25 AUGUST - DAY 1
Thanks to my daughter Nevada, I got a lift to Heathrow in good time – before 7am – and found that the flight was definitely on. The reason I hadn't been able to check in online, an airport official explained, was because they had to see your QR code live and in person before you could check in. I said it was a pity that that wasn't explained on BA's website – and he reluctantly agreed.
Security always seems to be a nightmare – or is it me? Perhaps a bit of each. I put all my liquids in my plastic bag and then a security man replaced my plastic bag with his plastic bag – which looked identical – and said I had to use that one.
Then my case was pulled over and a security woman told me it was because I had liquids in the case. I told her I didn't – but of course it turned out that I had two little phials of suncream (for emergency use – I have hardly used any suncream since I had a skin cancer several years ago) in the case, which I'd forgotten about, so she announced somewhat geelfully that she would have to search the whole case. I asked her if she could be careful since it had taken me ages to get everything in and in the right place.
"I don't enjoy doing this, you know," she told me.
"And I don't enjoy watching you do it," I replied. I might not have minded her sticking her magic wand into my personal possessions if she had looked like my idea of Circe, but she was masked and her eyes, what I could see of them, looked far more malevolent than seductive. After disturbing my immaculate packing, she then put all the liquids in the plastic bag and told me that because the bag couldn't be sealed, then I couldn't take everything. I said I reckoned I could get it all to fit in the plastic bag and seal it but I would have to take everything out and start again.
"Go on, then," she said.
"Well, give me a moment."
"I'm giving you a moment." My first attempt failed.
"Don't you think this is ridiculous?" I asked her.
"So, you think security is ridiculous? Do you want to talk to my manager?"
"No," I said, quickly realising where this was heading. The last time I'd had trouble at Heathrow – because I refused to go through a full-body x-ray machine – I ended up being taken to a backroom, had my suitcase emptied out and nearly missed my plane. "I mean it's ridiculous that if I can fit all these things in this bag and seal it up, then they are all right... but if I can't manage to fit them in and seal it, they are not all right. Don't you think it's a bit daft?"
It was obviously – and I suppose understandably – more than her job was worth to see the silly side of it. Anyway, I got the bag sealed on the second attempt and was allowed to keep everything... and she left me having to repack my suitcase while she went and put some other poor sod through a similar routine. But she wasn't enjoying it... Oh no...
The flight was brilliant. Thanks to the plague, it was probably the quietest flight I've ever been on, and I – like many other passengers – had three seats to myself. Plus there were the most amazing views of the Alps on a clear and brilliant day.
At Athens airport, officials were taking cursory glances at our QR codes and then we whipped through customs and were free!
It was a delight to be on the X95 Syntagma Express – even though these Athens buses have probably the hardest seats in the world. It was quite a test of my Alexander Technique of "active sitting" but my backside just about survived. Everyone on the bus was masked and distancing and sweltering in the heat. And then suddenly we were all spilling out outside the Greek Parliament and seeking shade from the 31C heat under the trees of Syntagma Square.
A long, hot walk took me down Stadiou to Omonia and then through the backstreets to the Hotel Argo – from which I was immediately transferred. "We are moving you somewhere else which is better," said the woman at reception. So I stayed at the Argo for about five or ten minutes and then a man arrived from my new hotel – which he said was three minutes' walk away, and it was.
"Er, why can't I stay at the Argo?" I asked as we were nearly sliced in half crossing a main road. "This place is better," he said. "And there has been some mischief with the air conditioning at the Argo. And there is also a water problem. Don't worry – the same people own both these hotels." I didn't worry – too much.
So then we arrived at the less appealingly named (for an odyssey) Albion Hotel – where my fifth-floor room appeared to be clean and OK, although the narrow veranda looked down onto what looked like a builders' tip. Mind you, I was so high up that this didn't really spoil the view – as long as I looked up not down.
Well, I made it to the start of the odyssey. Now I probably need to do a bit more planning. But at least I've got some breathing space and a whole day in Athens tomorrow.
