It was only 9am, but the heat radiating from the asphalt of the highway warmed my face as I walked gingerly along it, cooled only by the breeze of speeding cars. I laughed to myself, “good thing I’m walking to the hospital, so if I get hit by a car, help will be nearby”.
My mom flew out of the airport on Skiathos Island, Greece, earlier that morning, and I took the opportunity of being on an island with a hospital to figure out why I couldn’t hear out of one of my ears. My experience at the hospital was incredible, and everyone spoke English. I was able to enjoy some cultural differences during my bief stay… for example, one of the doctors was dressed like a British tourist on vacation in khaki pants and a hat… I was actually seen right away… And my doctor wrote my prescription on a piece of paper with a stamp and instructed me to take it to any pharmacy nearby, where I paid about $5 for some ear drops.
I explored the cobblestone streets of the port town, then hopped on the next ferry back to Skopelos Island, missing my mom already. While my memories with her were still fresh in my mind, all the safety advice and warnings she gave me must have slipped away quickly because I did something that would upset her, something that I still haven’t told her about (until now). After the ferry docked at the Loutraki port, I realized it would be at least another hour until the bus came, and all the taxis were busy. Not only that, I didn’t have a single Euro to pay for the bus, and the closest bank was in the village I was trying to get to (Glossa). I had no choice but to hike up to Glossa, located ~200m (or the length of two American football fields) above the sea, in the mid-day 30° heat without any protection from the sun. After ~15 minutes of walking up the winding road to the village with a shirt tied around my head to partly shield myself from the sun, a car pulled over in front of me. Despite the island being extremely safe day or night, it occurred to me at this moment that I could get into trouble walking along a road by myself. I was prepared to walk as far away from the car as possible and refuse a ride when something changed my mind. An old lady with the kindest smile poked her head out the window and asked if I wanted a ride. As I got closer, I could see a very old Greek couple in the front seats of the car. They told me they were coming from the beach and could take me partway up the hill to the village. I was exhausted and worried about getting lost, so I decided that if I got fooled into trusting a very old, murderous Greek couple, that would be fine by me. Yes, for the first time ever, I guess I hitchhiked.
They were so curious about how I had chosen to visit Skopelos. They told me they live in Athens but have a family home here where they spend their summers- this seems to be the case for a lot of people on the island. As most grandparents do, they asked if I was in school. They told me their grandchildren were coming to visit next week and that their granddaughter, who was around my age, just finished her masters studying sea turtles in South Africa. We realized I had a lot in common with their granddaughter, as I told them I would be researching turtles next month in Greece. After they had taken me as far as they could, they told me about a set of pedestrian trails I could take to get between the village and the port to save time. They pointed out where their house was and insisted that I come by for a visit sometime. Mom, I promise I won’t get into vehicles with strangers again, but that was a great experience.
People might think that traveling alone is lonely, but it’s the opposite! When you’re alone, you’re much more approachable and more willing to talk to strangers. One morning, I sat down outside a cafe with my journal, and a group of retired Greek men moved my table for me so I would be in the shade. As everyone does here, they asked me where I was from. One man’s face lit up. “Vancouver?” And proceeded to tell me how he lived there for 20 years, working on a fishing boat. His name was Stannos. He retired and moved back to his family home. He told me he spends every day from 9am-12pm at the cafe with his friends, and as he got up to leave, he gave me two pieces of advice:
- “If you rent a bike, wear a hard hat” (he meant a helmet).
- “Keep your Vancouver boyfriend. Do not fall in love with a Greek man, they are too much BS”. (Unlike my hitchhiking warnings, this is not something you need to tell me twice!)
Now that my mom was gone, I began doing things on Skopelos that I wouldn’t have been able to do with her. One day, I went to Hovolo beach, which was a series of small strips of sand without any shade that you accessed by walking on rocks in knee deep water along the coast. When I was on the bigger island – Skiathos – I was searching for a waterproof pouch to put my phone in so that I could take pictures while snorkelling. I asked an employee at a store if they thought the waterproof pouch they were selling would actually work, and his response honestly sums up Greek people perfectly: “meh, 50/50 chance. Throw it in the sea. You will find out”. I was able to test out my phone pouch while snorkelling in the crystal clear waters of Hovolo.
