Xoxo Pottery Designs

Dear Diary Day 40: One More Everything ☀️
I’ve been running a very intense daily schedule over the
last two days. This extra time in Samos has meant so much because I got to see people
I would’ve missed by just a few days. The overlap with my childhood bestie, who’s always been more like a big sister to me, & who also happens to be a proper Samiotisa (a girl from Samos) 🤣 meant a lunch date in Pythagorio was absolutely non negotiable.

It was my last full day here, so errrrrrrything had to happen
and I was prepared to compromise on exactly… NOTHING.
Up early to hear the church bells ring, do a little more packing, a little more cleaning, and then straight to the beach.
I promised myself I would NOT repeat yesterday’s mistake & have two frappés.
We all know I was lying.

I got to my little beach of choice for this summer & as always, was greeted with huge smiles by the taverna owners and beach attendants, who looked slightly concerned that I’d arrived before they’d even finished setting up.
Apparently I was earlier than the umbrellas.
I explained that I had an extremely full itinerary involving squeezing every last drop out of my final day,
seeing my friend, seeing my uncle, & then making my way around approximately half the island saying,
“See you next year.”

To which almost every single person replied,
“Why are you leaving?”
“Why go back?”
“Just stay forever.” Followed by dramatic Greek arm & hand gesturing.

The beach was peaking today!
It was showing off in that spectacular, ridiculously perfect, magical Samos summer kind of way, as if it knew I was leaving & wanted to make it as difficult as humanly possible.
I walked up & down the tiny pebble shore a few times.
I soaked up every step.
I felt every little stone beneath my feet.

The cold sea rushed backwards & forwards around my ankles & I just stood there, exhaled, and quietly said, “Thank you, Universe.”
I said goodbye to the beach, my chair, to my spot.
I hugged everyone goodbye & started walking home.
It suddenly felt like I was noticing everything even more.
The beautiful flower pots outside tiny houses. The smell of lunch being cooked through every little back street.

The soundtrack of yiayiás discussing who was making what, whose tomatoes were better, & which dish would be arriving at whose house just as soon as it was ready.
Honestly… I don’t think neighbourhood WhatsApp groups could ever compete.

Lunch was an absolute highlight.
The overlap with Stamatia felt like such an unexpected gift. So naturally I chose my favourite little souvlatzidiko for 1 final gyros.
We’ve known each other since we were little growing up in Pretoria.
She’s always been my bonus big sister.
We laughed. We shared. We laughed even harder.
We said “Yamás!” several times… purely for hydration purposes, obviously.
Everything somehow felt more heightened.
More magnified. More wonderful.
Eventually there was another round of hugs, another round of goodbyes, & I headed home for what I had confidently planned as “a quick lie down.” Cute.

My uncle wanted to show me the ancient walls of Pythagorio, which I was genuinely excited to see.
So I asked the very sensible question:
“Are we driving or walking?”
“Please tell me you’re bringing the car because I’ve successfully made it 40 days without getting on a papáki (scooter), and I’m really not planning to break my winning streak now.”
Besides…I’m fairly certain my travel insurance expired emotionally sometime last week. 😂
Somehow…Somewhere…Without my full consent…This casually became a 1.5 hour hike.
I absolutely loved every minute of it.
I just perhaps wouldn’t have worn jewellery…
Or lip gloss…
Or my white sneakers, which were very much under the impression we were going for “a quick look,” not trying out for the next season of Survivor: Pythagorio.
They left the house saying, “We’re cute…”
…and came back saying, “We’ve seen things.”
By the end of the hike they looked like they’d personally helped build the ancient walls. 😂
These hours with my uncle have become some of the greatest gifts of this trip.
I’ve loved every conversation. Every story. Every laugh. I’m so grateful we’ve had this unexpected time together.
Somehow our souls have found each other again after all these years, and I know we’ll both carry this time with us long after summer has packed its bags. More goodbyes…
By this stage I genuinely wasn’t sure how much more my heart could hold.

