Day 32- Fishy Business

We watch the two Chinese street peddlers trying to sell plastic Taiwanese tat to the Greek fishermen down at the fish market. We have stumbled across the negotiations as we walk along the waterfront.

The peddlers are laden down with brightly-coloured stuffed parrots, plastic animals, wall clocks, scissors, knives, and a collection of lightweight tools. The scene reminds us of a mobile version of Glasgow’s Pound Shop, minus the Neds.

A couple of heavyset, grisly-looking bearded fishermen in stained dungarees are interested enough to break from their group conversation and look at the goods. Excitedly, the traders try to punt the tools, but the fishermen are not interested. They then try the knives and scissors but again to no avail.

As a last minute effort to make a few euros, the sellers pull out a rainbow-coloured plastic fish, flick a switch, and the fish comes to life flapping about in time to a jolly carnival tune. The fishermen smile and make deep rumbling sounds of appreciation. Encouraged by this, the peddlers continue.

Next on display: a small plastic bird that tweets and flaps when turned on; a tiny green truck with a remote control, and finally a hot-pink plastic cylindrical object with spikes at one end and flashing lights. We can’t make out exactly what it is but we are certain that Ann Summers would want it included in their winter catalogue.

Clearly impressed, the fishermen settle on two plastic musical fish and the unidentified pink wonder. They haggle the price down from sixteen to ten euros and walk back to their comrades clearly pleased with their purchases.

Now that’s the art of sales: selling fake fish to real fishmongers.

Day 31 - Manspace

We spend the afternoon at Therma; a dramatic, gravely, cliff-framed beach. But Paul doesn’t care for scenery. The two things he’s always wanted in life have been a shed and a cave, and now he’s spotted a bloke who has both.

Halfway down the steep staircase which leads from the houses to the beach, the cliff face is interrupted by an unlikely-looking front door, right in the middle of the rock. It’s not a rusty number either, but a nicely varnished proper posh wooden front door; the type you might see on a maisonette in Milngavie. There are no windows – just the door.

Soon enough, the owner appears: a lean and tanned middle-aged guy with a tidy moustache and a hat. He unlocks the door and disappears inside. His movements are too swift and practised to let us see what he’s got in there.

Nicole stares out to sea, oblivious, but Paul obsesses. What’s he got in there? A train-set? Some home-brew? A radio and a stash of weed? Twenty minutes later, the man emerges, grinning a big Greek grin and greets us with a hearty “Yia-sas”!

On the walk home, Paul opines on the awesome nature of this waterfront shed which is also a cave! “What shed?” says Nicole. The gender divide kicks in again.

Day 30 - Local Shop-Window Display Bye-Laws

If you have studied window-dressing to any remotely-professional level, you should get yourself down to Kalymnos and make some money.

The evidence suggests that the shop-keepers here could benefit from your expertise.

Under current local bye-laws that stretch back to re-unification in 1947, here are the stautory window-dressing regulations of the island:

1. The shop window must contain as many ITEMS as possible.
2. In the event of running out of space - ITEMS must be overlapped, stacked, piled and racked.
3. Correctly executed, rules 1 and 2 shall result in an individual being unable to tell where one ITEM stops and another ITEM begins.
4. Under no circumstances shall the proprietor allow the ITEMS to constitute a unified look and feel.
5. Once ITEMS are arranged, it is illegal to disturb the display for a minimum period of six years. Shops running displays which are not sufficiently sun-bleached or dusty risk a fine.

Here, from our neighbourhood in Pothia, are some examples:

Shop number 1 - Despite being a fashion outlet, it delivers absolutely no unified style or look - good work. Overlapped ITEMS - check. But definitely could have squeezed more ITEMS in there. Must try harder. 5/10
Shop number 2 - Improvement. A hardware shop with enough STUFF to sink the Titanic. Quality. 7/10


Shop number 3 - Piles of childrens clothes under randomly-strewn packets of tights which haven't been touched since the millennium. Winner. 9/10

Day 29 - Fame, Greed, and Adventure

There are only 4 books on our shelf to choose from, as we sold our entire book collection for pennies at Glasgow’s car-boot sale before moving to Greece. We have decided to spend the day lazily drinking coffee and reading books. Surprisingly, making a decision on what to read is much less of an ordeal with much less choice.

