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Xoxo Pottery Designs, Sea point by appointment only, Cape Town (2026)

24/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 24: Professional Holidaying 🇬🇷
Today was a masterclass in doing absolutely nothing. I woke up late. Went to the beach. Swam in the bright turquoise sea. Tanned. Repeated the tanning part several times for maximum efficiency.

My brain was literally on a complete sabbatical. I had very few to zero thoughts, which in itself is sooooo refreshing.

At some point, I acquired a frappé - Greece’s greatest contribution to humanity after democracy. For those unfamiliar, it’s essentially a refreshing, frothy iced coffee made from instant coffee, water & sugar. Created by accident in 1957, it is the undisputed symbol of laid-back Greek summer culture, served with enough caffeine to convince you you’re being productive while lying horizontally. I, of course, bastardised mine by asking them to add milk.
Cos ya’ll know homegirl can’t handle caffeine & psychologically the milk helps me. Oh, the lies I tell myself 😂

That was followed by a very respectable midday lemon beer in 30-degree sunshine while my tan continued deepening at an alarming rate. For the record, I am not a beer drinker.
This phenomenon only occurs in a Euro summer environment.
My Greek genes fully activated. In fact, they are on steroids.

I am now officially a toasted golden mocha choca latte colour. & I love it! I feel alive with a tan. My hair has also decided to lighten up, brighten up & BOUNCE up. My hair goes super curly here. I’ve also been called Xanthoula (blondie) a few times & I’m not mad about that either.

Everywhere I go, Greeks look at me & say, “Μαύρισες!” (Mavrises.) It means, “You’ve blackened.”
Which sounds slightly aggressive in English but is actually a compliment.

I ate a gyro for lunch because apparently my body has decided that gyros now belong in the food pyramid. If you know,
YOU KNOW! Although it might look repetitive, it’s the yummiest thing you could hope to eat!!!

Then I came home, did some laundry, put deliciously crisp clean sheets on my bed, cleaned this beautiful house that I love, vacuumed every corner, mopped the floors (which instantly brings such a refreshed feeling) & briefly pretended to be a responsible adult. 🤭

I also dealt with a mild plumbing/toilet/water issue that sent me spiralling into a wave of nerves until the plumber arrived. “Like, for God’s sake, Lex, don’t flood this house - you want to rent it again next year & be welcomed back!!” The performance on all fronts was convincing.

This evening, I wandered around the port, admired the boats, strolled up & down the main road, admired the sunset & mostly admired other people’s life choices from a distance. Summer in Greece has a hummmm to it! Summer makes everyone look good!

A bird also poooooped on my hand as I was walking. Not going to overthink the logistics around that. I simply said, “Eeeeeewwww!”, whipped out a wet wipe followed by hand sanitiser & proceeded to walk straight into the OPAP (betting world) to buy a lottery ticket because when a pigeon sh*ts on you, that’s exactly what you should do.

& now I’m sitting here at 22:30 with a Paloma - my official drink of Summer 2026 - writing this while people-watching at an Olympic level.

It’s a real skill set.
I am fully committed.
Today’s achievements include:
✔️ Beaching.
✔️ Tanning.
✔️ Eating gyros.
✔️ Not flooding the house.
Frankly, I think I peaked.
Kalí synéchia everyone.
May your coffee be cold, your beer be colder & your plumber remain unnecessary.

23/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 23: Καλή συνέχεια 🌼
Kalí synéchia. A good continuation.
There are some phrases that don’t quite survive translation. This one’s really simple, but it packs a punch.
I’ve been hearing it a lot. It’s one of my favourite things to hear, to be honest. Pretty much whenever it’s time to part ways, leave a shop, or carry on with my day.
Today, the lady in the veggie shop I frequent smiled at me and said, “Καλή συνέχεια,” as she does every time she sees me.

Technically, it means, “Have a good rest of your day.” But that description feels like a dramatic undersell. Because it isn’t just wishing someone a pleasant afternoon. It’s wishing them a good continuation of their journey. A good next chapter of their day. A good carrying on into whatever life has in store for them over the next few hours.

