ushered upstairs to the saloon of the ship, with its comfortable chairs and tables, a bar selling drinks and snacks and multiple TV sets all tuned in to an animated post-election debate. As the time ticked on towards 11 o’clock, the room started to fill up. A party of children with teachers on a day trip to the Monastery of the Archangel Michael at Panormitis Bay; an elderly couple with a minute Chihuahua, its head poking out of a Burberry handbag; workers on a pilgrimage with men looking uncomfortable in Sunday suits, their wives in large patterned floral frocks; an eccentric, chanting lists of English football teams as he searched bins for discarded food before being given a meal by the galley staff; a cross section of Greek life was aboard and we were the only foreigners. The thudding of the engines grew louder, and the deck floor began to vibrate as the lines were cast off and we headed out to sea. As soon as we edged out of the harbor mouth, the swell took hold of the vessel, rhythmically pitching and twisting us as we progressed towards the northern cape of the island, before steering a northwesterly course leaving Rhodes behind. Proteus felt at home in this significant swell but, as the cloud came lower and the sky darkened bringing with it more than a hint of a breeze, I began to be thankful we were aboard this Trojan vessel. As the coast of Turkey loomed ahead, the wind abated and the rain began to fall almost vertically from the sky. Our approach to Panormitis was in sharp contrast to that which we had made all those years ago by yacht. The unrelenting rainfall made the bay look smaller as we inched towards the jetty beneath the monastery. Crewmen shouted instructions at each other to make themselves heard over the reverse thrust of the ship’s engines and the excited chatter of the schoolchildren.
Hawsers were heaved ashore and secured around hefty bollards as the ship’s ramp was lowered and we and the other passengers poured ashore. The monastery still retained an undoubted air of grandeur, but with the rain dripping down its walls and polishing the chessboard marble stones of the courtyard, it held us in a melancholy thrall. Water dripped off the leaves of the potted chrysanthemums, off the brims of hats and hoods and down the backs of shirts. Unabated, the children ran hither and thither between the buildings, while the devout leafed through their guidebooks whispering to each other. We struggled to relive the memory of our first visit, inwardly disappointed that the weather did not allow this magnificent spot to give off its best. If the rain had presented us with a clammy, uncomfortable feeling, and lackluster picture for the eyes, it was compensated for by the aroma the soaking had released from the hills behind the monastery. Wild arugula, sage, thyme and celery made their presence felt as the rain subsided and the ground began to steam in the watery sunlight. The smell of herbs aroused the taste buds and we had to be strong to resist sitting down to eat, which we intended to do in Symi Town, our next port of call. As Proteus edged out of the bay, leaving the small village behind, the sun began to dry us out and projected a beautiful rainbow arching from the sea over the monastery to the mountainside beyond. Making short work of burning off the mist and cloud, the sun reestablished its dominance almost as sharply as it had previously been undermined. We settled down hugging the shore bound for Symi Town. Buffeting a slight swell we eased our way to the southern tip of the coastline before skirting around the small island of Sesklia, its stark landscape inhabited only by seabirds, including pinkfooted shearwaters. At times, seals languish
2014 | VOICES
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