Diesel's Dump: Holday 2: It's All Greek

Holiday 2: It's All Greek - pic showing Diesel overdoing it on the beach.

I've been to Greece five times now, to a different island each year. Previously I had always been able to fly direct to the island - even if the airport was nothing more than a runway and a tin hut. This year I thought I would be different and go somewhere REALLY remote. Agistri.

So having arrived at Athens airport, gritty-eyed and irritable, and retrieved our luggage (after a VERY long wait - why is my case always in the last load? and why do I always forget what my case looks like?) we had a 3 hour boat journey to look forward to.

Diesel's cat - pic

Boat journeys are normally good fun, particularly if the weather is very sunny and hot. This journey wasn't. All we wanted to do was sleep but the seats were not exactly luxury sofas. We stretched out and dozed the best we could, with many rude awakenings by people wanting our tickets, people getting on and off (the boat stopped twice before getting to Agistri) and people asking which stop we wanted.

Finally, at about 10.30 in the morning, we piled off the boat (on the correct island) together with about 20 other tourists and our tour guide. Our cases were loaded onto a truck - very haphazardly - to be taken to our accommodation, and we were led at a gentle stroll to our rooms where we would finally be able to sleep.

The first shock. The island, like most Greek islands, was a chunk of rock sticking out of the sea. The brochure had said the beach was a 5 minute walk from the hotel. It hadn't mentioned it was a 15 minute climb back again. This hill made Everest look as flat as a pancake. After our never-ending journey, in the Greek heat, it seemed to be an insurmountable obstacle.

During the two weeks we were there we must have climbed that bloody hill about 20 times. We never got used to it.

Gratefully, gasping like fish out of water, we made it to the village - and the blessed relief of our hotel rooms. Where we died for the rest of the day.

Feeling much refreshed, we decided to explore the village in the cool of the evening. Picturesque was the word that came to mind - it had all the requirements of a traditional Greek village; a crumbling old church, narrow winding streets, little old ladies swathed in black shawls, chickens running up and down the roads, only two cars in the whole village, and cats everywhere.

Of course, it also suffered from all the traditional drawbacks of Greek holidays. The worst of which has to be the plumbing.

Hot water in Greece is provided by solar power. This obviously makes sense when the temperatures soar to 110 degrees during the heat of the afternoon, but it does mean that there is no hot water first thing in the morning, and that the cold water is always lukewarm.

So getting a shower is a chancy business - the water is either absolutely scalding hot, or it's lukewarm (which after a day spent toasting on the beach feels icy cold.)

The actual fixtures and fittings tend to be a bit rough and ready. No baths - because of the ever-present threat of water shortage (Agistri has to have water shipped in from a neighbouring island during the peak of the summer) and the shower is just a hand-shower attached to the wall, with a drain in the floor for the water to flow down.

But that's nothing compared to the toilets.

In England, toilets have waste pipes with a diameter of 5 or 6 inches. This is adequate for most purposes, so long as you don't try to flush the Encyclopaedia Brittanica down the pan.

In Greece the pipes are 1 inch in diameter. That's very narrow. It's too narrow to cope with anything other than - erm - natural bodily wastes. Not even toilet paper. One sheet of Andrex is enough to block the whole sewer completely.

This means that next to the toilet is a small plastic bin, usually in a vivid yellow or lime green (just to make sure you notice it) in which one is supposed to deposit used bogpaper. A desperately unsavoury state of affairs.

One of the disappointing things about Greece is the food. The Greeks don't go in for fancy cuisine, they just see food as a handy way of sopping up excess alcohol. The menu in most tavernas ranges from Moussaka to Kebabs, touching briefly on Stuffed Tomatoes somewhere on the way. The food is never hot, it is chips with everything, and the starter and main course arrive on the table at the same time.

For someone with my sweet tooth Greek desserts are also somewhat of a disappointment. There is ice-cream EVERYWHERE but the only other alternatives are Baklava, which is very thin layers of pastry with nuts and honey, or Kataifi, which is Shredded Wheat with nuts and honey. Both of these are so sickly that even I couldn't eat three of them.

By the end of the fortnight I started to fantasise about Big Macs and Chocolate Cake.

There was one thing, however, that made the food, the discomfort, even the plumbing bearable. Retsina.

Retsina is a Greek wine flavoured with sap from pine trees. Every island has its own brand, with its own unique flavour. At first encounter, it is like drinking Pine Disinfectant. It is definitely an acquired taste, and one which I have definitely acquired. And it has the advantage of costing in the region of 50p a litre.

Pure bliss.

Every taverna in the village had a huge barrel of Retsina in the kitchen, or in a shed, from which they filled huge copper jugs to serve at the table. I think that these barrels were all connected to a huge underground reservoir - a bit like the EEC wine lake - which was refilled every year during the wine-making season.

As well as Retsina, I acquired a taste for Metaxa, a Greek brandy that could remove the varnish from tables. Several glasses after a meal ensured a good night's sleep. Which was very useful.

For a tiny deserted island, Agistri was extremely noisy at nights. The taverna next to the hotel blared out loud music until 3.00 or 4.00 every morning - always the same record, a little gem of an LP entitled 'Now That's What I Call Irritating Bazouki Music Vol 36'; I grew to hate bazouki music intensely. And the Greek animals seemed determined to ruin any sleep I could have snatched after the music stopped - cicadas chirping, dogs barking, cats fighting, donkeys in stereo, and those bloody roosters which didn't bother to wait till dawn. However, after a few days I got used to the nocturnal cacophony, and since I was always exhausted after the desperately busy days I managed to ignore it.

So what was it we did all day that was so exhausting?