It’s truly one of the loveliest ways to part ways with another human being, don’t you think?
I think that’s exactly what I’ve fallen in love with here. The beautiful humanness of it all. Imagine the impact if we all genuinely wished each other well as we went about our day. Not out of politeness. Not out of habit. But because we actually meant it.

The Greeks have a way of turning ordinary moments into something a little more meaningful. Again, I’m more than happy to admit my bias here… and I’m probably operating on a steady diet of summer sunshine, sea air, and white wine fumes… but it feels real.

A coffee isn’t just a coffee. It’s a reason to sit down and be present for a while. To connect. Lunch isn’t something to be inhaled between errands. It’s an invitation to slow down. Slowly. Conversations aren’t squeezed into whatever space remains after everything else is done.

They are the important thing.

People seem to take their time with each other very seriously here. They linger. They listen. They ask how you are and appear genuinely prepared to hear the answer.
Now, look, there is probably a small amount of romanticising happening on my part. 😂

But even goodbye isn’t really goodbye. It’s rarely rushed, rarely final, and usually followed by another conversation at the door, another chat in the street, or a ten-minute exchange while a taxi, a yiayia, and a rogue watermelon are all threatening to cross at exactly the same time.

There is a gentleness within the chaos.
A quiet understanding that the moments spent with people aren’t interruptions to life.
They are life. It’s simply: Continue well.

As someone who spends an alarming amount of time overthinking life, decisions, future plans, past decisions, future conversations, and conversations that happened in 2017, I find this deeply comforting.
Continue well. Not perfectly. Not productively.
Not with a five-year plan and a colour-coded spreadsheet. Just… continue well. Simple.

The more time I spend in Greece, the more I realise that’s how life is lived here. Not in giant milestones or dramatic declarations. But in the small daily rituals. One coffee. One swim.
One conversation. One sunset. One meal that accidentally turns into a four-hour event.

Life keeps moving forward, and people seem remarkably committed to enjoying it while it does.
Not because everything is perfect.
Not because life suddenly becomes easier here.
But because every summer, Greece gently reminds me of something I regularly forget.
Life isn’t lived all at once.
It’s lived moment by moment, choice by choice, conversation by conversation.
None of us really know what’s waiting around the corner. We don’t get guarantees. We don’t get certainty. We don’t get to see the whole map.

We only ever get the next step.
And perhaps that’s the hidden wisdom inside those two little words.
So, Kalí synéchia.
We only ever get the next step.
And perhaps that’s the hidden wisdom inside those two little words. A good continuation.
Not because the day will always be good.
Not because life will always be easy.
Not because everything will go to plan.
But because every day we get another chance to decide how we’ll continue. How we’ll show up.
How we’ll treat people. What we’ll carry forward.
What we’ll leave behind.
Maybe that’s all any of us are really doing.
Continuing. One choice at a time.
Καλή συνέχεια. 🫶🏽

22/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 22: One Life/ Μια Ζωή🌼
One life. Μια ζωή.
Why does everything sound deeper in Greek?
More poetic. More meaningful. More like something
you’d see embroidered on a cushion and suddenly
rethink your entire existence over.

Maybe it’s the sun exposure. Maybe it’s the alarming
amount of olive oil and garlic currently running through
my bloodstream. Maybe it’s because you can’t be here,
seeing what you’re seeing, hearing what you’re hearing, smelling what you’re smelling, feeling what you’re feeling,
and not become at least 37% more poetic.
Someone hand me a microphone.

Although, in fairness, this could also be a mild case of sunstroke.
Today on the beach I ordered a very cold Mythos beer when
I absolutely should have ordered a water. I had every intention of saying, “Water please.” Yet somehow the word “Mythos” escaped my lips. A mystery we’ll never solve.
I’m not mad about it. 🍺

One life. You’ll hear Greeks say it often. Μια ζωή.
And honestly, I love that.
Because I am very intent on living this one life to the absolute max. Full throttle. To capacity. Pedal down.
Hair on fire. Preferably with snacks.