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| Room with a dreadful view Photo©Nigel Summerley |
26 AUGUST - DAY 2
I slept on and off through a noisy night that made south London seem quite peaceful. Traffic, sirens, raucous and incomprehensible shouts, and at about 2am a man repeatedly screaming the same phrase (which didn't sound something pleasant) followed by a loud and nasty bang, as if something metal was being struck on something metal. Eventually things settled down a little. I had to turn off the air conditioning, partly because it too was too noisy, and partly because of fears that somehow it might be spreading the plague into my room. The Albion and the Argos may have a good ruse going here... you book people into one hotel and then transfer them to the other, telling them that the one they are going to is much better. Then, even though you are in a fairly shitty place, you breathe a sigh of relief that you weren't in the other place. They couldn't be doing that, could they? Having walked around last night and looked at the neighbourhood more closely from my balcony this morning, I realise now that almost every building adjacent and around the area is either fully or partially derelict. This is not a good place. I'm giving the shower a miss because it appears to drain into a hole full of foul-looking water, and I don't want to take the risk of standing there if or when it overflows. The TV doesn't work, which is probably a blessing, and nor do some of the lights. I must be tired because I can't be bothered to go and complain. But then, when you pay £30 a night in the centre of Athens, I guess you can't really expect anything approaching luxury.
It now turns out that the Albion Hotel is a Fawlty Towers tribute act. I spent most of the day in my room or on my balcony in the sunshine but as it started to cool – a little – I decided to go to the National Archaeological Museum, which is not far up the road from here. It was wonderful to see the gold death mask of Agamemnon (allegedly) from Mycenae along with a horde of other golden goodies from ancient times plus that amazing statue of Poseidon. I did my obeisance to him and said a prayer for the journey – since it was Poseidon's wrath that kept Odysseus on the road for 10 years.
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| Full-frontal Poseidon Photo©Nigel Summerley |
But Poseidon, it seems, may be having a laugh at my expense... when I got back, the manager of the hotel told me I couldn't go to my room for a while because the air conditioning men were working in there.
What did he mean exactly? "They are replacing the air conditioning unit." I told him I needed to use my room. When I got there, there were two men (who didn't speak English or Greek) in my room, plus all their gear, in the middle of what looked like a major and messy operation. I went back to the manager to complain more seriously. Why couldn't this work be done after I'd gone tomorrow. It couldn't, he said. I told him that I hadn't complained about the TV not working, or the shower looking dodgy, or some of the lights not working because I didn't want the aggravation. But this was too much. The TV does work, he said. No, it doesn't. Yes, it does. "I can go on like this all night," he said. "And so can I," I said. I think we had both met our match.
He offered to buy me dinner – which I didn't want. He offered me the chance to move to another room – which I didn't want. He offered me my money back for one night, and I said yes. I returned to my room and asked the workmen why they weren't wearing masks. They explained that they didn't have any. I gave them one each. I tried to do some writing but couldn't. In the end, I gave in and told the manager I'd take his offer of another room. I packed all my stuff and he gave me a key to another room on the floor below. It was actually a much better room (which wasn't difficult) so, after I'd unpacked and settled in, I went and told him to forget about the refund – I was reasonably happy – a truce has been called.
27 AUGUST - DAY 3
The perfidious Albion is behind me... just as I was leaving, the man who had escorted me from the Argo to the Albion two days ago, telling me of "mischief with the air conditioning" at the Argo, came in and asked me if I had had a good time.
"No," I said. "You told me that you were moving me to this place because it was better than the Argo. It actually seems worse." I told him about returning to find two workmen messing up my room with tools and air conditioning units.
"I'm sorry. These things happen," he said, as if that kind of excused it.
"These things shouldn't happen in a hotel in a room where a guest is staying. It's not acceptable. I'm passing through Athens again soon, but I certainly won't be staying here."
"Thank you," he said, as I headed for the door.
I will be passing through Athens on 3 October because I have had to do a major rejig of the odyssey itinerary. Ithaca is going to come at the end, rather than halfway through. I'll have a few days in Patras to try to get my negative coronavirus test result so that I can get into Italy. Then, instead of going from Latina to Rome and Milan and Paris, I will take a train to Bari, reactivate my ticket from Bari to Patras, take a bus to Astakos and get a ferry to Ithaca. From Ithaca, I will double back via Astakos to Athens and take a plane back to London on 4 October.
I tried to change my Ithaca apartment booking but the owners said I had to do it on booking.com... which proved impossible. So I've cancelled it altogether and paid a late cancellation penalty (and also complained to booking.com about the Iris Apartments' unhelpfulness – all they have seemed to want me to do for several days was to cancel – that way they don't have to bother with me and get €51 for doing very little).
