Playing it safe

On board S/Y Bushido

The island evenings are always subtle and slow. White-painted houses rise up steeply from the wine-dark sea, the sunset drifting over the hills above the port, the streetlamps faintly lighting the quays along the waterfront. In Symi, one of the most picturesque of the islands bordering Turkey, the hawkers emerge as the light fades away and advertise their business. ‘Fresh fish, fresh kalamari, best oysters in the whole of Greece and Turkey…’ The neo-classical houses of Symi, their pediments and courtyards paved with pebbles —- all creations of the 19th century — are a pleasure to the eye. They are ochre and white, with the odd red one thrown in for variety’s sake. Symi nights cannot be compared to, say, the enchanted glamour of Riviera evenings in Tender Is the Night, or the ecstatic partying in Gatsby’s house ‘where men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne…’ No, Symi is quiet, almost sad, but very, very beautiful.