Hydra Port

Hydra contains such contrasting people. Yaughtsmen, Donkeymen, Island Hoppers, Priests, Newlyweds, Artists, Thinkers, Foodies, Property Developers, Fishermen. Somehow they all live alongside each other without conflict and content. Some of this I put into a poem while enjoying the view:

Hydra: Port of intertwined passages

Clopping donkeys

The thick smell of hard work

Bobbing fishing boats, peeling paint

Flecks of light dancing

Glistening yachts

Baby bouncers, riders brandishing toys

Cruciform masts dot the bay

Empty Monasteries dot the hills

Souvenirs laid out like sweets

Bejewelled boutiques empty pretty

Hulking rusting supply boat

Weighed down with cat food

Complaining locals bemoaning mistaken orders

Trolleys barging along the quay

Marble stairs

Behind shades

Furtive pupils dart

As miss after miss walks by

Evening creeps up the hill

A child whose bedtime's has passed

Thinkers, dozers, snappers, wondering couples

Sharing the giant duvet canopy cosy sleep over

Waiters wondering if someone will arrive 

Sun still beating down high on the mountain 

Warming the townsfolk 

Bronze patriarch looking out calmly

Guarded by canon and pigeon