It was only 8pm…
Which, in Greece, basically means the afternoon had only just ended.
The evening, however…Well…
Those shenanigans deserve tomorrow’s diary entry. 🤍🇬🇷

Dear Diary Day 39: A Little Pause
Before the Last Few Chapters 🤍🇬🇷🧿
While I sit on my balcony eating a delicious piece of portokalopita..( orange phyllo pastry cake) I’m not quite sure how I got this lucky?

I’m genuinely going to need someone to explain it to me.
The amount of love, excitement & joy thats been poured into me over the past few weeks has been unreal.
To be fair…my cup, heart & soul were already overflowing
by about Day 3 or 4 of this trip. Now? I truly don’t know how
to compute or articulate the enormity of what I’m feeling.
All I know is… today’s is day 1 of 2.5 travel days to get home😥

My diary hasn’t been posted in real time, so in real life I’m a few days ahead of it…
but in Dear Diary Lexi land, I’m still happily wandering around Samos with a huge smile on my face.
The diary entries are already written.
I write them throughout each day while I’m living them,
then later edit the version I share publicly… mostly to make sure it’s coherent & that nobody runs for the hills,
unfollows me or calls the looney bin,
because I’m fully capable of going from zero to deeply emotional in approximately 14 seconds. 🤣
Today I’m travelling to Athens to squeeze in a very
quick 36 hours with my bestie before heading home.
I really want to be fully present for it.
Also… can someone explain why I’ve suddenly developed radical travel anxiety at 44? What fresh nonsense is this? 😂 and no it may not stick around!

So while I’m offline for the next couple of days,
I’ll leave you in Samos just a little longer.

The final diary instalments will be coming over the week as dear diary me catches up with real life me.
Thank you.
For every comment, every message, every voice note,
every laugh & every person who has chosen to come
travelling with me.
It’s been one of the greatest joys of this whole adventure.

There’s still more to come…
So don’t wander off just yet.
Watch this space. 🤍🇬🇷🧿 # # #

Dear Diary Day 38: The Bonus Week 💙
It’s almost like this extra cheeky week was just meant to be. Bonus time with my cousin. Bonus time with people I wouldn’t have seen.
Bonus beach days. Bonus swims. Bonus gyros.
Bonus sunsets. Bonus everything.
Just… non-stop gratitude.
That Athens flight is starting to loom, & my time in Samos — & this year’s summer chapter in the little house on Blue Street — is slowly wrapping up. Best believe I’ve already made plans to book it again for 2027. 😂

I have a travel list.
A bucket list. A life list. A wish list.
A “things I’d like to see before I become an old yiayia” list…There are… quite a few lists.
And while I’m happily ticking things off, constantly editing, adding and reshuffling them as life unfolds…
I have a sneaking suspicion my destination list might remain suspiciously unchanged for a while.
I sat on the beach yesterday with my second…
Yes. SECOND…Frappé.
For anyone who knows me, this is the equivalent of giving a toddler an espresso martini.
I’ve never had two in one day before.
By 3pm I could hear colours.
I was mentally redecorating houses I don’t own & planning holidays I hadn’t even finished yet. 😂
Which is exactly what happened.
There I was contemplating next year.
That’s normal… right?
That’s how one copes with the impending devastation of leaving…
You simply start booking your return before you’ve even packed your suitcase. Right?

Is it too soon to have already messaged the owners of the house asking whether June and July 2027 might possibly, hypothetically, potentially be available…Just asking for a friend. 🤣The big question was…
Do I go exploring somewhere completely new next year…Or do I come straight back here?
I’m not going to lie.
That question wasn’t exactly a nail-biter.
Right here.💙🇬🇷🧿
I’m coming right back here.

I’m convinced Pam and Allan are stalking me.
Either that, or they’ve accidentally become my official Greek Island groupies.
I’ve seen them on every single island this year.
Syros. Patmos. And now, thanks to my little bonus week…Samos too. I absolutely adore them.
They’re the kind of people you meet once and immediately decide…
“Yep… you’re my people now.”

