This new experience of waking up early to a party island has been rewarding so far. First row breakfast seat just a couple of meters away from the bright, clear Mediterranean shore, as the temperature rises slowly introducing another beautiful, hot day while everybody else is still asleep. This place is called Paradise Beach for a reason.
We headed into town on a (suprisingly) very punctual, very dusty local bus. This constituted the only 20 minutes of my day with a mask covered face. Being here is like stepping into another dimension where Covid-19 is just distant dream or at least a watered down version of pandemic reality.
We quickly realized that wandering around through the charmingly narrow alleys of Mykonos town during midday is very much different than doing so in the evening. Only the omnipresent slim and multicolored island cats seem indifferent to human crowds regardless of the time of day.
We admired the neatness and harmonious homogeneity of white walls, blue door and window frames and soft, curvy edges of the local architecture, the bright contrast offered by lush bright flowers and colorful, locally owned and run shops. It took us ages to pick our gelato flavors at a small ice cream place, which reminded me of how much I love those moments in life where these are the toughest decisions I have to make.
The windmills were as picturesque as one sunset ago, only much less crowded. And so were the bay and the ocean promenade.
A traditional gyros and a new Greek Pandora charm were both crossed off my list. And so was getting D’s new dress fixed by the very stubborn middle-aged Greek lady who’d sold it to her the day before.
“Can you get this for me , please? Ah, young eyes can see everything!” She said with a sweet, thick Greek accent, while asking me to fit her thread through the needle. She then proceeded to tell us stories about her youth in Miami, past lovers and heartbreak. I ended up buying the same dress myself, which lead to a fun “twinning” dinner and party session that evening (I’m learning new words every day, just not Greek ones).
We got lost in the intricate maze of alleys on our way back to the bus. D efficiently asked our way back —you gotta love a fellow asker like that.
“Excuse me, sir. How to we get to Plaka bus station?”
”Uhm, D, I think Plaka was back in Athens, you mean Fabrica square”.
“First one right, two more left. And then ask again”.
Walking off chuckling on the confusion his loud voice and thick accent reached us from behind “Don’t say anything else, otherwise they’ll send you to Hell!”. Big eyes, laughter. How ironic considering the name of our destination beach.
After getting back I couldn’t resist the strong pull of the inviting Cycladic waters. Comforting shower, brand new dark red dress on my newly tan skin. Traditional Greek dinner with everyone including incidental plate smashing followed by an OPAAA! roar and millions of bright stars on a cloudless night sky giving me permission to act just a little bit crazy while dancing yet another perfect, hot Greek summer night away.
