With my relationship status as "single" and having just watched Shirley Valentine for the third time, I decided to pursue my dream of sitting on the beach at sunset with a glass of wine.
I had some money saved up for my first-ever international trip, but was still on a tight budget. A friend of mine who works for an airline was kind enough to let me buy one of his buddy tickets to London and everything started falling into place. I was scared and excited, but planned every detail, including an international driver's licence. I even had floor plans of the airports, just in case I got lost.
After two days in London, I was off to Athens. On arrival, I took a train to my hotel, got lost twice and after a two-hour walk up and down the same street, I managed to find what can only be deemed as the ugliest hotel I have ever laid eyes on. Frustrated, tired and disappointed, I sat on my bed and cried a bit at my shattered dream of white houses and jovial Greeks breaking plates in the streets.
Then I decided enough was enough. I walked to the closest travel agency and booked a flight to the Greek island of Skiathos. I remember someone telling me it was an amazing island with rolling hills.I went straight to an internet café and booked myself an awesome hotel on a white beach. Two days later at 10pm, I was back at the airport and on my way to "paradise". The lady next to me was rolling cigarettes all the way there. One hour later, I disembarked, looked back at the plane and said a quick prayer of thanks that I had arrived safely in what is probably the scariest piece of metal to have ever graced the skies.
I climbed into the only taxi outside the airport and gave the driver the address of my dream hotel. The driver just shook his head and muttered something - it was Greek to me.Ten minutes later, we stopped in front of a closed gate and a dark building. The driver pointed at a handwritten sign in Greek letters on the front gate and translated it slowly, "Closed for the winter."
"But I have a reservation!"
Apparently the first week in October is not the best time to come to the islands as everything closes and people migrate to the mainland.
The driver made a quick call, then told me in bad English that one hotel might still be open; otherwise his friend had a loft I could rent for three days.
Luckily the hotel was open for another week and I crashed into my bed exhausted.The next day I was greeted by a beautiful sunrise and decided it was time to explore. I soon learnt that car-rental agencies also close for the winter.
The only transport available was a bicycle, which I rented for the day. Despite the optical illusion of a sun, it was freezing! Dressed in a jersey, scarf and beanie, I set out with the intention of cycling around the island. I learnt two more lessons . Islands are bigger than you think, and rolling hills are only nice if you are in a car.
After three hours of "cycle-walking", I turned around, hungry, thirsty, cold and tired (all the shops along the way were also closed for the winter) and went back to the hotel. I resorted to sitting on my balcony finishing a bottle of wine and watching the sunset, writing in my diary about my big survival on a "deserted" island.
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