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.