Throughout my travels, there seems to be a sort of universal truth that everyone I spoke to agrees with: cellphones are sort of essential to travel simply because everyone assumes that you have one… There always seems to be a need for scanning QR codes, mobile banking, showing mobile bus or train tickets, messaging an Airbnb host, using apps to navigate foreign cities, communicating with friends and family to let them know you’re alive… So I guess that I’m lucky that the battery on my phone quit on me while Chloe was visiting. We took the one-hour bus ride across the island to the only phone repair shop we could find, according to Google. In classic Chloe and Megan fashion, we did not check the opening hours (though, to be fair, it was 2pm on a Wednesday), and we arrived just as the shop closed for the day. Ahhh, the authentic life of small-town Greece… I returned on Friday and had a very Greek interaction with the shop owner:
“I won’t even be able to take a look at it until Monday,” he informed me.
“That’s fine”.
“It might take a few days,” he added, as if trying to deter me from his business.
“I have to leave for Athens on Thursday, so as long as it’s done before then,” I replied.
“You’ll have to pay for me to take a look.”
I hesitated. I knew the problem was with the battery because I had just paid to have it replaced as I was leaving for my trip. “Do you think you’ll be able to fix it?”
“I can’t read the future.” He said matter-of-factly. And with that, I left my phone with him for the next five days, grateful I was able to use my laptop to book my trip to Athens and tell my family I was alive.
When I came to pick up my phone, he informed me I was right, the battery needed to be replaced, but it would take ~15 days to order it from abroad because Google phones do not seem to be very common in Greece. I figured I’d try my luck in Athens, and continued as I had been: alone without a phone.
In a place where time seems to stand still, where the sun rises above the same islands and the air reaches roughly the same temperature each day, I was surprised to notice a feeling of summer coming to an end. Some flowers have shrivelled up, but the feeling is not in the air around me, rather in the behaviour of the residents. It feels quieter here. People have begun packing up their summer homes to return to life on the mainland.
I feel so grateful to have been welcomed into Skopelos life, and I was even able to be a part of special moments. One evening, it was my friend Mahi’s birthday. We went to her favourite place – and place of employment: Rouga. Her boyfriend Chris, was visiting from Scotland and surprised her with a cake. He walked down the cobblestone street holding it, and everyone sitting at the little tables outside Rouga began singing some Greek version of a birthday song. It was another one of those special moments where I could feel the strong sense of community on Skopelos. When I tried to pay for my drink, Mahi refused. “In Greece, you pay for your friends on your birthday.”
On one of my last evenings on the island, I met my friends at Rouga for some drinks. Someone had the bright idea that we should go to one of the only nightclubs on the island. We finally all agreed, and I asked when we would leave. Turns out the Rouga staff were joining us, so we just had to wait until they closed up at 2am to leave. So we packed into cars and our designated driver spent 40 minutes driving us along the dark, winding roads to the main town.
“You know those wee churches on the side of the road? Aren’t they for when someone gets into a car accident?” asked Mahi’s boyfriend, Chris.
“I always thought they were mailboxes,” I said, surprised (see photo below). I’ve noticed them all over the island, filled with religious mementos.
“No, they are to mark the scene of a car accident,” Mahi said. “And you don’t even have to die; they are also for when you get seriously injured,” she added.
As we wound around another tight bend in the dark, Chris spoke in a thick Scottish accent, “Oh, perfect, I’ll pre-order one”.
When we arrived at the club at 3am, we realized it was closed. “There is one across the street, it’s just not as good,” someone said. And so, there we were… in an empty nightclub on the other side of the island in the middle of the night. But this was no problem for the Greeks. Why? Because there was music. And so, there was dancing. Soon, our entire group that had been at Rouga was dancing. At around 5:30am we decided to head to the bakery. I ate some sort of pita filled with mayo and fries that tasted heavenly, and listened as the drunk Greeks insisted Chris and I had to try their famous drink called cold chocolate. By the time we had vacated the streets, drove back to Glossa, and got dropped off, it was around 7am. Birds were chirping, and a few shop owners were starting their days. I made my way up the 67 stairs to my apartment. I laughed to myself as I found I’d left my porch light on in case I got home in the dark, closed the shutters, and went to bed.
For my last day on Skopelos, I went to the beach, walked around the village at sunset, and met up with my friends in the evening. It was the annual celebration of Saint John. So we packed into a car and for the third time, I went to the Mamma Mia church. A little travel tip: the stairs to the church are only lit up at night once a year (for this celebration). It looked so much like the wedding scene in the movie. We climbed the stairs, listening to the sea crash into the rocks below. The space outside the chapel was filled with people. Greek flags blew in the wind. The majority of people around us were elderly. Everyone greeted one another in Greek.
It was nice to have Chris there, another only-English speaking person who had no idea what was happening. We followed the crowd and got in line, presumably to have some water after climbing the stairs. Fotis turned to us, “ready to see some religion?” He made the sign of the cross, bent down and kissed a 4-foot-tall statue of Saint John. He proceeded in line to the refreshments. We thought this was optional, but when Chris and I neared the statue, an old Greek woman began signalling to us to do the same. We exchanged confused glances and attempted our best sign of the cross and kiss. We were then loaded up with 4 pastries and 2 plastic cups with clear liquids. Thank God I smelt it before taking a huge, refreshing gulp. One cup was water and one was 40+% ouzo. Everyone acted like it was completely normal to be served strong liquor at a church ceremony. Chris and I exchanged confused glances again and choked down the ouzo.
Someone emerged from the chapel and rang the bell that hung from the tree to indicate a prayer service was going to begin. People took turns filing into the small church. What happens after the service is what I imagine to be the Canadian government’s worst nightmare: people – mostly elderly people – descend the uneven, rocky steps of a national monument under dim lighting, surrounded by the sea, after being haphazardly served strong alcohol. Only in Greece!
I joined my friends at Rouga for one last drink, and we said our goodbyes for what felt like an hour. I promised I would return next summer and I would learn Greek by then. A piece of my heart will always be in Skopelos. I’m so grateful for this month here. I had butterflies as I got ready to leave this place, in part because of swapping the comforts I’ve grown accustomed to for the uncertainty of a new destination, and also because I had to navigate to my hostel in Athens without a working phone…!
PS. Not sure who needs to hear this, but if you’re going to Greece you HAVE to get the raki drink- a strong brandy served with honey. It soothes your throat after many late nights and is so warm and comforting… I’m still thinking about it months later!
Last Updated on November 20, 2025 by Megan Duchesne