While sitting on the beach today, completely absorbed in my surroundings, three little white butterflies suddenly appeared. I instantly paused, took a deep breath and quietly said,
“Hi, my friend.” Immediately, my beautiful friend Letha came
to mind. She often does. It’s been three years since she passed away, yet she remains one of my greatest reminders to truly live. Her life continues to teach me long after her death.
Every now and then, something stops me in my tracks and reminds me how precious all of this is. Three butterflies.
A memory. A moment. That’s all it takes.

And being here in Greece only amplifies that feeling.
The Greeks seem absolutely determined to squeeze every
last drop out of life. Every meal lasts longer.
Every conversation runs deeper. Every gathering somehow turns into a celebration. There is an understanding here that life is meant to be lived, not merely managed.

And that has had a profound effect on me.
Not because I’m unhappy with my life back home. Quite the opposite. I have intentionally built a life that I love. A life I am deeply grateful for.

But it took some twists and turns to get there.

There were businesses. Property ventures. Events. Venue hire. Then there was a mild early-midlife breakdown around 2016. As one does.
Followed by a very long walk across Spain. 580 kilometres. An 8kg backpack. A healthy dose of courage. And a creative soul that had been knocking on the door for years, demanding to be let out.

Eventually, I listened.
And thank goodness I did.
Now, I fully appreciate that Greece has me living in a slightly warped reality right now. Everything is in HD. The sea is sparkling. The food is incredible. My responsibilities are somewhere in the distance, wearing sunglasses and waiting patiently for me to return. It’s very easy to feel enlightened when you’re drinking coffee by the sea. I get it. But my response to that is…
So what?
If a place inspires you, let it. If a person changes you, let them. If a moment stops you in your tracks, pay attention. If life is offering you joy, take it.
Μια ζωή.
One life.
And I plan on living this one with my foot firmly on the accelerator.
For Letha.
For myself.
For all the people who didn’t get as much time as they deserved.
Μια ζωή. 🙏🏽

21/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 21: Guest Entry featuring Tash’s
experience on Sister Summer 👭

Before this trip even started, Xo gave me one instruction: “don’t ask me too many questions Kori,
“When I move, you move.” And honestly?
That was my entire itinerary, just follow my Kori.
For 2 glorious weeks I handed over my brain, followed her around Greece, and trusted that we’d end up exactly where we were supposed to be. Athens. Syros. Patmos. Samos.
Ferries, hotels, transfers, tavernas, buses, you name it.
All organised.
Look my sister is a bit of a control freak with this kinda stuff ! But that suits me just fine!
Not having to think was an absolute luxury.

I simply floated through Greece like a well-fed supporting actress while Xo produced, directed & managed the entire show. 😂

The only thing that managed to interrupt my state of bliss was the onslaught of school emails that somehow tracked me down across multiple islands. I’m convinced they have satellites.

What I wasn’t prepared for was seeing Greece so beautifully through her eyes. My Kori just sees the world differently.
I know I was present.
I know I was there. But when I look back through the photos now, I keep finding myself saying:
“Wait… when did you take this?”
Or: “Was this on this trip? Did we walk past this?”

Because while most of us are looking at a beach, a building or a sunset, Xo is seeing something else entirely. A shadow.
A colour. A reflection. A moment. A story. She notices details most people walk straight past. She has a way of capturing the essence, the vibration and the heartbeat.

Her innate artist brain never really ever switches off. She doesn’t just visit places. She collects them. One of my favourite things throughout the trip was watching people recognise her.
Not once. Not twice. Repeatedly.
In Patmos, a bus driver shouted:
“Hey South African lady!”
And then there was Samos.
Samos was next level. Neighbours. Shop owners. Bus drivers. Taverna owners. Friends from previous summers.
Everywhere we went there seemed to be another person delighted to see her back.

I spent most of the time thinking:
“Honestly, Surely the tourism board of Greece should be sponsoring her at this point!”

The thing I’ll remember most though isn’t the travelling. It’s the laughter. Every accommodation we stayed in seemed to have the same feedback when we checked out: “We could hear you two laughing and talking into the early hours.”
Guilty. Very guilty. There was a lot of talking.
A lot of laughing. A lot of solving the world’s problems from balconies, beaches & tavernas.

