Being Alone on Vacation, How Sad.

“Being on vacation alone, how sad,” the man at the table next to me said.

I was feeding a tiny piece of my octopus to the curious cat beneath the table, scratching her under the chin as she purred.

I looked up to see who he was talking about and realized we were the only two occupied tables at the restaurant. He was talking about me.

He was sitting with his wife and daughter. They had just ordered their meals and were sipping beers, their sunburned skin glistening with aftersun gel.

I had arrived in Hydra, this little Greek island, the day before, after spending a few days at a conference on the mainland.

I was a speaker at the conference, which is always exciting, but also exhausting. It’s full days of networking, speaking to strangers, selling yourself to tourism boards, then the adrenaline crash of finally giving the talk that you’ve spent weeks preparing for.

I had booked a two-day trip to Hydra to decompress afterward, to chill out on this quiet, car-free island before heading back home.

That morning, I was up bright and early to hike to the highest point of the island, Mount Eros. You pass a peaceful grey brick monastery along the way. Then after a little rock scrambling, you get to this 360-degree viewpoint, the bright blue Aegean Sea on every side. I had the entire mountain top to myself.

I came back down to town and ravenously devoured an enormous plate of juicy lamb koftas with yogurt and pita bread over a heaped pile of French fries.

I headed back to my hotel to change into a bathing suit and went straight to the nearest beach to jump into the water. I sat reading on a lounge chair all afternoon, watching the fishing boats go past, and slipping back into the water whenever it got too hot.

As the sun was starting to go down, I went back to my hotel room to call Luke and catch him up on how my day had been.

“Enjoy your last evening,” he’d said before I hung up, “it’s well deserved.”

I took a cool shower, changed into my favorite white and blue striped dress, and headed down the road to dinner.

I had earmarked this place for my final night as a little celebration. They served up a local octopus dish that is a specialty of the island. I ordered a glass of ouzo when I sat down and waited for my octopus to be cooked.

It was perhaps a little late for the tourist crowd at this point, though restaurants around Greece are open late. It’s one of my favorite things about visiting, not just the food, but the food culture. Big shared meals that take hours. As long as the restaurant is open, the kitchen is open.

When Luke and I first came to Greece, we often found ourselves still picking over the menu after 10 pm, a few too many glasses of Mythos perhaps the culprits, and no one would even bat an eyelid.

Just as my octopus arrived, so too did the sunburned family. I was busy dipping my bread into the red wine sauce, wondering if the waitress would scold me for giving a little scrap to the cat, wondering if it was ok to give a cat a piece of wine-soaked octopus in the first place. I cut a small piece and wiped it on my napkin before reaching under the table when I heard it.

“Being alone on vacation, how sad.”

I smiled to myself. I looked over and made eye contact with the man, and he blushed, realizing that I must have heard.

I sat back with my new cat friend at my feet and took a sip of my ouzo.

How very sad indeed.

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Until next time,

Laura