I’d love to meet your friends and have some company for dinner.”
“Brilliant! But I think first you better tell me your name. I can’t show up with a date and not know her name!”
“I’m Calla, Calla Barlowe.”
“Pleased to meet you, Calla Barlowe. I’m Arthur Evans.”
“Nice to meet you too, Arthur.”
I fall into step beside him as we wander down the boardwalk, coming to a stop at the restaurant just outside my hotel.
“This, my dear,” Arthur announces, “is the best restaurant in Symi. It’s also how I knew the whereabouts of your accommodation.”
I’m about to respond but am quickly distracted by a chorus of voices yelling Arthur’s name.
I look in the direction of the calls and spot a table full of people waving animatedly at us. Or, more accurately, at Arthur.
“My friends,” Arthur announces, his face lighting up as we make our way over.
I stand back as Arthur is enveloped in a sea of attention. There are warm hugs from the women and hearty handshakes or claps on the back from the men. After a few minutes the excitement of the reunion dwindles down and the attention turns to me.
“Oh ho! Now who’s this pretty young lady you’ve brought with you, Arthur?” A stout man with an impressive moustache and bald head shuffles over to me and reaches out his hand. “I’m Ed,” he tells me, “and that lady over there, in the yellow with the curly hair, that’s my wife, Mary.”
Mary waves in my direction and I wave back, conscious of all the eyes on me.
“Hello, I’m Calla.”
“Met her this afternoon off the ferry.” Arthur tells the group. “She kindly shared her bench and I helped her find her apartment. She’s over at Vera’s.”
“Are you travelling by yourself dear?” A slim woman with silvery hair in an elegant knot asks.
“Yes, I am.”
“How exciting! Come, sit beside me over here and you can tell me all about it. I’m Margaret by the way.”
Soon Arthur and I are both seated at the table and I’m introduced to the crowd. Ed and Mary are a couple from Birmingham. Margaret and her husband, Tom, are Scottish, from just outside of Edinburgh. I also meet Nora and Jim who are also English but from the south of the country, and Peter and Dennis from London.
Introductions taken care of, we quickly turn to ordering food and wine. Carafes of house red and white are quickly brought to the table along with an array of dishes meant for sharing. Dolmades (stuffed grape leaves), tzatziki and pita, eggplant salad, grilled vegetables, olives, potatoes, zucchini fritters and more. I also note two portions of the Symi shrimp. Compared to the shrimp I’m used to at home, these shrimps are tiny. They are also bright red and haven’t been peeled. Heads and tails are fully intact on every single one.
“They are pan-fried,” Margaret tells me as she scoops some onto her plate before passing the dish to me. “You eat them whole; heads, tails - the lot of it.”
I glance across the table to Arthur who nods at me encouragingly before scooping a small spoonful onto my own plate. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about eating the shell - and head- of these shrimp. However, I’m pleasantly surprised at the delicate flavour.
“Delicious right?” Margaret smiles, and I quickly agree.
Conversation swirls around the table as everyone catches up. I learn that while Arthur has been coming here the longest, everyone else is a regular as well. The newest couple is Nora and Jim, and even they have been coming to Symi for twelve years now.
“There’s just something about this place that keeps calling you back.” Jim shrugs.
“Yes!” Dennis calls out, raising his glass of wine in the air. “Us!”
This gets a laugh from the entire group, myself included.
Turns out everyone met each other here. As Arthur said, it’s a small island. They formed tight friendships over the years and started planning their visits to coincide. Most couples stay for at least a month and, like Arthur, they all seem to have their go-to accommodations that they have been staying at for years.
Of course, upon hearing their stories, they ask to hear mine.
I think back to my night out with Sophia and her friends. Of Chloe telling me that I was a badass for travelling on my own. For refusing to wait around for anyone to come with me and going after what I want. For choosing myself. I decide that’s how I want to see myself from now on too. I don’t want to be the girl who ran away to escape a breakup. I want to be the girl who followed her dreams to Greece.
“I’ve always wanted to come to Greece,” I tell the group. “I got tired of waiting for someone to go with and I found a cheap flight so I just…well, I booked it.”
“That’s wonderful.” Margaret claps her hands together excitedly. “I wish I had done something like that at your age.”
“You do, do you?” Tom raises an eyebrow in her direction, making her laugh.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She slaps his arm playfully but leaves her hand there and rubs his shoulder gently. They share a knowing smile. The kind of smile that holds an entire conversation between two people who have known each other for so long.
I glance away, my attention diverted by the young woman who starts clearing our plates from the table. Another woman follows in quickly behind her, with a handful of plates, each one holding a small square of syrupy orange cake.
Ed also requests a bottle of something called retsina which is met with a mixture of groans and excitement. The bottle comes out with 10 tiny glasses to go with it. Mary tries to protest but Ed tells her to shush and fills her glass up anyway.
“You’ll try, right, Calla?” He calls down the table.
I’m not sure what it is but I assume it’s an aperitif like the mastika or ouzo that I had in Rhodes. So, I tell him yes and am soon holding a glass of a yellowish liquid in my hand.
We do a group toast and I raise the glass to my mouth, sipping the liquid.
I feel my eyes widen at the taste and quickly note that I’m the only one drinking. Everyone is watching me and waiting for my reaction.
“So, Calla,” Arthur asks, his glass still full in front of him, “what do you think of retsina?”
“I think,” I reply with a cough, “that I just swallowed a Christmas tree.”
The table erupts in laughter.