And a lot of saying:
“We’re only here for two weeks. Everything else can wait.” Because Sister Summer isn’t really a holiday. It’s a state of mind. It’s pressing pause on the noise. It’s choosing each other.
It’s remembering that the emails, work, responsibilities & our daily lives will still be there when you get home.
But this time together won’t. We swam. We walked (even though Xo had a sore foot she didn’t let it stop her for 1 second). We ate.
We drank. We ranked frappés with the seriousness of Olympic judges.

We consumed enough tomatoes, yoghurt, bread, olives, lemons, feta and Ouzaki to qualify for honorary Greek citizenship.
Between all the ferries, sunsets and conversations, I found myself slowing down.
Breathing more deeply.
Paying attention.
Taking my time.
Maybe that’s the real gift Greece gives you.

So thank you, my Kori, my Xo, my Bestie, for planning every detail, for showing me YOUR Greece, for reminding me to notice the little things & for giving me two weeks of laughter that I’ll be living off for months.

See you soon babes, I love you.

P.S. Travel tip: Find yourself a sister like mine & just follow her around. She somehow turns walking down a random street into a full-blown adventure. Worst case scenario, you’ll eat well. Best case scenario, you’ll start seeing the world through her eyes.

20/06/2026

Summer in Samos Greece, with no trending audio! 🇬🇷

20/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 20: Why Greece Feels Like Home 🇬🇷
I came to Greece for a holiday.
Somewhere along the way,
Greece appears to have adopted me.
No paperwork was signed.
No official ceremony took place.

But after enough summers, enough yiayiás feeding me, and enough strangers greeting me like a long-lost cousin, I suspect the adoption became official years ago. I fear the process may now be irreversible.

This afternoon I took a walk around Pythagorio during that magical in-between hour when siesta is ending and
everyone is slowly gearing up for the evening.
One thing I’ve realised is that it makes absolutely no difference what day of the week it is here during summer.
Honestly, I find myself reaching for my phone every morning just to check. Tuesday? Saturday?
A public holiday? Who knows.
I think that’s when you know you’re truly on holiday—not just because you’ve escaped your day to day life , but because you’ve escaped the tyranny of responsibility & knowing what day it is.

As I wandered through the alleyways, I could smell Greece.
The yiayiás and mothers had begun their dinner preparations.
Olive oil. Garlic. Meat roasting in the oven.
The entire village smelled like a neighbourhood-wide cooking competition where everyone was trying to outdo each other aromatically.
And then there was hórta.
Now, to explain hórta to those who’ve never eaten it…
For generations, Greek families—usually led by formidable yiayiás armed with a small knife, a cloth bag, and an unwavering belief that they know where the best weeds
grow—have headed into the hills and fields to forage for dinner.
Hórta is essentially wild edible greens.
Calling it spinach feels wrong.
Calling it weeds feels disrespectful.
It’s somewhere in between.
Steamed, drenched in olive oil, squeezed with lemon and sprinkled with salt. Simple. Perfect.
I am genuinely salivating while writing this.
In fact, I could probably dedicate an entire Dear Diary series to Greek food and still not run out of material.

What strikes me most, though, is the way people live together here. Back home in Cape Town, people live alongside one another. Here, people live with one another.

Back doors are separated by little more than a colourful pot plant or an olive tree that has stubbornly decided it was there first and isn’t moving for anyone. The tree bends.
The house adapts. And somehow they coexist.
It feels like a metaphor for Greece itself.

As the evening cools, children start spilling out into the streets.Not because somebody organised a play date three weeks ago in a shared calendar.
They just appear.
One bike becomes three. Three become ten.
And before long the whole neighbourhood is outside. All ages, coexisting as one vibrant unit.
The beautiful thing is that everybody’s children belong, in some way, to everybody.
And if a child needs reprimanding?
Trust me.
There is no shortage of volunteers. Including me 🤭 It’s amazing just how fast my Greek flows out when I’m mildly irritated.

Which brings me back to one of my favourite Greek words:
Filotimo. A word that exists only in Greek.
It loosely translates to honour, generosity, dignity, kindness and duty towards others—but even that doesn’t fully capture it. It’s a way of being.
A quiet understanding that we look after one another.
That community matters.
That your neighbour’s wellbeing is, in some small way, your responsibility too.

