17 May - Alors, another unsettled night but as much my own fault for getting sunburnt yesterday. Now at about 6.30 a.m. sitting with my Greek coffee and water out on the balcony. The wind's died down quite a bit but the air is still cool. But a BLAST of blue sky above, as if clouds had never been invented. I bet it'll be a blazing day.

I've got the logistics sorted in my mind for mailing the box, but this of course is Greece, and the best-laid plans...

It's been a very good thing for me to do this trip, despite the tiringness of it. The idea of Travel and Seeing Things can begin to seem a bit threatening if you get too settled-in to a routine. It's reminded me, too, of how unnecessary it is to have clutter in your life, the advantages of keeping things spare and simple. Well of course I know all this all the time, but those invisible barriers to doing it, that rise up unnoticed if you don't keep moving, need to be challenged and dissolved regularly. I've told myself this so often, yet every time I realise it again it's like a new thought...

Still much too cool to contemplate a swim! Perhaps if the sun hit this balcony earlier I'd be braver, but in the shade here it feels too cool to put on a swimsuit and plunge into the sea. Not that I'll let it stop me, but I'll put it off for a little longer. Even the white-haired guy who goes out every morning in his trunks came back with them only wet around the bottom this morning. I don't think he swims in the bay; though I've often gone out just after him I've never seen him out on the beach. Maybe there's a pool nearby that he swims in? The snip of sea that I can see from the balcony is the most wonderful rich deep turquoisey-lapis lazuli blue...

9 a.m. - GLORIOUS swim, glad I was brave. But the cleaner - Mrs Sweeping - has taken the opportunity to start an Anna-Livia-Plurabelle of a clean in my room (at 8.30?!!!) Really this obsession with cleaning is quite self-defeating; I'd feel much more welcome if they left me alone a bit more. Or gave me a time when they'd like me to lose myself for an hour, say, 10.30, and for the rest of the day the place would be mine.

Oh and the people next door ARE Swedish, I got it from the paper we all have to sign, though why I've had to sign it twice goodness knows...

Must say, having a wonderful dip in salty sea, which does nothing but good to my poor burnt skin, then coming back to a glorious hot shower and reliable constant hot water, is just delicious. Also having my snuggly fleece to crawl into while I warm up. Simple pleasures, always the best.

Later - The Box has gone! What a relief. Now all that's left is to pay my studio bill and get on my way. But that's tomorrow. What to do with today? I've posted-home my map and Greek dictionary so I'll have to be just a stupid tourist today. The day's lovely, my sunburn's not hurting anymore, and getting that box sent is such a relief that I want to celebrate. I dropped in to say goodbye to the little man in the supermarket and he gave me a little bottle of the local liqueur, Kitron, as a parting gift - one I had been contemplating buying for myself a day or two ago! A surprise treat. We shook hands and said yasou (he's the only one to use the familiar with me, it feels ok as he clearly meant it in just a friendly way) The guy in the Post Office, who dealt with my box, was pretty nice too, sort of avuncular, and he had to smile when he told me the price in Greek numbers very quickly and I could only say siga, siga (slowly, slowly). (He wrote it down for me in the end).

Blindingly bright day; sitting in a little cafe having a metrio (Greek coffee with a little sugar). This is the first time it hasn't come with a glass of water, and I had to ask for one, but the little chap who served me was quite nice about it and seemed to be more friendly cos I was trying to ask in Greek. Three very cool harbour police have just walked by.

I wandered out to the Portara once more, to see it in the morning light; as I walked out, a 3-masted sailing ship was coming into the harbour so it was a double photo-opportunity. Then I walked once more along Grotta beach to have a look for the ruins you're supposed to be able to see under the water just offshore, and took some pictures of what might be them. On the way back I passed that Ichthyopolio (fishmonger's) where there was yet again a couple of cats just sitting waiting in hope. I think the fish man is the same one I saw outside the church yesterday, selling his fish to the ladies coming out from the morning service.

So strange to see Chinese people and other obviously foreign people chattering-away in Greek, but why not, they're clearly residents. I'm never sure whether to smile at the elderly Greek people I pass, probably they just think me weak-minded, but they almost always smile back, and often say kalimera to me as well.

There must be a ferry due; a lot of people are trundling their cases past me as I sit here, on their way to the dock where the bigger boats come in. Next time I'd like to travel-about on the ferries more, it's such a nice experience.

4.30 - It's actually turned out to be a blustery old day; glad I had my swim this morning. Too windy to sit on the balcony to paint, but I did a couple more on the little table that serves for a "kitchen" table in the studio. Progressing, I think. Hope the sea's not too rough tomorrow for the ferry crossing to Piraeus. I'm not sure I feel much like confronting the intricacies of finding my way to the hotel in Athens, or of getting to Patras the next day. And I can only hope that I get into Athens early enough to get to the Acropolis. How have I been so often to Greece and even travelled around the mainland so exhaustively and never stayed in Athens?

I think I'll go down for an ice cream, and I still need to pay the studio bill too...
Later - Had the ice cream but still no one about downstairs to pay, that's the second try.

I was just looking at my itinerary for the rest of the trip and found myself thinking how nice it will be to get back to England again. I used to think that foreign travel would be less stressful if I spoke the language, but in fact I suppose there would be just as much ignorant impatience anywhere I went if it was a tourist area, however fluent I might be.

If it were a nice still, hot afternoon I'd venture a last swim, even if I had to snitch the hotel towel for it (I packed my own in the box which is on its way back to the UK). But it's way too blustery. After I bought the ice cream I walked back along the beach, the way I go when I swim in the mornings, and the sea looked quite rough and the wind was blowing my hair around my face so keeping it out of the ice cream took all my attention. People on the beach, making the best of it, but no one in the water.

7.30 - Went down about an hour ago to try again and finally met the elusive proprietor. Unfortunately he said they have a problem with the Internet link for their credit card machine and it isn't working so I'm waiting for it to be fixed. I suggested he just bill the card (he already has the details from when I paid the deposit) for the balance when it is fixed, but he was strangely reluctant, I don't know why. I need to leave here around 8 a.m. tomorrow as I'm meant to be at the port by 8.30 for a 9.30 sailing. I've already got my boarding pass so I won't have to check-in or anything. I hope someone's around tomorrow morning or I might get hauled back for non-payment...

18 May - 7.45 a.m. Just about to set off; the poor little father of the proprietor, who speaks no English and is adrift in the land of technology, was struggling with the credit card machine - the old-fashioned kind, that you have to use manually with layered receipts and all that - when I went down this morning in a last-ditch attempt to pay my bill, and when I began to point out to him in sign language how to use it, he invited me behind the counter so I could do it for him. I even filled-out the slip myself (a wonderful opportunity to have had my holiday at a discount and feel guilty for the rest of my life). He was abjectly grateful for my help. Anyway I'm now sure I've not been cheated! Not that I expected it, but I fear that sometimes the people who make their living from holiday visitors are tempted; I've paid two euros for some pretty dire Greek coffees in various cafes in Naxos town.

Didn't swim this morning, too cold. Hardly slept, Lawrence Durrell is right about sleeping on Naxos. In a bit I'll set out for the port - the man downstairs wanted to call a taxi, but I prefer to walk it one last time. The sun's up and the air's cool but not cold now. A dove is cooing somewhere nearby.

9.15 Marched down to the harbour lugging my bags, wondering if I really did need two pieces of marble and a nearly-full bottle of olive oil. Little by little it all adds up and I don't think my bags weigh much less now than when I set out. Of course when I unload the kourabiedes my rucksack will be lighter, but that's not till nearly the end of the journey - I've still got to get all the way across Europe to France (and hope they're not just crumbs at the other end). On my way to the terminal gate, I passed my old fishmonger man once more, this time lounging in his boat, looking so picturesque that although he’s always struck me as a bit of a curmudgeon, I took out my camera and asked him “an epitrepitai?” (is it permitted?) He nodded amiably and I grabbed a very quick shot.

