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Symi Style

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The roaring forties?”You’re going to by 40, my lovely wife, Nibby, has been reminding me from the day after my 30th birthday. Well, it’s finally arrived and “life begins…to show? Hair now sprouts out of my ears and my beard is turning grey (no more trendy goatee for me). In a failed attempt to ignore the inevitable and keep things low key, four separate celebrations ensued. Thus:

a) party at home for the same generation of friends;
b) party with work colleagues (average age 27 ?with an ergonomic commode as a present);
c) dinner out with older generation, parents, in-laws, and aunt and uncle;
d) my wife’s wonderful present?.A WEEK IN BEAUTIFUL SYMI.

Positioned 25 miles north of Rhodes and 3.5 miles from the rugged Anatolian coastline of Turkey, the island of Symi rises like a colossus from the deep azure of the Aegean. Very Greek, yet richly diverse, it reflects the tussles for control throughout its history. During the last 100 years alone, it has fallen under the domain of the Turks, Italians, Germans, British and finally, rightfully in 1948, the Greeks.

Nibby and I first came to Symi two summers ago. Like many before me, I fell in love with the place, which is why this trip was a fantastic present and certainly worth reaching 40 for.

The island will never succumb to mass tourism. Its rugged terrain will not lend itself to an airport, and the chronic lack of water (shipped in once a week from Rhodes) means that it will not have the infrastructure to support the hordes. 2,500 Symiots (down from 25,000 in its nineteenth century heyday,) play host to no more than 200 tourists ?the number of available beds.

To those about to lose their Symiot virginity, arrival at the island is a visual treat. The sun sets fiery and orange, behind one of Europe’s most stunning natural harbour’s, emphasising the various pastel shades of what, at first sight, appears to be a Venetian artist’s paradise. Those Italians?.

Our previous visit had been pretty basic on the accommodation front. This time, Nibby had booked via Laskarina Holidays, a well-known, Observer travel award-winning specialist in up-market, unspoilt Greek islands. Their relationship with Observer readers appears symbiotic ?or should I write Symibiotic.

All holidays to Symi from the UK begin in the same manner, with an early morning charter flight to Rhodes. Our trip began the previous evening at the Gatwick Hilton. The hotel is conveniently adjoined to the south terminal and always packed with gaggles of holidaymakers wearing their Mediterranean summer gear, regardless of the current external weather conditions. Tasked with meeting Nibby at the hotel, meant taking the entire luggage. Not easy with only two arms, one back, a neck and two legs, when one of us packs as if we’re about to depart for six months covering all continents and terrains. I arrived limping and looking a little worse for wear.

No doubt as a consequence of my appearance we were checked into an enormous room with extensive facilities for the disabled. Oh how they took pity. Fortunately, I am fully fit. The nearest I have to a disability is being very shortsighted which led to a bit of a shock when, with spectacles off, I thought that I was turning out the light when, in fact, I had pressed the emergency button. Within a nanosecond, Nibby had the bed sheets around her shoulders as the door was pummelled, the telephone rang, sirens went off and the SAS, masked and not carrying boxes of Milk Tray, burst in through the window. OK ?the last bit was a trifle exaggerated, but I admired the response.

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