Out of all the countries I’ve visited in Europe, Greece has always stayed one of my favourites. Maybe it has something to do with the climate, or maybe the language, or maybe just because Greek people are beautiful people, both inside and out. Either way, I find myself drawn to visiting whenever I get the opportunity for a trip away. Last time I went to Crete, South of the mainland, and this time I went to Corfu, which is North of the island. Other than the fact that it’s slightly colder in the latter, and a tad more commercialised (because why go to Greece when you have the same experience of walking down Oxford Street in London?), Corfu is gorgeous. And so, here’s a quick guide to the island – with a special focus on Sidari.

So a fortnight ago I left London to go on an eight-day trip to Corfu where I would stay in a place called Monika Apartments, which I fell in love with instantly. The people were lovely, the location was convenient, and the place itself was gorgeous, with the layout of a typical Greek village. We had a little road opposite the ocean, with a bunch of little houses dotted around, each with five or six small apartments in them, and a river ran across opposite. It was incredible when we could hear Greek singers over in the main town, overlooking the river with stars over our heads, but was slightly less so when we’d wake up with twelve more mosquito bites (and eyelid bites? totally a thing).

We got to and fro from Gatwick to Corfu via an airline called Small Planet, which I was a bit dubious about to begin with (cheaper airlines such as Ryanair always disappoint, no matter how many free boiled sweets they offer for landing), but it turned out to be very friendly and efficient so I really wasn’t disheartened. Honestly, Monika Apartments made my stay super lovely, and Small Planet made it comfortable to get to. Turns out that sometimes budget is better.

Prior to landing in Greece, I decided that I wanted to go on a couple main excursions. The first of which took me on a boat up to mainland Greece, to a place called Parga. I’m not going to lie, this was probably my favourite trip that I actually went on, mainly because the town was so full of history and culture, and well, everything the majority of holidaymakers wouldn’t go out of their way to see – which meant I was surrounded by dozens of locals rather than tourists (win!). This one is technically not in Corfu, but as it was a day trip from the island I thought I may as well mention it.

Another place that I liked was Paxos, which is a little island to the North of Corfu, which is perfect for shopping and trying out your Greek with the locals. There’s an abundance of little souvenir shops where you can get presents for the people back home, and they’re run by the families of the place which means that you’re helping pay for a child’s ballet lessons for example, rather than a big corporation. There’s also a little church called the Church of Analipsis, which just encompasses the whole attitude of Greek Christianity in one little building, which is quite interesting to see.

As an anecdote though, on the boat ride down, the crew members took all our names and information just in case the boat sank. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t instil a lot of faith into me.

One place I stopped by on a trip out in Parga was the Paragaea Olive Factory, which is a lot more interesting than it sounds. We went on a tour, which lasted around an hour and told me everything I’ve ever wanted to know about olives (and more!), and was pretty cool, as we got to try out different oils and pastes and see how they make olive oil, step by step. Honestly, it was cool.

After coming down with food poisoning from an ice cream cone (which actually happened – I had no idea that was even a thing), I had to cancel a day trip I’d booked to Albania and was super hyped for, so our hotel rep pulled a few strings and got us a boat tour to Corfu Town. It actually turned out to be a lot better than Albania (apparently, as everyone I know who went on the trip complained about it), as we got to go around the old town and see the ancient buildings and chill with locals and just.. it was lovely. Minus when I got hit on by a Greek guy who legit just turned around, blew me on the shoulder, and gritted his teeth. Who knew that was a thing?

The Blue Lagoon is actually the name of a beach in Corfu, but I took a boat down to it which just let us dive into the water and swim around. It was lovely, but not as lovely as when I went to Crete, where the water was warm and clear – and I wasn’t shoved on a tiny boat with 300 other people. This time I swam in cold water amongst boat oil and fish. So, you win some, you lose some. Also, look out for flying fish if you’re going here via boat – but don’t get tricked by what I tend to christen the “flying moths”, because they don’t count.

I thought that I would mention these islands because I went down to a couple one day and had a nice time, but I also wouldn’t recommend it as a full day trip because there isn’t an awful much to do. I’m the kind of person who would be quite content just walking around the villages and looking at little Greek houses, but on these islands there really is nothing. There’s a couple of restaurants by the ocean just for any tourists who plan on stopping there for an hour, but other than that I didn’t find anything else of interest. I think they’re the kind of place you’d go to just to say you’ve done it, but not somewhere you’d go to actually enjoy yourself.

Apparently this is a place people don’t tend to stop, but I loved it there. You can go high into the mountains and watch the gradient of hills in the distance, or pass through the little villages of Skripero or Sokraki, and it is beautiful. Especially when it’s slightly misty out, or the sun is setting and the sky features gorgeous soft pink hues.

On my second night in Sidari, Corfu, I spoke to the bar staff at Monika Apartments and asked if they would recommend a place for food – and they mentioned a place called Bikolis.  I want to believe that they recommended it just because it’s good and not because their family works there or something, but regardless, the food was super lovely and I think that if you’re looking for food somewhere off the beaten track where you’re eating with locals and being served by three generations of the same family, this place is perfect. It was so nice and quaint, one of the waitresses even offered to drive us home afterwards. Also – grilled feta cheese with honey and sesame seeds is beautiful, you must have it.

NEED TO KNOW

First up, for those of you who don’t know, Greece is general is pretty hot, and even on slightly colder islands like Corfu I find that it’s still 35 degrees celsius at around 8pm. So basically – even if you think you don’t need suncream, I can say you will. Also, you think you need that long sleeved top? Dude, even a bikini will be too hot during high sun.