So sundowners on the Pythagorio harbour was definitely one of my favourite moments.
Naturally we video-called Kori. There was laughing. There was squealing.
There was the collective sadness that she wasn’t sitting there with us too. Now perhaps…
Seeing as we all actually live in Cape Town…
We could potentially catch up there…
Before we accidentally follow each other around Greece for another entire summer. 😂
Back to the house to begin the slow process of regrouping. The puzzle…Has officially been downgraded from “holiday activity” to “home décor.” Meanwhile, Madame Lexi was social butterflying her way around the island like an overconfident Chihuahua that had escaped the garden & was determined to befriend the entire island. Needless to say. The puzzle hasn’t moved.
Not even emotionally. So now it’s slowly packing…
Checking what I still “need” (absolutely do not need) to buy. Tidying. Repacking.
Staring dramatically out the window.
Sighing heavily between every task because I’d genuinely rather gargle with wasps than pack up & leave this place.
But…Athens awaits. Although it’ll be a much shorter stay than originally planned…
I’m still ridiculously excited.
So for now…I’m going to soak up every last drop of Samos goodness. The sunshine. The sea.
The frappés. The gyros. The Palomas.
The bouzoukia. The people.
Every beautiful ordinary moment. Because before I know it…This chapter will quietly become another one of my favourite memories.
And luckily…
Blue Street already knows I’ll be back.

Dear Diary Day 37: Iliovasilema 🌅🧿
I’ve had this word circling around my thoughts for the last 36 days. Although… if I’m being perfectly honest…
it’s probably been circling around for the last 44 years.
Iliovasilema. It means sunset. Except… I don’t think it does.
Not really. Because if you ask a Greek what iliovasilema is,
I don’t think they’ll tell you it’s the moment the sun disappears below the horizon.

It’s something you do. A ritual. An appointment with beauty. Permission to stop. I’ve realised that’s exactly what happens here. Nobody apologises for it either. At around the same
time every evening, people quietly wander towards the sea.
Chairs turn towards the horizon. Glasses are topped up. Conversations soften. Somewhere in the distance a
bouzouki starts playing…
Everyone simply… watches.

The sun has always made me feel something.
It warns me up in a way I can’t really explain.
Maybe it’s because I’m a Sagittarius.
Maybe it’s because I’m a fire sign.
Maybe it’s because my emotional range is somewhere
between “that’s a nice cloud” &
“the sky has composed a full orchestral symphony just for me.”

Either way…I’ve never met a sunset I didn’t fall a little bit in
love with. I’ve also changed 12 shades darker since
arriving in Greece.
I’m now somewhere between toasted almond &
“you’ve definitely got Greek in you.”
My dermatologist is absolutely pretending she hasn’t seen these photos. 🤣 My skin automatically, even with factor 50+ on, turns this rich golden olive colour that reminds
me so much of Mom.

The older I get, the more I see her in myself.
Especially on this trip. As I’ve connected with a lot more of her side of the family. I’ve seen photographs of her here that
I’d never seen before. Standing under this very same sun.
Smiling the same smile. Carrying the same Mediterranean face I now catch looking back at me in the mirror.
There’s something incredibly comforting about that.

Growing up in South Africa with Greek parents meant our weekends weren’t exactly negotiable.
Saturday mornings? Greek tutor arrived at our house at 8am. Thanks, Ma!!!
Apparently sleep was not considered a childhood requirement.

Saturday afternoons were Greek dancing.
Sundays were usually another Greek community gathering or a family lunch involving 30+ people.
Greekness wasn’t suggested.
It was… scheduled. 😂
Resistance was futile.

Then, like every dramatic teenager convinced they know absolutely everything… at around 17 years old I rebelled. Third child syndrome probably helped. By then my parents had already survived raising my sisters & I suspect they looked at me & collectively decided…. “Ah… she’ll be fine.”

For context…I once ran away from home when I was 9 years old. Packed a tiny little suitcase. Marched about 12 kilometres to my aunt’s house.
See… apparently I’ve always been a walker. 🤣
The determination was admirable.
The planning… less so.
I was fetched within the hour!

I finished school, moved to Cape Town to study drama, dyed my hair bright red & pierced my tongue. Honestly… I kept everyone on their toes.
But I like to think I was an entertaining handful.

