If I was disappointed by Italy, the Greek Islands definitely surpassed my expectations. Fantastic weather, amazing food and divine men. The divine men were usually holding hands though – with each other.
The people on the tour were great fun (well the majority anyway) and the whole vibe was very relaxed. The optional activities were actually optional, and for the most part we lounged around the pool drinking cocktails and entertaining each other. No wake up calls, no tiresome bus rides listening to hours of history at full volume.
By far the most entertaining were Mick and Erin, a couple of Melbourne expats living in London. Erin is a school teacher and Mick is a car salesman. If you’re not familiar with “Alan! Alan! Alan! Alan!”, then YouTube it. That’s how Mick sounds when he calls Erin’s name. It became a standing joke. Poor Mick, every time he called Erin’s name there were 15 parrots echoing his voice.
It would be impossible to document all of Mick’s stellar calls, but two of the best: “Hey Kev! Kev! Got two words for ya mate: Snickers Ice Cream.”
“Uh Mick, that’s three words.”
And, “Erin, what’s the passcode for your iPhone? Erin! What’s the code? Erin! I’ve entered it twice Erin! Erin! Quick! This is my third go Erin! Quick Erin! I need the code now!” Judging by the urgency Mick must have been under the impression that entering the wrong code three times meant the phone would explode, killing everyone in a 2km radius. He refused to believe it only means you can’t access the phone for a minute or so.
Erin’s reply: “It’s our anniversary Mick…” followed by awkward silence.
There was the time we were filing past Mick and Erin’s room upon arrival in Santorini. “Mick! Close the door! Mick! Mick! Close the door! Mick!!!” and there’s Erin, on the toilet, Mick’s walked out, leaving both doors open, and left her in full view of her tour mates. Classic Mick.
Also entertaining, but for all the wrong reasons, was the Aussie/Italian, Rosaria. Not Rosoria or Rosario. Don’t make that mistake. Rosario made a name for herself by bumping and grinding with the male halves of the couples on tour, and by repeatedly referring to Erin as a slut in Italian. Erin, bless her heart, thought that “putanna” meant “beautiful”, and happily accepted the compliment.
Not quite as entertaining was James, a Mathematics PhD student, tour nickname: Doc. On our first night, Doc opened the convo with “so, NZ aye? What do they export? Their economy is shit.”
Um, beef, lamb, wool products, pine, paper pulp, a shit load of dairy, and fruit. What does Australia export? Fossil fuel and iron ore? Turns out he was born in NZ, left there at the age of 13. Hates the place.
Debs said she wanted my next blog to be full of all the amazing things I have seen and done. So Debs, as requested, here is an average day on a Greek Island:
0917 – Wake up. Mouth like bottom of bird cage. Wish I hadn’t had that second gyros. Cringe remembering emails and messages sent last night when I couldn’t sleep
0920 – Shower
0943 – Breakfast (fruit, yoghurt, frittata, more fruit, more yoghurt, a slither of extra frittata and boiled eggs smuggled out for later)
1009 – Get changed into something floaty to hide food baby
1021 – Drink Coke Zero to try and expel food baby, wish I had brought Three Ballerina Tea
1035 – Head to pool, reserve sun lounger, consider such factors as: distance from pool and likelihood of being splashed during Olympic diving reenactment; movement of sun and hours of tanning before shadows arrive; angle from which food baby will be least obvious; distance from bald headed American who conveniently can’t reach his back to put on sunscreen
1055 – Roll over
1100 – Sip water
1115 – Roll over
1120 – Sip water
1135 – Roll over
1145 – Sip water
1155 – Roll over
1205 – Use bathroom
1207 – Sea snake into pool
1210 – Sea snake out of pool
1215 – Feed food baby
1230 – Go to mini market to get ciders, take the long way around so as not to walk past bald American
1240 – Devise crafty plan to keep ciders cool
1340 – Food baby is drunk
1341 – Arrange body on lounger
1400 – Roll over
1405 – Sip cider
1420 – Roll over
1425 – Sip cider
1440 – Roll over
1445 – Sip cider
1500 – Roll over
1505 – Use bathroom
1507 – Sea snake into pool
1510 – Sea snake out of pool
1512 – Food baby is drunk and tired
1515 – Go to mini market to get more cider, avoid eye contact with bald American
1525 – Arrange body on lounger
1530 – Sip cider
1545 – Roll over
1550 – Sip cider
1605 – Roll over
1610 – Sip cider
1625 – Roll over
1630 – Sip cider
1645 – Roll over
1700 – Return to room. Nap. Shower. Get dressed
1807 – Get changed (outfit too tight)
1812 – Get changed again (outfit still too tight)
1815 – Get changed again (outfit definitely too tight)
1820 – Ciders on balcony
1845 – Get changed again (new outfit too tight)
1850 – More ciders on the balcony
1930 – Leave for dinner
2130 – Finish dinner, argue over bill (according to the mathematician, 9 + 4 + 3 + 3 + 2 + 1 = 15. Fail)
2145 – Commence daiquiri marathon
2355 – Complete daiquiri marathon, commence Mojito marathon
0235 – Line up for gyros
0242 – Inhale gyros
0245 – Line up for second gyros
0249 – Inhale second gyros
0250 – Contemplate third gyros
0315 – Arrive home
0325 – Can’t sleep, check emails and Facebook
0445 – Sleep
0917 – Wake up. Mouth like bottom of bird cage. Wish I hadn’t had that second gyros. Cringe remembering emails and messages sent last night when I couldn’t sleep
After two nights on Mykonos, Paros and Santorini, the tour headed back to Athens and I skipped back an island to Ios. I wish I had discovered this island when I was 5 – 10 years younger. It’s no place for a middle aged spinster like me.
I did experience some Australian bogans at their finest in Ios. Now don’t get me wrong, I love Australians, some of my favourite people are Australian, and I rate Australia as a place, but I’m not sure if the ones bearing the Southern Cross (literally) are really the best example to be sending overseas. I have learnt a great new drinking game, that I will probably trial at Hayley’s 30th in order to perfect my technique for Sez’s wedding.
Danger Can is the name of the game. We all stand around a table. I have a giant can of the cheapest beer on the market, I shake it like a Polaroid picture, or like a nail polish I haven’t used for a while. I then smash the shaken can against my forehead while the rest of the group bangs the table and chants “dan-ger-can-dan-ger-can-dan-ger-can”. I pass the can to my left, that person shakes the bejeepers out of the can, and then smashes it against their forehead, while we bang the table and chant “dan-ger-can-dan-ger-can-dan-ger-can”. The game ends when someone smashes the can against their forehead and it explodes, showering the group in cheap beer. Success!
So I am suffering from post Greek Island depression but I am sure I will quickly recover when my plane lands on the runway at JFK tomorrow!!
Eat, Perve, Laugh. 