When I arrived at the ferry terminal there was only one other old boy there, with a slightly swaying sailor's walk, or perhaps it was the heavy bag he was carrying. Anyway I made sure I was headed in the right direction and was first in the queue - most people, as they arrived, stayed at the sunny end of the long roofed bay where we were channelled for boarding. Two pushy Germans with big rucksacks came up towards the front, and the female half of the pair, a nervy-looking woman with dark hair bundled on her head and quite slim, in rough travelling clothes that looked as if they'd had a lot of serious wear - the general effect that of a well-travelled seasoned and experienced character - came up to the gate and looked out over the apron of tarmac where eventually the ferry would arrive. she was biting, biting her nails as if she were in a terribly urgent hurry. By contrast, waiting for someone who would be arriving, were an Orthodox priest and his little boy. The priest was in full kit, with his cylindrical hat with a top like a silo and a long gown girt-in at the waist all in dark navy blue and black (the hat). His little boy kept asking questions in a bright, alert little voice, and his father kept answering gently and explaining things - I heard him say "vevaios" (of course) and "ne, ne", (yes, yes) a lot. He was very calm and gentle, his hair long and twisted in a sort of knot at the back of his neck and his dark beard like a spade in front. Presently his wife joined them, slightly tired-looking but with again a gentle and open expression and an accommodating manner. She and the old man with the bag exchanged a few words, I think about the coming ferry.

When it arrived you'd think the devil was on board the way all the passengers RAN to get off. I had to laugh to myself when I realised that the little warning tune that played when the big gangplank was lowered was a sort of synthesiser version of "Fur Elise". Where did they get that? Perhaps it's to reassure the Germans, who seem to be the largest contingent that visits the Cyclades.

Having said that, there are a couple of American girls sitting one table over (this is a much more luxurious ferry than the one I came out on, but somehow less characterful). One reminds me of my writing chum in America (perhaps this is because I know she once did a trip like this) - neat, slim, organised, a little nervous. Her companion is one of those large, slightly becalmed-looking girls, with rather too much flesh on her (her stomach's appalling) but because of large elegant bones and a lazy, comfortable manner, she so far gets away with it, being quite young - I'd say they were in their early twenties. The lean one went off on a roam when they first sat down and the large one set out very deliberately a collection of juices and yoghurts which clearly were meant to be her breakfast. She looks like a girl it would go hard with, to miss a meal. The other one looks as if she might have to be reminded to eat. As the larger one manoeuvred herself into her seat, bending over to arrange her bags and showing rather too much backside, a tall, very willowy blonde in a flowing skirt strode gracefully past and cast a supercilious glance at the larger girl, just in passing, probably not even aware that she was doing it. All human life is here.

It’s nice to be on the move again, but I really must address this issue of what I carry. I have an idea that if I’d bought no gifts - or if I’d brought fewer clothes and sent the gifts home in the package - what I’m carrying would be manageable. Well, it’s just manageable now. But there must be room for improvement. I’ll make a list of what I used most, and another of what I could have done without, for future reference.

Later - A woman I’d seen in the group waiting for the ferry has just picked an argument with a blonde lady and her two children. I don’t for a second know what it was about,saying (or not saying) “excuse me” I think, the word “parakalo” featured extensively in the tirade, delivered at the top of her forceful Greek voice, and she kept it up all the way across the lounge and out to the outside deck. She was a strange creature even before she called such attention to herself, a whippety little thing with dark glasses and that long, tangled, snaky dark hair you see on Cretan goddesses. As she progressed through the lounge shouting at the top of her voice, everyone sitting here fell quiet and kept their heads down, till she went outside and we all breathed again. As she was shouting, I thought to myself, ’She’d better be careful or someone’ll throw her overboard’. But no one has so far. We’re about to dock in Paros. Where you sleep deeper.

Later - You do see it all when you travel. When we docked at Paros one of the people who came on board was a little round, lively woman with auburny-dark hair and strong features, who sat across from me and has hardly been off her phone since - speaking, I’m pretty sure, Hebrew - I’ve picked out the word ‘meshuggah’ and a couple of others - maybe it’s Yiddish. Whoever she’s talking to or about seems to be exercising her greatly and I’m having difficulty concentrating on my Herodotus. I think she knows I’m sketching her - it makes it difficult to get it right.

Had a coffee from the snack bar as I was getting a headache. It cost 1.60 euros and was pretty revolting.

She’s still talking - what can she be doing, travelling from Paros to Piraeus? She doesn’t look like an archaeologist or student...but then one could say the same of me, I suppose.

Evening. Athens. - Unbelievable - because today is National Museum Day, entrance to everything is completely free...I feel as if Apollo is looking after me. More likely than not as I narrowly escaped having my money nicked in the Metro on the way from Piraeus. Getting off the ferry after nearly a fortnight on a quiet island, straight into the welter of people and traffic and noise of Piraeus, was bewildering. You’re immediately accosted by taxi drivers offering you a ‘bargain’ ride to Athens for ‘only’ thirty euros. I fended them off, after asking the way to the Metro: you have to walk across a bridge over the main drag, which is so thick with traffic that you’d never cross it like a normal street. Then into the Piraeus Metro station, which is calm and cool and quiet by comparison. The ticket was only one euro, to Monastiraki Station (the nearest to my hotel), and as Piraeus is the last stop there’s no chance of getting on the wrong train. There were a number of fat, slouching young men hanging about on the platform, but I didn’t give them much thought. I’d tucked my money down at the bottom of an inner pocket of my rucksack after buying my ticket, and zipped-up the zips to the bottom, where I could feel if anyone tried to undo them while I had the rucksack on my back. But as the train came in and we got on, one of these fat young men got on just ahead of me, and immediately stopped, though there was plenty of room in the carriage, and another got on just after me, squashing against my rucksack. In no more than three seconds, I realised they were up to no good, and wriggled away and sat down, to find the zip undone almost to the top of the bag and things falling out. He’d managed to get at my purse, but not enough to get it out of the bag, and after a bit of panicked scrummaging I found it, intact, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. I’d been wondering what I’d do if it had been gone - I hadn’t enough Greek to accuse anyone, would I have made a fuss in English in that crowded carriage? But no need - and I sat just bathing in the relief all the way to Monastiraki station. After that I never went out without chaining the zips together on my rucksack so no one else could pull the same trick. To get around the difficulty of getting at my money, I kept most of it deep inside under everything else and just a couple of ten-euro notes in my front pocket where I could keep track of them.

From the station it was only a short walk to the hotel, which was lovely after the absolute HELL of the streets around Plaka. It’s the oldest part of Athens, and said to be the most picturesque, and certainly it’s convenient for so many of the key things people want to see, but the streets are full of Nigerian men selling junk souvenirs from street stalls and all kinds of grubby, sleazy-looking shops that have seen better days. Plenty of loungers, and I felt it wise not to linger when I was walking. There are, though, lots of lovely looking little restaurants, and I imagine if one were in a party of six or eight it would be a colourful and interesting experience. But not really a place to be a single woman on her own. I tried my best to look as if I probably had a black belt in karate. Perhaps I succeeded, anyway no one bothered me. When I got to the hotel, one of the first things I asked after I’d signed-in was “Is the Acropolis still open?” (It was already three in the afternoon). The girl behind the counter said calmly, “Oh, yes, it’s open till 7.30”. So I dumped my bag in my room, took out the heavy stuff from my rucksack and shot out, clutching the map the hotel receptionist had given me. It was a ten-minute walk to the Acropolis - you could see it from the top floor of the hotel - and as I climbed the ramps leading to the entrance I felt so excited. I’ve been coming to Greece for twenty years at least, but this was my first visit to the most famous of all its monuments. You approach along a pine-wooded path, with lots of signs pointing you in the right direction.

