In brief: Friday was all about packing up and moving on to Rhodes. Leaving the beautiful island behind, I give my final thoughts on such a wondrous place and it’s importance to the world.
I woke up in Symi that morning determined I would be able to continue my new ‘treasure hunt’ hobby before setting off for Rhodes. I’d been keeping an eye on the geocache website to see if anyone had been to the two locations I had already “found”. So far, no new logs. Two more finds were within reach; one on a hillside in clear view of the town (in view of muggles). Another was in the catacombs, a fair hike away but seemingly easy to reach. My main problem was time. I had packed the majority of my stuff the night before, but there was still stuff to do. If I wasn’t out of bed by 9am, this day wasn’t going to happen. I got up at 11am. There was no way I was going to make it down the Kali Strata steps, walk through the town and then risk a hike along footpaths I hadn’t been on, before heading through an ancient site full of photography opportunities. And after all that I’d have to head back again. On top of that, I still didn’t have a pen. Was it going to be worth my time getting all the way there and not being able to log the find in person? You can see already that I had talked myself out of it. Both of them.
Mind you, I was on the verge of heading out the door. One of those fork-in-the-road moments. Do I? Do I not? But it came down to how nackered I was going to make myself by trekking several miles around the island and then heading back up those 360 steps to grab the bags. Even then, the day wouldn’t be over as I’d have the transfer to Rhodes to complete too. In the end I took the time to pack. Slowly.
I had visions of newspaper headlines: “UK holidaymaker brings lethal tarantula to Britain!“, or “Snake on a plane! Brit brings python undetected through Customs!“. Not wanting to be that guy, I studied every item of clothing as if they were items from a crime scene. One by one, sock by sock. Considering the only extra item of clothing I had bought was a thin pair of webbed ‘beach shoe’, there wasn’t much space in that rucksack. Hang on. Are shoes considered clothing? That’s one for the comments section…
The lovely people from Symi Visitor had invited me to their “end of the season” party. It was scheduled to be onboard Poseidon, and “the more money in the fuel kitty, the further he will take us”. I’d already been onboard Poseidon for the island excursion and knew their food was excellent, as well as their company. Sounded good to me. And if I was able to buy Ian, The Saviour, a drink for being the rescuer of the now-fabled arachnid hostage situation, all the better. To top it off the weather wasn’t to break till the middle of the next week.
But things had changed quite rapidly after the discovery of the ferry schedule. With the plan now to go to Rhodes on Friday evening, it meant I would miss the party on Saturday. Such a shame. It would have been a nice way to round off the Symi adventure.
A few emails and calls later my arrangements were changed and the taxi was to pick me up at 3.30pm with the Dodekanisos Seaways Express catamaran scheduled for departure at 4.30pm. I would have quite happily attempted the Kali Strata stairs with a rucksack and extra bag, but the transfers were already paid for. And it made sense not to expel more energy than required.
I did have a moment of panic. Everybody I asked about buying a ticket pointed me in the direction of the only kiosk on the island to sell them. It was closed. Outside the kiosk, a little girl practiced her best dance moves and shouted “CLOSED!” in time with her imaginary music when I gestured toward the kiosk. “CLOSED!”. The look of panic on my face caused her to shrug her shoulders in time with her music. “CLOSED!”. It was Cute. And annoying. So I walked back to the catamaran to enquire again, lugging back the heavy rucksack and camera bag on one shoulder. For the second time a now-angry(ish) member of crew pointed over to my shoulder towards the kiosk, mumbling in non-English. I sighed and shrugged myself. A sign of defeat. Sure as hell, as I turned around, the kiosk was open. Like some form of choreographed magic show. A segment I suggest would be called “trick the tourist“. Normally I like magic. That was rubbish. To top it off, as I approached the kiosk to buy the ticket, inside was a young lady with a big smile. And the little dancing girl perched by her side. “HELLO!” she proclaimed. She’ll probably never know the dread she helped set deep in my stomach.
At 4.30pm, we drifted away and with that my Symian life was gone.
I hadn’t expected to do frequent walking and hiking on Symi. But then I had no expectations whatsoever. Wonderful weather, gorgeous views, meeting new friends, finding hidden places (literally), eating fantastic food, discovering Greek history, snapping hundreds of photos, travelling to tiny islands and swimming amongst shoals of fish in the ocean are just some of the things I’ll remember from this amazing place.
Symi is a dream destination. A tiny and largely unspoiled location, steeped with important history on every one of those Kali Strata steps. With real and pure archaeological and historical sites of genuine Greek importance, Symi should really be a place of study and documentation. But in our economical times, income of any form is as important now as any study. And so the tourist industry wins. It’s sad that holidaymakers have become a historical part of Symi. You could literally date the arrival of tourism by the designs of soft drink cans and bottles strewn along the northern cliffs.
With the beauty that Symi has, I understand the feeling ex-pats describe when they made the decision to stay. I only hope the history stays long enough for more people to have some sort of experience similar to what I had.