Milos - Island of love.

Left the Aphrodite Suites, Naxos and ran into absolute chaos with lack of food on top. That situation does not a happy lot of women make. Luckily we had breakfast before leaving but upon arriving at the port, we had trouble finding where the ferry to Milos left from and it's time of departure. The staff were totally relaxed about the issue, a lot of shoulder shrugging and pointing to various terminals, all of which seemed to be the wrong one. The heat was mounting along with our tempers as we dragged bags from place to place. Finally we made it on board the ferry that obviously ran on Greek time (an hour late), only to find it didn't serve food.

This ferry was relatively small, whilst the ferry to Naxos from Paros had been so big, it had galleries and restaurants and we wandered around trying to decide where to sit and eat but this was a 5.5 hour trip with many stops along the way. The daughter and I ended up studiously watching the safety videos on the screen so that we knew where to go and what to do upon sinking. We were armed with information that took our mind off food. Bae slept.

We finally arrived to be picked up by the son of Dimitri and his Russian wife and taken to our hotel. Our hosts were a sexy couple, helpful and welcoming. We went down to the harbour front for food and as we ate, we watched the moon rise over the harbour, blood red on the horizon. A Leo moon, my moon. I felt myself rise with it, released a few things and then we headed back for ouzo at our hotel that had a beautiful view across the bay.

The next day after breakfast of thick greek yoghurt, honey and nuts, the hosts' son took us to the famed Sarakiniko beach. The landscape looks moon like, high white limestone cliffs, wind and water carved hollows and pools, alien and striking in the scorching sunlight. We swam and watched people jump off the cliffs into the turquoise waters and then headed back for a yeeros lunch. We were quietly enjoying our food when a young couple arrived with a little girl who proceeded to cry and scream for what seemed like forever as her mother, botoxed, bejewelled, corsetted in a very tight dress and her husband looking like he was a member of the mafia, covered in big gold jewellery; both completely ignored her. It broke us, thinking that her needs weren't being met and that her parents thought ignorance would teach her to be quiet. It would only teach her to scream louder to be recognised.

We asked the staff if they could do something but they said they couldn't. In the end the daughter went up and asked if she could take the little girl for a walk so they could eat in peace (meaning we could all eat in peace). That infuriated the mother who finally picked up the poor little girl and flounced off in a swirl of some strong perfume, tottering on her very high heels. When they left, people thanked the daughter and we ordered another jug of wine!

That afternoon, we headed up to the village of Klima by bus to watch the sunset up in the hills. The village was an art, craft and jewellery haven. We wandered the whitewashed streets and explored the beautiful shops and ate in one of it's tiny alleyways. Fantastic eggplant saganaki with fetta and herbs; artichokes in a lemony sauce; moussaka. We walked to another place to watch the sun begin it's setting, burnt orange and enormous on the horizon.

The next day we went on a boat tour. Ferried by bus to a deserted beach, we set out on lovely old boat with a sea worn, tanned and handsome captain at it's helm. On chatting with him, he told me he was a photographer as well as a sailor and this was his summer job. I had visions of myself tanned, wild and free, living in a small white cottage by the sea, growing vegetables, taking photos, writing, waiting for a fisherman to bring home his catch. One can dream.

They anchored in the middle of nowhere, and we swam amongst hollowed out white rock forms, in deep azure blue sea. I can't believe I got into such deep water, another fear conquered. Even the daughter braved the sea and we swam through the caves and returned for lunch on the boat.

That night was our last dinner with bae. We were parting company, the daughter and I were going to Crete, bae to her home island of Cyprus. We ate at a lovely restaurant jammed between the water's edge and a street with cars passing frequently. The food was cooked across the street and we had such admiration for the waiters, with trays of food held high, dodging in between the motorbikes and the cars. We ordered zucchini flowers stuffed with rice, mint and dill; more eggplant saganaki; horta and grilled octopus drizzled in delicate jade green olive oil. Walking back we came across beautiful white trumpet-like flowers that only perfumed the air at night.

This was the island where the famed statue, Venus of Milos, once surveyed her domain and was removed to France in 1820. She was considered to be the epitome of female beauty and was sculpted in 150 BC and found by a farmer. In Greek, she would have been Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, later to be renamed by the Romans as Venus.

Naxos - Abandonment and sunsets.

Naxos is the island where, in Greek mythology, Ariadne, princess of Crete is abandoned by her lover Theseus. Ariadne had fallen in love with the prince of Athens who was one of the 7 youths and 7 maidens who were sent from Athens every seven years to feed the half man, half bull. Ariadne helped him kill the minotaur by giving him a sword and a ball of string to find his way out of the maze, (of course, as a woman she would think of that trick as she was probably doing domestic sewing duties and had a light bulb moment). He does the job and triumphant, they sail towards Athens, stopping at Naxos. For some reason Ariadne wanted to sleep on the beach on the islet of Palatia whilst Theseus wanted a proper bed aboard his ship. Dionysos, god of wine and merriment saw her sleeping and fell in love. No doubt she was saddened by her lovers departure but she ends up marrying a god which must have been some consolation, especially the god of wine!

We arrive early, are picked up and driven to our room near the beach. A traditional grey stoned, white surrounded path leads down to the beach, framed with rich purple bougainvillea and lapis blue shutters.We meet up with a friend who's working as a barman on a neighbouring island and after a swim, we lunch on the beach, exchanging stories of life abroad and eating chicken souvlaki with sweet, sour capsicums, rustic bread and the rose of the island.

Bae and I head in to the town, passing by beautiful little shops and cafes in tiny labyrinthine streets rising up from the port. You can imagine this place as an island frequented by pirates. Arched overhangs, houses huddled as if protecting each other, we wander until the kids meet us at the port for dinner that night for Yeeros and sunset. An early night was had by all.

