Thanks For The Memories

Occasionally, final days surprise you. I wrote yesterday’s post in the late morning from the porch of the house. The day ahead seemed a foregone conclusion – afternoon at Petra, return the scooter, final packing, laundry, housekeeping to make it easy for Kostas and Emmanoula to setup for the guests arriving today, go to the ferry, sit in an Airplane Type Seat in the best of the three sections of then, sleep fitfully, exit the boat fatigued, have a long, multi-phased journey in constant fog.

Much of this happened – especially everything from the ferry onwards, but not quite as imagined.

On the way to Petra, I stopped at Ta Kardasia for my usual beach-lunch bougatsas only to notice my French friend Eric parked across the street. We had parted ways the night before, not really expecting to see one another again this trip – but there he was. So I went over to say hello and learned Sylvie was inside buying bougatsas for their own beach day at Agriolivadi. Of course, I went into Ta Kardasia, hugs and cheek kisses with Sylvie, chatted in line, advised her on pies, three-way chat with Matoula, the owner – Sylvie orders, I order, big farewell hug from Matoula. It was all very warm and kind. It was nice to also make a formal introduction between the two of them – since Sylvie had been buying from Matoula for awhile, but was still a nameless face at the always busy bakery.

While waiting for my order – which took awhile because I was waiting on fresh supplies from the oven – I waived goodbye to Eric and Sylvie. Then I got my warm pies and with warm fuzzies in my heart headed to the beach, already feeling a little badly I was an hour later than usual because Alex, whose family runs the chair concession at Petra, was saving me a seat on a busy day. I think a lot of people with reservations flake out and I don’t want to be that person.

As I zipped along the beautiful coast of the southern part of Patmos, looking out at the beautiful water, enjoying the cool breeze, the air began to smell of wet pavement. Nothing appeared wet, but it was definitely a smell like Bali of dirt cooling and pavement moistening. My eyes and skin didn’t confirm what my nose was reporting. So, on I zipped.

Much like the Poky Little Puppy’s siblings, it’s when I reached the top of the hill (in this case over Petra) that I knew something was awry. I felt droplets. Not enough to call it rain and certainly nothing someone who has ridden a motorcycle through tropical storms would consider concerning – although I’m not sure the motor scooter Stefanos rented me at a discount this summer – the oldest in his fleet – would have handled a Taiwanese or Balinese downpour so well, but I would have been okay to test that theory. So, on I went until, just as I was pulling into the dirt lot at Petra when the wind transformed into full-on gales and there was a substantial amount of water in the air – enough that everyone was leaving the beach. And I mean everyone.

In retrospect, I’m not sure if that water was actual rain or sea water being whipped up by the wind because the rest of the island did not experience rain. Petra is one of the windiest two beaches and it’s completely possible the beach was being sprayed. Either way, it was no longer usable and whether conditions would improve was unknown. I spoke to Alex and apologized for changing plans – to which he was understanding as his stepdad was already refunding some angry customers.

Because I had paying guests coming only twelve hours after my departure, I had some trepidation about the house being as ready as possible – which meant getting my pre-departure chores done. Staring at the wet beach and fleeing beachgoers, I took the event as a sign that perhaps rather than soak up my final day in Petra beach bliss – as is my general preference – that I needed to go do some adulting. With mud from the softening dirt lot and all the salt it was releasing on my flip flops, I got out of Petra.

In my motorcycle days in Taiwan, my friend Jesiah and I kept proper rain gear in our bikes. Taiwan is subtropical and depending on the season subject to the same type of tropical downpours as I knew from Thailand and would deal with a lot in Bali and Singapore. Jesiah taught me how to ride and encouraged me to get a motorcycle. He believed – by and large – in good bike safety and not leaving exposed skin, especially in dangerous conditions – of which a tropical downpour was one.

At least for the first six to eight months of our 18 months living in Taiwan, Jesiah and I diligently pulled over to the side of the road and donned our rain-gear when a downpour was coming – or had unexpectedly arrived. Then we noticed many Taiwanese did what so many in Thailand did – strip down in the rain. I never saw anyone in Thailand put on rain gear. They either got off the road, or wore shorts and often little else. It was a “if you can’t beat ’em , join ’em” approach to riding in the rain, which made a lot of sense for a country of people – who especially at that time – were unlikely to afford proper rain gear – maybe a plastic poncho.