You see it everywhere once you know what you’re looking for.
And then there’s the safety.
Or perhaps more accurately, my awareness of how safety-conscious I’ve become back home.
I only really notice it when I’m here.

Yesterday I was having coffee with family and got up from the table to go inside.
Instinctively I announced:
“I’m leaving my bag here. Please watch it.”
The entire table looked at me as if I’d just informed them I was planning to wrestle a goat.
“Watch it from who?” they asked.
Fair point. The concept was apparently baffling.
And maybe that’s part of what feels so freeing here. The absence of constantly having to think about what could go wrong. The absence of that background noise.

As the sun began to set, Greek flags fluttered from balconies and window sills.
Proudly.
Unapologetically.
Patriotically.
And as I walked home through the narrow streets, breathing in garlic, jasmine and the distant sound of children still playing outside, I realised that what makes Greece special isn’t any one thing.

It’s the feeling.
The feeling that life is meant to be lived alongside other people. That food should be shared.
That neighbours should know each other.
That children should play outside until the streetlights come on. Or, if you’re Greek, until midnight and your mother finally leans off the balcony and shouts your full name across three neighbourhoods.
And that sometimes the best days are the ones where you can’t remember whether it’s Tuesday or Saturday.
I still don’t know what day it is, by the way.
Which, I suspect, means Greece is doing its job.

19/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 19: Just Me 🫶🏽
The house feels different today. Quieter.
Less full, less vibey… less Kori.
It even rained this morning — completely out of the blue!
There are fewer conversations being shouted from one room
to another & significantly fewer debates about
where we’re eating next. So today wasn’t really a sightseeing day. It was more of a recalibrating day.
An adjusting-to-flying-solo-again day.

I wandered around Pythagorio this morning & naturally found myself on Main Street with absolutely no agenda whatsoever. Somehow I ended up sitting at this cute little coffee shop called Hygge and stayed there for hours.
People watching.
People walking up.
People walking down.
Shopkeepers opening up and setting up while openly
divulging every detail of their lives to the shopkeeper
next door. I’m assuming — or rather hoping — they classify each other as besties.
If not, then it was waaaay TMI (too much information).

At one point I felt like I knew who was getting divorced,
whose cousin wasn’t speaking to who, & who had accidentally reversed into a wall last Tuesday.
Everyone just chats away.
I greeted a few locals that I’ve come to know over the years and it feels really nice when I hear them say, “You’ve returned!”
It’s never posed as a question.
It’s always a statement.
And somehow it makes me feel like I belong here.
I also drank not one but TWO frappés.
That’s an enormous amount of caffeine for me.
So no doubt my palms will be twitching later &
I’ll be blinking at a concerning speed. Two frappés?
That’s the sort of reckless decision-making usually reserved for ouzo. 🤣 But I was happy.
Comfortably happy. Nowhere to go and nothing to do kind of happy, where you completely lose track of time because
you’re enjoying exactly where you are.
Later I caught up with the resident older folk of Blue Street.
I’ve heard them chatting away from the balcony but hadn’t yet had a chance to formally go and greet them.
Honestly, seeing them all again made my heart so happy.
They all laughed & said the only thing they’d heard from the house for the last four or five days was constant chatter & laughter. Which feels pretty accurate.

I think Tash and I may have accidentally provided the entire neighbourhood with free entertainment.

Back at the house I’ve started my annual puzzle.
This time it’s 1,500 pieces.
A tradition. A challenge.
At this point, a questionable life choice going at it solo. At the moment it appears to be approximately 1,487 pieces of multi-coloured blur and potential nail-biting tension.
It’s looking difficult.
The border alone took me forever.
I’m not convinced all the pieces are even from the same puzzle.
But I’ve decided not to pressure myself.
I’ll do as much as I do.
After all, that’s kind of the whole point, or so I keep reminding myself.

My voice, however, has officially packed up and left before I have.
I wonder if it’s psychosomatic?
I’m currently croaking my way through conversations sounding somewhere between a chain-smoking seagull and a malfunctioning lawnmower running on fumes.
Although to be fair, everyone will probably just assume I’m a heavy smoker.
Which brings me to another question…
Why?
Why does everyone still smoke here?
I swear every second person is holding a cigarette and blowing smoke directly into my face. Pooooof, man!
The little Greek babies probably come out asking for a lighter and an ashtray.