Stannos was not the only friend I’d met in Glossa. A few days earlier, I had met a local girl named Eleni on the bus. I recognized her as one of the girls who looked around my age at the live music my mom and I were listening to at Rouga cafe. I told her I liked her bag, and we began chatting, then she invited me to hang out with her and her friends once my mom left. I met them out for drinks one night, and they completely welcomed me into their group. While they mostly spoke Greek, someone would usually turn to me and translate or start a new conversation with me in English. All of Eleni’s friends grew up visiting Skopelos each summer. “We’re apart all winter, but when we come back in the summer, it’s like we never left,” Fotis said to me. Another friend said, “everyone is family here”. After drinks, we went to their favourite spot to hang out and listen to live music in the evening: Rouga cafe. One of the musicians stood up and began doing a traditional Greek dance with an older, slightly drunk man, while the other musicians continued to play. Everyone clapped, cheering them on. String lights lit up everyone’s faces. A cat napped on a chair beside us. I began to understand the sense of family people felt here.
After this, I continued to hang out with Eleni and her friends. They invited me out for dinner, which started at 9pm and lasted until midnight. We shared a salad with figs and nuts, fried zucchini, saganaki (a fried cheese dish), baked feta with red peppers and bread, sausages, beef, fries, and several carafes of wine. It was possibly the best food I’ve ever eaten.
On my way down the pedestrian trail from Glossa one day, I learned an important lesson about Greek life. Two large stone houses were perched on the side of the trail, surrounded by olive trees, overlooking the sea. I figured I’d stop and say hi to the couple who picked me up, but I couldn’t remember which house was theirs. I’d accidentally knocked on the door of their neighbour’s house. “Well, they will be asleep right now,” he said matter-of-factly. It was 5 in the evening- or as they say, 5 in the afternoon. “Most Greek people sleep from 3pm-6pm,” he informed me before inviting me to wait for them on his terrace. This mid-day siesta is really logical, given how difficult it is to do anything in the heat during these hours.
Unfortunately for me, I had to return to the hospital after a few days of using my ear drops to get my ears cleaned. I didn’t have an appointment; they just told me to come any time on a certain day. When I arrived, the doctor was not there, and I was told I’d have to wait about 30 minutes (still quicker than in Canada!) My mom and I had, on several occasions, seen our waiters and waitresses get on a motorbike and drive away without telling us they were leaving. I joked to my mom that the doctor had probably hopped on her bike and left. While my trip to the hospital went fine, everything after that went wrong. My banking apps were inexplicably not working, so I could not buy a ferry ticket to get back to Skopelos. When I finally managed to book a ferry, two boats arrived at the same time, and I couldn’t see my small ferry behind a larger one, so I missed my boat completely. My phone battery was extremely low, and I had to wait hours alone for the next ferry. Not every day is a good day when you’re traveling, and these days can feel even more difficult when you’re alone. I was feeling defeated and cried a little bit, but I also tried to appreciate my surroundings. I saw this young Greek boy selling seashells. No one was buying them, and I tried to say hi to him, but we couldn’t understand each other. He insisted on giving me a shell for free. I saw three sisters wearing sundresses; they were probably all under the age of 10. They took turns running full speed, then jumping off the pier into the shallow water below. They’d come out laughing, their hair and dresses soaking wet, and do it again. This made my day.
Finally, there is one day in particular, of my entire time in Greece, that will always stand out. I woke up early and took a 40 minute bus ride to Agnontas beach, then walked 20 minutes down a red dirt road along the sea to Amarandos Cove. The bright green of the pine trees contrasts beautifully with the sparkling turquoise waters and jagged white rocks that form a cave, cliffside, and the famous peninsula where the “our last summer” scene was shot for Mamma Mia. I snorkelled for hours. All around me, I could see schools of fish darting through rock passageways and barnacles and algae blanketing bumpy rock formations, like the underwater world opened up into another planet. I walked back to Agnontas beach to wait for the bus, but I guess I hadn’t had enough snorkelling because I decided to see if I could find an octopus like I had the previous time I’d been at this beach. I was thrilled that after about 15 minutes of looking I was able to find one and get a picture with my phone in its waterproof bag. When I’d first met Eleni and her friends, I announced proudly, “you won’t believe me, but I promised this happened: I saw an octopus while snorkelling”. They all looked at me blankly. “Yes, we believe you, it’s quite common”. Either way, I was still excited.