And somewhere along the way…
All those Saturdays I rolled my eyes at.
All those dancing lessons.
All those traditions I thought I was escaping…
They quietly found me again. Or maybe not so quietly! Not because anyone forced them to. Because they were already part of me.

Turns out… you can run from your heritage.
You just can’t outrun your DNA.

Maybe that’s why Greece doesn’t feel unfamiliar.
It feels recognisable. Like bumping into an old friend…who’s been waiting for you all along.
Like I’ve finally understood a language that was being spoken inside me long before I could translate it. Maybe that’s why iliovasilema has stayed with me. Because it isn’t really about sunset.
It’s about remembering to stop long enough to feel completely alive. Completely warm. Completely sun-kissed. Completely here.
To let the sun finish its day before rushing into tomorrow.
To notice beauty while it’s happening instead of talking about it later.
And perhaps that’s what the Greeks have known all along. The sun doesn’t need an audience.
It just S H I N E S. ☀️
But we probably need iliovasilema. Because sometimes…the most important appointment you’ll keep all day…is with the sky.
And for a few glorious minutes…let the sky remind you who you are.

Sjoe Greece…
You have absolutely no business making a grown woman this emotional over a sunset. 🤣☀️ Funny how one little Greek word ended up explaining something I’d been feeling for forty-four years.

Dear Diary Day 36: Jokes on us!
(Ps: my cousin surprised me with a quick hi in Pythagorio)
Yesterday I told you about the lunchtime ritual.
But I think what really fascinates me isn’t the food… it’s the feeling.
It’s everything that happens around it. How everyone gets involved.
I’ve realised something else.
Nobody here is trying to create beautiful moments. They just notice the ones already happening, around the table with real conversations. Tables aren’t dressed with fancy tablescaping bits.

Everything is wholesome goodness in its purest form, and everything is shared from the oldest to the youngest & often you’ll find minimum three generations around the table at meal time.

Bread isn’t sliced. It’s torn into chunks with your hands. Double dipping isn’t frowned upon…
it’s practically encouraged often even forced & praised.
Using bread to mop up every last drop of olive oil is less a suggestion & more a cultural requirement, especially after hearing about how those olives were planted three generations ago, how everyone got involved in winter to harvest them, & how this is, without question, “is THE best olive oil in Samos.”
(Says each and every person you meet. 😂)

Tablecloths are old, passed down from yiayia. They’re clean, beautiful & tell their own story, often doubling as an invisible side plate.
Nobody cares.
How you bought the bread, or how the baker delivered it while you were at the beach having your early morning swim & simply tied the bag to your front door handle, somehow turns into a highly animated, beautiful 20-minute conversation.

One coffee lasts longer than some relationships here. In fact, I’ve seen some people look at their coffee more lovingly than their significant other…
An evening walk has absolutely no destination.
We’re just walking…This type of life simply is because… why wouldn’t it be?
Imagine that. Doing something purely because it’s lovely. Or because it makes you feel good.
What a concept.
Maybe that’s why this place gets under your skin.
Maybe that’s the appeal.
It isn’t trying to impress you.
It’s simply impressive exactly as it is in its most basic form.

Maybe the Mediterranean isn’t a place.
Maybe it’s permission.
Maybe I can take a little bit of that permission home with me, & yes the date of departure is fast approaching & no I’m still not ready to leave.
Maybe I’ll implement this new found permission concept & stop measuring life by what’s got done… & how fast and efficiently I got it done…
…and start measuring it by how much of it I actually noticed.
How much of it I actually enjoyed.
Maybe that’s the “joke.”

We’ve spent years trapped in the cycle of making a living… building a life, acquiring things, acquiring more things, bigger things, shinier things… to capitalise, to maximise, to multiply… only to finally feel justified enough to “live.”

When exactly is that meant to happen?
When I retire?
When I’m old and grey?
…while the Greeks on the islands… they’ve just been quietly getting on with living all along.
Living a life I look at and think…
“Gosh… this right here… this is winning at life.”

The day will come.
I will live here🫶🏾

Dear Diary Day 35: The Lunchtime Ritual 🍞

I think we’ve accidentally made life far more complicated than it ever needed to be… & the Greeks have just been quietly watching us the whole time, thinking, “WHY?”

