April Fools! Turned out to be the Italian cable-laying ship “Teliri”
participating in the upgrade of Hydra’s electrical system.
(Thanks to Brian Sidaway for the photo.)

The renovations to the derelict armory at Kamini’s Baby Beach.

Contrary to years of speculation and rhubarb, “it” is happening: Baby Beach as we know it is undergoing a major diaper change. And the only thing not under debate? The process has passed the point of no return. Something big is clearly afoot, and it will change the ambiance of Kamini beach forever—whatever the outcome.

Kostello, a.k.a. Baby, Beach ca. 1984

For obvious reasons, our sources wish to remain anonymous, but a random survey conducted by the Kamini Comet has already revealed a plethora of opposing rhubarbs associated with the proposed new enterprise currently under construction at Kamini’s only, and beloved, pebble beachfront.

The beautiful Saronic beyond Kamini’s Baby Beach

Rumors and rhubarbs about the future of Kostello Beach, more commonly called Baby Beach as the long-favored bathing area of yayas and toddlers, go back decades. In the late 1980s Richard Branson purportedly planned to turn it into a five-star resort. Nationally televised demonstrations with sarcastic “Keep Hydra Virgin” placards outside courts in the Big Olive summed up opposition to, and ultimately scuppered, that proposal. Later, other tycoons allegedly tried to convert the mansion ruin into a casino/private resort designed to attract the multinational rich-and-dubious to the little beach. But none of these schemes ever came to fruition, or at least none had enough substance to get past the courts.

The renovations to the armory seen coming from Kamini Harbor

This winter, however, there is no denying that the old, derelict mansion at the beach’s back, said once to have been Hydra’s armory, is for the first time in memory getting a major face lift.
But what exactly is the project now underway? Speculation is rife, and nobody is quite sure. Some believe the old ruin will be converted into a simple snack bar; others maintain it will become an exclusive accommodation with five-star suites. Perhaps this summer will find the beach graced with umbrellas, chaise lounges, and scantily clad waitresses bearing fruit cocktails. Maybe visitors will a find water-sport facility purveying noisy jet skis and the like. Will fresh-water showers be available for bathers? Will there be a restaurant or bar? What type of food will be on offer, and how much will drinks cost? Will this establishment play music, and what type, at what volume, for how many hours a day?

As one local mustache said, “It gives us jobs and will bring business.”

Another, more conservative local intoned that commercial greed and the attendant tourists and noise will ruin the beach for locals.

“But the waterfront will always be free, so it doesn’t matter,” defended a third.

And, an enthusiastic youth added, the beach would be well rid of grandmas with squalling toddlers and indeed attract topless tourists, a proposition that generated several raised eyebrows and piqued nods.

And, of course, there is speculation about what will happen to the sewage created. Will it be pumped into Kamini’s pristine bay, or will the need to dispose of it properly finally hasten the implementation of a decent, environmentally correct system that will benefit the whole village.

Kaminite bathers on the Baby Beach of yore.

All of this, of course, is just the tip of the iceberg that is Kamini gossip in midwinter. The only sure thing is that, as change is coming to Kamini, the accompanying debate will go on. Whatever the outcome—according to some it may be achieved by the 2009 summer season, while others maintain it remains as far away as 2010—we hope the project’s managers conform to regulations and even introduce some ecofriendly measures to our village’s already overtaxed ecosystem.

We shall, of course, keep our readers abreast of any developments.

It’s not often that a rumour will entice us to venture into the megopolis of Hydra port to verify the authenticity of a rhubarb, but this was one that needed a firsthand ‘eye-report’. This month Kamini village gossip had it that Hydra was defying maritime and governmental authorities by blockading the harbour to all incoming major sea traffic including our only lifeline to the mainland, the hydrofoils.

Sick of being held over a financial barrel over its transport system to the Big Olive by a single ‘greedy’ shipping monopoly, the citizens of our island decided to take matters into their own hands. With no large ferry to the Rock, Hydriotes have been forced to use the only daily transport into Piraeus, which is not only expensive but baggage prohibitive, being that the hydrofoils limit the amount of goods one may carry.

