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.....