11 May - I must rest my feet today, so no long walks. Try to get on with the painting! Possibly a swim? I woke at six but somehow didn't get out for that early swim I meant to do, and now I suppose though it's still early the beach will be crowded - I loathe the teeming humanity of public beaches and might possibly slope along to the next beach along the coast from Saint George to see if it's any more private. I really miss my yellow rock in Kalami (in Corfu; it was Henry Miller's favourite swimming spot in Agni Bay, just around the corner from the house where he was staying with Lawrence Durrell and Nancy back in de ole days) and that very private balcony in Paleokastritsa with the spectacular view - here I look straight into the rooms of a family with a baby - and they look straight into mine.

Later - Went for a wander early to see if I could find artichokes, but I think 7.30 is too early to find Real Food Shops open. But the Bakery (note: big sign in ENGLISH: BAKERY on front of shop) was open and I went in to buy bread and a tiropitta (cheese pie) for lunch. But the elderly moustachioed man behind the counter just yelled at me in Greek when I asked for a cheese pie (in Greek) and when I said I didn't understand what he was telling me he just yelled louder. He seemed very cross that I couldn't understand him. But why then have 'BAKERY' in English on your shop sign? I came away feeling very bruised and battered (metaphorically), telling myself I was being much too sensitive

Came back to the studio and unpacked my paints at last and after a couple of disheartening false starts I remembered a painter friend of mine observing that the ones he liked best of previous efforts were ones that were "my take" on the place, so I stopped trying to reproduce 'as seen' and dredged-up my feelings about the places I'd seen. And of course that made it much easier. But my 'new' neighbours in the next studio are hanging-about and making me feel overlooked here on my balcony, though I've pulled out the shutter of the door so I have a bit of privacy from them actually watching what I'm doing. As if they were interested anyway! I wish they'd clear off to the beach and leave me in peace.
I ought to go out myself and see what the beach is like in the mornings. I've only been there in the late afternoon as yet.

I've now been invaded - at nine am - by the housekeeper (probably the same one who woke me up shouting the other day) who insisted I move my stuff off the bed so she could change the sheets (do they change them every day? I'd rather they spend less on washing and a little more on decent pillows; I have a choice between a bolster-like wad and one that's all lumps) Well. Sometimes hospitality means benevolent neglect. One feels a bit harassed by too much vigorous looking-after.

There's a Sanctuary of Dionysus that looks on the map to be just about a mile and a half out of town, I could go see that tomorrow.

Afternoon - went out and did all my chores but still couldn't find artichokes. But I'm delighted to have found a lovely little private piece of beach where the sand is more pebbly and I can bask and read and sleep without being overlooked, where I'm settled as I write this. So much more my style. Sun's just been dimmed by a circular hazy cloud but otherwise it's been tirelessly blazing-down. This little spit of land is between St George beach and what the map calls Laguna Bay (I think) - you have to cross a little sort of sea-meadow to get to it and it's quite hidden from the main beaches. Over my right shoulder I can see Hora and the ferry - the Kastro rising up very picturesquely on its hill. That must be the ferry from Santorini, the one I'd have been on last week if I'd flown. Over my left shoulder I can see the mountains of Naxos rising up tier on tier, dark greens and grey-greens and buff colours. There's been a skylark singing on and off all afternoon; I can't see him but I'm pretty sure he's nearby.

6 pm Back at the studio, another clothes-wash (one of the downsides of travelling light, not much backup - when things need washing you can't put it off) and now a cup of mint tea and an orange. Flavours of Greek holidays - oranges, coffee, almond chocolate, ouzo, paximadia (little dry biscuits, either savoury or sweet), those rich luscious tomatoes you can't get in the UK. After a long sunny afternoon I'm hiding behind my shutters - feeling I've had enough to satisfy me - two swims from my little beach; the water was lovely and silky and of course, being the Med, much more buoyant. I'd have stayed in longer but there was a young man prowling-around near my stuff - no doubt he was harmless but I dared not risk camera and Ipod and passport and all the rest of it...

12 May - Sitting in the shade of the pines at the Sanctuary of Dionysus - so far, despite the thrill of the Apollo statues, this is the nicest thing I've done. The walk became Country almost straight from the door of the hotel, and as it's high harvest season the fields were aglow with new-cut hay and the hedges and roadside full of charlock, poppies, mallow, horned poppy, wild marigold, oleander, geraniums (yes!) and the bits of uncut corn were pale pale buff against the green.

Practically the only traffic was wonderfully elderly, rusty tractors driven by wiry men seamed with dust and leathery with the sun. And so it got more and more rural and the road narrowed between high ramparts of greenery, and then a little sign pointed down a track to the site. I was astonished when I realised it's a real sanctuary - I was just expecting a hot dusty pile of archaeological rubble but as you enter through the gate there is a group of trees shielding the main site, then you walk along a path through an area of beautifully-kept vines and another of olive trees, to the main courtyard. The site has been cleared and some of the columns re-set, and the rough boundaries of the area have been indicated.