On the 13th and 14th of November ropes, and a string of ciaques blocked the entrance to the port, physically preventing boats from entering. But, in typical Hydra fashion, instead of the protest turning into a naval confrontation, it turned into a party, despite the inconvenience. Blaring music, the odd megaphone speech, and a general festive atmosphere prevailed.

My wife, Jennifer, who rarely leaves the Rock, had gone into Athens to see a friend off and show her the sights, was marooned for three days. Alternatives, such as hiring and taxi and then acquired a blockade-busting Hydra water taxi into Kamini was just too expensive and impractical to justify the trip.

The blockade attracted national media and brought the island’s plight to the attention of a flawed and unjust commuting system.
The major point of the grip was to highlight the fact the hydrofoils servicing the island are way too old, over 35 years, prone to breaking down, and below normal safety standards. Being that it coincided with one of the Rock’s major holidays, St. Konstentine our patron saint, even the Senior Orthodox Beards were forced to come a couple of days early to commemorate the event.

As yet there is no clear outcome to this naval action, but as soon as there is some sort of resolution we will post the result. Whilst it is not our policy to delve into local politics, one rhubarb which did get loud in the local taverna, was that an almost ex-mayor (no names obviously) turned up with some of his PASOK cronies and tried to steal the limelight, and pissed off many residents in the process. And it was said, hijacked the real cause for our self imposed blockade by turning it into a self motivated political agenda

Summer was nearly over, most of the tourists had gone home, and the island was ours again. Not that we mind the holiday makers. Au contraire! Most of them are quite generous and friendly, often stopping for a little chat. Still, it was nice to have some peace and quiet in the village for a change.

It was that time of year when it’s still lazy-warm and the cold, wet winter remains a distant concern. I was lounging in my favorite spot, on a doorstep overlooking the Saronic, soaking up the afternoon sun, when They came, disguised as late summer tourists.

“Here kitty-kitty. Tut-tut-tut.”

They approached in a most beguiling manner, one waving a tantalizingly smelly tin, the other straggling behind lugging what looked like a square suitcase oddly draped in cloth. Normally I allow such specimens to stroke my chin if they choose to as they pass, but then, one approached even closer, and I heard,

Clink, clink, clink. “Hello, little kitty. Who wants a yummy snack? How about a tasty sardine for the nice kitty?”

Never one to say no to such delicacies, despite the baby talk, even in the height of summer, I popped up to receive this kind surprise treat—and that’s when it happened.

Without warning, I found myself grabbed by the scruff of the neck and stuffed unceremoniously into the suitcase, which, as it turned out, was a plastic cage. The gate slammed shut like a prison door before I had time to retaliate and make my assailant bleed.

Then they covered me with the cloth and, grunting and panting, carried me through miles of enemy territory. Though I couldn’t see where they were taking me, my nose told me we’d long left the village. When at long last we arrived at their lair, others were waiting. They removed the sheet and my captors peered down at me for a while, smiling and nodding, apparently quite proud of themselves for their treachery. I was not their sole victim. I could smell others of my kind in the room, but they were all strangely silent.

Suddenly, my cage began to shrink, compressing me until I was trapped between its sides, unable to move a claw. Then, one of Them approached … and everything went black.

I awoke, mysteriously transported back to my old doorstep, with a tremendous hangover. I wondered at first if the whole thing had been a terrible dream. But I have evidence. My abductors shaved my flank. I don’t know what they did there—it’s a little sore—but life has definitely been different since. None of the local guys, usually so demanding and persistent, give me a second glance anymore. Some actually avoid me! I honestly can’t say I mind. I might actually get some rest this winter.

I’ve since spoken to a few of my girlfriends in the neighborhood who also claim to have had this bizarre experience to similar happy effect. I’ve asked a couple of the guys, but they either yawn indifferently and tell me they have no idea what I’m talking about, or they slink away quickly, muttering. I don’t suppose everyone’s terribly happy about the recent changes. We’ll have to see how it goes, but I’m beginning to think these aliens did us a huge favor.

HydraArk brought two Irish vets to the island who spayed/neutered and treated around 60 cats
in mid-September. To learn how you can help, please visit www.HydraArk.org for details.