Where it all began

Once upon a time, I was not a traveller. I was not obsessed with holidays, mainly because I hadn't had many. By the age of 16, I'd been to Sussex for a couple of holidays and I'd been to the Isle of Wight twice - that felt really exciting, as it involved a ferry, so it was almost like going to another country. I had vague memories of camping in Suffolk and Norfolk as a toddler, and apparently I went to Cornwall as a baby, although obviously I had no recollection of that. I'd been on a day trip to Boulogne at the age of seven or eight - the beauty of living close to Dover - but that was the extent of my travel.

So when I travelled to Mykonos at 16, I ticked off quite a few 'firsts' all in one go. It was the first time I'd been on an aeroplane. It was the first time I'd been to Greece (or, let's be honest, any country other than England or France). It was the first time I'd been away for more than a fortnight - we were going for three weeks. And it was the first time I'd been away without an adult - I was going with my best friend to stay with her sister, who lived on the island. If I was going to lose my travel virginity, I was sure going to do it in style...

The beautiful streets of Mykonos

 My friend's dad drove us to the airport, and that was the end of any adult involvement for the rest of our journey. We checked in and then went through security, an experience totally alien to me. And right from the start, things got funny. Bear in mind that this was 25 years ago - long before liquids had been banned on planes. Long before, or so it turned out, anyone was that bothered about security full stop. Because my friend had a pair of kitchen scissors in her hand luggage. She had them because she sometimes used them to cut her hair. Over a three-week period, with a fringe, there was a reasonable chance she'd want to cut her hair - and so she packed the scissors. It didn't dawn on her that her hand luggage wasn't the place for them. It didn't dawn on me either - I dread to think what was in my hand luggage. It was only when the security guard pulled them out of the bag, having spotted them on the x-ray machine, and asked, 'What do you intend to use these for?' that we realised maybe it hadn't been a good idea. Maybe it was a little strange having scissors in your hand luggage. Maybe they could be considered an offensive weapon. But the thing is, faced with this rather obvious conclusion, both our minds went blank. Neither of us could think of an answer that made sense. But instead of giving the real reason, panicked, my friend answered, 'To cut my nails?' Now you'd think this would have rung major alarm bells. Clearly, you couldn't cut nails with those scissors unless you were a giant (which we weren't). Clearly, there was no good reason for us to have scissors in our hand luggage. At the very least, the scissors should have been confiscated. It wouldn't have been unfair for security guards to take us off for questioning. Instead, they put the scissors back in the bag and said 'Okay, just make sure they're in your suitcase on the way back.' True story.

We went through into the airport lounge and sat down, unsure of what to do next. There was a screen up with a list of flights - next to ours, it said 'wait in lounge', so that seemed like a pretty good idea. We weren't really sure what to do with ourselves though. Nowadays, normal procedure would be to go and get a drink somewhere, and maybe some food. Back then, as poor schoolgirls, we had limited money, and we wouldn't have dreamt of wasting any of it when we were going to get a free meal - yes, free, just imagine! - on the plane. So we wandered, and we sat down again, and then we suddenly heard an announcement. 'Would passengers Castle and Hammer please come to the information desk!' I would say that those were our maiden names, but they couldn't even pronounce my friend's properly, which is why it took until the announcement was repeated before we realised they were talking about us. We looked at each other in panic - what did they want us for? Had something happened? Were we in trouble? We eventually found the information desk and announced ourselves. 'Are you Castle?' they asked me. I nodded. 'How old are you?' '16,' I answered. They looked at my passport. 'You need to be travelling with someone 17 or over,' they said. 'I'm 17,' said my friend. They looked at her passport. 'Okay,' they said. 'You can go.' And that was it. We went and sat back down, feeling somewhat bemused. I'm still not really sure what was about. If they knew my age, surely they also knew my friend's? And if they were concerned, surely it should have been discussed at check-in? Odd. But it added to the drama of our journey.

Platis Gialos beach, where we spent the majority of our time

The flight itself was fairly uneventful in comparison. Obviously, I was pretty excited when we took off, but the fact that it was a night flight limited any view from the windows. I was shocked by the pain in my ears and sinuses on landing - this was a new experience I didn't enjoy. I was vaguely interested in the fact that there were TVs on the plane, but they were the ones that came down from the ceiling and I didn't want to pay for headphones. The most exciting thing by a mile was my first experience of aeroplane food. How exciting? A whole meal, all packaged up in a little tray, and actually FREE! I was easily impressed back then. I can't remember exactly what it was - some sort of minced beef in a sauce, I think, maybe with pasta. There was a little pot of boiled potatoes on the side, which we both emptied into our mince. Unfortunately, the potatoes turned out to be melon balls - guess that was our starter. I ate them anyway - and I don't even like melon. They were FREE!