Leaving Athens proved easy. A warm walk up past the National Archaeological Museum again and on to the bus station at Mavromateon, next to the Areos Park. It took a while to find the right stop for Rafina Port, since it was quite some way from the stop that had a large sign saying Rafina Port.
I had some help from a slow-moving, elderly man with a walking stick who was also bound for Rafina where he has been living for the past three years. Before that he had lived in Athens since 1972. He was an old East Africa hand and seemed delighted to bump into someone from the UK. He had spent some time in Brighton and Carshalton when he was younger. With the best will in the world, one would have to say he looked as if he had had a tough life. Walking was difficult because of one knee in bad shape, and his face looked as if it had been broken at some time. He explained that he had been in a head-on car smash in 1968. What happened?
"I drove straight into a bus," he confessed, adding in mitigation: "I couldn't see clearly because I was dazzled by its lights." He hadn't broken any bones but there had been an injury around his left eye and he had had to have a tracheotomy.
"So you're lucky to be alive," I said.
"Yes!" he smiled.
We waited for the bus driver to finish his onboard cigar and then we all donned masks and got on board...
Rafina is Piraeus Lite... in fact, very lite. You don't have to go hunting for your ferry – it's right there in front of you. And there's a decent beach and some decent tavernas where you can pass the time before departure.
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| Rafina beach Photo©Nigel Summerley |
There were random temperature checks on us as we boarded – they didn't bother doing me – and we handed in our bits of paper swearing that we were virus-free. There is nothing quite like a Greek ferry – there can't be many better ways to travel or better sea routes to follow...
Masks were mandatory on the ferry... but once we hit Andros, they became less so. We surged off the ferry and headed for where the buses were parked. I didn't really have to do much... before I knew it, my case was in the hold and I was seated aboard the bus to the Chora.
Andros in the evening sunshine was truly beautiful. And unbelievable were the windsurfers of Gavrio... I have never seen so many together, and so many who appeared to know what they were doing. They sped sublimely over the wide blue water, sparkling in the sunlight. It was like a film of some marvellous future on a blue planet where people did graceful, beautiful, happy things.
An hour later we were in the Chora. I had asked the bus driver for the stop I had been told to ask for, but when we got there he didn't announce it. Instead a woman standing by the bus said something quietly to the driver and then he shouted loudly: "Malta Bay!" several times, each time sounding more and more exasperated.
Suddenly and daftly, I realised that he was saying Maltabe... the name of the studios I was heading for. I jumped up and apologised and grumpily he let me out to go and get my case. The quiet woman, in a tasteful floral dress, spoke little English and I spoke little Greek, but we seemed to communicate perfectly OK. And she led me to a place that was the complete opposite of the Albion Hotel: light, spacious, clean, filled with things that worked, like a TV, fridge, toastmaker, coffeemaker, lights, and a spotless bathroom with spotless shower.
The only downside was that I looked in the mirror and realised that I'd got sunburn. I couldn't believe it – I'd sat on the beach at Rafina for just 50 minutes but I was really red. Cocoa butter was applied before bedtime. Before that I took a brief stroll down the mainstreet to get some water (not realising that there was a fresh bottle of water in the fridge) and ended up in the most eccentric grocery store I have ever seen... since it was more like someone's spare room, with all sorts of "stuff" piled on shelves along with the groceries – books, toys, musical instruments. "Oriste!" said the woman owner, popping up from behind some shelves, as if to say: "Yes, it's a crazy place... enjoy!"
28 AUGUST - DAY 4
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| Resting in peace Photo©Nigel Summerley |
I visit the local cemetery, because that appears to be a good locator for the start of the walk I plan to do. Initially, it seems like a place of unabashed hubris, with its over-the-top mini-temples for the boxed-up dead. A statue of one Mr Maöritis sits nonchalantly cross-legged at the first mausoleum.
Andros is blessed with an extensive and well-kept network of walking paths. It's not long after I set out on a seven-mile hike around the area to the south-east of Chora that I find myself declaring that these must be the best paths on any Greek island (of which I have walked quite a few over the years). They are not only clear and easy on the feet, but also unambiguously numbered and waymarked. It's more like a motorway network for pedestrians than the often-petering-out monopati of some of the other islands. Almost everything is so green – even in late August. Only the grass is burnt to golden straw. The main danger while out walking seems to be the possibility of being splatted by a falling fig. Fig trees overhang much of the first part of the way. Olives, tomatoes and vines are all verdant and growing.