I’ve started to think the Mediterranean is in on a joke the
rest of us haven’t quite figured out yet.

Now before anyone tells me I’m looking at this through
rose-tinted holiday glasses… I know.
5 weeks of sunshine, sea views, unlimited feta & mezze probably does alter one’s perspective slightly.

At around 2pm every afternoon something magical happens here. Besides the sun trying to literally cook you alive, that is…

The morning jobs are done. Vegetables have been bought
from Mihalis, the mobile veggie seller. Meals are mapped
out based on whatever fresh local produce is available.

Someone appears with bread that was baked that morning, tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes, a slab of feta,
olives and, if it’s Greece, a bottle of wine that somehow
seems to open itself.

Nobody asks, “What’s next?”
Nobody checks the time.
Nobody says, “I’ll just quickly answer this one email.”
Nobody inhales their lunch at warped speed.
The afternoon simply… exists.

Lunch is a big deal.
Followed by a siesta.
Then the evening jobs & work shifts kick into gear.

Nobody thinks they’re being lazy, nor do they give you the midday side-eye like, “Really? A long lunch on a Tuesday?”

They’re just living.
They’re just eating lunch.
They’re just being normal.

That’s not to say people here don’t work incredibly hard.
They do. Especially through summer. Long days for most. Hospitality, deliveries, restaurants… they absolutely graft.
They just don’t seem to believe being permanently frantic deserves a medal.

I don’t know who decided that life had to become one long to-do list… but I’m beginning to suspect they definitely weren’t Greek.

Where I’m from, sitting down in the middle of the day without a reason is usually followed by overwhelming guilt… & the sudden urge to reorganise my glaze shelves or make up for that “me time” by working extra over the weekend.

Here?
Someone just tops up your wine & asks if you’d like another stuffed tomato or my favourite, “Have you eaten enough?”
But while also giving you dieting advice.

They even talk with a rhythmical calmness, a romantic cadence and a slower pace in general.

Tomorrow… I want to tell you about what happens around these tables that has completely changed the way I look at living.

Because I don’t think it’s the food that’s so special…

I think it’s something much bigger….

Dear Diary Day 34: I’ve been Reprogrammed🦋

There should honestly be some kind of warning at
passport control. “Extended stays in Greece may result
in emotional attachment, irrational excitement over herbs, spontaneous conversations with strangers & an inability
to drink normal coffee ever again.”
I fear I’ve crossed that line.
Today was what most people would call an “admin day.”
I call it an annual ‘get the goods’ pilgrimage.
Off to Vathy to collect my yearly essentials because apparently my entire personality now depends on buying chamomile
tea from exactly one little shop on one Greek island.

Normal people buy souvenirs, possibly even shoes,
bags or clothes…I leave with enough oregano to season a small nation.
3 kilos to be exact. The lady in the shop didn’t even question it. Neither did I. We’ve all accepted this is who I am now.
I also had to have a quick midday ouzo with my uncle.
It did feel slightly criminal sacrificing a beach morning
for errands.
The sea and I have developed a very healthy,
very committed relationship. I don’t like us spending unnecessary time apart. But some things simply have to be done.Like protecting my future mountain tea supply.

One of my favourite things here has absolutely nothing
to do with beaches. It’s the greetings.
Nobody just walks past each other.
There’s eye contact. A smile. “Kaliméra.”
Then later…“Kalispéra.”
And only when you’re genuinely heading home…
“Kaliníhta.”
They’re only little words, but somehow they don’t feel little here. They feel like tiny gifts.
Small acknowledgements that, for one brief moment,
our lives crossed paths today. We acknowledged each other, We’re sharing the same sunshine.
The same village. The same day.

