Day 27 / Stalkers & Farewells

A day of two halves

Party guests: 6 (essentially an island rave)
Stalkers: 1 (not ideal)
Booby-trapped doors: 2 (essential, given above)
Knives sharpened: 12 (maybe going too far)

Well, just when I thought I might be running out of content…

Things start off well.

I power through some work on the terrace. Inbox, cleared. Top priorities, done. ABBA blasting, bright sun topping up my tan. Fresh coffee. Bliss.

Warning

At some point I see my beach friend, Valérie, waving at me from the beach. She seems to be pointing at something but short-sighted me can’t see what.

When I’m done for the morning, I head down for a swim and she waves me over.

“Molly, as-tu vu l'homme là-bas?” She asks.

I’ve never been more grateful for my choice of degree as she proceeds to tell me that she’s seen one of my beach friends acquaintances hanging around (problematically) close to my house and looking into my terrace.

I know the guy she’s talking about. Local love-handles guy. We exchanged approximately 5 words a few days ago about the horseflies being particularly nibbly one day. Hmm.

She’s more concerned about the evening when everyone goes home and me being on my tod. My nearest neighbour is a good 5/10 minute drive away. I see her point and she gives me her number to call. Just in case.

lovely view from lovely terrace. shame about the not so lovely unwanted attention.

At this point I’m not too worried. He seemed like a nice guy and I doubt he would try anything. After my swim, I head back up with a breezy wave to Valérie - hurrah for the sisterhood!

A couple of hours later, I see Valérie and Alain pushing out their boat to leave and she waves up at me, pointing again to the road by my house.

This time, I pop some clothes on and go to investigate. The guy is sat under a tree where he can see through a grill in the terrace wall. Nothing criminal, just not ideal.

I cover the grill with a towel and get back to my work. The next time I look up, he’s walked up the hill and found a new spot where he’s now very clearly looking down at me.

Right, that’s enough I think.

I march over and as he sees me walking towards him he suddenly gets up and leaves. I stand by my gate and watch him climb the road back up until I can’t see him anymore.

Honestly, just my luck. Penultimate-night dismemberment was not the Mamma Mia plot twist I saw coming.

Home Alone-ing

I hear a car driving down and am delighted to see it’s Ian and Bridgid, my actual, non-stalker American friends from the beach. We wave and I promise to join them shortly, I just have to take care of a few things first.

Step One: Alert the Girls
I text two friends. We set up a system: if I don’t text them first thing in the morning, they’ll call Valérie. If I ring in the middle of the night, they’re to call Leros police station on my behalf (lack of signal suddenly not as much off-grid fun).

Step Two: Perimeter Security

I close every shutter, double-lock the doors, and booby-trap the front one with a cowbell. Another umbrella stand + cowbell combo to go behind my bedroom door.

Step Three: Weapon Assembly

I gather up all the knives I can find and sharpen them on the terrace. Loudly. Just in case he’s watching. I hide two per room and one under my pillow for luck.

Final step: Escape Plan
Lastly, I make sure my car keys, glasses and shoes are by my bed. I also put my laptop in the bathroom in case of attack while on the loo/brushing teeth (hopefully not).

the hermit life has taken a turn

Beach Party-ing

Satisfied, I take off my SAS helmet and don my (figurative) party sombrero instead.

A couple of nights ago, I found some old tile offcuts in the garden and made a sign for Ian’s tiki bar. I grab my mostly un-drunk bottle of Mastiha, some ginger beer and a speaker then head down to join them.

she be christened!

The tiki bar sign goes down well and is soon hanging from the bamboo gazebo’s roof. We drink Mastiha mules and put on Spotify’s Tiki Bar Party playlist.

Soon the rest of the gang rolls in.

• Raphaelle, an elderly Italian who mostly talks pasta (apparently his cacio e pepe is the star of the show).

• Wouter, a German coast guard, currently working on a migrant rescue boat. Friendly, v German, says things like “Where is your Tiki Bar permit?”

• Ian’s dad, Francis. Dutch, 6’5”. Suddenly Ian’s volleyball career makes sense.

It’s a heartwarming scene.

A temporary shack, thrown together from bamboo and driftwood, hosting this oddball group from all corners of the world. I love the fleetingness of it. Two weeks ago there was nothing here.

a fiesta by hermit standards

I say final farewells to Ian and Bridgid and as the sun sets, we go our separate ways.

Then, I double check the locks, carefully position cowbells and text the girls bonne nuit. Surrounded by knives and escape supplies, I offer up a final prayer to Artemis for safe delivery.

Just your standard Hermit Girl bedtime routine.