Around Loutros and the Phoenix

As mentioned, we're in an idyllic setting, a small waterfront hotel we found in the perfect cove on Google Earth, a rugged hike to the nearest village, Loutros, itself only accessible by ferry. Phillipe is still with us, and we're also hanging with a fun young British couple, Ian and Lucy, as well as Joan, an American poet living in England, and various other tourists, many of them habitual returnees who love the quiet atmosphere here. The only other company is the large extended family of Greeks who run the place. The men all look like Fidel Castro, and sit smoking, talking and drinking most of the day, alternately friendly and then somehow vaguely threatening, for instance if you ask for something to put on your toast.
Our days are spent swimming in the impossibly clear turquoise sea (warmish, by Georgian Bay standards), making lunch clandestinely so as not to arouse the ire of the proprietor's clan ("why weren't you at the restaurant?"), reading, walking to Loutros for supplies, and hiking the many trails up among the goats.