"No here…. water too much, maybe 5 inch…" Christos said walking into my foyer, pointing to the brown stone floor tiles at the edge, by the wall. He looked deeply concerned. Normally, Christos – who runs Mostra Cafe in front of the house – speak in a mix of Greek and English (Grenglish?) and I follow him pretty well. Once in awhile I use Google Translate to share more complex ideas with him. He never uses technology, but it all usually works out. This time I was struggling.
Christos motioned a line against the walls and kept saying "too much water."
"So my last day on Patmos, he's telling me my house leaks water in the rain?!" I was thinking. this idea may have been planted by Michaelis of the Laundy, not Michaelis the Gardener, who told me before buying the house to check on the front yard and make sure it doesn't fill up with water in the winter. He also suggested having a water pump on hand for the yard – just in case. But the civil engineer who did the home inspection didn't find anything of concern and they house is significantly raised up from the ground. It would take a LOT of water to flood it – maybe a leak….?
Between Christos' pantomime and my current line of thought, I used Google Translate to ask if I needed weather stripping?
That's when Christos literally called a lifeline (by shouting) – his son Yiannis was at the cafe and speaks very good English. He came over and explained that his dad was concerned about the rug IKEA had just delivered. He saw it come through and rugs can lock in moisture into the tiles.
I told them I would leave the rug leaned in the corner where it was and maybe just put it out during the summer when we're around, but not during the winter when I'm away and the moisture is a threat. They were pleased with this and I thanked them profusely.
It occurred to me afterwards that he was concerned specifically with the edge times – not the middle of the room and that I should clarify if a rug in the middle of the room is as much of a threat – or it's just not having the rug go up to the edges of the room? Either way, the rug isn't going down right now anyway.
That said, Christos' concern was the byproduct of a stroke of good luck. My eight-box IKEA order came around 10:00 – bringing me floor lamps, lighting fixtures, end tables, table lamps, a large taupe rug for the living room, a set of salad plates to match the rest of the handcrafted blue dish set that came last time – and one glass baking pan.
As if luck converged on my doorstep, I received a text from Dimitris of Grikos, the appliance repairman that he would come today by 1pm to look at my dishwasher that trips the circuit breaker even after having another power line run to the kitchen. It's 2:20 as I write this, but last time he was four hours late, so I'm not worried. In fact, I was so not worried that I continued doing my errands of the morning and just leaving the front door a crack open in case by some miracle Dimitris showed early.
Then Mohammad showed up to see about the lighting fixtures. I texted him to ask if he could install them sometime when he's not busy. He dropped by to see them and where they go. He's got this. He'll bill me and I can transfer the money to his IBAN. Another item checked off.
There was still the laundry, buying light bulbs for some of the lamps, paying Stefanos for the motor scooter and working out a time to return it this evening. These needed to be done before siesta begins at 1pm.
Yesterday morning walking to yoga at 8:50, Skala was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It was as if everyone was sleeping off the night before despite the beautiful day and pleasant weather. Today was reversed. A weak southerly wind brought haze and 83 percent humidity. Like stepping into the hot room at yoga, you know you're going to start shvitzing even before class begins – but unlike outdoor California dry heat, you just melt into the sweat. Since there's no avoiding it, you might as well just dive in. And I have been a sweaty mess the entire day so far – just like everyone else.
Oddly, nothing about the weather stopped anyone. Town was alive. Everyone was out, at cafes, walking, shopping, heading this way and that heading into, out of and around Skala. It reminded me of Easter when town was so full I could find parking and was annoyed with all the people crowding up my town square. Only this time I didn't mind and appreciated the energy of vacationers soaking up the Patmos.
I also kept running into more people than usual – which is saying a lot. After a little bit, I felt like I was at the end of the movie Big Fish where the protagonist and tall tale teller Edward Bloom doesn't die, but is instead escorted to the nearby river by all the bizarre characters of his tall tales who help him into the water where he transforms into a big fish – a destiny he has known since he was eight years old and saw how he died in the glass eye of a witch. The ensemble cast of Patmos seemed to be lining up along my route with waves and quick chats – many of them I haven't seen in a week or more: Christina who along with her husband Dimitris owns the car rental, Nicholas driving by yelling "Hellas!" at me, reaching out of his car window to shake hands, the man who owns the computer shop, Tassos of Alas Grill (not Tassos the Butcher), Stelios, Mrs Stelios, Stefanos the Motorscooter Rental Guy and Stefanos Christina and Dimitris' son, but not Stefanos Who Runs The Agriolivadi Restaurant. You can't have all the Stefanoses – that's just greedy. All the same, person after person I knew was along my path.
I made my arrangements on the motor scooter. I consulted with the lady at the electrical supply shop about light bulbs. We made some choices she didn't see coming. I picked up the laundry and left my sheets and blanket in Michaelis and Theologia's care – to professionally wash and deliver back to the house in my absence. I assembled end tables and lamps. I listened to music. I schlepped empty boxes and bags of recycling out the bins in the back of town. I dragged the large plastic table from the living room the side yard. I put odds and ends in the outdoor cabinet I bought for leaving personal items I wouldn't want an Airbnb guest to use. I packed. I tidied the bathroom closet. I drank water. I sweated. I repeated.
Then I messaged Dimitris of Grikos that I was heading over to Stelios' to eat and write – and to let me know if/when he was coming since it would just take me five minutes to return.