As you climb, the whole of Athens spreads out before you, with the ancient Agora and the temple I always knew as the Theseum just below. The approach to the Propylea - the entrance gate - is a zigzag now, but in ancient times it’s been variously a straight ramp and a more winding way. I kept looking for a ticket office (I didn’t yet know that it was National Museum Day or what that meant) and couldn’t believe it when I found myself climbing up to the Propylea steps without having even seen a place to pay my way, to my complete astonishment.

It was almost too much - The day was perfect for it. bright and blowy and the sun reflecting off a million windows in Athens below. I was utterly ravished, ravished, ravished. I didn’t even get out the guidebook pages I’d carefully prepared back at home, just gobbled it all up, remembering lots of what I’d read anyway. The Parthenon is of course off-limits, having been declared dangerously unstable, but you can get close enough to see the detail. There’s a lot of building and reconstruction and restoration work going on all over the Acropolis, but one is free to walk just about anywhere, and you get the most fabulous views all around, of Athens and the surrounding hills.

And on the whole plateau there’s a wonderful sense of light and space, of being ’above’ all the surrounding area, almost as if floating. I was enchanted most - after just walking around and staring at the Parthenon for ages - by the Erechtheum, the little temple over to one side with the famous caryatid porch, which if you delve into the history a little deeper, you find was really the more important temple on the hill, being dedicated to both Athena and Poseidon, the two presiding deities of Athens. It’s built on a very uneven site, and the way the architects solved the problem of the different floor levels is very clever. You walk around and around it and can’t quite work it out - or I couldn’t anyway. At the far end of the Acropolis hill there is a terrace and flagpole where you can look out over Lykabettos Hill and more of Athens, which surrounds the Acropolis on all sides quite literally as far as the eye can see. I recalled the chilling and very Greek story of the young Greek soldier who was guarding the flag on this terrace when the Germans occupied Athens during the last war; they ordered him to take down the Greek flag and put up the Swastika. He calmly took down the Greek flag as ordered, but then wrapped himself in it and flung himself over the sheer edge. If you look down it makes you go cold to think of it.

I wandered around the whole Acropolis taking pictures of things that had been photographed countless times by countless tourists in past days, yet it had no sense of staleness for me. I had expected to find the experience rather a letdown, foreseeing the usual dampening of the effect by too many other people. But although it was crowded, somehow that made no difference at all; the place itself overcomes you. Standing at the Southern edge, looking down over the ancient theatre where Sophocles and Euripides had first been performed at the ancient festivals, I heard a blackbird singing; I looked to see if I could identify the place where the Long Walls to Piraeus ran in ancient times. But I couldn’t see any sign of them or of where they might have been, and even the guide, when I asked, wasn’t sure where they’d been.

I wanted to stay and stay, but also wanted to see the new Acropolis Museum, which replaces the one situated on the Acropolis itself, now closed and looking sad and deserted. The walk down to the new museum, below the Acropolis but nearby, gave wonderful glimpses all the way of the Parthenon sailing serenely above.

The approach to the new building again uses the technique I saw in the Mycenaean museum in Naxos, as the area of the approach is also of archaeological interest, you walk in over great reinforced glass slabs, looking down at the remains below. I would have stopped to find out more about them, but I knew I had limited time and the museum itself is four floors. I queued up to get in, again for free, though they gave me a ticket and made me leave my rucksack and camera in the cloak room (they let me take my notebook and a pen). Instantly I was seeing many old friends from Art School days, statues and sculptures I’ve seen so often in reproduction, suddenly there in the flesh, so to speak. The Rampin rider, the winged Sphinx, the beautiful calf-bearer, the three Tritons from the ’old’ temple that preceded the Parthenon....lots of others. And on the very top floor, the entire floor was given over to the main ‘procession’ sculptures from the Parthenon, many of course only in cast reproduction, as the originals are in the British Museum, but to see the whole procession as it should be seen, in order, was thrilling, and I can see the argument, now there is a place to show them, for giving back the Elgin marbles....if I could bear the thought of not being able to see them when I go to London.

I just looked and looked, until my bones began to ache - I’d been up since early morning, travelled from Naxos, made my way to the hotel, seen the Acropolis and the Museum, mostly on my feet, and was beginning to flag. On the top floor of the Museum is a cafe, leading out onto a roof terrace from where you can look down over the entrance courtyard, so I sat down and had an elaborate confection of yoghurt and honey, which I always find to be a great reviver. The courtyard was full of preparation for a concert later in the evening, so I lingered (the concert was free too) and found a place on the roof terrace where I could stand and watch. I knew I’d be too tired to stay for the whole concert so didn’t sit in the seats below. There were three singers and a full orchestra; they began with Italian arias, some of my favourites, and went on later to Greek folk songs which had the audience swaying and singing along.

By ten-thirty I was running out of energy. I stopped briefly in the gift shop to look for postcards - I hoped to get some of my favourite pieces, but things aren’t really up to speed there yet and there were very few postcards available, and those only of details of some of the early sculptures. I asked one of the assistants how to get back to Mitropoleos street, where my hotel was, and she began to tell me how to get to the Metro. I said, no, I’d like to walk. I had after all walked to get there and it had only taken a few minutes. She said ‘You can’t walk’ and I said why, is it dangerous? She immediately said no, no, of course not dangerous, just too far. But when I persisted she gave me directions and I only got lost once at the edge of Syntagma Square, and soon found my way back.

My room at the hotel was lovely- more of a suite, with an entrance hall and a separate bathroom and sitting room. The hotel was an old Merchant’s House, of the eighteenth century, and had been converted into a bijou establishment with only a few rooms, all with individual decor (my room was the Santorini room, all in yellow).


The bathroom was pure vintage, a spacious room with a deep enamel bath with Victorian taps and floored with little black and white tiles. In the hallways there were Turkey carpets and chandeliers and some of the walls were frescoed. My room had no view at all, but was wonderfully quiet, and I slept deeply. In the morning I found my way up onto the roof where breakfast was served - you sat looking at the Acropolis, almost near enough to spit at it. It was almost impossible to believe I was there, looking at that view, eating my breakfast. I spoke with an American lady and her husband, staying one night in Athens on their way to their son’s wedding on Santorini. She said they had one of the big rooms overlooking the Acropolis, but the Mitropoleos Cathedral bell rang loudly every hour all night, “and the construction work going on in the square didn’t stop all night either, so we had a wonderful view but no sleep”. I was grateful that I’d been given an inner room after all. I spoke with the waitress, a young girl who said "I see it every day, but I haven’t been up to the Acropolis for years", though she agreed it was a wonderful view. She obligingly took my picture with the Parthenon in the background, and then posed for one herself. Then it was time to gather my things and set off to find the bus to Patras.

