Page 6 of The Greek Café

I am grateful to my Irish grandfather, which means I have an EU passport. That might come in handy if I decide to stay there, without the restriction of Brexit. Ha. I can’t see that happening really, but I might just fall in love with Rhodes once more and decide to stay. I can but dream.

The airport is busy with the buzz of excited voices, and I feel a flicker of self-doubt that almost has me trundling my suitcase back out of the departure hall and heading home, before I give myself a talking-to. I can do this.

Maybe I feel nervous because I have never really had to think about very much when holidaying in the past, at least not with boyfriends who were happy to organise breaks away. And thankfully someone else organised everything if I went on a girls’ trip.

I was quite relieved, to be honest, as, by my own admission, I can be a little forgetful at times. I once booked a weekend away for the wrong year, which was only picked up by my James when he double checked the booking details. Other than that, I have holidayed with my parents as a kid, which of course my parents took care of. It feels scary to be totally responsible for myself abroad. I remind myself that I have booked this flight and got myself a job without the assistance of anyone else. I can’t help feeling a bit silly to feel like this at my age.

Flopping down onto a seat that has just become vacant in the airport lounge, a guy next to me smiles. He’s well-groomed with a neatly trimmed beard and looks around fifty years of age; his hand rests on his grey Samsonite case.

‘You off somewhere nice in Corfu?’ he asks.

‘What? Oh no, I’m going to Rhodes.’ I furiously check the gate number. I am sitting in zone 13, but 14 is just opposite. Phew.

‘Ah, I see.’ He smiles. ‘Also a lovely destination for a trip.’

I glance back at my departure area, where every seat is occupied and some people are even sitting on the floor clutching their phones. Looks like a full flight then. ‘Popular too,’ I observe.

I feel a sudden knot of nerves in my stomach and find myself tapping my seat with my right hand. Is it too late to turn around and go home? Maybe a job as a local pizza delivery driver isn’t such a bad thing after all.

‘Nervous flyer?’ asks the guy.

‘Not particularly. I have just never travelled abroad alone before,’ I find myself telling him. ‘It feels a bit scary, which probably sounds pathetic at my age.’ I think of all those young people who seem to happily jet off all over the place on their own.

‘Not pathetic at all,’ he says kindly. ‘It depends on what you are accustomed to, that’s all. It’s no different to catching a train or bus really, although airports can be a bit overwhelming, I suppose. Once you conquer this, you might be off around the world on your own.’ He smiles. ‘Either way, well done you.’

I feel a surge of pride.

The guy tells me he is travelling to his holiday home, where his wife and kids are already ensconced. He has a calming presence, and by the time my flight starts boarding I feel a little better.

‘Well, good luck in your new job,’ he says kindly as I stand to join the Rhodes line, now it has gone down a little.

‘Thank you. Have a lovely time in Corfu.’ I smile. ‘And thanks for the reassurance. I’m sure I will be just fine,’ I say, firmly. I never expected the nerves to hit, as I was only mildly anxious when I booked the flight, and felt excited when I was packing. I hope the feeling passes soon.

As I shuffle forward thankful that the line is moving quickly, I grip my phone tightly on the page showing my boarding pass. I try not to imagine a scenario where my phone crashes, even though I have checked it still has battery at least a dozen times. Maybe I ought to have printed the tickets just in case.

After an uneventful flight, with two people next me, one snoozing and the other wearing headphones, we are soon preparing for landing. I can see the beginnings of the orange sunset from the window and breathe deeply.

In less than an hour I will be in the place I am to call home for the next three months. Three months of delaying reality before I have to return and decide my next official steps, and starting over from scratch, after twenty years of the same job.

I close my eyes and I picture the sea; the thought of being near the water calms me at once. I have to look forward now and accept that the life I had back home no longer exists.

SIX

On the way to the hotel where I will be living and working for the summer months, I take in the gorgeous views, my taxi driver chatting amiably.

He makes a recommendation for a restaurant in the old town of Rhodes, as we pass rocky hills interspersed with pine trees, and fields of olive trees in the distance. The road is quiet and I settle into my journey with the friendly driver.

‘The best on the island,’ he continues. ‘It is my brother’s restaurant but even so I would not recommend if it was no good.’ He smiles through his mirror. I am in the back seat. I always ride back seat in a taxi, just in case. Of what, I am not sure.

‘Good to know,’ I tell him, making a note of the restaurant on my phone.

We take the short journey towards the town that passes several olive groves, along with more dry terrain and I spy a handful of mountain goats standing on the high, rocky ground. The villages have traditional stone houses with wooden shutters, some whitewashed, and with mopeds propped against the walls outside. Some of the villages have a sprinkling of bars and cafés, with pink bougainvillea spilling over the walls.

Soon enough, the landscape changes once more and as we approach Rhodes town, the traffic is so busy I wish the journey through the sleepy villages could have lasted a little longer. Especially when a motorbike whizzes past so closely I catch my breath, although the taxi driver seems unfazed.

Edging out of the town centre, we climb a mountain road for a couple of minutes, and I take in the lush greenery all around, which at once lifts my spirits. The night is closing in now, the sun making its final descent towards the water in the distance.

I am soon deposited outside the Apollo Hotel. The slightly elevated position, although only a short downhill stroll to the beach, and flanked by forest, takes my breath away. Nestled beneath towering pines, and shrouded in growing darkness, the only lights are coming from the solar lights dotted around the pool. There isn’t a sound apart from that of the crickets emitting their distinctive noise in the surrounding trees.