censored skiathos journal (part 3)

+++

The south is softer – pine trees and sand, and a remarkable shortage of steep hills. The first beach I hit was again beautiful, though, for once, not quite deserted. Swam and sat under a thatched umbrella thing and read. However, it all seemed a bit too easy after the last couple of days, so headed off in search of another.

A car pulled over and asked me if I was lost. I wasn’t but accepted the lift, when the man said the beach I was headed for was his beach. His name was Georg (I think). He didn’t speak much English and me no Greek, so… I went down to his beach and it was empty, save for the beach bar which will not open for ten days. It was a beautiful beach, nice to swim in, sandy, little fishes. I went and sat on a rock to dry off, risking the evening sun on my back. Georg hollered across from the other side, where his beach bar is – Anthony, Is all yours! I hollered back at him. It was one of the best moments of the holiday. I went over and had a word with him before I left. He had a job to do, cleaning up after Winter. The island is only just getting into its stride, and I fear the best bars, the most ramshackle, will not open until I have left.

From there I walked round to another beach, famous for its sunset. Sat and had a beer and some vine leaves, which didn’t taste too good. This was the most developed beach I’d been to – still very low key, but the English in close proximity. (And a moustachioed man who spoke Greek talking about the origins of Jesus to his girlfriend/ wife). I didn’t stay too long, and then walked across my fourth beach, the famous one, Koukinaros, or some’at, which was the first I’ve seen that charged for beach loungers, and had a vast yacht anchored offshore.

The caught the bus back. As I say, a less satisfactory day. First loneliness vibes, that kind of slight sense of restlessness, not feeling anchored in your self.

+++

Tonight I feel tired. For no very good reason, so far as I can tell. It has been probably the lightest day of the holiday.

I have just got back from Skiathos. Were I met a Croatian footballer called Pinto. Who was working as a greeter for his friend’s restaurant. So he claimed. We had quite a long chat. Pinto’s worked as a footballer in Thailand and Singapore. He’s visited Australia, Brazil (Santos, an odd port of call), working in Spain. His family live in Vienna, where immigrants are not well treated. I said the Austrians were notoriously right wing, but then the Croatians are too, and he didn’t seem to bothered. He said he loved Croatia and Bosnia. He was playing football in the Spanish second division, for Las Palmas, when he broke his leg. He’s still convalescing after being in plaster for weeks on end. I asked him why he was doing this job, and he said he liked doing things, he was helping out his friend. I left to catch the bus back (Jus like London town).

That was after eating my first decent meal, at a restaurant overlooking Skiathos Town. The restaurant had about six staff and wasn’t doing great business, but walking around Skiathos, you can see the place gearing up for Summer, signs being painted, bars constructed, renovation finalised. I took some photos.

Also visited the house of the writer Papadimientes. Pretty little modest place, a sofa bed in every room, decent fireplace, homely. The translated novel was too expensive to buy, but anyway, paid my respects. He had a decent beard, looked like what writers used to look like.