Anyway.
The house is quiet and calm.
I have laundry drying on the balcony.
I’ve watered all the pot plants.
The puzzle has begun.
My voice has disappeared.
And Blue Street and I are getting reacquainted for another summer together of “Living Like a Local Greek Girl.”
Tomorrow I’ll start finding my own rhythm again.
For now, I’m just sitting with the silence, the gratitude, and the feeling that somehow this little corner of Greece keeps feeling more like home every year. 💙🇬🇷

Tomorrow? - Eh, we’ll see! 😉

18/06/2026

Dear Diary Day 18: Kori is going home today 😞
Where did the time go?
Why did it go by so fast?
How has months of planning come & gone in the blink of an eye, and now so has Sister Summer Time? 😞
Why has the taxi driven off with you in it while I’m left standing here waving & shouting, “Love you Kori! Don’t cry!” whilst trying not to cry myself?

I never say goodbye.
Ever.
I say, “See you soon.”
It’s something I’ve had to get used to over the last 25+ years of living far away from each other.
I’ll tell you what though… it never feels okay.
It never feels normal.
And honestly, it feels wildly unfair that we live on different continents.
As I wipe the tears from behind my oversized sunglasses, I’m overwhelmed by 2 things at once: immense gratitude & a healthy dose of sadness.
I have laughed more in these two weeks than I have all year.
I’ve laughed so hard I’ve had to remind myself to breathe between fits of giggling hysteria.

My heart feels so full it could burst, yet at the same time there’s that familiar sad twist that arrives whenever one of us leaves.
History has shown, year after year, that we always find a way. We make a plan. We book the flights. We have several long catch-up calls every week. We send multiple random voice notes daily. Some are coherent. Others are mostly Morse code laughter that can only be translated by the two of us.

How lucky am I?
How lucky am I that God knew I needed this relationship to journey through life with?
A person who is a carbon copy of me in so many ways. I love knowing my Kori gets me.
Understands me.
Finds me hysterically funny.
And never needs a single explanation in order to fully understand exactly what I mean.
As I’ve gotten older, time has become something tangible. Something I’m acutely aware of.
Something I consciously refuse to take for granted. Being together & meeting up in a third location (not my home in Cape Town & not her home in the UK) involves many moving parts, months of planning, and a lot of wonderful people stepping in to help make it happen.
This time together is an instant, guaranteed happiness high that lasts almost all the way until the next “See you soon.”

A few standout reunion memories (because if I listed them all, this diary entry would quickly become a full-blown memoir):
In 2016, after walking 580km along the Camino de Santiago, Tash surprised me the night before I reached Santiago. She bused ahead and waited for me in Lavacolla before meeting me at the cathedral. Seeing her there after weeks of walking remains one of my favourite memories.
In 2018, after another Camino adventure, Tash joined me and we walked 220km into Santiago together.
In 2021, while the world was still living that lockdown life, South Africa briefly came off the red list. On 14 October I booked a flight. On 19 October I landed in England and surprised her by knocking on the front door before hiding behind the hedges, leaving only my suitcase and birthday balloons on display.
The shock factor was exceptional.
The entire neighbourhood heard:
“THAT’S XO’S SUITCASE!!!!!”
I was there for her birthday.
I was the gift. 🤣
In 2022 she got me back.
Two days before my birthday she casually walked into my studio and said:
“What’s up Kori?”
Like appearing on another continent unannounced was a perfectly normal thing to do.
And then last year came the Blue Street Surprise.
A random Monday morning.
08:30. A knock at the door. And there she was.
I genuinely think the neighbours are still recovering from the screaming, crying, hysteria and complete loss of composure that followed.
Kori…
I love you.
Thank you.
See you soon, babes.
And remember: Never, ever open the front door too confidently. You genuinely never know when I might be standing there screaming:
“HIIIIII KORI!!!!!” ❤️

17/06/2026

Gotta love a Greek summer 💙🇬🇷

Xoxo Pottery Designs

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