I've been sad about leaving Patmos for days. Usually the day of departure is the worst. Yet it took a turn. A few important things came together. Christina of the Furniture Shop heard from Mohammad that I'm looking for someone to clean the house – both once a month when I'm away and with some regularity when there are Airbnb guests or we're around. Apparently, she used to clean people's vacation houses and is interested in some very part-time work. Her kids are in college, her expenses have increased, but she doesn't have that much time…. this would be perfect. So that was settled.
It was especially important because George, who I have wanted as my property manager, is willing to only do part of the job. He doesn't have any Skala houses in his portfolio and is loathe to take it on because he specializes in seaside and Hora homes and says those are different crowds and marketing from Skala. However, George is happy to help create my Airbnb and VRBO listings, make sure they pass muster, and refer Skala interested clients to my property – keeping it as a sort of secondary offering in his portfolio. It's not what he'll focus his marketing efforts on – but he does sometimes get interest in Skala and he thinks what I'm doing with the house will work well for families and retirees on longer stays. Retirees are a nice market, George mentioned – they pay well and have low impact on the house. He said what I don't want are young people on short-stays in Skala – those are the partiers and will put too much wear and tear on the house.
The place where George really left me short was on cleaning and maintenance. He's struggling to staff his existing portfolio, so I would need to find someone. Then, just like that, I did! (with a little help from Mohammad)
Now I have a marketing partner in George and operational support from Christina and Mohammad. One major accomplishment this summer was developing the contacts to get work done on the house and operate it as an Airbnb. Sourcing furniture and housewares was another. None of it was quick or easy. In fact, I'm leaving with many things still to be done, furnishings still on order and some old furnishings sitting on the porch – yet to be taken away. But there's a plan! With trustworthy people in place to execute it.
Unlike previous Patmos departures, I'm not left wondering when I'll be back, let alone if I'll be back. At least eight people asked me today when I'll be back. They were not pleased with my answer of next summer. I should come back sooner – maybe in the Winter or Spring. It's nice without so many people. Some of them were also saying, "You belong now," which was very heartwarming.
I'm also not walking away from someone else's property. Belonging comes with responsibility. I have things I'm leaving here for next time. They need organizing and care. I needed to make sure all of the bedding was organized and would make sense of someone (ostensibly Christina) to be able to make up the beds. I cleaned out the fridge, swept, mopped and tidied up. For a minute there, it looked like I needed to emergency weatherproof my house.
No two trips are the same, but this stay in Patmos has been especially different. Enjoying the island has necessarily been secondary to the project of the house. Figuring out how to make things happen and then being present for workmen and deliveries has comprised a large part of the time – and even more so, my focus. Leaving feels about a month premature. I would love to see through some of the work.
Sensing this, Mohammad sent me this kind text, "Don't worry my friend, I will always be with them [the workers] and I will do whatever it takes. Bon voyage, Eric, everything will be fine. If you need anything, I'll send a message."
How often do you get that?
When I look back on the past ten weeks, I can see both where I have been more stressed than usual for Patmos and where I have grown. Figuring out how the systems of another country and culture are challenging anywhere. Heck, it can be hard to find a new plumber or contractor wherever you live. Doing it where language and customs are different – and where tradespeople are not listed online, don't have webpages and no Yelp reviews makes it more challenging. Patmos makes the experience of being a tourist easy, but has little infrastructure to welcome a new resident – especially a foreign one.
Luckily, I have experienced other challenging moves. In Bali, I couldn't figure out where to buy lightbulbs – or how I felt about the housekeeper and gardener who were cousins and lived in a small room under the gazebo. High-speed internet was nonexistent for my house's location in Bali in 2004-2006 and when I tired of dial-up, I would ride into town to the only Internet cafe with high-speed broadband in Ubud.
In Taiwan, everything was hard. English signage itself was minimal, streets crisscrossed in every direction and taxis were unmarked gypsy cabs whose drivers didn't speak English in the days before Google Maps. My friend Jesiah and I spent weeks trying to figure out where we could buy track lighting for our apartment. When we got a little more grounded in our systems, we managed to order high speed internet – which wasn't standard-issue in 2003 – and bring in (as in have brought to us from home via a friend) a WiFi router powerful enough to share with our neighbors who were deeply grateful.
Patmos was infinitely easier to figure out. I just faced the headwind of trying to get things done during the summer tourist season when tradespeople are at their busiest mixed with a culture for whom time is more of a set of guidelines than a steadfast concept.
Seeing the lighting arrive today, I felt a sense of optimism and accomplishment. I can see a little more how the house will look next year when the kids and I return. I want them to be excited by what they find. It feels a little more like something has changed, even though I look around and see how many things are still the same.
Then again, who am I to complain? If nothing more changed, I still have a wonderful home in Patmos. Very few people can say that. I am deeply grateful.
Normally, what to do with a last day in Patmos presses me. I may be leaving tonight, but it's not my last day in Patmos. It's just one of many to come. So other than trying to get in a quick swim and maybe going to evening "Movement Class" at the yoga studio (if I feel brave enough given last week), I won't stress it. There are no ambitions left to be had. I'll have a nice dinner, probably handle some work calls and emails, shower to refresh myself and at about 12:30 am, I'll walk to the ferry without sadness or regrets. Sure, leaving Patmos always feels a little stupid. In reality, it's the wisdom and blessing to have come to Patmos in the first place that matters. I already passed those tests.
