Gulls

I'm sitting at an outdoor cafe overlooking the platia (the central square) of Skyros-town. The square is bathing in sunshine, there's a mild breeze and the temperatures have not risen to their summer extremes yet. Good weather for walking. The square is about empty but the main street is brimming over with life. There are still many Athenians who stayed on for a little while after Greek Easter. Who prefer the tranquility of an island not overrun my mass tourism to the frenzy of the metropolis. Skyros is close to Athens or far off, depending on the way you travel. By plane it's half an hour, not counting the time you have to wait at the airport. If you travel by boat you need to go down by car or bus to Kimi on Evia. The boat trip to Linaria takes approximately one hour and a half. I love sailing, I dislike driving and bussing. One of these days I may walk to Linaria, about seventy five minutes from my hotel, to find out if I can sail to Kimi and return straight away. Just to taste the salt of the Aegean Sea.

A few days ago I tasted some salt as well. On the road to Aspous, where I am staying, which runs parallel to the sea. A strong wind sent waves pounding the rocks. It made me think of that summer day in 1980 when I stood at the end of the Dingle Peninsula on the west coast of Ireland with my love of those days. The waves had flung a dolphin on the rocks. It must have been dead for days as it was heavily gnawed at. By sea-gulls, I believe. It's amazing to see gulls following the ship you're sailing in. When I hear gulls above the town, with their sad cries, I get romantic memories of Conwy in Wales where I stayed with other loves. First with a red haired elve from Cheshire and later with the dark haired love of my life, from the land of the nymphs. On Skyros lived more nymphs than anywhere else, but that's chance. Sometimes gulls cause me to become somewhat melancholic, but they happen to be cruel beasts, eager to pick out the eyes of people drowning, I have been told.

On the opposite side of the square is the town hall. The flags in front of it, the Greek and that of the European Union, make a contrast with the white-washed walls. It's a neo-classical building of moderate size. Built at the end of the nineteenth or the beginning of the twentieth century I guess. This morning Nikos gave me a lift to town. He thinks of becoming a candidate in next year's elections for mayor. I hope he succeeds. In that case he gets the key and will be able to show me around in the centre of local power. Whether it's enviable to be placed at the head of a small community in which you often find the usual human qualities of hatred, malice and jealousy, behind a facade of cordiality and hospitality, is another matter.

©C.A. Klok