Even though it didn’t seem possible at the time, my day got even better after this. For dinner, I treated myself to a proper Greek meal: chicken souvlaki platter and a Mythos beer, and afterwards I met Eleni and her parents in the yard of the Glossa school. A concert was being held in the courtyard of the local elementary school by a band playing traditional Greek music. This is not something I would have chose to go to had I not been invited, and I’m so grateful I went.
Families and friends squished beside each other on the school bleachers, facing a stage set up below, greeting each other with the only volume Greek people use: loud. The band began playing, and the crowd cheered. Beer cans were opened while young kids chased each other around the courtyard. Greek music is passionate. I didn’t understand the words, but every line that was sung seemed to carry so much meaning. Eleni would lean over and whisper something like “this is a love song from the perspective of a sailor”. The musicians poured their hearts into the instruments they played. People grabbed each other’s hands and ran from the bleachers to the front of the stage. This was my first time witnessing traditional Greek dancing. Everyone joined hands, forming a circle… an old man with gray hair, a young girl about 5 years old, teenagers, parents… they all moved in unision, stepping one foot over the other, moving in one direction, a step backwards, then continuing in the same direction. Hands unlinked only to allow new people to join. Everyone smiled and sang along to the music. As one song ended, you would think there was no way they would have the energy to keep going, but a new song, seemingly more upbeat than the last, would begin, and they’d cheer and keep dancing. One of my favourite dances involved multiple circles forming. People in the inner circle faced out, and those in the outer circle faced in, so as the circles moved in opposite directions, everyone was facing each other. I can’t help but think there is something so healthy in this practice of facing one another while participating in dances and singing songs that unite you as a people. I was surprised to feel a little emotional about the beauty of this simple act of being a community. One of Eleni’s friends pulled me into the circle, and I stumbled over my feet and laughed while trying to keep up and no one minded.
Later that evening, I went to Rouga with Eleni and her friends. There were no proper tables, so we sat on pillows perched on the stairs in front of the cafe and listened to more live Greek music. There was much less space to dance in the little cobblestone street outside Rouga, but if there is an opportunity for Greeks to sing and dance, they will take it! “On the next really good song, you will join us, Megan,” they insisted. A song called ‘Skopelo Mou’ began playing. They jumped from the stairs, “this is the one!” It means ‘My Skopelos’ and was written by a man who grew up on the island. He sings about how it is a magical place that will always be in your heart. I danced with six or so girls who sang this song and smiled. I thought about how they look forward to returning each summer to this magical place and felt so lucky that I found it.
The night suddenly took a funny turn. A tourist had bought a property beside Rouga but was unhappy with how the Greeks have seemingly endless energy to dance and sing into the early morning hours. The police don’t typically take this person’s noise complaints seriously because the music is legally allowed until 3am. So it must have been after 3am when one of the waiters rushed over to where I was sitting in the street with my friends and said, “the police are coming”! Like something out of a movie, everyone began hoisting tables over their heads, stacking chairs, and collecting cups. Within a minute, it looked like the place had been closed for hours. Then ~20 of us ran down the street and waited outside the nearby church because we still had to go back to pay! It wasn’t long before a few people broke out into song outside the church. They really cannot help themselves! Finally, the waiter said we could come back and as we took turns paying, one individual who still felt like entertaining us, sang loudly. A Greek man emerged from a house and began yelling at him. They started screaming at each other, and I looked around desperately for someone to translate. Yelling turned into talking which turned into hugging and finally the streets were quiet and we all walked home.
Last Updated on November 13, 2025 by Megan Duchesne