Up a set of steps you can view an arrangement of sliding screens depicting what the temple would have been like in its various manifestations, from a fairly basic structure in the 9th century BC to a more elaborate one in 750 BC and a little gem around 530 BC. You can look through the glass of the screens on which these are drawn, to the actual site where the temple stood, and it gives such a good clear idea of what it might have been like.

There's one repro column with an Ionic capital set up to one side of the temple area, to give an idea of the scale. Little trees- tamarisk I think - are dotted around the main temple courtyard and a walkway runs all around the main site so you can view from above the "banqueting hall" (about the size of a child's bedroom). Beyond the courtyard and peripheral buildings there's a little pine wood, where the foot falls silently on needle carpet and sun sifts gently through the shade. It's all so well cared-for - rafts of Hottentot fig and a surrounding hedge of oleanders all seem well-watered and looked after. There's none of that atmosphere you so often find in Greece of neglect and indifference, of disconnectedness with what it meant to people of the past - it feels the same as the Sanctuary of Asklepios at Epidauros on mainland Greece, as if the sense of peace and tranquillity had continued unbroken from ancient times. When I came in the trees were full of chirping sparrows and even now there's a continual soothing sound of cicadas and birds in the pines. Though it's a very hot day out there, here under the pines it's cool and with a glorious breeze. I could stay here for hours. And not another soul in sight except for one chap pruning some trees and another watering the plants. Even the dog tied-up at the gate was friendly, a first in Greece.

Later - After I wrote that I roamed-about over the site again, and the chap pruning the trees came over to talk. (I'd already seen that the 'chap' watering the plants was a woman). His enthusiasm and dedication were glowingly obvious; he explained the history of the excavations, so enthusiastically that his words tumbled over themselves, and said that the last building on the site was a Christian church. One might almost resent the way Christians would barge in on ancient sites, but of course there is the argument that the numinousness of such places attracts worship anyway. But I could see that his real pride was in the exquisite presentation of the place; he was like the Priest of the Sanctuary (and I could ‘read’ the woman watering the plants as his wife; priests in ancient times, as in the Greek Orthodox church today, did have wives) and I could see that he appreciated my obvious respect and strong response to the atmosphere. I told him that the only other place I’ve felt the same sort of peace was the Sanctuary of Asklepios at Epidauros and his face lit up, he knew what I meant. He let me take his picture (thinking, in truly self-effacing manner, that I was at first asking him to take my picture) with the very friendly dog, who wanted to play with me the whole time I was talking with the Custodian. I really didn’t want to leave, I lingered even going out; the forecourt was still full of chittering sparrows in the trees. As I walked out along the track back to the main road, a couple of tourists in a hired car passed me, going in. I wondered what they would make of the place, whether they would sense the atmosphere too, or if for them it was just another place to tick off a list.

Getting ideas for all sorts of new work from the textures and colours of the things I’m seeing in the countryside - lots of new inspiration, particularly from the juxtaposition of the tangles of wildflowers along the sides of the road and then the neatly-cut and baled fields making a contrast. Also the textures and variations of colour in the marble you see everywhere.

Later - Out in my favourite beach spot; really it’s almost like a tiny island on its own, a sort of thumbnail sticking out into the sea between the two beaches. The sun’s getting filtered by a bit of fine cloud so it isn’t too harsh, and I’ve had two swims already. I think this bubbly-looking rock on the sides of my little beach is called tufa, you can see in places where it came surging-up against something else which has since worn away, making such strange and contorted shapes.

I was pondering as I walked back from the Sanctuary this morning how on Monday, just when I was feeling at my most thwarted and about to be overwhelmed by vicissitude, two nice things happened almost by serendipity, help from the German lady who let me fill my water bottle and gave me directions, and then, just in case that wasn’t enough, bumping into that kind crowd of Canadians, so it was impossible for me not to achieve the goal I’d set. It just reminds you that no matter how despairing you might find yourself feeling, it would be wrong to give in to it, and throw in the towel altogether. However foolish you may feel, just keep trying...(I think it’s generally my attitude anyway, but nice to have it more or less reiterated for me by circumstance).

I might try a walk to Ayia Prokopia tomorrow. It’s along past the airport, such as it is, on the flat part of the island, another area of beach and holiday accommodation, with I think not much else there, but it would be a good walk and you never know what you might find.

Bedtime - I went out for a wander in the Bourgos this evening after my supper, came back with a kataifi - one of those terribly sweet honey confections the Greeks do so well, this type looks like Shredded Wheat that’s had an argument with a honeycomb - from a wonderful shop that also sells kourabiedes, delicious sort of shortcake biscuits with almonds in them and covered in confectioner’s sugar. The lady behind the counter, extraordinarily brisk but not unfriendly (perhaps she just wanted to close up), said a box of them would be ten euros. I shall go back before I leave, they’d make a great present for my friends in France who are putting up with me for nearly a week on my way home.