A Greek Adventure: Part 3

Syros was the final stop on my trip but this week I’m discussing how it was holidaying with my Mum for two and a half WEEKS

Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!

After last week’s dramatic four-hour layover in Santorini, I found myself doing something rather strange. I immediately went onto the BA app and upgraded mum and I to Business flying home from Athens.

I was stressed. I didn’t want to travel that stressed again on this trip. I’m deranged when travelling at times.

I’m writing you from said Business seat. I have Malbec. I have cheese. I’ve skipped the rest of the food. It’s never worth the windy pops it causes the minute you get off. Violent lil’ twats dem windy pops.

I dread to think how they’re able to keep food ‘fresh’ onboard an aeroplane. It’s sorcery, I tell you. SORCERY.

Anyway, Greece Part 3. What. A. Trip. We’ve had the best time, and I wanted to talk about something that came to me when I was sat having dinner with Mother dearest at a beach taverna. There were looks. “I bet they think you’re my toyboy,” laughed mum.

Holy shit, I believe they did. I mean, she’s a size 10 dress, tea bag tanned and generally looks a lot younger. But she could in fact be my cougar Mumma.

It got me thinking about how we judge other people. Like, I’m pretty sure there are people reading this right now and thinking “why the truck is he going on a two-and-a-half-week holiday with his mum aged 44.”

I actually thought about this myself and thought we should address this today on this week’s newsletter.

You see firstly, when you’ve lost a parent like I have you really want to fucking hold onto the other one. No matter what. Time spent with your remaining surviving parent is precious. 

I lost my dad 17-odd years ago now. Sure, I still miss him in a way. But we weren’t that close and to be honest I feel like I’ve worked through the grief (and had the therapy) and have made peace with that chapter of my life. A chapter which was very sad to have to go through fairly young and a chapter that led to ten years of “numbing” myself with all sorts of concoctions. But ultimately, this chapter with losing dad also allowed me to develop into the man I am today.

I’m very happy.

As you can probably tell, I also have zero fucks to give to anyone questioning my being on holiday for this amount of time with the mothership. We get on, gang. Like, really well. She’s so easy going, always has chat, knows when to be quiet and generally isn’t a pain in the ass. She likes beer from noon (ish) and has good tales to tell. We never really get bored of each other. So why the hell not go to Greece on holiday and take her on an adventure ferry hopping around the Cyclades? She turned 70 this year, she can still walk super well and loves the sunshine. She’s a self-proclaimed solar panel.

Debs is the sort of person you can also have a lot of fun with too. I spied a peeling patch on her frightfully brown tanned lower back this week. TINY little peel. I OBVS told her, and it became a NATO-esque incident.

“Nothing I can’t ‘fill in’ before we head home,” she said like she’d been set a challenge. A few minutes later quietly. “Is it really bad?”.

It was a tiny bit of peel. But I must take opportunities to wind her up and keep her on her toes.

Debs read eight books on her holidays. I managed six. Good going for me.

My thoughts on holidaying with your parents are simple. If you get on with them, they don’t drive you batshit and especially if you’re not in a relationship whereby you’re required to holiday with said lover, then why the fuck not go on holiday with your mum (or dad) and have an adventure you’ll remember for the rest of your life?

Our final stop on this summer 2024 trip was a sleepy little island called Syros – located directly opposite the party-party island of Mykonos. I have no desire to return there. It’s not the Greece I love. It’s poison. I really love the sleepiness and relaxed nature of the islands that surround that hellhole of a party island.

Syros didn’t disappoint. In fact, it was so quiet we both discussed just how wild it was to be staying somewhere without any sort of noise. At night there were zero cars. No nearby restaurants. No overhead planes. Not one. During the day the noisiest thing was the breeze.

We’d considered Sifnos properly sleepy compared to our lives in London and Ibiza, but the reality was Syros was miles more backwards. In a brilliant way. Sure, we had internet. But the beaches were like stepping back into the eighties. Five euros a sunbed. Crystal clear waters. Restaurants where there were often only three things left on the menu as they’d sold out from lunchtime. Ok, that was bloody annoying. But we could always manage to make something work. We were so relaxed 15 days into our trip that nothing could have phased our positivity and calmness.

Another thing we ended up doing at night was becoming avid fans of stargazing. To be frank, there was fuck all else to do! Each night the sky was completely different. We’d lay on our sunbeds on the terrace with a beer, some fags and look up above us. For hours. Both of us were thrilled to see shooting stars. Individually. Mine went down. Mum’s went to the side. It took a lot of concentration but both of us went to sleep ecstatic to have seen our own shooting stars. The simple life.

We managed to catch the Full Moon too – dubbed the Sturgeon Moon. “It was named after a fish, or something, I think,” said mum.

We mainlined water. Yet didn’t ever seem to fully rehydrate in the hot temperatures.

“I don’t understand how we are drinking bottles of still water a day, but my pee is still like treacle,” I said.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” mum said heading off to bed.

“Love you mum.”

I was out hiking from 7.30am around the town. Exploring the hills, listening to podcasts, trying out the brand-new vegetable ‘pie’ in the local bakery, using ‘six packs’ of big bottles of still water as a replacement for my kettlebell workouts. Did the trick. Swimming in the afternoons. Just ‘reading books’ being as my main objective of the day.

So, where am I now? Somewhere over Italy I’d imagine. I’m posting this a little late after a quickie trip to Ibiza. It’s been an August of catch me if you can.

Until next time, Kids.

Been on holiday with your mum? Got a tale to tell? FILL ME IN BELOW!