We discovered these 4 books at the back of a cupboard when cleaning out our flat. Paul quickly chooses an Arctic adventure story while Nicole chooses a rags-to-riches epic. In this moment of hasty choice, we wonder if we have, in fact, acted out our subconscious desires or provided evidence of an innate gender divide.

Paul spends the day braving inhospitable icy climates and landscapes, and defying death, on his expedition from London, through Canada, and onto the Klondike River in search of the gold that the 1897 Gold Rush promised.

Nicole starts the day as a poor half-caste in the streets of Calcutta during the last days of the Raj. Determined to escape her humble beginnings, she stows away on a ship to London where she reinvents herself to become the darling of English society before being catapulted into the Golden era of Hollywood and becoming a legendary movie star of a million headlines.

We sit close together on the couch yet we are worlds and years apart as we each triumph over adversity with each turn of the page; both of us a hero and heroine amongst men and women. It is exhilarating.

A voice in the distance slowly becomes closer and louder. It is Michael calling out from next door for us to clear our washing from the clothes-line.

Back to reality.

Day 28 -What, No Sandwiches?

Today is a funeral for one of Maria’s in-laws who died earlier in the week.


We hear that on a previous occasion, this old man’s health had taken a turn for the worse and raised such alarm that the family had been called to Kalymnos from the four corners of the world. Of course, the minute they all reached his bedside, he suddenly felt quite a lot better, cancelled dying, and got up and went back to work.


It is suggested that this miraculous recovery was, in some ways, a disappointment; particularly to those offspring who had paid beyond their means to make the long journey from America.
This time, however, the deceased popped off without warning so his far-flung children missed the whole thing and have only arrived in time for today’s burial.


When Michael and Maria return from the funeral we are informed that “all went well”, that “no one dropped the coffin,” and that “they planted him nicely.”


“Did you get any food?” we enquire, cutting straight to the nitty-gritty. “Only a small baklava,” says Michael, displaying his own brand of disappointment.

Day 27 - Checkmate For White

We’re both up early enough to launch the final assault on the painting. Feelings of purity flow though our souls as white paint eliminates all traces of colour.

Today’s stains to die: pink on metal banister, blue on a mirror frame, brown rust on the front door and bathroom shelf brackets.

It’s like winning at RISK – our favourite colour builds and conquers. Today we reached the point in the game where we know there can be no other winner but white. Sickly pink, suicide blue and dumper brown are memories of the old order. White is the queen now and her reign is sublime.

We agree that in the future, following this nightmarish experience, we will outsource all painting contracts.

Day 26 - War & Peace

We had just sat out on our balcony for a coffee break when the fight broke out. Like a match to gas, it ignites in an instant.

Maria, Poppy, Katerina, and the Russian woman next door were calmly cooking, hanging washing, and scrubbing steps one minute, and then possessed with rage and fury the next. Arms are waving like an angry game of charades, voices are raised in high pitched squeals, and the word Malaka (wanker) is ping-ponged back and forth.

We have prime seats due to our raised balcony, and the natural amphitheatre-shaped courtyard created by the circular positioning of all our houses. It is highly entertaining; the most dramatic fight yet. We salivate with joy, like blood-thirsty spectators at the Coliseum.

The fight goes on and on, and on. By now the screaming has spiralled to a feverish pitch, and the charades has become more aggressive as the women close in on each others’ personal space. The only male on the scene is Stamatis, Maria’s son, who is busy pumping weights and admiring his own physique; it doesn’t look like he is going to step in and break up the brawl.

It is difficult to gauge who is winning. It looks even after a number of rounds. Out of family loyalty, we give a thumbs-up to Maria, but secretly our money is on the Olympic-sized Russian.

Due to the duration of the fight, we eventually work out, with our limited Greek, that this battle has erupted over a number of issues: the Russian has poured water over Maria’s steps; Maria’s daughter is making too much noise with her moped, and the smell from Katerina’s outdoor cooking is tainting the hanging washing. There is also something about bread loaves but we can’t quite decipher that thread of the argument.

And as quickly as it started, it stops in a flash; almost in mid-sentence. There seems to be no clear winner. The women go back to their cooking, washing, and cleaning, and peace descends once again.

A few minutes later, Michael turns up on his bicycle after his daily excursion around the waterfront. He sees us on our balcony, quietly sipping our coffee.

“Look guys…” he calls loudly, “…see how quiet and peaceful the life is here.”