Volodya

Volodya stumbles out of the breakfast room, stuffed with sausage and bacon and bread rolls. His belly hangs in front like a huge vertical stingray with its tail missing, nestling its head on his rib cage.

Volodya’s sunburn evokes fiery dried chilis hanging on a porch in some country where people appreciate spices a lot more than they do where he himself comes from. And yet, before he reclines on the banana-shaped sun lounge, does he erect the flaccid umbrella handily positioned right next to it? No, he does not. 

He's on a mission, and umbrellas are definitely not part of it.

Volodya is from one of those parts of the world where people are SO conscious of the apparent lack of sunshine that they will drench themselves in it at the slightest opportunity. They will do this even if it ultimately ages them beyond their years, and even if it takes a sizeable portion of their annual salary to get them into position under the brutal UV rays. 

They will even pay by the hour for access to tiny, sterile beaches in soul-destroying non-places like Sharm el-Sheikh, where sun lounges are packed together like commuters on a London tube, or like male Emperor penguins circling the Pole while balancing eggs on their feet.

And in a way, this is exactly what Volodya is. He is one of an apparently growing number of people who disappear from their homes in Russia, Ukraine, Germany and other self-identified sunless countries each summer, to cram themselves with cold cuts and trudge around in small circles - sometimes on the periphery of the impeccably manicured sunbathing lawn, and sometimes in the centre. 

Personally, I have a few different reactions to this, and none of them are good.

First off, I find it possibly the single most depressing thing about Europe (other than the resurgence of the xenophobic Far Right), that when they find a stretch of coastline which might reasonably be called a ‘beach’, their standard reaction is to stack it with these sun lounges, then pile middle aged people on top of said lounges, so that they may spend roughly a sixth of their year desperately trying to become redder than a bleeding walrus. 

And secondly, I wonder: are these people really as sunshine-deprived as they think they are?

I mean, certainly the Russian and Ukrainian winters are long, and the body’s supplies of Vitamin E or D or whatever-that-sun-vitamin-is probably become a little depleted during this time. But actually, despite the low temperatures, there’s plenty of sunshine in those places. 

In fact, some of the most beautiful mornings I’ve ever woken up to (and this is coming from someone who’s avowedly not a morning person) are the crisp, cold and gloriously sunny mornings you get during a Russian or Ukrainian winter. Not only that, but when spring and summer roll around, there’s as much sunlight to go around as there is in most other places. 

And as for Germany: in their case, I just don't get it at all. They have relatively mild winters and long hot summers when the Sun hangs around until 10pm, even in August.     

So why this desperate flocking to the beach? Because “desperate” is exactly what it is, and that’s what makes it such a sad spectacle. There’s a sense that, if you find a square metre of sand adjoining a body of water that has any kind of tidal motion, you should immediately organise to put yourself on it and to stay for as long as possible, even if it’s actually pretty crap and you’re being charged extortionately for it by the locals.

I don’t know the answer to this. But I’d like to.

Meanwhile, I’m sharing one corner of the island of Crete with a few hundred Volodyas. My summer school had to downsize one of its camps in Finland, and reduce the number of teachers. So they asked me to come here and do this camp instead. 

The Gates of My Sun-lounge Prison

Skaleta, Isle of Crete, 22.06.16

The island itself is beautiful, in a harsh and red-hued way (though the weather is appalling - 35 degrees every day!). But rather than hire a school or college, the summer camp people chose to hold this camp in a resort hotel, where the Volodyas gather to do their sun-worshipping rituals.

My dislike of resort hotels (already quite considerable, as you’ve no doubt noticed) is growing almost by the hour ... but I'm only here for about 12 days, and there should be at least one or two opportunities to get out of this sun-lounge prison and explore the island properly.

In the meantime, at least it’s a resort hotel in a country that understands food. So the meals are good, if nothing else.

See you :-)