Chapter 5

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For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, Mel became infatuated with swimming pools during our time in the Islands. On every island we ended up going to we spent at least one night at a hotel with a pool. Often, hotels with pool facilities cost far more than their non-pool equipped competitors. This would not have been so hard to swallow if my otherwise long-suffering-other half were to make full use of such premium facilities. In hindsight, I can safely say that I would be surprised if Mel spent more than a combined 45 minutes in all of the pools we had access to. Not by the pool or looking at the pool, but in the pool. In the water. If I had known that in advance, I might have put my foot down and opted for more reasonably priced accommodation. As it was, my aim was to please.

With this aim to please and motivated by the pool-equipped-at-bargain priced Hotel Atlantis we had found the day before at Naoussa, Mel and I leapt out of our beds and packed in preparation for our move to Naoussa. It made no real sense to do so – we were leaving Paros the day after, the port was easy walking distance from the Hotel Stella and there was nothing really wrong with our room. Nevertheless, pack we did and move we did (How very Yoda of me).

One benefit of moving to Naoussa was that there were a couple of beaches that were just a hop, skip ad a boat ride away. The hot tip we had in regard to the beach we should frequent was Monastiri. Now, I would like to tell you that Monastiri was a fantastic beach. I would like to tell you that the water at Monastiri was clear and warm. I would like to tell you that the beach at Monastiri was crowded enough to allow for a modicum of people watching and sparse enough to allow for the occupation of a patch of sand large enough to avoid that feeling of beach-claustrophobia, should there be such an affliction. Hell, I would be reasonably pleased if I could tell you that Monastiri had a crap beach, that was cramped and where the water was inundated with seaweed. The fact of the matter is that I have no opinion at all. This, of course, must be the case because we never went to Monastiri. Never saw the beach. Never got to put my towel on the banana lounge for hire. Never got to shake the sand out of my towel and onto the couple unfortunate enough to have chosen a patch of sand beside Mel and I, nor were we unfortunate enough to have made the mistake of choosing a patch of sand beside a similarly towel-shaking couple.

You see, for all the talk in the various Greek Islands guide books of the wonderful beaches at Paros there is one thing about Paros that, I believe, is underemphasised and somewhat mitigates the attraction of said beaches. In fact, Paros is plentiful in the one of the four natural enemies of the beach: wind (rain, sharks and donkey urine being the other three. ‘Donkey urine?’ you ask. Patience, dear reader. All will be revealed …). Paros is windy. More importantly, Paros in Autumn can really be quite windy, and without the offset of ridiculously sunny weather – which is de rigour in summer. But most importantly, if you are thinking I am making a big deal about the wind and its effect on having fun in the sun by the beach then I should make clear now that my partner in Greek Island-crime on this particular occasion has an aversion to wind and beaches that borders on fervency.

The upshot of this is that Mel got to pick her hotel with a pool – the Hotel Atlantis – and for the only time on our trip, as it turns out, we got good use out of it. Mel got to sun herself for the first time on our trip and I got to read my current Bill Bryson book. Oh, and we both took the occasional dip. This may not sound like much, and I hate to reiterate, but this is about as imposing as we were to get on any pool we had the fortune to frequent (or is that cost a fortune to frequent?).

But back to Bill Bryson: I love Bill. Well, I love the way Bill writes. Witty, intelligent, interesting and not just a little puncey. But I never finish his books. Short History of the World, Troublesome Words (which is a reference and not really a book, I imagine), Made in America … it is not like I don’t like them, but I run out of puff. I am not certain whether it is me who runs out of steam or Bill who becomes increasingly incessant about things in which I have no interest as the book winds its way to its conclusion. Nevertheless, the copy of Down Under I brought with me represented my fourth attempt at finishing a book written by Mr Bryson. I wanted to know whether he viewed Australia through a similar looking glass as I did and if I could not finish one of his books on the Greek Islands, where being lazy and reading books was my modus operendi, then I would give up on his books once and for all.

It might sound like we had an uneventful day, but I can sum up most of the day in three sentences: We woke up at 10am that morning, were out of the Hotel Stella by 10:45 am to catch the 11am bus to take us to the Atlantis and dropped off our bags in one of the ‘garden rooms’ there; By noon we had lunch and by 1pm we found out that getting to a Paros beach by boat was not an option due to the wind; We made it back to the hotel to hang out around the pool. That’s it. But after the effort of getting to the islands, I was eager to do a lot of nothing.