Then… of course… there is the vrisimo.
Now, technically that translates as swearing or being told off.
Technically that is. Because Greek swearing is less an insult & more a theatrical performance.
Someone can sound like they’re delivering Shakespeare while simultaneously informing another human exactly where they can go…(fill in blanks here)🤭
The volume rises.
The hands begin conducting an invisible orchestra.
There’s passion. There’s commitment…

There’s usually at least one neighbour pretending not to listen while hearing absolutely everything.
The reason? Could be someone’s having an affair with the neighbour’s husband.
Could equally be because the feta bucket leaked in the shopping bag. Both situations appear to warrant exactly the same emotional investment.

And somehow…By the end of it…Everyone still seems to know everyone’s cousin.
Someone’s papou knew someone else’s papou.
Coffee or watermelon gets offered. Nobody appears permanently offended. It’s chaos.
It’s beautiful. I love it.

I also realised something after my swim yesterday. That silence afterwards. When you’re floating. The water goes still. Your mind goes still.
There’s nowhere to be. Nobody asking anything of you. No notifications. No rushing.
Just the blissful reminder that freedom isn’t always doing extraordinary things.
Sometimes it’s simply having absolutely nothing you have to do. I’ve become frighteningly good at that here.

Tomorrow more beautiful people arrive in Samos. Which means more “can you believer we’re here” dates. More laughs. Probably more oregano somehow. And if an old yiayia calls me “koukla” before the day is over…
I’ll probably extend my ticket again.

Dear Diary Day 33: The Beach, The Breakdown &
The Bystanders 🍅

Not every day can be a “shoot the lights out” kind of day. Although… if I’m being completely honest… every single day has been exactly that.
Today’s itinerary was simple. Sun. Swim. Frappé.
Maybe eat something involving feta.
Instead… I had a cry on the beach.

I sat on the beach & read back through a few of my diary entries. (What I share on here is only about half of what I write. The full version stays with me because one day, please God,
I’ll be old, grey & hopefully still slightly inappropriate…
& I’ll want to remember every tiny detail. Every feeling.
Every grain of sand. Every waft of lemon zest, olive oil and entirely unnecessary amounts of garlic.)

Then I disappeared even further down the diary rabbit hole & found some of the very first trips I ever documented in this daily diary format.

I’d forgotten so many of those little moments.
The tiny details. The people. The feelings.
Reading them again filled me with this ridiculous, overwhelming sense of gratitude. It was joyful.
It was nostalgic. It was beautiful. It was a glimpse
back into my life.
Apparently, when your heart gets too full… your eyeballs become the emergency overflow valve.
A very necessary, very gentle cry happened.

The beach crew know me too well these days,
they spotted my vibes immediately.

Within seconds someone was asking if I was okay.
Then the sunbed guy looked concerned enough to
fetch the owner.
Honestly… you’d swear I’d collapsed dramatically into the Aegean while shouting, “Tell my mother I loved her.”
Within minutes, I was fairly sure I’d attracted an audience,
all silently wondering whether they should call the owners of
Blue Street House, my mother, the priest (who could’ve very possibly been on the beach because he’s never actually
in the church 🤭) or the coastguard.
Guys… relax. I wasn’t ugly crying.
There was no Oscar-worthy performance.
I simply sniffed twice, lifted my sunglasses,
dabbed my eyes with my sarong & carried on reading.

Apparently that’s enough to trigger the entire Greek Emergency Emotional Response Team.
It was incredibly sweet actually. They just couldn’t quite compute that someone could cry because they’re overwhelmingly happy.

I tried explaining the wholeness, the abundance, the gratitude. That sometimes life feels so unbelievably full that the only logical response is for your eyes to get involved.
I was met with… “But Xanthoula / blondie, WHY you cry?” I absolutely adore the Greeks.
I genuinely think there would’ve been more understanding if I’d been loudly swearing at a tourist for ordering their frappé incorrectly or asking for mayonnaise instead of tzatziki on their gyro.

So, public service announcement…
Never cry around Greeks.
They don’t do subtle concern. They immediately skip to Act Three of an ancient Greek tragedy.

Now…
Turns out the lovely couple who own the house I’m renting know me far better than I realised.
Somewhere along the way we’ve quietly gone from hosts… to friends… to family.

This mysterious “vacancy” between me and the next guests? Not luck. Not coincidence.
Pure intuition.
They knew I’d want more time.
They knew I’d struggle to leave.
They probably knew before I did.