We generally awoke at about 9.00 for a leisurely breakfast and were on the beach by 10.00. Several swims, interspersed with lying in the sun toasting, until about 12.30 when the sun started to get really hot; at which point we would go and sit in the beach bar and have a drink. Then the looooooong climb up the hill back to the hotel for lunch.

In the afternoon we imitated the locals and had a siesta.

Up again around 5.00, fully refreshed for the evening. Eating and drinking all evening; after our meal a stroll round the village, back to the hotel for a night-cap and in bed by midnight.

An exhausting schedule.

The most arduous part of the day was lying on the beach. For my mother it was no problem - clothes off, bikini on and lie down to cook, resulting in a delightful golden-brown colour. Unfortunately I do not take after my mother in this respect. I go the colour of a boiled lobster and if I don't cover myself in a 4 inch thick layer of 'Factor 28 Total Sunscreen' my epidermis eventually peels off in huge lumps, which is both painful and unsightly. And since I favour topless sunbathing extra care has to taken to protect those delicate parts that don't usually see the light of day. Believe me, sunburnt nipples are no joke.

Then I can only spend about half an hour in the sun without needing to fall into the sea to cool off. This was also not as easy as it sounds because of the wall in the way. Yes, a wall.

Perhaps I should explain about this beach. The Island being just a hunk of mountain, there were no sandy beaches. The local equivalent of the County Council had decided that tourists want sand to lie on - a not unreasonable assumption - and so undertook to provide some. They built a sandy beach, and jolly nice it was too. And to stop this beautiful sand being washed away by the tide, they built a wall between the sand and the water, about two foot high. So to go for a swim we had to climb over this wall.

Of course, from time to time the high tide would combine with a violent wind-storm, sending the waves crashing over the wall, and the beach was gradually being eroded away. Therefore the local Chamber of Commerce (or whoever) thought it was about time to replace some of the lost sand, before the Tourist Season got into full swing.

They sent a dredger out into the middle of the Ocean to do what dredgers do, then trucked the resulting sand from the Harbour to the beach in lorry-load after lorry-load. This soggy cargo was dumped onto the beach in huge piles (partially burying some windsurf boards). Then one little man, with one little rake, started to slowly spread the piles out. He would work for 15 minutes. Then stop for a drink. Then work for another 15 minutes. Then have another drink. After a few hours he got bored and gave up altogether, leaving the beach looking like the set from Dune. And that's how it stayed.

Over the next week the combined efforts of people walking over it, children digging holes in it and sunbathers burrowing into it managed to spread the sand around a little more evenly, but it never did resemble the smooth sandy expanses one usually expects.

While the little man was raking in his leisurely fashion, he kept finding things. Living things. He found lots of clams, which his friends prised open with pen knives and ate, raw - and presumably still alive. And the most disgusting creatures I have ever seen - seaslugs.

The only way I can describe these revolting things is to say that they are just like male genitalia. They're between 1 and 2 inches in diameter, between 3 and 7 inches long, reddish-purple, and slimy. And they wriggle. Repulsive. Apparently they are considered a local delicacy, but I can't say I was tempted to try them. I can't imagine putting something like that into my mouth.

We encountered many unpleasant denizens of the deep during our fortnight. Sea urchins were everywhere, ready to lance their vicious spines into the unsuspecting foot (or, worse, backside) causing swelling and irritation. Shoals of jellyfish visited every couple of days and while I was assured that they were not the kind that stung, they had a nasty clammy slimy feel to them when you collided with them in the water. Crabs were always ready to pinch people who trod on them (I suppose one shouldn't really blame them). To compensate, there were a vast number of fishes, of all different varieties, which made snorkelling a really great experience.

Denizens of the air caused some problems too. I have this problem with mosquitoes. I think I must smell very tasty or sexual to insects, because they all seem to home in on me for their feasts, and I am particularly allergic to their bites. (One year I was foolish enough to sleep with the shutters open and a family of mossies had a gourmet meal on my face. In the morning I looked like I was suffering from some hideously disfiguring disease; I counted up to 40 bites on my head and neck then gave up.)

Fortunately, technology has provided several ways of dealing with the little buggers. The most common is annointing myself with some foul-smelling liquid that not only keeps the insects away, but deters humans from coming near me.

The expensive option is an electronic gadget that emits a high-pitched whine identical to that made by a pregnant mosquito. This is supposed to discourage them from coming anywhere near. Unfortunately it costs an armanaleg and the high-pitched whistling gives me a headache.

The best solution is a handy little gadget that plugs into the mains. It heats up a tablet, thus releasing a vapour that discourages mossies for up to 8 hours. And it works. Provided I remember to change the tablet. And provided there are no power cuts (the Greek power system is slightly less reliable than their sewers).

More of a problem were wasps. Agistri seemed to be the favourite holiday spot for the entire world population of wasps, and June was their favoured month. Each and every one of them seemed to have a personal vendetta against me. There was nothing I could do to deter them, except ignore them, and jump in the sea to cool down the stings. They were thirsty little creatures, forever trying to dive into my beer glass. One unfortunate chap didn't notice a wasp practising breaststroke in the froth on his lager and swallowed it. He was stung several times in the stomach. Fortunately no permanent damage was done, but it made the rest of us double-check our drinks before taking a swig, no matter how drunk we were.

Despite the trauma of wildlife, plumbing and sunstroke, it was a perfect holiday. Two blissful weeks of peace and quiet in idyllic surroundings. The island was beautiful, the weather perfect, and the Greeks friendly and welcoming. There was no stress, no pressure and no worries. London seemed a million miles away.

All too soon the fortnight was over and we had to face the return journey - which was longer and more unpleasant than we ever anticipated.