The next morning we go by taxi to the closest beach and after a swim, we lunch again on the sands, bare footed, a cool salty breeze fanning us in the heat of high summer. We dine on eggplant stuffed with herbed breadcrumbs redolent with the fragrance of wild oregano and a pie of mushrooms, fetta and herbs.

That night we dressed up and headed to the islet of Palatia where Ariadne fell asleep and through the Portara of what remains of the Temple of Apollo, tourists gather to watch the sun sink into the Aegean sea. It was stunning and incredibly photographic. You could imagine the god Apollo driving his chariot off after a long summer's day, leaving trails of seashell pinks and corals in his wake.

Our barman has researched and chosen the Swing bar for our sunset cocktails. It is so cool! We are seated on the balcony overlooking the port, the menus are printed on 45 inch vinyl records, the cocktails are many and varied and served in quirky containers. The toilets sinks are made out of a drum kit.

We are bathed in Apollo's last rays of the evening. Ariadne, I think, would not have regretted her decision to stay here and not go to Athens with Theseus.

Paros - Of shattered showers and remembered beauty.

Nearly thirty years ago my husband and I went to Paros and fell in love with all things Greek. It was the days before mobile phones and we didn't book in advance. You just arrived, walked around until you saw a handwritten sign saying: Room for rent, and you knocked at the door. When we were there in '91, we found such a sign in a dilapidated building that looked like it had been bombed during the last war and they hadn't got around to the reparation. A little old lady, all in black, almost toothless, with a beautiful tasselled shawl around her shoulders; showed us a spotless room. All white, a beautiful old handmade, blue cover on the bed; a few crosses on the walls and a shower in one corner with a hole in the ground for a drain and no screens. The toilet was in the corridor with a Madonna painting watching over you. Those were the days.

This time we stayed at what we thought was a glamorous looking hotel on the hill with a pool overlooking the bay. We lunched, swam and then walked into town. I found a place that I photographed with my late husband, the old walls of a medieval castle which had been built almost entirely out of the marble remains of an old temple dedicated to Apollo. Everyone had gone for some alone time and I was by myself, the memories of the time there with my husband were strong, especially the one where he decided that since it was such a small island, it would be good to hire a motorbike and go around it as it would only take a couple of hours. I was up for it, (although I'd never been on a motorbike and I was young, foolish and gullible). It started off as an adventure but began to pall four hours later, and after another hour, we made it back to town. We both walked with a strange gait and had very sore bums.

But that night, someone that the husband had met, (he loved to chat with people everywhere we went; we would be walking together and I'd suddenly find myself walking alone as he had stopped to have a chat with someone who looked interesting), suggested we dine at a restaurant up on the hill. We went there on sunset and had an amazing meal with the Mediterranean sea stretching below us, water coloured with the setting of the sun. They brought us an amazing after dinner sweet, sticky wine the colour of apricots that my husband loved and we stayed until the darkness settled around us, recovering from our bike ride and saying we would return here yearly before heading to the relatives in Italy.

Back in the present, we dined across from the water at Koralli restaurant. Amazing! As the sun sank slowly, colouring the sky with lobster, salmon and shell pink, we feasted on thick, potato garlic dip and peasant bread; our favourite horta bathed in olive oil with a touch of garlic; prawn saganaki in a fragrant tomato broth studded with fetta and squid stuffed with seafood and herbs. Of course they brought us liquor and a dessert - free.

We breakfasted on sesame and nut biscuits, thick greek yoghurt, honey and figs. Then bae went back to her room to shower and when we arrived back at the room, she came out ashen faced and limping, blood on her foot. She had opened the shower door and it had shattered in her hand. The bathroom was littered with shards. I went to get help and they came but they had no first aid kit! And they blamed her for breaking the glass!. We were stunned. A housekeeper came and cleaned her foot up a bit and then she hobbled with us into town and we had to buy band aids. Some things hadn't changed much in thirty years.

She revived with some shopping in Parikia, which is gorgeous. Whitewashed buildings, spotless streets, the blue domed churches, bougainvillea and trumpet creeper framing the houses. We all relax and wander through the beautiful craft and jewellery shops. I buy a necklace that is my all time favourite and we have the weird iced Nescafe frappe coffee that is the drink to have here. The cafes are so quirky! The colours of the houses against the sun blanched white are incredible. My artist's eye is soothed by the cobbled streets, each grey stone framed with whitewash. Ceramics are embedded here and there outside shops.

The daughter has had enough of people and retires to the villa and bae and I lunch by the water, so close that our feet can be lapped by the limpid sea. We have mushrooms stuffed with cheese and an eggplant dish to die for. Then we moved half a metre away from our lunch location, to bean bags and sat listening to the tide washing over the pebbles, me coming to terms about being single and bae, coming to terms with not being in active mother mode, albeit only briefly.

That afternoon we return to the village and explore the beauty of the churches. I find the tamata, tin votive offerings in the shape of body parts that they hang in the churches for miracles and healing. I ask about them and are taken to a beautiful old cabinet with drawers full of them. I choose a few and there's no cost, just an offering to the church. She must wonder why I don't hang them under a painting of a saint, instead, I take them with me on my travels. A leg, an eye, a torso. I'm almost covered.

That night we dine again by the sea with a mussel stew and our favourite greens. Time has slowed and we are totally relaxed on our last night here.

The next morning when we go to check out, I ask for a discount on the room as we have had to live with a broken shower (supposedly they had no other rooms available). The boss is contacted and he waives the cost of a new shower screen! We are furious. When they charge us for the lunch we had on our first day, I refuse to pay and we walk out. But even that can't mar our trip here. Greece is crazy and generous at the same time and we love it.