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| Photo©Nigel Summerley |
Sometimes the going is tough and mountainous. There are chapels to visit along the way, but the one that I pop into looks like it has definitely seen better days. I say a prayer for a friend – and also find myself adding on that it would be good if a cleaner could pay a visit here.
The best break is 20 minutes lying in the shade of a beautiful, bountiful green tree with dry, brown leaves beneath for a surprisingly comfortable bed. A blissful little moment.
I've walked for four hours and I'm almost tempted to head up a mountainous path to the Panachrantou Monastery. But after a few paces, I decide it is probably a bit mad on the first day of walking and relentless heat. Instead I drop back down to the Chora to look for a supermarket. I don't find one and I get lost in the utter maze of streets. Finally, just when I think I've still got a long way to go, I realise that I am just outside the steps leading down to Maltabe Studios.
I popped out later to get a bottle of tequila... no, I didn't think I'd find one on a Greek island, but I did. A shot (or two) of tequila is part of the tradition of my Friday night "lockdown" catch-ups with my friends Gary and Carmen, who recently decamped to Spain. It was lovely to see them tonight yet again.
29 AUGUST - DAY 5
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| Aphrodite of Andros Photo©Nigel Summerley |
I book accommodation in Ithaca – being positive about the fact that I will make it. I also book a room in Athens for one night on the way back – not at the Argo/Albion/Fawlty Towers Tribute. Booking.com asked me for a review of that place and when I gave an honest one, they said their moderator judged that it couldn't go up in the form that it was... Did I want to amend it? No, I said, adding that it was the worst hotel experience I have had in the past 50 years of travelling. I haven't heard anything more from them.
I visit the Archaeological Museum of Andros and get in half-price (€2 instead of €4) because I am old. Apart from atmospheric statues of Hermes and Artemis, there's not much here to excite. There's quite a bit of ancient "coarse ware" which is... er, coarse. After the Archaeological Museum in Athens, this is all a bit mundane but the place still has some magic – plus lots of information about the history of the island.
The Chora is a tricksy maze. I passed another visitor coming up one of the countless stairways as I was going down. He had a map in his hand and was heaving a tremendous sigh. I knew how he felt. I had just calculated from the map that came with my ferry voucher for Tinos where the travel agency was where I had to pick up my ticket. It turned out that the arrow on the map not only didn't point to the right street – it didn't even point to the right town. It was actually in Gavrio, the port that I had arrived at – one hour away on the other side of the island. I only found this out when I called in at another agency – after several circuits and changes of approach to where this mythical agency might have been. For €1 I could pick up the ticket here, said the woman in the agency. It seemed like a good deal, since I didn't have time to go to Gavrio and back – and there won't be time to pick it up in three days' time, when the early-morning bus from Chora will arrive in the port with only a few minutes to spare before the 10am ferry departure.
Andros has a Museum of Modern Art which has lots of unusual and original pieces, plus a few duds.
I return to the apartment to find cake, presumably left by the woman in the floral dress.
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| Photo©Nigel Summerley |
I walk north to the village of Arikia and then up to the Pythara "waterfalls", not as spectacular as that might sound, but there are some beautiful spots where a stream trickles down the hillside. A family with small kids were playing at the best waterfall spot where paddling and splashing about were possible. I left them to it and finally arrived at the highest point a beautiful glade with pools of water – which would have been peaceful but for a couple of couples, with the men noisily doing their best to impress the women. I sat for a while waiting for them to leave me some quiet, but in the end it became apparent that they were staying and I headed back down. The walk took around 3 hr 30 min. Back in town I had my first swim of the trip, at Nimborio Bay... and only my third swim since the start of the lockdown, so a real treat.
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| Nimborio Bay, Andros Photo©Nigel Summerley |
I return to find shower fixed. Which is great – until it starts leaking again later in the evening.
An email from my friend Z in Latina updates me on the situation in Italy. "I don't think anybody, including the authorities, have a clear picture of things, nor, I think, can they," she says. "But there does seem to have been a steep rise in cases, in a region which had almost none. Seemingly because of youngsters partying like there's no tomorrow (can't in my heart blame them... but now police and the law are clamping down again), and because of people having gone on holiday abroad thinking it was safe but coming back with covid."