Honestly, they know me better than some people who’ve known me my entire life.
And yes…I’ll be back. You can bet your life on it.
Yes, I know… There’ll always be another island. Another beach. Another adventure.
But contentment? That’s much harder to find.
I found mine here.

PS. Dear Greece… if I ever do have an actual emotional breakdown, none of you are going to believe me. You’ve already responded Code Red to two happy tears and a sniffle.

Dear Diary Day 32: Only Four Streets Apart.
9,000 Kilometres Away. 😉🇬🇷🧿

Turns out the quickest way to meet my neighbour…
was to fly 9,000 kilometres to a tiny Greek island.
Also… for everyone asking after yesterday’s diary…that may have been a bit confusing ..no, I haven’t gone home. I’m still very much in Greece, which means you’ve all accidentally renewed your subscription to another week of Dear Diary. You’re welcome. 😉🇬🇷

A week or so ago I got a message from Lisa Firer,
a fellow Cape Town ceramic artist.
“Lex, your travels through Greece over the years inspired us to visit Samos. Will you still be there on the 30th June?”

I was ridiculously excited she’d chosen Samos after following along all these years. I was equally disappointed because… according to Responsible Adult Lex… I’d be flying back to Athens that morning.

Meaning we’d miss each other by mere hours.
Fortunately, Responsible Adult Lex rarely survives for very long. By now we’ve all established I’m about as impulsive as a hand gr***de with Wi-Fi, and my travel plans have all the structural integrity of soggy spanakopita.
So… I changed my flights, like the repeat offender that I am.
I messaged Lisa.
“Guess what? I’ll See you on the 30th.” 🫶🏾

Here’s the funny part…
We’ve chatted on & off for about six years. Phone calls. Messages. Mostly ceramic chats.
Yet somehow we’d never actually met.
Even crazier? Back home in Cape Town we live about four roads away from each other.
FOUR.
Yet our first hug happened on the harbour wall in Pythagorio… nearly 9,000 kilometres from home.
Apparently the universe likes to throw more than just clay, it’s proof that even life enjoys a good plot twist… preferably a kiln fired to cone 6.🤭

Within minutes it felt as though we’d skipped the awkward “getting to know you” stage & jumped straight to old friends.
We headed to my favourite taverna where the staff welcomed me back while making several unsuccessful attempts to take our order.
The problem was… we simply didn’t stop talking.
Eventually ouzo arrived.
“Yamas!” Then mezze. Then more talking.
The pottery chat was inevitable. Clay. Glazes.
Kilns.

Then the ultimate unanimous agreement that Fernando isn’t just our kiln guy…
He’s our ceramic therapist, emotional support human & occasional blood-pressure medication. Potters will understand.
Everyone else probably thinks we’re slightly unhinged. They’re probably right.

As the evening unfolded we wandered along the harbour while an enormous orange-red moon rose over Pythagorio & music drifted across the water from the concert near the statue of Pythagoras.

Somewhere along the way I’d stopped feeling like a visitor… & started giving restaurant & Island advice like I’d been paying tax here for years.
I’d become one of those people saying…
“You have to eat here.”
“The lamb chops will change your life.”
“Skip the chicken there.”
“They’re closed Wednesdays, so save that one for Thursday.”
I was suddenly handing out recommendations with the confidence of someone who’d been born there. Questionable. But accurate, and thoroughly taste-tested.
Of course I had to show them my favourite little cocktail spot too. It’s called Hygge. A Danish word that isn’t really about translation, but about feeling—warmth in the air, good food on the table, good people around you… & the kind of ordinary moments that somehow stay with you long after they’ve passed.

Standing there, watching the moon rise over the harbour with friends who somehow already felt like old friends…I realised that’s exactly what this evening was. Funny, isn’t it?
We spent years living four streets apart without ever meeting. Yet somehow Greece knew exactly where to bring us together. Sometimes serendipity doesn’t knock on your front door.
Sometimes it waits for you on a harbour wall in Pythagorio… with ouzo, mezze and the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Yamas to that. 🥂🇬🇷🧿