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She won't let me buy a Victorian mansion in Vatousa for 30k but that house down the street from us in Molyvos has been reduced to k from half a million and that's a bargain she would go for. Sure I can have fun in a simple village after a couple ouzos with the farmers and shepherds. My Greek starts coming back to me enough that I can make jokes and keep them amused. But how can you compare that to a dinner at Captain's Table and the parade of artists, poets, rock stars, writers and underachievers who have found their niche here and stop for a drink and to tell their stories. I don't want to be the most interesting person at the table.

I would rather be the least! Or being able to end the night at a place like Molly's Bar, rubbing shoulders with British sports writers, Irish laborers, Canadian poets, and beautiful women from twenty to eighty who don't know much about Lesvos but could write a book about their exploits in Molyvos. And when you get tired of listening or talking you can watch videos of the Beatles, Stones, Animals, Lovin Spoonful, Free, the Byrds, and all your favorite bands while drinking Guinness until four in the morning and having so much fun that you don't care how you are going to feel when you wake up or that your walk home includes a hill that any other time you would do your best to avoid.

The wind is picking up. Andrea is still out there on the sea with passengers and crew who sound ominously like the cast of Gilligan's Island from the texts she had been sending me earlier. But there has been no communication in the last few hours. I suppose I should be worried. But at this moment I am back at the luxurious free rental house laying on the couch, digesting my lunch after having just taken a shower that was colder and more exhilarating than a dive in the sea. This town is famous for its pottery.

Hotels in Lesvos (Lesbos) island in Greece:

Going further south again we reach the towns of Plomari and Vatera which have the most superb beaches of the island. At the western Beeach of Miyilini, Sigri is a pretty fishing village with a nice little beach and a castle that goes back to the 18th century. Not far from there lies the Petrified Forest, dating back fifteen million years. Finally, not far from Sigri, one will find the town of Eressos. Eressos has been the birth place of Sappho and Theoprastos. Its port, Skala Eressos, is a famous resort with a magnificent beach. More than half of them are to Lesvos. Although the Turkish coast is only 10km across the turquoise Aegean, the crossing costs dearly.

People are making the journey because they have no choice. Most are from Syriaothers from Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia and Eritrea — refugees from war, persecution, violence and human rights abuses.

Desperation and fear drive them. I saw a year-old woman, her daughter and eight-week-old granddaughter rescued from a flimsy rubber dinghy crammed with 40 people. What pushes the refugees onwards through the mountains of Greece, up through the Balkans — where the brutality of the police and smugglers is rife — and onwards towards safety in Germany, Sweden, and the UK, is the knowledge that what they are leaving behind is far worse. Sami, a year-old computer science graduate from Aleppo, is one of those who made the dawn crossing from Turkey. But there were too many of us. Threatened with guns, 40 Syrian men, women and children got onto a small inflatable dinghy and were pushed into the water.