Given Jesiah and I often rode to destinations with water – hot springs, beaches, waterfalls – we almost always had two things: swim shorts and sarongs. That allowed us to make the call – rain gear or “Thai style” – of which the second became favorable in what we knew would be short-duration downpours, but admittedly became increasingly standard with time. While incredibly stupid, it was very freeing to just be part of the rain. The rain went from being a problem or an enemy we geared up against to a friend with whom we rode.

Already wearing swim shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops, I enjoyed the brief visceral memory of those wet, stupid motorcycling days.

Then back to adulting.

I returned the motor scooter and paid Stefanos the remaining balance, picked up a chicken caesar salad from the Chris Hotel – because why not eat healthier if I’m headed home and that is a REALLY great salad, finished laundry, watered plants, ran the dishwasher, put away odds and ends, packed, locked away personal items, found a place for the kids’ volleyball and soccer ball, threw away unused food, took out the garbage and recycling and stopped to watch the sunset following taking out the garbage and recycling. Oh, and I ate lunch. With everything I had expected to do in the evening already done, I was able to enjoy some relaxed reading, dinner at home and television – not needing to worry as the time to depart drew near.

Expecting nothing more to take place other than to give Gingos and Ketchup the last two packets of wet food and walk to the ferry, I received a text at 10:30 pm from my French friend Bruno – who along with his girlfriend Agnesse are mutual friends of Sylvie and Eric – said they were all headed to Skala (from Hora) for gelato and would I come meet them? I told him it depended on the time because the ferry was scheduled to leave at 12:15 am.

Yadda yadda yadda – Bruno surprised me at my house, I gave the cats their wet food and we schlepped along – with me stopping to say goodbye to friends in the neighborhood- to Daphne’s where Bruno and Agnesse’s social circle including Sylvie and Eric were conversing over gelato. From the ferry tracker I could see Blue Star 2 was running late, which gave me the time to socialize in alternating French and English, largely catching up with Bruno who was really how I ended up in this slightly-older-than-me Parisian social crowd. I met Bruno at yoga in 2023, the first summer I had the house. We ended up talking after class a few times and immediately clicked. Like Sylvie and Eric – he uses English professionally, having worked for several American companies, which while it makes it easy to connect, also inhibits me from speaking French, because he’s speaks English with far more comfort than I speak French. All the same, he’s a great guy, a lot of fun to talk to and presented a very nice way to pass my final hour and a half on Patmos for the summer.

Over the course of the day, I had several Patmos friends and neighbors from whom I received hugs, warm handshakes and good wishes. Despite the breezy, wet weather, the day felt very warm.

From the ferry dock onwards, things went to plan, but it was no longer Patmos pleasant. Blue Star 2 was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it with people sleeping on floors and ledges looking like a homeless encampment. The crowd was so large and boisterous the authorities had to stop the flow of people boarding the ferry and switch to letting them on in smaller bursts just so people didn’t trample each other on the ramps. The boat took twice as long to board and depart as I’ve ever experienced. And, as mentioned, I didn’t have a cabin – which I may really rethink in the future.

Today should be far more boring. Because of Turkish Airlines schedule changes, I don’t depart Athens until 3am. So I got an affordable off-site airport hotel room to crash for the day. Take a nap, do some work, shower, enjoy some air conditioning – then shuttle over to the airport tonight and get myself to LAX via Istanbul.

I have passed many days like this in an Athens Airport hotel room – although in the past, typically at the Sofitel onsite. Which would be fantastic. Only I didn’t feel like paying 700 euros which was what they were charging for the remaining rooms at the time I learned of my itinerary change. It’s a shame for many reasons – but most of all that fantastic, high-pressured rainfall shower that may well be the best I’ve ever experienced anywhere.

All the same, it was a great last day and with Turkish, it should be a very nice flight ahead. Ending a Patmos summer is never the best, but this has been as good as it gets. And there’s always next year.