15 May - very early. Sounds like everyone in the street is catching the early ferry. Certainly someone in the house was up early, coughing like a consumptive in the last stages of his disease, and sounding like he was throwing everything in the cupboards onto the floor to break it and then into his suitcase, which then (banging the doors and shutters as many times as possible) had to be dragged down the echoing marble stairs bump-bump-bump all the way to the exit. Then a bunch of people from the hotel across the street met up, suitcases in tow, just under my window to exchange pleasantries, in what sounded like a particularly forceful Scandinavian language, about the earliness of the hour (or perhaps they were saying “if we have to be up at this ungodly hour why shouldn’t everyone else be up too?”) I wouldn’t mind so much (after all it is getting on for 6.30) because normally I’d be up anyway anticipating my morning swim, but this morning it’s RAINING of all things so unless I want to be thought totally mad I can’t do that. Of course, this could be Greek rain, the kind that is gone within the hour so you would never know it had been at all. The sky in the West looks promising.

I had a delicious sleep last night, not sure why. Perhaps something to do with going out for a nice relaxing wander in the evening. Hands getting better but still rough. I didn’t know hives could last so long.

I think there’s a strike on in Athens today. If that lot that left so early are on their way to the mainland they’ll have fun when they get there. Hope things are better on Tuesday when I’m on my way again.

I don’t think I’d come back to Naxos unless there was a genuine reason, e.g. a ‘dig’ I could be part of. I don’t find the Naxiots as friendly or as sensitive as some of the other Greeks I’ve met - there’s a pushy rudeness in them which is latent in most Greeks but seems here to tip over into real offensiveness. Perhaps out of Hora people are nicer, but no amount of picturesqueness in a town can make up for a general atmosphere of indifference and even at times insolent dislike. As if we (tourists) were all just a bunch of annoying idiots getting in their way. Of course I understand to some extent, since I’ve felt it myself at the end of the holiday season in Cornwall, but this early in the year they ought to be feeling still moderately friendly, or at least give us the benefit of the doubt.

No - so far the verdict still comes down on the side of the Ionian islands, preferably the more Northerly, less-frequented villages of Corfu, or even Vathy on Ithaca (which seems to have no package tours going to it at all now, at least from the UK) I did love Kalami but am not sure it would be worth doing the same thing again. Perhaps now I'm more experienced (and getting better at travelling light) I should consider ferrying-about from place to place and just staying for as long as I like. I should quite like to see Santorini someday, and could ‘do’ Mykonos and thus Delos too. Maybe fly to Athens, to save all that uninspiring stuff down the leg of Italy (how disgusting that sounds!). Or catch the Patras ferry from Venice.....I would quite like to stay a few days in Paris too, but need to improve my French first.

The sky is clearing; all the raincloud is over in the East now. And the morning bells are all ringing; it’s like a fairytale. Pretty soon the Perfect Prince will ride up on his horse and rescue me from my balcony. And we can both go for a swim.

There’s someone drilling nearby - perhaps I ought to make the most of the coolness of the day and go somewhere.

Midday - I decided to walk to Engares, an inland village which is approached by the coast road for most of the way, the route is supposed to be scenic and it was only about 7km. I must say it was enough to cure one of Naxos forever. The first part of the walk, once you got past the ugly outskirts of Hora, wasn’t bad; the road rose up between the hills and the sea, and the landscape had a certain dramatic spareness to it though no beauty except in the large inhuman scale of it all.

But then you pass the town dump and things never really recover. All along the sides of the road for miles after, there are windblown bags and wrappers festooning the roadside, plus whatever tins and bottles and packets people have contributed from passing cars. And the smallholdings along the roadside have caught the same spirit - anywhere else you would think “po’ white trash”. Tied-up dogs barking frantically as you pass, the most awful piles of cast-off junk all over, rusty fences keeping-in frustrated goats (one little bunch had just escaped its enclosure as I passed, and lit-out along the road like delinquents) A very hot wind had begun to blow, throwing the dust about, and many of the cars that passed not only didn’t bother to swerve out to accommodate someone on foot, but speeded up as they passed, prompting me to mutter epithets to myself. (One little man on a moped passed me three times and waved and smiled all three times, a light in a dark world). The road to Engares is a bit confusing when you get near to the village and at one point I thought I’d missed a turning somewhere but after going back and forth a couple of times I worked out that I actually WAS on the right road. It felt further than I thought it would be, but perhaps it was just something sinister in that hot Easterly wind. (There’s a general strike today too). No one stopped to offer me a lift, and there was a real sense of the locals rather eyeing me suspiciously instead of greeting me as one is used to in Greece. Finally I arrived in Engares and walked through the town - seems to be just one narrow main street with side shoots up and down the hillside - but couldn’t find a main square or even any kind of kafenio open (or shut). I felt it was a town turning its back on me, and it felt oddly appropriate after the uneasy walk through not the most picturesque of countryside, being blown by an unfriendly, dusty wind. So I turned tail. On my way out of the town, on the outskirts I found a cafe, chairs and tables all set out in a courtyard under the trees. I went inside and said timidly (for no one was in sight)‘Parakalo’ (please). A little toothless lady peeped out from a high counter at the back, and I said in careful Greek, “I would like a Greek coffee please”. She just gummed a bit and then said stolidly “Closed.” I said “Kleisto?” (‘closed’ in Greek) and gave up and left, almost in tears, walking up the road muttering ‘how hard would it have been for her to make me one Greek coffee, even I can make Greek coffee for Pete’s sake.” As I passed the sign indicating that you were leaving the village I did what the ancients used to do when a place had been less than welcoming: I stopped and stamped my feet to rid them of the dust of the place, then walked on. I must say it relieved my feelings enormously, though just to be on my way back was a relief, though the same dogs barked at me again along the road and I seemed to pass a lot of dead things: first a hedgehog, then a hooded crow (quite big) and even a large grasshopper. But one lovely live goose who gave me a coy look as I took her picture.

As a sort of last straw, when I was limping back into Hora I had to pass a bunch of little boys, about ten or eleven years old, on a narrow bit of pavement. They had bamboos they were fooling with and I managed to sidestep the inadvertent sharp ends, but then two boys blocking the way (they hadn’t noticed me and had their backs to me) slowed me up. I said ‘parakalo, parakalo’ to get past and as they moved aside, one of the smaller boys ran up and poked me in the backside with his stick, making the others laugh. Obviously they expected me just to ignore it, so when I turned suddenly around and, looking straight at the boy with the stick, walked towards him, he panicked, threw away the stick and ran. The others backed-away, but didn’t run. I just stood and looked at them hard, and then said “it’s not nice, to treat a stranger that way.” (Not that they were likely to have understood me, as I didn’t know how to say it in Greek) I could see there was no harm in them, really, they were just little boys up to mischief, but I was in a mood to give them a fright. I don’t suppose I did much more than confuse them. In a few years’ time they’ll all be disturbing the peace with motorbikes no doubt.

I've arrived back with (despite the socks) two new blisters on my right foot and a lovely big one an inch long on the sole of my left foot. No more long walks for me on this trip, I think, not that there's much more time for them anyway. It's still hazy, and now I've drunk half a litre of water and eaten an ice cream I feel less exhausted. But I feel I've earned the right to be lazy this afternoon.

When I wrote, earlier, about being brave enough to ask about buses and taxis and so forth, I guess I wasn't expecting the Naxiots to be so unfriendly. They're not ALL unfriendly, and I guess one would learn to let it slide off, but why put oneself through it all? Even the fitments of this so-called 'self-catering' studio are indicative of the attitude: not even a bowl to put a Greek salad in (I've been eating mine off plates). Two plates (different sizes), plus a plastic one, two coffee cups (different sizes), two Greek coffee cups (ditto), two razor-sharp knives, two forks, two teaspoons, all oddments. One saucepan, a frying pan and a big pasta pan. One regular sized electric ring and one for the vriki (the little cuplike pot you boil the Greek coffee in), two vrikis, different sizes. Three little ouzo glasses and two tall water glasses. No cutting board, but a big imposing coffee machine which I don't use, nothing to bake in or even make toast. And whenever the cleaners come in, anything I've left on the counter or draining board is put back into the cupboard. One is made to feel a little as if by wanting to "do" for oneself, one is presuming a shade too far. That you should be going out and stuffing yourself at the local restaurants.

