Abroad

Mirabelle sighed with happiness as she made her way on deck to feast her eyes on yet another impossibly beautiful Greek island sunrise. The water was so intensely blue that it nearly made her wince, and she felt there were few things prettier than the waves which lapped against the stark white cliffs as Pykanos came into view.

She had started in Athens and then hopped on the ferries to visit all of the popular islands. But after one too many late nights at the disco and one too many crowded streets stuffed full of tourists and souvenir vendors, she felt the urge to visit somewhere quieter, someplace more authentic, to see the real Greek island life, not just the Instagram version of it.

That’s when the proprietor of her little hotel had told her about Pykanos. “Oh, you’ll get your peace and quiet there, miss. Nothing but a handful of fishing families live there. If you want see a real Greek island, visit Pykanos.”

Because it was so far off the beaten path, it took Mirabelle quite a while to find a boat captain who was heading in that direction, a deeply tanned man in his 50s who informed her that there was only one ferry a week that Pykanos. After some obligatory haggling, Mirabelle arranged for the captain to transport her there, and then her plan was to take the ferry back in three days’ time.

Steadily, the island of Pykanos hove into view, and Mirabelle watched as the captain expertly piloted his boat right up a small dock on the eastern side of the island. A few moments later, after the boat was secured, Mirabelle hopped ashore, smiling as she took in the sight of a small path that led to a cluster of blue-painted buildings.

“Good luck, miss!” called the captain.

“Thank you,” said Mirabelle, and then she hoisted her bag and began walking up the path. The man at the hotel had informed her that the building in front of her was a restaurant that sometimes would rent out rooms.

But it was only as she knocked on the door and stepped inside that she realized that the proprietor might not speak English, so she fished around in her bag for her Greek travel phrases book. In front of her, she saw a small dining room with several tables, but the place was empty.

“Hello?” Mirabelle called out. “Uh, herrytizmos?”

From somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, Mirabelle heard a female voice, and a moment later, a middle-aged woman wearing a simple house dress emerged, speaking rapid-fire Greek.

“English? Do you speak English?” said Mirabelle.

“English? Yes, a little,” said the woman, and Mirabelle breathed in a large sigh of relief.

“You have a room that I can rent? Hotel, yes?” said Mirabelle.

“Ten euro,” said the woman, and it was all that Mirabelle could do not to snort in disbelief. On some of the bigger islands, ten euros wouldn’t even buy you a cup of coffee.

“Yes, is okay,” said Mirabelle, withdrawing a ten-euro note and handing it over to the woman who disappeared it into the pocket of her house dress. But then the woman stood there for a long moment without saying anything, her eyes searching Mirabelle’s face intently, leaving Mirabelle feeling quite confused and bewildered.

“Come,” said the woman at long last, and then Mirabelle followed her to a simple but tasteful guest room down the hallway from the dining area.

“Wow, very lovely. Thank you,” said Mirabelle, setting her bag down on the bed.

“Food will be served at six,” said the woman.

“Six pm? There’s no lunch? I am a bit hungry,” said Mirabelle.

“Food at six o’clock,” said the woman.

“Is there perhaps a shop I could go to? Or maybe you could recommend some of the local attractions? I’d really like to get a taste of authentic island life,” said Mirabelle, hoping that the woman actually understood what she was saying.

“Go to town, go everywhere you want. But do not go to mountain path,” said the woman, admonishing her with a finger like some kind of schoolteacher.

“Stay off the mountain path? Fine,” said Mirabelle.

“Food at six o’clock,” pronounced the woman one more time before turning and leaving.

Mirabelle shook her head as she unpacked a few of her things. The Greek woman’s English was quite rudimentary, but Mirabelle felt like maybe she understood more than she was letting on. Or maybe she was just unused to foreign visitors. Either way, Mirabelle was excited to experience something different.

A few minutes later, she was ready to go. Stepping out of the hotel slash restaurant, it was easy to see where the “town” was because the only structures in sight were a small group of buildings on either side of the island’s one and only path.

However, as Mirabelle got closer, she was dismayed to see that three of the buildings were ordinary houses. The only building that looked like it might be a business turned out to be some kind of hardware store. The handful of older men clustered around the motley assortment of tools and other items only spoke Greek, and so Mirabelle quickly turned around and left.

Continuing down the path, Mirabelle saw a few more houses, but they were now spread further apart with large stretches of grassy valley between them. And after a few minutes, she came to the end of the path. Before her was a lovely view of the sea from the western end of the island, and Mirabelle took several minutes to enjoy it before turning and heading back.

Pykanos was clearly a small island, and the town was scarcely more than a handful of buildings. The only other signs of life were a few fishing boats bobbing up and down in the waves a ways off from shore. Scanning the hills, she saw little but green swathes of grass with no sign even of any animal life. To put it bluntly, there wasn’t much anywhere to go on Pykanos, except to explore the trail she saw winding her way up the island’s only promontory.

Her stomach rumbling, Mirabelle began making her way back to her room at the back of the restaurant. She knew that, stashed in her bag somewhere were a couple of bags of snacks, and she hoped they would tide her over until six o’clock when the proprietor served what Mirabelle prayed would be a bountiful meal of delicious, homemade Greek food.

But, as it turned out, Mirabelle never did get back to her room that day.