Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Athena is waiting in reception wearing a yellow cotton dress and her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. I am hoping my two-piece cotton trousers and top will keep me cool, along with my wide-brimmed straw hat.
‘Good morning, Erin, how are you?’ Athena asks brightly.
‘I’m good. Ready for a nice day out. Much as I love my job, it is lovely to escape it for a while.’
‘Me too.’ She smiles. ‘I am currently dealing with a pretty intense divorce case.’
‘So, you are a divorce lawyer?’ I ask as we head for her car. ‘I bet business is brisk these days.’
‘Hmm, not so much in Greece, to be honest,’ she tells me. ‘Although sadly people seem to be getting divorced a little more frequently these days.’
After parking her car up near the harbour, a young guy scans our tickets on the boat and we take our seats.
I can feel the warm sun wash over my arms as we finally disembark. The boat waited ten minutes beyond the sailing time, whilst a young worker on the harbour attempted to drum up customers to fill some empty seats.
‘This is the life,’ I say fifteen minutes later, clutching a cold beer and feeling the breeze through my hair.
‘I love a boat trip,’ agrees Athena. ‘I find it such a great way to switch off.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I say, turning my face to the sun. I already have a smattering of freckles across my nose.
As the boat makes its way across the foamy blue waters, we sit back and chat easily. Athena feels like someone I have known a long time, rather than someone I have just met recently.
The boat glides along the water, which shifts from a deep blue to a clear shimmer of aqua.
Presently, Symi harbour reveals itself, a welcome sight on a stretch of water that seems to go on forever. The sea and the land seem to blend, and it looks just as pretty as the last time I came here.
I gaze at the outline of the hills, which look a little parched as they sit beneath the blazing sun.
The entrance to Gialos harbour curves inwards, and I watch the busy harbourside as the captain expertly navigates the boat into a vacant spot. Waterfront tables are packed with diners enjoying chilled glasses of wine and plates of food.
Neoclassical houses climb sharply from the water’s edge, in shades of yellow, blue and faded terracotta; the painted shuttered windows give it a homely, yet almost exotic look.
As we disembark, I watch colourful fishing boats bob gently in the water, as our cheerful boat worker leads us by the hand onto the concrete harbour.
I drop a few euros into a nearby box labelled Tips and he smiles gratefully.
Looking up, I notice the wrought-iron railings on apartment balconies.
A woman is sitting alone and reading a book; a couple on the next balcony are sharing a bottle of wine.
‘How beautiful is it here,’ sighs Athena. ‘It is a place I will never tire of.’
The clock tower that was visible from a distance looms large over the waterfront, a crowd of people beneath it, snapping away with their cameras. As we make our way down narrow side streets, the smell of fish grilling on a BBQ in a restaurant has my stomach give a little rumble.
We buy bottles of cold water from a kiosk, before we explore the windy streets, climbing higher and slowly leaving the busy harbour behind us. We eventually stop and enjoy the stunning view below.
Leaning against a barrier wall on a cobbled path as we pause for a breather, we glug down some water.
I take a couple of photos of the harbour below before turning the camera around and taking a selfie of us both.
Just then, a donkey trundles down the footpath, and I snap a photo as a man walking beside it nods and wishes us a kalispera.
The donkey is carrying a stripy straw basket filled with oranges.
‘How quaint. I forgot donkeys are still a mode of transport on some of the islands,’ I say to Athena.
‘Donkeys are still used by the locals, as you would never get a car down some of these narrow roads,’ she explains.
‘It’s nice to see.’ I smile. ‘Although I don’t agree with them ferrying people around. It seems a bit cruel to me.’
‘Agreed,’ she says. ‘And in fact, less places are offering that type of service. Tourists are encouraged to hire mopeds instead.’
‘Rightly so.’ I nod.
We continue along the narrow path, passing white walls, some with bougainvillea snaking over them. It is a slow, quiet climb with only the sound of cicadas as we rapidly leave the bustle of the waterfront behind.
‘There is a gorgeous restaurant I know not far now,’ says Athena. ‘The climb will be worth it, I promise,’ she tells me as I finish the last of my water.
I don’t actually mind the uphill climb and I find the pull in my calves invigorating.
I have always enjoyed working up an appetite and earning my food, a trait probably fostered by hikes with my dad in the Lake District when he would hold on to our packed lunch in his rucksack until our stomachs rumbled.
