Skiathos.

Island number 1.

So getting public transport in Greece is a bit tricky. It exists if you can just work out how to access it. It’s taken a lot of research (which got me nowhere) and finally the hotel owner has come through with timetables and tickets. We have to take a taxi to the bus station as bus stations are always in the middle of nowhere in some dodgy part of town, (this is no exception) but we’re finally off and away to the port of Volos where, after a lengthy bus trip, we will stay overnight and then do the next leg refreshed. The port town is grotty as all port towns are and the taxi driver tries to jam our bags into his very small boot even when we hint that we might need a bigger taxi. As we take off in a puff of dust, the boot pops open and when we point this out, the driver just shrugs. We count our bags as they are removed and are relieved to know we haven’t lost any on the road.

We head off for lunch and here we learn what happens when you order ouzo pre meal. Ouzo arrives along with various dishes of pickled foods…and then we had ordered our lunch on top of that. Suffice it to say, we were well fed.

Next day, we boarded the ferry to Skiathos. An island on the eastern side of Greece in the Ionian sea. We arrived to palpable heat and a lack of taxis but finally we were delivered to a house with a small studio in a lovely garden with ten cats in residence. The studio is beautiful - white linens, lace, pastel colours, pale green shutters, a quirky bathroom with a separate shower in a cubbyhole in the hall with a tree branch to hold the curtain and a lovely outdoor area that we don’t use much as it’s too hot. Fairytale, it’s called.

The daughter is worried about the walk into town in this heat, as we’re a bit of a distance from there but as we walk along the little roads, we pass so many fruit trees that we lose track of time. We snack on tiny blackberries sun-ripened and warm; there are quince and pomegranate trees heavy with unripe fruit, butterflies hover and flutter, dogs stretch out in the heat, the sound of thousands of cicadas fill the heated air as we suddenly come out near the inlet of water and find a street full of restaurants on the water’s edge.

We chose a lovely one and I have feta in filo pastry with mama’s homemade fig jam and we order the horta as per usual. We also try the Retsina which is smooth at first and then leaves a strange aftertaste.

That night we eat at Milos, at an old mill, tables outside by the water where we have big saganaki prawns and discover that the planes come in close, really close. Tomorrow is my birthday and the daughter notices that one of the planes is a TUI one, my mum’s name. I feel it’s her saying hello. On the way home, we feast again on the blackberries along the roadside.

The next day we head off on a boat trip to beaches you can only access by sea. Lovely calm waters and we walk up to an old church and then we go to another one with a taverna on the beach run by father, frustrated son and very overworked chef. We wait patiently but no food appears, we ask once, then twice and then worry that the boat will leave without us. Everybody is complaining, the son walks off when we refuse to pay for the whole bill as we were only served half of the food, then the father is yelling and the whole scene erupts Greek style and we leave them to sort it out.

The next beach we are told may be too rough to land but if they do, as soon as we hear the horn of the boat, we have to be ready to jump onboard. Needless to say, I don’t swim, the daughter and I look for rocks instead and we’re ready to board when it does blow its horn.

The next day is my birthday and we walk into town for a birthday breakfast. Fantastic pastries Skiathos style, filled with nuts and an excellent iced coffee because here it is too hot for the hot one. And then we wander up a lot of white stairs and light some candles in the church. It’s a cute town with interesting decor in the restaurants and lovely art shops. We swim in the blue, blue waters, walk back past plum trees and beautiful butterflies enjoying the lantana here that seems to not go wild as it does in Australia.

That night we dine at another restaurant on the water, watching the fish, listening to a cute little English girl call Violet, regale us with stories about her life, watching a fisherman come in, wild and weathered but seemingly without a catch of fish. We eat pickled samphire which I’m not so keen on, pumpkin flowers stuffed with smoked ricotta and served with tzatziki and I had an amazing dish of squid and boiled greens And then, the entertainment for the evening - plane watching.

And it’s a thing! People gather near the runway, there’s even a bar there where you can buy a takeaway ouzo and watch the planes take off and land. The winds are enough to blow off hats, glasses and scarves, a variety of which litter the rocks and beach. The daughter found her hat metres away, her friend found her glasses even further. It’s the highlight of the evening for many a folk on the island of Skiathos. We are sad to leave.