Well, enough. Later I might try to paint my 'take' on today's walk. And I have to admit with a wry smile that at least if the place isn't a total success, it will be all the easier to leave on Tuesday morning. One big hooray is that next door is empty again, the table and chairs are gone from the balcony so presumably no one's expected imminently. So I have the balcony to myself again.

3.30 - Put on my swimsuit and went for a wonderful swim. The wind's even stronger, boisterous even, but still very warm, and though for a moment as I walked into the sea I wondered if perhaps I was nuts, I soon decided I wasn't, since once I was in, the water was warmer than the air. When I came back I washed another pile of clothes - practically everything I wasn't actually wearing and they're all drying faster than magic in this wind. Part of me is feeling all sea-washed and relaxed but the other part is getting fidgety and I'm glad I'll be on my way again in a couple of days.

6 p.m. - This hot wind continues to blow - is it a sirocco? It's not what one imagines a meltemi to be like, that implies a gentle soothing coolness. This wind rubs one's edge ragged; it feels as if straight off the desert. However, everything I washed earlier is totally dry now (including my pajamas, which I thought were going to fly away). This Light Travelling only works if you have the facility to wash stuff every day...

Madly sleepy after that ordeal of a walk. Not a road to do on foot; I daresay in a car you can scoot past the ugly bits more quickly - there's a section of it further on which is marked as particularly scenic on my map. But all I'll remember of it is the rubbish by the side of the road and the cobbled-together look of most of the smallholdings. It made the seamier parts of Penzance seem like Beverly Hills.

I've just remembered the name of MULLEIN, a plant I saw along the roadside during my walk and couldn't place; it's one that for some reason I always have trouble recollecting. I knew it started with an M, and thought of every other M-starting name, mellifera, melilot, mallow, etc. But as ever if you let it alone it comes back in its own time.

7.30 - OH DEAR. A whole herd of tourists have just invaded the studios here - so I have neighbours again. They came in a great crowd, presumably from the evening ferry. I think this lot are Germans but haven’t been able to hear the language clearly yet. The worst thing was that as they were all trooping into the place, the proprietor’s father, who was showing them to their rooms, mistook my room for a free one and started to show people in. Fortunately I heard him turning the door handle and went over to the door so that when he opened it I was standing right there. It still startled me; I said “Oh!” very loudly and he said sorry-sorry-sorry and backed out. But as soon as he shut the door I locked it. Wonder if I should put a chair against it as well. I know it was a simple mistake but it’s left me feeling a bit out-in-the-open - especially after today’s experience with that walk. It’s actually started to rain now (only lightly) and I suddenly remembered a humdinger of a thunderstorm that came out of nowhere on the last night on Corfu a few years ago. It made packing to go home an interesting exercise...

I don’t think I like Naxos town an awful lot - maybe it’s because it gets so many German tourists that the people are so guarded. Perhaps they’ve been thinking I’m German? I wouldn’t mind groups of tourists if they were archaeologists or musicians or something. But they never are, they’re always just a lot of people who are a bit overweight, unfit, and look uncomfortable and out of place, who drift from cafe to beach to gift shop and don’t really know about the place they’re visiting. (‘My’ Canadians were exceptions, full of vigour and very lively and interested. Also a nice group of Americans I met in the museum who were interested in everything they looked at.)

I have - I think - discovered what has been making my hands so odd and rashy - it’s the soap powder I’ve been using to wash my things.

Bedtime - It IS the detergent. I had the sense (rather belatedly) to read the instructions. Though it says HAND wash powder (and WITH ALOE VERA), it also says very firmly in smaller print not to allow it in contact with the skin (it actually says ‘wear gloves to use’) and that it is a ‘definite irritant’. Quite scary about getting it into your eyes, glad that hasn’t happened. Daren’t think what it would do to your skin if it didn’t I have Aloe Vera. Anyway no more washing with that stuff - I’ve binned it. Hope my hands recover. They’d never be allowed to sell it in the UK, but here you are expected to use your brains (and you do need them). Funny it’s only the backs of my hands that have reacted, you’d think in between the fingers would be more sensitive.

16 May - Up as early as I can stand this morning. The people next door kept me awake until after 1 a.m., banging and dropping things as they unpacked. They also left their outside light on all night which was mildly distracting. Also, table and chairs had to be brought back up for their balcony, necessitating a performance on the stairs that sounded like herds of elephants being brought in against their will. Then of course that hot horrible wind continued to blow, banging shutters and windows that people had neglected to close, and even blowing the chairs about on the balcony (though thank goodness not the table).

But this morning the wind has died, leaving much cooler air, the sky is clearing, and there’s a Westerly breeze, quite the opposite to last night’s wind. As soon as the sun is a bit more up I’ll venture out for my swim. People are starting to stir now - A man has just come out onto his rather nice-looking top-floor terrace along the street a bit (bet he has a good view of the sea) and had a sniff of the day. His pot belly precedes him as he walks. Yet he looks as if he thinks quite well of himself, on the whole.

Once I realised that my poor hands were suffering because of the soap/detergent, I took out my little tube of antiseptic cream that I brought in my tiny first-aid kit and slathered my frog skin with it. This morning there’s a distinct improvement - I can almost recognise my real hands under the fading lumps.

Brrr- the balcony hasn’t yet got the sun and it’s much cooler today. I’m glad of my fleece.

The “noises off” of Greek life are, when not annoying or outright exasperating, most entertaining. You can never quite work out what the cause is. This morning, despite being Sunday, someone was up early doing something that sounded like re-assembling something large and metallic with many moving parts and no instructions: various clankings and draggings, though uncharacteristically no shouting.

The Naxiots have a nice way of disguising large spaces of concrete by painting them in white windowpane checks, or random white lines. It simulates the crazy paving one sees elsewhere in the Old Town, even down to thresholds, and little edgings painted-in, and dresses up what would otherwise would look really rather substandard. In the Burgos, all the paths, or most of them, are paved in grey slatey-looking slabs with white in between, and along all the paths up or down there are small runnels carved, about an inch wide and less than an inch deep, along the centres of the paths to take off rainwater.

The people next door are out now on their balcony, talking in quiet voices. It doesn’t sound exactly like German, nor up-and-down enough for Swedish, nor I think Danish as it’s not that guttural. Nor is it Dutch. Maybe it’s Swiss German?

Later - Back from my swim. The sun went behind a cloud just as I was getting to the beach but I was brave and went in anyway and it was the same magic although a bit cooler. The water was still all stirred-up from yesterday's wind, but just as silky, and the beach had been washed smooth by the higher waves it had created - I guess that's the only chance Mediterranean beaches get to be cleaned, with no tides to speak of.

I thought Sunday would be a day of rest for the cleaning ladies but Kyria Skoupiso (Mrs Sweeping) is out there doing battle as usual. I shall go out in a bit for some food and then I mean to sit and paint until the day's nice and hot and then maybe another swim.

By the harbour, 9.35 a.m. - Came down to watch the boats for a bit and am just having a Greek coffee, though the guy serving in this cafe made it quite plain that though open, and with no other customers, he'd rather have a yeast infection than serve me quickly or politely. There are two ferries in port including a Blue Star ferry, possibly the one I'll be on when I go back to the mainland on Tuesday. People are beginning to crawl out of their holes now. Earlier, walking about in the Burgos, I came upon a Greek Orthodox church just letting-out after the service and outside the gate of the churchyard a local fishmonger had set up a sort of rough stall with the latest catch - stout black-clad ladies were clustering around him to have a look and maybe bag a bargain. I saw the same chap on my way back from Engares the other day, in his shop, cutting up fish at his outdoor counter, with two moggies waiting hopefully on the pavement a little way back. I only just got a quick photo of it on my phone, since as soon as he saw I was trying to photograph him, he went into the back and hid. I expect he gets sick of tourists just taking his picture and never buying any fish.

