censored skiathos journal (part 1)

Arrived here about 7pm local time. My bag came off the carousel first up, something that’s never happened before. I went out and was directed onto a bus. Sat on the bus for 45 minutes. When it was time for the bus to leave, the battery was flat. We all got off the bus and they push started it. The bus ticked over. Everyone got back on. The bus cut out. We got on another bus. It was gone 9 by the time we reached the hotel.

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Bought myself some bread for breakfast and washing up liquid and jam and tea.

Then went for a walk up the hill behind this particular bit of the island, whose name I still do not know. From the top of the hill, about an hour’s climb, I saw Skiathos Town, but chose not to venture down. Got a bit lost at the top of the hill, following a trail which became a bit meadowy then disintegrated into low scrub. I could see a road I wanted to connect to, but came to the conclusion that short cuts might be in short supply here. Apparently there are interesting things on the other side of the island, which will involve some hard walking, which will keep me occupied.

Also started reading Proust, after deliberation. (Proust versus Pynchon). Think he will keep me entertained. Paused to go down to the beach for a swim in the sea. It is very beautiful here. It reminds me of Isla de Miel – an island surrounded by other misty islands which rise out of the sea like witnesses. The water is clear and fresh. The beach none too crowded. A bit disappointed that everyone here seems to be English – have heard no German or Spanish or French being spoken, as you might have expected. The majority of fellow holidaymakers appear to be elderly couples or young families. Have spotted one middle aged gay couple, something of a relief to see something disturbing the nuclear norm. On my walk I passed not a single other walker. I remembered in Bolivia, Isla de Sol, when I went on the cross island trek with Rafa and the two Spanish girls, and we were but a part of a chain of walkers. I guess if you’ve made it to Bolivia you are possessed of a more energetic disposition. We shall see. Firstly if I sustain my walking, and secondly if I come across others on my travels.

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‘The Englishman’s sense of logic, so admirable in finance and in everything associated with an art that brings in money at the end of each week, becomes confused and loses its thread as soon as you rise to somewhat more abstract subjects that don’t directly bring in any money.’

Stendahl, Memoires of an Egotist