One evening in the quaint, gorgeous village of Skala Eresou, we descended upon the Budda Bar for an evening of Greek music and traditional entertainment. The guitar and bouzouki were finely tuned, the ice-cold Prosecco filled our glasses and the crowd of locals and visitors gathered, expectant faces anticipating an evening of merriment and laughter.

The music from Mike and Nico filled the balmy evening air, mingling with the moonlight as the buzz from the audience created a magical, bewitching atmosphere that allowed you to believe in the possibility of everything and anything under the mesmerizing glow of the fluorescent moon. When Prosecco was replaced by Ouzo, I leaned over the balustrade to breathe in the warm sea air and to gaze upon the majestic rock, sitting nobly in the sea a few hundred meters from the shore. The beauty of the moon’s radiance carved a vivid path over the waves to the shore and my eyes drifted slowly down to the pebbled beach below. Lo and behold, I couldn’t believe what I saw!

There was an old lady, sitting on her own, a little fishing rod held firmly in her grasp. I have to admit, it really was not what I expected and I quickly picked up my camera to take a stolen photograph. I had expected that maybe I’d see a dog or a cat, strolling under the deck or along the shoreline sniffing for food. Or perhaps a young couple, lovers, quietly away from the crowd, stealing romantic kisses in the moonlight in time to traditional Greek music. But no, it was a little old lady, all on her own, sitting on the pebbled beach with no cushion protecting her buttocks from the very hard, spine-altering pebbles. She had a bag of bait, nearly empty, and another filled with little fish she had caught. As I watched, transfixed by the unexpected, the rod bent over heavily, her hand frantically pulling in the silver fish dangling at the end of her hook. Dextrously she opened the fish’s mouth and released it from the hook, unceremoniously plonking it into her bag of catchings. She then rebaited the hook and cast the line back out into the inky black, gentle Aegean waves, about a metre or two from where she sat.

Not too long after the old lady’s fishing had been spotted, we noticed her join a table in the restaurant. I was told her son was there, along with his family and some friends. I watched as she ordered herself an Ouzo and then, with her buttocks gently eased into a softly cushioned chair, clap and join in with the merriment and laughter Mike and Nico’s traditional music elicited.

In my mind, a nursery rhyme of old popped mysteriously into focus. Words long lost to my youth playfully jiggled and rolled about, forming a silly little poem that captured the moment for me:

There was an old lady, she sat all alone.
She sat on the beach, fishing for food.
I don't know why she fished for her dinner,
Perhaps she was hungry or needed a filler?

There was an old lady, she fished all alone,
I don't know why she fished alone for her dinner.
She sat below the restaurant fully equipped to serve her food
Perhaps they'll fry her fish, or perhaps that would be rude?

There was an old lady, a bag full of fish she'd caught all alone,
She brought her fish to the restaurant and ordered an Ouzo.
I don't know why she ordered that Ouzo,
Perhaps the fish were thirsty, or just needed a pickle.