Andros slipped away from view courtesy of a Golden Star ferry. I was sad to leave. I wasn’t ready to go…I felt very much at home.
Mykonos port came back into view 2 hours later. Chaos all around us, we opted to hop on a municipal bus waiting on the port. It took us into the town ‘Chora’ and we dragged our hand luggage from there to our hotel. We had been stung before by transfers…. it was the bus for us from now on.
Our hotel is a 10 minute walk out of the Chora overlooking the famous windmills and the beach. It looks like all the buildings here. Like a square cake carefully iced with smooth white fondant icing. Our room is essentially a fondant fancy with green shutters overlooking the sea. It’s all rather lovely.
Opposite there is a beach shack serving the best charcoal grilled fish you have ever tasted. It’s not cheap – nothing here is – but compared to some it’s better value.
The cruise ships in the bay are prolific. They come 4 or 5 at a time and decant their passengers into the Chora to wander the white alley ways, clog up the streets with eyes wide open with wonder and spend their money before being whisked away overnight to somewhere new.
It is picture postcard pretty. Bouganvillia clings to white walls. Blue paintwork adorns the white sugar cube houses. Cats sit in the sun on the steps of the shops. The interior design is chic and unapologetic. If you think you cant use a wicker basket as a lampshade…think again. You can and it works here somehow.
In the evening Mykonos Town belongs to the young and glamorous. It is chaotic with loud music, chatter, cocktails and high heels. Too much flesh on show from impossibly thin women. I honestly dont know how they fit in their vital organs. I never see them eat.
Cocktails here are nearly 20 euros, a basic taverna meal for 2 with a drink each will set you back at least 50 euros. You cant do this island on a budget. Just stay a night and pass through is my honest advice. We make a pact to do just that.
We are homeward bound in a couple of days. We have already complied with Government regulations and allowed a young Greek medic to shove a long cotton bud down our throats and up our noses at a cost of 60 euros each for PCR testing to fly home. We await the results. Tomorrow (if we are healthy) we plan to visit the ruined isle of Delos. Some much needed culture.
More sun, sea, wine and good food awaits us before we fly home to a British winter with all that may bring us in a global pandemic. Part of us – a big part, just wants to stay here. Or maybe another island close by…