I've just been watching two cruisers changing berths in the harbour - how nice and graceful medium-sized boats are! I don't know how anyone could prefer any other mode of transport, at least in fine weather.

I got a glimpse of the female half of my new neighbours this morning, just before I went out. She was just out on the balcony when I went out to hang up towels but nipped back inside quite quickly; smallish, rather tired-looking but meek, I'd say. Short brown hair, Not young or particularly fit but at least not FAT.

Later - was in 'my' little market buying some food, and the nice little man there - my 'box man' - asked if I would come back to Naxos and I said honestly, "I don't know". I said that not everyone was friendly - told him how I couldn't even get a coffee or a bottle of water in Engares and he looked genuinely upset and said "Some people are not good." But I said they were always nice to me in his shop. When I got back I sat on the slightly-too-breezy balcony (though it's not that sirocco wind anymore thank goodness) and did a from-the-heart rendition of the walk to Engares with my paints, all browns and ochres and spiky thistles. By the end I was so into it I felt quite sick by association, and tried to focus on the positive and memorable things I’ve got from the stay here instead. I wouldn’t say I wish I hadn’t chosen Naxos, there are too many things I’d have been sorry to miss, but I have to say that I’ve about had enough of it now and will be happy to be moving on in a couple of days.

Later again, 3 p.m. on my little beach - Came down after lunch just to bask and read. I would have swum too but it’s so rough and windy and I don’t feel up to getting all wet and then having sand blown all over me. Earlier when I’d fallen asleep for a bit I was woken by voices and looked up to see nearby an American guy with (presumably) his wife photographing a single yellow horned poppy growing nearby. He’ll be surprised when he starts to look about, at how many more there are. There were whole drifts of them on my way to Ayia Anna. Then while I was reading, still lying on my front, I watched a little buzzy helicopter flying from the Ayios Prokopios direction; it circled around and then for a second or two I thought it was going to land right next to my little beach. But it just came in very low, and tilted so the people inside were clear to see. The man nearest to opening was wearing a red t-shirt; I waved, and he held up a camera and took my picture! How odd - there are far more nubile young ladies over on the main beach, though I suppose that from a distance me lying on my fish-patterned scarf reading a book in solitary splendour might have looked moderately picturesque. Anyway it was a moment of excitement for me...

Something I forgot to record about the walk to Engares - I found out on the way back that reciting poetry etc as you walk really DOES make it easier to cover the ground. I did the whole of Tennyson’s Ulysses and chunks of Umbrellas of Cherbourg (there was no-one to hear my singing) and the time just flew by.

My hands are still like lizard-skin but no more irritation - no itching. I have an idea that the layer that was so irritated will eventually peel off. Leaving smooth unblemished young-looking hands. I don’t think. But the top layer feels more and more like leather every day.

Had a brilliant idea that if I get any more trouble from little boys (not that I expect it) I’ll not stop at just turning on them, I’ll point a magic finger and recite a few stanzas of Tennyson. It’s good ringing stuff and they’ll think I’m putting a spell on them. (Or that I’m completely dotty).

Late - Just after eleven p.m. Can't sleep, the room's just too hot, so I've decided to risk it and open the doors to the balcony but close the shutters and keep the mosquito-net-like curtains across the space. The wind's still pretty strong; one can't imagine mozzies being able to navigate in it. If the room cools down I can sleep with the sheet over me anyway and the sound of the wind and the sea through the slats in the shutters is soothing. I stepped out for a minute to look at the sky - it's all stars, so perhaps a fine day tomorrow.

I would have been asleep hours ago but there's been the usual banging and shouting downstairs. One HUGE crash that shook the building and woke me up. It's like staying in a prison. Of course most of the building is marble so everything echoes,

Lights off again.....

14 May - By eight this morning I was out on my way to the beach for a swim. I had the foresight to bring a safety pin to pin my door key to my wrap and I finally discovered the quickest way to the beach - so simple, and I realised I'd been going "all round the houses" - which brought me out on a stretch near a wooden what looked like a lifeguard stand, so I draped my scarf and towel on that to prevent any more canine frolics. I was a bit earlier this morning and the water felt cooler and the air hadn't yet warmed up as much, but once I got in it was just the purest glorious bliss. The water was calm and like silk and I had the entire bay to myself. It's shallow so far out that you can get right away from the land and yet still be within your depth, and of course it's so much saltier than the Atlantic that floating is no problem at all, even for me, a notorious straight-to-the-bottom person. I swam and swam, just back and forth in the delicious caressing water. Floating on my back, I heard a church bell in the town sounding through the golden air, and then a single gull flew overhead in the utterly clean, placid blue sky. The landscape was still a bit demure and distant in its morning haze- it was all the things I love best about places Greek, and without all the shouting and banging that goes on every day. That something so utterly delicious can also be good for you seems too good to be true.

Practical things to do today; change money, and try to post that package, or at least find out where the Post Office is and when it's open. How difficult can it be to send a parcel? I had packed it all in a rather flimsy box I got from the textile lady, but when I was in my 'favourite' supermarket, the chap behind the counter, hearing that I was needing a box to post things in, offered me a selection of much sturdier boxes and I could see that he would have been deeply wounded if I hadn't taken a great deal of trouble to choose the best one and accept it from him. So although my box now weighs rather more than it did, his box being much heavier, I can at least be sure my things will survive the journey home. I hope.

On my way back from the beach I passed an old man sweeping a gateway - a wonderfully typical Greek 'type': moustache, long-sleeved shirt, brown seamed face; and when I said poli orea, thalassa, (very beautiful, the sea) and indicated over my shoulder towards the beach, he grinned and said to me 'Thee See?' and nodded in agreement.

My hands still look like lizard skin but at least they have stopped itching. I know someone who gets this from cold water, but she gets it all over her body, and my hands are the only thing that went funny last night and they haven't been anywhere near cold water. I'm inclined to think it was too much sun and heat - that walk was pretty hot and airless during the last bit yesterday.

The shower in this studio is wonderful: it's the whole bathroom's width with just the curtain dividing it from the rest of the room - so nice when you come in all sandy and salty, you can just strip off in situ, as it were, and wash everything along with yourself. I was brilliant this morning after my swim; left BOTH towels not just in the room but out on the balcony, so when I finished showering I had nothing to dry myself with and no way to get at the towels except by creeping out in the buff onto the balcony. Saved it by nipping into my clothes slightly damp...you can get rid of a lot of the wet with a well-wrung-out facecloth. But I'll try not to make that mistake again.

simera zesti - it's hot today.

