My island in the sun

Perhaps we can come to some arrangement, here; I will tell you what is great about my island and you will agree not to come. The dilemma, for me, is that I live here (or, depending on your perspective, I live there).
Because tourism is the island’s biggest industry, tourists (you) just get under my feet; you take all the car park spaces and occupy all the seats in cafes and restaurants precisely when I need them. But duty is duty, so long as you understand that I write this selflessly, and against my own better interests…
Although the Tourism Ministry always uses “the middle east crisis” (and when wasn’t there one of those?) as an excuse for not performing better, it has been something of an economic godsend for my archipelago of five small islands. Turkey, a competitor in terms of ancient European and eastern-Mediterranean culture, sailing, diving, walking, nightlife, good hotels, friendly people and great seafood is beaten hands-down on all those factors here. And Turkey has dodgy human rights, is a full member of Nato and borders Iraq, while we are miles away from anywhere, and determinedly neutral.
Hereabouts – even the Americans have started to notice – it is, in a word, safe. It is also relatively crime free. The big news was when we had our first car theft. People started wondering whether they should now start to lock their cars, and maybe even their front doors.
They are like that, the locals: trusting, honest, helpful, and neighbourly. Tell one of them you have a problem and he will go miles out of his way (these are small islands), or find a relative, to help you. A cynic might suggest that there is nowhere to go if you steal anything; that might be a factor, but the result is the same – safe. Teenagers, tumbling out of discos at the time their parents may be preparing for Mass, confidently hitch lifts home.
Oh yes… and they all more or less speak English. And, at least in theory, they drive on the left. They support Manchester United, Spurs, Liverpool or Arsenal, and many actually travel to watch the matches.
As for the climate, it is terrific, especially if you like heat. After chilly (to us) winters - when we always joke it is like an English August - the summers are always hot. It often hits more than 40C, with 30 degrees at night, so hotels have air-conditioning, and every rentable “farmhouse” needs a pool.
There is not much in the way of beaches, but the coastline – rocks, cliffs, bays and natural harbours – is spectacular. The islands are a walker’s paradise.
The island with the airport is naturally the busiest and most popular, densely crowded in the built-up areas, empty elsewhere. Mine is more rural, greener, and (according to people from “the mainland” who visit at weekends and for their own summer holidays) quieter. I am not sure about that. From now until the end of summer we will have a festa, somewhere on this tiny rock, every week. Petards, which sound like cannon, will go off all day and every day; and one of the villages will be fully en fete for a full week with the festivities exploding in a fantastic firework display – each village is expected to present a bigger and better spectacle than the last one – at the weekend.
The name of the village in which I live is said to translate as “fountain of peace”, but I guess it was named before festas were invented.
I live overlooking the harbour, so I’ll know if you cheat on the deal we made at the top of the page and decide to come here…
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This posting is an edited extract from an article I wrote in the travel section of The Independent.