We arrived at Athens airport in the early hours, collecting our suitcases without any drama. We'd been told we needed to get a taxi to the port at Piraeus, where we then had a six-hour ferry journey ahead of us. Unfortunately, we had to wait several hours before morning, when we'd be able to get the taxi, so we settled ourselves down to wait. Luckily, at this time of night/morning, the airport was quiet, so we had no problem finding a seat. However, we were tired and the excitement of the journey was wearing off by this point, so the prospect of sitting in an airport for several hours was not exactly one to look forward to. Luckily, I brightened things up for everyone by falling over when walking back from the toilet. It was quite spectacular - I might as well have trodden on a banana skin, as my feet flew up in from of me and I fell flat on my back. The entire airport went silent - this is no exaggeration. It was like some sort of respectful silence, broken only by me and my friend killing ourselves laughing. It would honestly have been so much better if everyone else had laughed with us or, even better, carried on as if nothing had happened. Instead, I had to pick myself up, still laughing alone, and walk back to my seat with all eyes on me. Not my finest moment.

Paradise Beach - a rare departure from our usual haunt

Once the sun came up, we ventured outside to get a taxi. We found one, told him we wanted to go to the port, and in we climbed. We didn't agree a price beforehand, as my friend's sister had told us how much it would be. We finally arrived at Piraeus, having glimpsed the Acropolis in the distance on the way, and the taxi driver told us it would be 9,000 drachma*. We were confused - this worked out at around £30, and we thought we'd been told it should be 3,000 drachma (£10). We argued with the taxi driver. He argued back. Then we realised we must have made a mistake - it must have been 3,000 pence (i.e. £30) and not 3,000 drachma. Whoops! We paid and out we got, the driver graciously unloading our cases for us. We found out later that it should not have been 3,000 pence at all. We had been right royally conned.

At the port, we found a ticket office, bought tickets and got on the ferry. I have no idea how we knew where to go or what ferry to get on - I'm sure we must have been given instructions but in my memory we were just winging it. We found ourselves some seats and settled down for a loooong journey - six hours, to be precise. Now bear in mind that these ferries were pretty basic - no bars, restaurants, shops or variety of lounges to choose from. This ferry had little to offer except seats - and there weren't that many of them to choose from. We sat down, with our suitcases as close to us as possible. The cases had become the bane of our lives by this point. Stuffed full, making the most of our 23kg luggage allowance, they had to come everywhere with us - which was quite a feat, given their size and weight. Had I known that I would spend almost the whole three weeks in the same swimming-costume-and-denim-shorts combo, I would have packed a lot lighter and made my life a lot easier. As it was, I'd packed everything but the kitchen sink, and I was very reluctant to let the suitcase out of my sight. So imagine our horror when some middle-aged Greek women decided our cases were in the way and moved them so that they could sit down. Fair enough in hindsight but at the time we were outraged. We tried to explain that we NEEDED to be able to keep our eyes on our suitcases. Sadly, our Greek was about as good as their English, and a lot of gesturing followed, without a whole lot of understanding on either side. Finally, we gave up. We had no desire to stay sitting where we were next to the suitcase-stealers, so we searched the ferry for somewhere else to sit, trailing our cases behind us as we went. However, by making some kind of stand against the Greek women, we were cutting off our noses to spite our faces, because the only available seats were where we'd just been sitting (can't really blame them for thinking they deserved seats more than our cases did). Eventually, we realised the only place left to sit was out on deck (and I mean ON the deck, not on seats on the deck), so we lugged the suitcases upstairs and found a spot to sit down and enjoy the sun, if not the comfort, for the remainder of the SIX-HOUR journey. It was hot. It was sunny. I was wearing a T-shirt and leggings (back when they were fashionable first time round). Although I did have swimwear in The Suitcase, I didn't know where to start in terms of searching through the plethora of mostly-useless stuff I'd packed, so I decided to roll up my leggings instead. Let's just say that five and a half hours in the Greek sun with no sun lotion (also in the depths of The Suitcase) left me with some very 'interesting' tan lines, which sadly took most of my three weeks in Mykonos to blend in...

The outfit that saw us through 3 weeks in Mykonos!

At the end of our very long ferry journey, we were met at the port by my friend's sister and taken back to their house for the rest of the three weeks. It turned out that the journey really was just the beginning... but that's for another blog!

View of Mykonos Town as we arrived

When we finally got home and my dad picked us up from Gatwick, I told him about the journey, and I remember him proudly telling me that if I could do that, I could do anything. Okay, so it was only getting a plane, taxi and a ferry on our own - nothing to all those hardcore backpackers out there. But I was only 16 and still naive to the joys of travel (and independence), and for me it felt like a hell of an adventure. And it certainly sowed the seeds, because over the next year I went to Paris, Amsterdam and Tenerife with my friend, paid for with my part-time waitressing job. I'd clearly found what I wanted to spend my money on, and nothing's changed since. It's got to be said, though, that the organised coach tour to Amsterdam and the package holiday to Tenerife (complete with tour rep) were a whole lot less eventful! Paris is another story...

*Figures are guesstimates, based on 25-year-old memories and the 1993 exchange rate according to Google.