On the first day of every walking week somebody asks me when lunch is. I say four. They laugh, and at one o'clock they stop laughing.

Why four

It is not a trick. On the islands the working day used to end when the heat made work foolish. People ate their main meal then, in the shade, and slept after it. The paths we walk were built for that day. They run from a village to a field, a chapel or a cove, and they take a morning.

So we walk the morning. We start at eight with coffee and a piece of bread, carry fruit and water, and reach the sea by one or two. Then we swim. Hunger after a swim is a different thing from hunger at a desk.

My grandmother said a table by the sea needs three things: shade, bread and nobody looking at the time.

What to order

Let the kitchen decide the fish. Ask what came in that morning and take it grilled, with lemon and nothing else.

Order chickpeas if it is Sunday. On Sifnos they go into the wood oven on Saturday night in a clay pot and come out at noon. Order the caper salad anywhere, and the small fried cheese pies when you see them.

Order less than you think. Plates are for the table, not for one person, and more will arrive whether you ask or not.

After

Nobody walks after lunch. The bags have gone ahead. You take a nap, or the slow road back through the village when the light turns. Dinner, if you want one, is at nine and it is small.

By the fourth day most guests have stopped asking the time. That is when I know the week is working.