We finally arrive in a courtyard filled with tables, the gentle sound of music coming from inside the restaurant. We are lucky enough to grab ourselves a table next to a low wall overlooking the harbour, just as another couple vacate it.
We are seated quickly and handed a menu as a bell from the church next door rings its beautiful chimes across the square. The terracotta tiles of the white painted church shine brightly in the now blazing sunshine. It feels serene and glorious.
‘Wow, you weren’t joking about it being worth the climb. What gorgeous views,’ I say as I glance around. The busy waterfront below contrasts with the quiet courtyard and its central olive tree, where the only sound is the birdsong in the trees.
‘I have always loved it here. Less crowded than the harbour, but with stunning views. Oh, and the food is amazing.’ She smiles.
We order a bottle of chilled white wine before we look over the food menu.
‘Did I mention that I offered your mum some hours at the café?’ I ask Athena.
‘You did; I think it’s a great idea,’ she tells me. ‘She has struggled to find a purpose since the café closed. And with me gone all day, I think she is a little bored. Well, I know she is.’ She picks up an olive from a bowl.
‘She mentioned a previous sale on the café falling through.’
‘She did. At the last minute. It was Takis.’
‘Takis?’ I say in surprise.
‘Yes. I think he was looking for a new business venture before he set up his boat tours.’
‘Right,’ I say, wondering why he never mentioned it when he took a look at the renovations with me the other day.
‘Do you know why he pulled out of the sale?’ I ask.
‘I think it was for personal reasons,’ she says, not elaborating.
Just then a lady walks over.
‘Worth the climb,’ she says to Athena. ‘My favourite restaurant in Symi.’
‘Mine too.’ Athena introduces us and tells me the lady works at a gift shop not far from her office in Rhodes.
‘I have to stop myself from going into the shop too often,’ Athens tells me after the lady has left. ‘She sells the most beautiful things.’
We talk about her work next; the topic of Takis and the café has passed. And if it was for personal reasons, I have no right to pry, I guess. But something in me is desperate to understand him more.
‘Does Takis’s brother still live on the Island?’ I ask, just as our food arrives.
‘His brother died,’ she says. ‘In a boating accident. I take it you didn’t know?’
‘Oh my goodness, no I didn’t.’ I clasp my hand over my mouth.
‘Takis struggled for a while, as you can imagine,’ Athena tells me as we sip our wine. ‘He said he was done with the sea, which I can understand. It’s in his bones though. His father was a sea captain.’
‘Gosh, losing his brother must have been truly awful,’ I say, my heart going out to him.
‘The whole village felt it, but the support from everyone was incredible. I guess being part of a close-knit community has its advantages.’
I recall Takis was about to tell me something about Kato Petres Beach. I ask Athena if the accident had happened there.
‘It did.’
Our food arrives, pulling me back to the present, and I eat the most delicious kontosouvli as my heart goes out to Takis and his family.
The large, tender chunks of pork are beautifully charred, the inside flavoured with garlic, lemon and oregano. Alongside some tasty potatoes, salad and flatbread, the simplicity of the dish is brought alive by the Greek herbs that really make it sing.
Athena says her moussaka is equally delicious, and we are silent for a few moments as we devour our food.
After our lunch, we explore some more, stopping at boutiques on cobbled streets to look at cool, cotton dresses and floaty scarves.
I purchase a gorgeous silver bracelet and a silk scarf for my mum in the colours of the ocean.
All too soon, we are seated at a café on the harbour sipping a cappuccino as we await the arrival of our boat for the return journey.
‘It’s been such a wonderful day,’ I say to Athena as we head back towards Rhodes, the sea breeze a little stronger and requiring me to hold on firmly to my hat. I find myself thinking about Takis once more and the pain he and his family must have endured.
Back at the hotel, I spot Zeta, who inquires after my day out with Athena.
‘It was just wonderful,’ I tell her. ‘And Symi was every bit as pretty as I remember.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ She smiles.
‘Oh, and I never had a chance to tell you this morning, but I have received my tax number from the government – my European passport certainly helped, but I am sure you were also involved in speeding up the process, so thank you.’
‘It was my pleasure; you are my best worker,’ she tells me before she answers an incoming call on her mobile phone.
She walks away chatting, a vision of loveliness in a long white dress and her usual immaculately styled hair and make-up.
She looks so fresh, I wonder if she access to a fountain of youth that she drinks from regularly.
Or hopefully, that’s what living in Greece does for you.