Later - nearly midday - After my trek into Hora; tried two banks on the main drag before giving up and going to the Alpha Bank again - in the first one, I think it was called the Europe Bank, a nice man who looked a little like Nessim from the Alexandrian Quartet came up to me as I came in and said very politely, could he help me. When I asked if I could change some money, he said I should go to the National Bank down the road. So I went there, and as I came in, I asked a girl at a desk near the door if I could change money there. She was a big blowsy girl with long snaky hair like a Cretan goddess, but her face was more like a gorgon, all puffy and too-much made-up. (I've noticed that people in banks on Naxos all look so harassed and overstretched, or they look as if they've given up on their standards - the women look as if they haven't even bothered to comb their hair when they got up, and even in the Alpha Bank, which is much more posh and imposing inside with proper counters and tellers' windows, the tellers were eating or drinking coffee while they were dealing with customers) Anyway she said in an offhand way that I could change money but would have to use desk number four. So I got in the queue, such as it was, and waited with a certain amount of unease as to what I should do if one of the other windows came free when it was my turn. Then after about five minutes I saw a woman who had just come in take a ticket from a machine and realised that we were all meant to have numbered tickets. At this I gave up in despair and walked up instead to the Alpha Bank where I got in a queue behind a woman and two ENORMOUS men, one just large in a husky way (and with those Greek bedroom eyes that imply the guy is a sex machine but always just make me giggle), and the other one tall, heavy-set, and really fat. Then another big guy came up behind me, crowding me as Greek men do in queues, as if, if he pushed in sufficiently abruptly, I'd just let him go ahead of me....NOT. So there I was, one little tourist lady sandwiched between these giants. Finally a window came free but the guy behind it said I'd need one of the other windows to change money - he reassured me that I didn't have to go to the end of the queue again (which was about ten people by now) but just wait by the counter. Fortunately I got the lesser po-faced of the two women tellers and got an even better exchange rate than before. I even had a chat with the woman about her little girl, after admiring a colourful and childish drawing she had stuck up on the wall of her cubicle. Then I looked-in on my textile woman who told me where to find the Post Office, and I went along to get an idea of how much it was going to cost me to send a box to England. This was a performance in itself. First I peeped-in at the open window of the Post Office, where there was a man sitting behind a desk, to ask if they would be open on Monday (lots of things in Hora close on Monday). But this little man just got excited and shouted "Porta! Porta!" at me, pointing to the door, which was like just anyone's house door with nothing on it to indicate that it was the way in. So in I came. There was a customer - a man - at the only open counter having something very complicated done to piles of documents and envelopes; he was chatting amiably with the guy behind the counter but I was next in line and thought (foolishly) that he couldn't be there forever. But then a woman came and opened another counter and some man just marched past me and went up to it. No one said anything and I didn't have enough Greek to argue; I did think, though, that if that man were in my position in an English queue he'd be treated with more politeness than he'd treated me. He wasn't a very nice looking man either, he was clean enough but dark and oily with the hard stare of someone who knows he's in the wrong. He lounged against the counter while the girl printed-out some documents for him; at one point she picked up her keyboard and turned it upside down and banged it on the table, trying to dislodge something. He watched this indifferently, and then counted out a wad of notes, flick, flick, flick; I couldn't see the denomination but suspect they were 50 euros each - he counted out ten, twice, and thrust the bundle over the counter. Probably sending money to a poor relation in the UK. As he started to look like he was about finished, another man got up from a chair all casually and sauntered-up to stand next to him and chat. He was holding a piece of paper and I knew what he was up to. As the first one left, the second one smoothly stepped up to the counter and put the piece of paper across to be dealt with. Before I could even get angry, a woman from the queue behind me leapt at this man and plucked at his sleeve and angrily said something in Greek, indicating me (I heard the word 'kyria' - and presumed she'd said 'this lady was waiting before you, it's her turn') The guy, who looked like Anthony Quinn but taller, looked up with wounded innocence as if he'd only just seen there were other people there, and stepped back for me. Having established that the girl behind the counter spoke English I explained that I wanted to post a box on Monday and she asked how much would it weigh, four, five kilos? I said five, about, and she worked out what that would cost. Rather a lot, but worth it for me not to have to lug things I don't need all the way across Europe.

That episode really took it out of me; it was boiling hot and stuffy in the Post Office and by the time I'd finished the sweat was just running down the backs of my legs. Anyway of course when I got back the cleaning lady was in full swing in my room - she scooted-out pretty quickly when she realised I was back to stay for a bit, mopping her way out the door. There's a phenomenal amount of sweeping and mopping done every day - our marble staircase is washed daily, and at the hotel across the street there seem to be two full-time women-with-brooms always sweeping, sweeping. It's needed, though - the fine sand on the beach is so dusty, and the beach so near, that it creeps in all the time.

5 p.m. - No interest at all in going out this afternoon; a combination of not enough sleep last night, a very hot afternoon, and a desire to improve the shining hour by working on my painting. I did another two, one of which is ok I think. Hands still look horrible, but a bit of urticaria seems a small thing to fret about.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m never going to be like the usual holiday person, if only because I don’t at all miss going out to restaurants to eat in the evenings, even if it means I have to rustle up something simple in the tiny kitchenette here. If I HAD to go out, for example with a partner or companion, I think I’d find it quite stressful and unsettling. How odd I must be, though, that something most people consider to be one of the basic pleasures of a holiday should for me be a good example of mild torture?! I’ve tried to unravel this, and I think it’s a mixture of reasons - the idea of spending on food more than absolutely necessary, along with the fact that there’s no guarantee what you get will be palatable- and perhaps a hangover from a holiday I once had where I only had six days there and one of them was lost because of an upset after a dodgy meal the night before. So I stick to my Greek salads and bread and cheese. And Greek chocolate.

So what do I consider to be the basic pleasures of holidays? For this one, the discovery of the Sanctuary of Dionysus the other day. Wandering about the town and unpicking the history of the place, thinking myself back into that era, imagining how it might have been. Getting out early before anyone else is about, having my morning swims to myself. Doing a painting that comes from deep down , somewhere subconscious, that when you look again, is “alive.” (I think so far three of the eleven I’ve done are genuinely “alive”) Achieving that near-marathon walk and actually managing to see the two statues I’d set out to see. Even making something good out of a seemingly wasted exercise, like the walk to Ayios Prokopios, when I discovered the headland and the little chapel of St Nicholas.

7.15 - A foray out to buy tomatoes and water, and a few last-minute gifts. I walked back along the harbour and the path by the sea - there were little steps down to a place where you could perch on the rocks, so here I am, watching the sun set in calm peace. Well - not quite set, though it’s 7.15 it’s still got a way to fall before it hits the horizon. But the evening warmth is kinder than today’s roasting. There’s a man rowing a little boat out of the harbour quite slowly, as if he were thinking of something else. It must be uber-peaceful out there on the water. One gull on one rock. A fishing boat going out, looking Cornish except for being so colourful. The sea-defence along here is gi-normous chunks of white marble - wonderful, that people use whatever comes to hand and here it should just happen to be the purest white marble... As the sun sinks the distant outline of Paros - or is it the southern tip of the bay here? - is turning pale yellow, the haze of distance stained with pure light. If I had the patience to wait, I might see the green flash - the sun seems on target to set just where Paros and the neighbouring island leave a clear stretch of sea at the horizon. There’s a cloud formation above like a headless traffic cop...

I was just staring down at my feet wondering if that was actually a rockpool (the water’s so clear you can’t see it) when a little crab no bigger than an inch peeped out from under the only pebble there. But when I moved, ever so slowly, to get my camera, he instantly reacted by nipping back under again, and he hasn’t dared come out again yet... Now he's come out again and looks like he’s pulling tiny things off the rock and eating them. He came all the way up to the edge of the water, right by my toe. Too much haze for the green flash. Sun is about to disappear behind it. Time to go back.

