No Shit Bitch

"No shit bitch"  has become my motto for the summer months. I pass these 3 words, as I climb up the hill in Hydra, on about the 180th step I think.  I keep meaning to count the total number, but the ability to sweat, walk and remember at the same time deserts me after 150 steps. I'm also busy trying not to lose face as an octogenarian or two overtake me with a friendly "Yassou" and not a hint of perspiration on their brows. There is not much graffiti on Hydra, but I can't say the same for the mainland. I don't like to draw comparisons between Greece and Turkey, but the amount of urban scrawling can't be ignored on the a Western side of the Aegean. It is everywhere and makes for unpleasant viewing on the bus or metro ride from the airport to Athens or Piraeus. 

I'm a great fan of Banksy because his pieces make us either laugh or think but the majority of the stuff I pass by on the bus just signals a society in decline. 

Occasionally there are attempts that look as if the perpetrator has artistic tendencies but most are rather sad and depressing.  I hate mindless graffiti so I'm not sure why I'm so fond of the "No Shit Bitch" tag. It may be the beautiful turquoise shutters it's written on but it's probably just the lack of oxygen getting to my brain as I wheeze and pant up the hill. 

My poor knees.

After nearly three weeks of carting groceries up stone steps, my knees are crying out for mercy. Thank goodness I got into the exercise habit at b-fit in Bodrum over the winter and had at least built up a bit of muscle.  The first few trips from harbour to house nearly winded me but I'm almost used to it now. The early morning jog is not too bad but the afternoon slog with temperatures in the mid 30s needs a specially adapted headscarf to stop the sweat running off my forehead blinding me. After all my years living in Turkey, it is a hilly Greek island that has finally got me to cover my head with a scarf.