I punctuated my time by the pool by looking up from my book and laughing from time to time – thanks, Bill – while Mel listened to her iPod. Time was ticking by, but before it came time to start thinking about the 4pm snooze, Mel and I took a walk into and around the town. We took some great photos around the coastline, which was far less developed than I would have expected of any coastline. Nevertheless, buildings were going up. I love the simplicity of the Greek house – they put up a square, concrete frame, they then fill up the gaps with brick and paint the whole lot white. Viola – authentic Greek accommodation.

All of this walking around made us very tired, so it was time for a snooze and post snooze dinner. Dinner was about the least satisfying of our entire trip. We grabbed a spot in a restaurant by the water. As friendly as our waiter was, it did not make up for what was, from the start, an ordinary experience. About now, I should mention that the Greeks love cats. Cats were everywhere in Greece, much to my chagrin and Mel’s delight. They are all strays, yet they are all looked after by the locals. They are in the streets, by the wharves, in people’s homes. And in the restaurants. In fact, they were in the restaurant in which we were eating. Two cats were fighting throughout the restaurant. At first it was little funny. Then it was, like, enough already. I hoped that those who worked there might throw a little cold water on them – that ought to have done the trick. But nobody threw any water, because cats in Greece really do get their own way.

Anyway, back to our friendly waiter, whose approach to serving could best be described as just a bit leisurely. Just a bit. In a fateful moment of indecision, we took up the waiter on his offer to order for us. We didn’t qualify this at all, so I ended up with fish dip.

Now, fish dip for me is one of those foods that I don’t understand how people enjoy it. Fish balls are another. Tuna from a tin is another. The common theme, of course, is that I do not like fish. Unfortunately, the fish dip looked much like hommus and I took a great big swig. I didn’t do it twice.

Then there was the after-meal shot. I accept that most nationalities have some form of moonshine as part of their backwater cuisine, but for me to have one with dinner would be to suggest that I were eating in a backwater. Hmmm …

All’s the while I am staring at a balding – and I mean really balding - lady at the table next to me. My understanding is that women – as a group, worldwide – are increasingly balding. But in Greece more women seem to be going more bald, more often. We saw them everywhere. The upside of this is that they never seemed to wear scarves, so clearly it was not a source of embarrassment within their community. But, again, back to our friendly waiter.

As I get older I am increasingly aware that people are, well, people. This maxim leads to a number of profound observations, including one that a waiter who is as annoying in his tardiness as he is in his fish dip food selection may be the father of a particularly delightful young boy. In particular, I found much delight in the young boy who was the son of our fish dip selecting waiter of tardy disposition not only because he was playing with his dino-mechanical shooting toy thingamajig with the kind of gusto that only a young boy can muster, but he was the only local in the entire restaurant to display any disdain to the still-fighting cats by shooting them with said dino-toy. You have got to love kids.

The night came to an end with a inoffensive bill of €20 between us – including drinks – which almost made up for the otherwise lack lustre meal experience. Almost.

That was just about it for Mel and me in Naoussa. But before leaving, I had a unique opportunity to test my will power. Or, more specifically, Mel’s complete lack of will power.

Two days in and Mel is struggling with the whole pooh-paper-in-the-waste-bin. Sure, she complied. But she couldn't help but whine about it. On a seemingly unrelated topic, I spend more time at home on the internet than I really should. I know it. Certainly, Mel knows it. But with a bit of email here and a bit of Amazon, Google and The (Melbourne) Age there … minutes can turn to hours. And sometimes some more hours.

Bringing these two disparate personal flaws together was really quite easy. Mel was certain that I could not stay away from the internet during the entire trip. I was certain that Mel would whinge about the pooh-paper issue incessantly. Hence, a wager was placed that I would not access the internet – not once – while on holiday. Unless, of course, Mel uttered a single word about her displeasure regarding the Greek Island restrictions relating to toilet paper and toilets. Such an indiscretion would afford me ½ and hour’s internet time.

12 hours. That is all it took for me to get my ½ hour internet access.

Enough distraction. It is time for the main event – Santorini.