And the news about getting a covid test is not all good: "I've heard that there are kilometre-long queues for the special unit set up outside the Latina hospital. Probably again, because of the surge from youngsters and returning holidaymakers. I'll try to find out a few days before you come, no point in doing it before because the situation keeps evolving so much (and there's never any point in doing things before their time in Italy, believe me...)"
30 AUGUST - DAY 6
A very exciting morning, doing some washing... and a real bonus is that there is an iron and an ironing board in the apartment. I haven't actually ironed anything for about six years. To be somewhere where you could wash things, hang them outside, have them almost dry and then perfectly iron them is just amazing. Or am I going a bit peculiar?
The lovely lady visits the apartment while I am naked apart from a scarf around my waist and asks if she can come in and tidy up. I say it's not necessary – but she insists. I mention the shower leak again and show her.
"Avrio," she says. That is, tomorrow.
I sit outside while she changes towels that don't really need changing. When she leaves I mention that I still have to pay for my five nights here.
"Avrio," she says and disappears back upstairs.
I visit the cemetery again, where the graves (all above ground and housed in splendid templettes) must have cost more than some people's houses. It's a beautiful place to be shut up for eternity.
Kiriaki – Sunday. So most things seem to be shut. Apart from the crazy shop. I'm tempted to call in there later to see if they have any cigars. I promised myself one to smoke on Z's balcony... and one to smoke on Ithaca if and when I complete the odyssey.
31 AUGUST - DAY 7
So the first week is almost done! Early today I emailed ten doctors on the UK government's list for mainland Greece – all in Athens, none anywhere else – for help re covid tests. By the end of the day... not one reply. I was awake before 5am and went down to Nimborio Bay for a swim at 7am. What looked like a couple of migrant workers were asleep in a double bed in the carpark by the beach. When I left, they – and their bed – had gone.
At 11am (9am UK time) I did an online Alexander Technique lesson with Ellie Ribeaux – much more relaxing doing it in Greece. Then I set off for the third and final walk on Andros – just under two hours to Syneti Bay.
This was a tough walk at times. One of the hill climbs was up a stairway with 462 steps. That's two and a half times the number at Covent Garden tube station in London – but they came with a much better view and much better air.
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| Photo©Nigel Summerley |
The waves at narrow Syneti Bay come in high and fast compared with those on the bigger beaches. They will buffet you and attempt to remove your swimming costume – if you have one. It's a quiet spot so no one seems to bother what you wear or don't wear. On a day when the temperature hit 40C I was slightly concerned for one woman who seemed intent on baking her breasts to the limit – they and the rest of her body were beyond brown.
It was a hard walk, but the upside of going up is that you'll be coming down. However, my legs feel as if they have been used for the first time in months – which is more or less the case. On the way back to Chora, I stopped for a calmer swim at Paraporti Bay on the edge of the town.
I went to the crazy shop and discussed cigars with the owner. She recommended some large-ish Italian ones but in the end I bought some Meharis cheroots – they always remind me of Paris where I once smoked them while recovering from a love affair that didn't go well (do they ever?) So I will smoke one with Z in Latina if I get there – and if she's still smoking. And I will smoke another one on Ithaca.
So much of holidaying in Greece seems to be about "couples". I'm glad I'm not part of a "couple" – and I'm glad this isn't exactly a holiday. Maybe the only way the "couples" thing works is if there is a certain amount of compromise – or delusion?
In the evening I visited the Petros and Marika Kydonieos Foundation – and saw the current exhibition of Greek cartoon humour. Quite funny, even though I understood very little of the captions. A wonderful place and admission is free.
After that I treated myself to a meal at Ta Skalakia – a restaurant with initially no customers but which looked as though it would be really good. It was.
I need to see if this journal will make a book. Unbound, the crowdfunding website, seems like a good idea. I need to write a proposal.
Will the odyssey actually happen? I think you have to believe it will.
When I was walking past a village on the first day here, I smelt marijuana and heard the BeeGees. You have to believe that anything is possible...
The waiter at Ta Skalakia was wearing gloves and a mask; and that made me feel guilty – his having to do that to serve us and desperately try to keep things going for him and his boss and the country.
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