13 May - Awful time getting to sleep last night; it was terribly hot in the room but I dared not open the windows because of kounoupi (mosquitoes) and then when I finally got to sleep, one little devil got in and bit me on the eyelid and on the cheek before I woke up again. I turned on the light and hunted him down, squashed flat. But of course the damage was done by that time and not only was my eye itching, but every time I tried to sleep I’d imagine hordes of mosquitoes homing in on me. I tried to read Herodotus but none of his stories seemed the least bit interesting at three a.m. Thought I’d try the air conditioner; if I could get the room cool it might make them a little slower, but fiddle as I might with the control, I couldn’t get it to work at all. (I noticed on the back of the control it said “Room 3” and as I’m in Room 7 that might explain it. I guess as long as they have air conditioners they can put it in their advertising blurb; they don’t have to work). So I then took out the mosquito repellent machine and plugged it in, but the smell of it in that close room (I still didn’t dare open the windows) was so revolting that I unplugged it again. I think I’m being an awful wimp about it. Anyone with more fibre would just sleep through the night, mozzies or not.

Ho hum. Well, I finally got to sleep though I can’t say it was awfully restful, what with the mosquito bites and my (yes) sunburn, and when I woke just now at 6.30 my eyelid was so swollen up and the eye in consequence half-shut. Putting cool stuff on it helps a little, but I do feel like walking-wounded today.

I sorted out a box of stuff to send home; a conundrum since it’s safest to send it registered and that will require a signature at the other end. I could perhaps send it care of a friend’s address and collect it when I get back. Sending home the things I don’t need will make the return journey so much easier - well...a little easier anyway.

I’m contemplating finally getting that early swim I keep going on about. There’s an old chap staying in the hotel across the street who goes out every morning early in his swim trunks and I see him coming back later in wet trunks and a towel over his shoulders. What have I got to lose?

Later - another first. I’ll do that every morning I think. As Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen, the Danish writer) said somewhere, “Salt is the answer for all problems: sweat, tears, or the sea.” And of course she is right: not only is my eye a lot less puffy after a swim, but (why didn’t I think of it?) my sunburn hurts less too. It’s shallow so far out in the bay that you have to walk out and walk out before it’s deep enough to launch yourself, but once you’re in and moving around, your pores close and it doesn’t feel cold anymore, just soothing. Almost silky.

I’d have swum longer but for a dog someone was walking along the beach, it was lolloping and frolicking along and came to where I’d left my towel and wrap on the sand in a neat pile (with my room key). He leapt on the bundle and started shaking it in his mouth as dogs will do. I said, from out on the water, “Hey!” in a carrying voice and the woman walking behind him came up and casually put the stuff back in a pile, waved at me in a laconic way and walked on without a word. But the dog lay on the beach about five yards from my bundle, watching me as I came out, just looking so guilty and sorry that though I said a thing or two to him I couldn’t feel too angry. He was so obviously wanting to show remorse. I shook the sand out of my stuff and found the key and decided I might as well come back to the studio. But it’s such a nice feeling! I had the entire sea to myself as well, and the beach too, apart from a couple of people sweeping-out the Paradise Cafe nearby.

Now back on my balcony wrapped in my fleece and waiting for the sun to come around to this side of the building.

Two things I forgot to write before: coming back from Hora last night just as the sun was setting, sinking into the sea behind the boats in the harbour like a perfect orange flame-hot ball, and the sky shading from lambent blue above, down through pearly-mauves and pinky-reds, all so clean and pure and placid.
　
2nd thing - on my walk on Monday to Melanes, as I was leaving town on the busy part of the road, the oddest roadkill I’ve ever seen; wish I’d taken a photo of it:

it looked like a sea bass...

Nearly 3 p.m. - Set off at eleven and walked all the way to Ayia Anna (beyond Ayios Prokopios) and the tiny chapel of St Nicholas on the point. It was hazy most of the way with a hot wind and overcast sky, not very nice walking. I tried to concentrate on roadside flowers and took lots of pictures. The land flattens out along there - which of course must be why the airport, such as it is, is located there - and there’s a large area of salt pans just by the side of the road, with a lagoon-y beach on the sea side and most of the growth is sort of sour sea-meadow stuff. Saw my first samphire on Naxos and also my first sighting of sea holly which seems to thrive, as why shouldn’t it? Then the terrain rises up in piles of rocks and the road twists and turns around them.

I missed the proper turning to Ayios Prokopios and came out on the coast just above Ayia Anna - not a very pretty approach, but the further you get towards the harbour itself the more traditional it gets, and the beach gets prettier and less grotty.

The little chapel, out on the point past all the other development, sits in its own walled courtyard, all beautifully newly-whitewashed, but alas padlocked.

It sits looking out to sea on the living rock, appropriate as St Nicholas is the patron saint of fishermen. I sat out on the breezy rocks as the wind brought in more cloud and it began to get cool. Watched a little fishing boat go by with a few blokes out for a joyride. There was an odd-shaped rock that some wag had turned into a shark by inserting a lot of pebbles into its 'mouth'.

Then a few drops of rain, and I was starting to feel a bit cold, but there was a man nearby with his fattish, bored-looking wife, who had perched himself on a neighbouring rock and was looking intently across the bay at something through his binoculars. His wife just stood there, “impatience posing as patience”. I wanted them to go and leave me peacefully on my own, and I did manage to outlast them, though by the time they went I decided it was too chilly to linger any longer and set off back towards Hora. It always seems less distance back, once it’s a Known Road, but in trying to take a shortcut along Laguna Beach and back past the Paradise Cafe, the way I went for my swim in the morning, I got so lost I almost ended up back on the main road and wandered about for an extra quarter hour getting all hot and bothered in the close still air, feeling as if I were lost in a labyrinth and going in circles. Finally I went back to the beach and found my way to a road I recognised and got home at last - the whole walk took three hours and I reckon it was about 14k, counting the extra wandering-about. The best part of it was the chapel, I'd have liked to share its spare clean restfulness with someone. The rest of the walk was at least informative in that I now know I'd prefer not to stay in either of those two villages (too touristy). There was just one private house, white with pale blue shutters and gate, that I could have borne being a guest at: out on its own between the two beaches and really lovely with big windows with no doubt wonderful views. (It occurred to me that although my German friend's house in Kouronochori has fabulous views of the valley, how could anyone bear to live on an island and not have a view of the sea?)

I tried to have a nap after my Greek-salad lunch, but was woken by some Greek bloke shouting up the stairwell; as it's all marble it echoes a treat - it sounded like the God of the Underworld summoning someone. And just now across the street one of the cleaners is having a real go at someone's room - she can't seem to do any of the chores without a LOT of noise: scraping of tables and chairs, bang-bang-banging of windows and shutters - do they not feel the job's properly done if they haven't, in doing it, managed to disturb everyone within a half-mile radius? I try to be amused at this very characteristic inclination of all the cleaners to crash about - if I weren't so sleepy it wouldn't bother me so much.

7.30 - I made a pasta tonight - clove of garlic, a chunk of red onion, a gorgeous tomato plus some macaroni and the last of the kephalotyri (what Lawrence Durrell calls 'head cheese' - perhaps the name's because it resembles a brain).After so many days of cold suppers it was delicious. After I washed up the dinner things I noticed that the backs of my hands were itchy and when I looked it was hives - couldn't think what can have caused it; I've done, eaten or touched nothing out of the ordinary. Thought it might be The Last Straw of too much sun, but the rest of me is in that same boat, and is okay. Urticaria, it's called, I suddenly remember, nettle rash (as if). It's stopped itching now but the lumps are still there.

I did three paintings today - one before my walk and two after. I remember that in Kalami I was cross after three days not to be producing anything decent, then realised that I hadn't even tried doing a sea picture, it had all been trees and so forth. And the minute I started doing water the paints just took over. In two weeks I did forty-nine paintings, about half good enough to show (and sell). This time, I've done nine in six days, not quite the production rate I'd like but then it was a better situation in Kalami, with my private little balcony where I could sit and paint all afternoon.