Anywhere But Here

Seven Days in Greece Through the Eyes of a Young Hosteller

Was I insane? I thought to myself as my plane touched down in Athens. Maybe. Certainly my mother thought so. Here I was, a lone female, traveling to a country where I didn’t speak the language. 

But I had to go. I was planning to get a Master’s in Ancient History, and I jumped at the chance to see ruins of Classical Greece. It was less a vacation and more of a pilgrimage. 

The central courtyard at Knossos -- Crete

I managed to hail a cab with my extremely limited Greek, and made it to my accommodations for the night, a local youth hostel. I ended up sharing a room with a couple from Malaysia and Amy, my soon-to-be new best friend.

Amy was from the Yukon Territory, and she had the same idea as me—do Athens fast and get to the islands as soon as humanly possible. There’s just something about meeting other hostellers. Because you can’t go lock yourself in your own private room, you find yourself spontaneously starting up conversations. Even an introvert like me. And then you discover that you have stuff in common, like favorite authors. All of sudden, you made this great new friend that you wish you didn’t have to leave behind so soon. The logical solution? Suggest that you travel together. Which is exactly what I did.

The next day, Amy and I toured the Acropolis and the Parthenon, then booked passage on an overnight ferry to Iraklion, Crete. 

We arrived just as the sun was rising. Neither of us had slept much, but we weren’t tired, either. We bought breakfast from a vendor and hit the ruins at Knossos.

The dolphin fresco in the Queen's Megaron at Knossos -- Crete

Knossos was incredible! The frescoes painted by the ancient Minoans, the original amphorae, the Great Courtyard where the sacred bull leaping rituals took place, all of it. Amy just saw crumbling ruins. I saw a three-dimensional version of a page from my favorite history text.

When we finally made it to the Iraklion hostel, Amy and I collapsed onto our assigned beds in the girls’ dorm. That’s where we met two other girls, Emma from Quebec and Natalie from Australia. Again, we all instantly hit it off and decided to see Crete together. But where to go?

Amy had a Let’s Go Greece guide, which was much more detailed than my Let’s Go Europe guide. After a lot of discussion, the four of us decided on Matala, a small town on Crete’s southern coast, known for its Roman burial grounds and the famous nude beach --- Red Beach.

Matala turned out to be a tiny village of about three or four streets, and two Internet cafes. No joke. It’s an absolutely gorgeous town. Sandstone and limestone cliffs line the beach and cove. The water itself is a beautiful shade of turquoise. 

The four of us decided to climb around on the sandstone cliffs that contained the Roman burial caves (and served as a haven for hippies during the 60’s).

Problem: I’m afraid of heights. But Amy, Emma and Natalie were all up for it. And I’d decided that this trip was, for me, about pushing boundaries. So I sucked it up and started climbing. Don’t look down, I told myself. 

Of course, I looked down. And down. Then I sat down, and shook for a while. I tried to will myself to move, but my limbs wouldn’t obey the commands my brain was sending.

I’d always thought that the phrase “hear my blood pounding in my ears” was an exaggeration. I was most definitely wrong about that. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Like clockwork. Time froze (another phrase I found out was no exaggeration). Just me, the cliffs, the open air, and the sound of my own blood “thumping” in my ears.

An arial view over Matala, Crete

Then Amy noticed something was wrong, and she came over and talked to me until I calmed down enough to get back up and keep climbing. I climbed as quickly as I could and didn’t look down.

When I reached the top of the Cliffs of Matala, I sat down for a minute to catch my breath. Then I surveyed the Mediterranean from my vantage point. I could see for miles around. The blue sky, dotted with white puffy clouds met and mingled with the turquoise sea, a sight just as amazing as everything else I’d seen and done in Greece. I was so glad I’d made the climb, and grateful to Amy for helping me when I needed it.

The climb was probably the most intense part of my trip, but the best was yet to come. That evening, Emma, Natalie, Amy, and I had dinner at a seafood restaurant overlooking the main beach. The sun was slowly setting over the ocean, but since the Greeks don’t eat until 10 or 11 at night, we had the place to ourselves. We splurged, ordering local seafood dishes and a bottle of house wine to split. 

It was one of those times when you’re just so happy that you can’t stop laughing. No one has to tell any jokes. Someone could say, the sky is blue, and you’d start laughing. It was one of those magical times. We were young, and hundreds of miles away from our responsibilities. 

After dinner, we headed across town (a distance of about 70 feet) to the Zafiria Café, a combination Internet café/bar.

You didn’t need to know the language to get a drink from the bar; you just pointed to the bottle you wanted. I sampled ouzo, a Greek liquor, and raki, a Cretan specialty. Amy, Emma, Natalie, and I spent the evening playing pool and flirting with cute Greek guys. Amy and I got free shots of raki. I swiped my shot glass—it has a place of honor in my shot glass collection.

The next morning, the four of us played in the water until I had to catch my bus back to Iraklion—I was flying to Scotland that evening. 

I haven’t seen Amy, Emma, or Natalie since then. We traded contact information, but somehow never got around to contacting each other. I’ve found that hostel friendships can often be brief like that. But brief doesn’t mean unimportant. I don’t think I’ll ever forget my trip to Greece, or what a fabulous time I had with my three best friends for three great days.