Thursday 14th October
I was up hideously early, somehow managed to get myself ready in spite of feeling rather ill, drove to Gatwick Airport, and made my way to the terminal without forgetting my hat this time. Things make me tired much more easily than they used to, and I actually slept for most of the plane journey. At Athens Airport, baggage reclaim was astonishingly quick, and I was pleased to see there was an X96 bus all ready to go. So pleased that I nearly left my change at the ticket kiosk. It seemed I was well on time. What I had not realised was that the trains were on strike, resulting in massive extra amounts of traffic on the road. The bus kept getting stuck in seemingly immovable traffic, and I was beginning to think I would miss the hydrofoil I had booked, and have to exchange the ticket for a later one. And it started to rain. Really heavy rain. But all was not lost, as we got to Karaiskakis Square just in time for me to get soaked rushing to the dock, and I boarded the Flying Dolphin about four minutes before it was due to leave.
There was a guy arguing with the crew on the gangplank when I got on. I have no idea what he was ranting about, but we ended up leaving twenty minutes late anyway, which proves something about the way things work, although I'm unsure what, exactly... For a change, I didn't keep going to sleep on the hydrofoil, enjoying the view instead. Poros was nice to see, as I had been sailing thereabouts in early 2009, before all the fun with hospitals.
I was politely fending off offers of accomodation on the quay on Hydra quite soon, having had a pleasantly smooth run on the Dolphin for a change, when I heard my name being called. Ed Emery and others were at the bar on the corner, greeting people, and it would have been churlish not to sit and have a Mythos with them. Resisting the temptation to have several, I went on to the Hippocampos Hotel, partially unpacked, and used my netbook to tell folks I had arrived safely.
Later, I went out, and met my friends Chris Ziagos, Nigel the guitarist, Felix (or possibly Alex) who lives on Kythera, and Francesco Martinelli for a beer. They all fancied having dinner at Christina's, a place I had had a dreadful time in two years earlier. I went with the flow, and was glad I had.
We had a good table up on the roof balcony, while even more people I knew were already eating downstairs. As Felix was fluent in Greek, he ordered for us, and we had a good selection of Greek mezes, and a couple of plates of small fried fish, which I particularly love, all washed down with Christina's home made retsina. The retsina was very good, unlike many that have an overpowering resin taste, and we ended the meal with a nightcap of an interesting raki and honey combination, and an Irish joke.
An Irishman goes for a job on a building site. As there are lots of applicants, the foreman gives them a little test. "Girder and joist; what's the difference?" The Irishman replies "That's easy! Girder wrote 'Faust' and Joist wrote 'Ulysses'."