If you plan on going to the beach at some point during your stay, I find that you typically have the visible bit of beach which is super overcrowded with tourists, and then you have the bit of beach ten minutes away which is completely void of tourists, with only a handful of local families about. It’s always worth those extra ten minutes.

If you stay at a hotel that offers a “Greek night” or “tribute night”, where they play live music and hire singers and dancers, don’t automatically dismiss it like I did, as it may not be as cringey and touristy as it sounds. When my family signed us up for it I was a bit tentative about it, as I didn’t fancy being in a group of British people gawking at the Greek people entertain us, as I just think it’s a bit iffy – but when the night came I actually enjoyed it as all the bar staff got involved, and it really was pretty good. And then one evening there was a Sinatra tribute act, which wasn’t too bad either. All I’m saying is – say yes.

Learn Greek. Now by that I don’t mean to learn the whole language before your trip, but a few words and phrases don’t hurt. I find that the locals really appreciate it, and it’s a great opportunity to get a tad more involved with a certain culture. Also, it makes buying things in non tourist orientated places a hell of a lot easier.

And then all I have left to say to you is – the bugs are big, blood moons are insane, olive nets are everywhere, fish spas aren’t so bad (so long as you don’t twitch and end up putting a fish in a headlock), and waking up super early just to reenact a scene from Shirley Valentine is always worth it.

And so, to conclude my time in Sidari, Corfu, I was surrounded with many opportunities to engulf myself in Greek culture and cuisines, and seized every chance I could get. Last year I went to Crete and had a great time, and so I knew I would also have a great time this year. However, if I’m honest, whilst I adore Greece in general, I wouldn’t go back to Sidari specifically – but that’s just because other places like Athens, Pompeii and Santorini await me.

I hope that some of my stories and advice help you guys out if you ever decide to go to this particular part of the world – and if it does, let me know!

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Day six started with another late bus driver, who instead of taking us down the cute little village streets, took us down the main roads of Malia. There, we saw the dreaded Malia Aftermath – all the vomit and rubbish that last nights set of partygoers left behind (which if I’m honest is really disgusting and disrespectful). Despite that, though, we did pass lots of precipitous hilly landscapes, which dotted the outskirts of the city like giant pencil sharpenings.

We stopped at a place with a small white monastery, which had a tiny room inside. It kind of resembled the amazing one I had seen a couple of days back, but on a much lesser scale. As you walked down, you would see a little empty, doorless cement hut thing, which had religious carvings in the ceiling – and behind that, an awesome view of the ocean, trees and mountains. There was a block of Greek Orthodox buildings, with a guy dressed in head to toe with the related outfit. Overhead – a gathering of vultures.

On the way back to the bus, I went to the tiny little bathroom, which consisted of two stalls. The one to the right was a conventional Western loo. The one to the left – a ceramic hole in the ground. The queue for the right was long, and after discovering my love for flinging myself off boats yesterday, I was like hey, why not. So, leaving the queue for the Western toilet, I decided to squat. Yes. Squat. But heck, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I’d probably do it again if it meant skipping out queues as long as the one I passed.

We got back on the bus, and I know I overuse the words “stunning” and “beautiful”, but the view of little towns curling round this vast bowl of Elondean ocean was exactly that.

A little while later we arrived at the port, where we boarded our boat and set off for the island of Spinalonga (or “spiralinna” as I couldn’t stop calling it). After half an hour or so of waves lapping rhythmically against the boat and vigorous sunscreen applications, we were there.

Our tour guide, Maria, guided us around the broken houses of the island, facts rolling off her tongue like silver. She said some very interesting things, like did you know that the Turkish are originally from Mongolia? They migrated to what is now known as Turkey, pulling the Iran language and Saudi Arabia religion behind them like a blanket.

Spinalonga, home of the ancient leprosy colonies, was amazing. I love places like these, where you can imagine lives lived so differently from your own, all these years ago.

After a lot of wandering around and hurrying to keep up with our guide, we went back to the boat for a quick trip to a clear in the ocean. There, we had another barbecue-on-boat type thing, and went swimming (and yep, you guessed it, I did fling myself off the side of the boat a handful of times, each time tumbling deeper and deeper into the brilliantly clear ocean). The sun was warm, and the views of towns, oceans and nothingness was lovely. Life was good.

After a bit, I pulled myself up on to the top side of the boat, swinging my legs over the ocean below. Leaning back, sun and salt water resting on my face, I sipped my orange slushie. Underneath, tourists tried to breathe through snorkels (which I’ve decided is impossible), and small bouts of wildlife would pass under the boat.

A little later, the boat took off again and took us to a town called Agios Nikolaos. We wandered for a bit, but having only been given an hour didn’t want to stray too far. There were a bunch of cute little market stalls, selling olive soap and calendars made by locals, and “genuine” leather belts.

On the way back to Malia, we passed a woman probably around 80 years old. At first, it seemed like she was struggling, perhaps using the moped beside her for balance. A couple of seconds later, however, and this frail old woman had flung herself over the motorbike, dialed up the buttons and sped off, black veil trailing behind her.

Day seven was spent travelling down to Knossos, which you’ve probably heard of if you know a bit about the history of Crete. There, we went to the Minoan Palace, where we met our tour guide – who introduced himself by talking about how boring Greece is with its lack of life-threatening animals. We explored around the palace grounds and ruins, where I tried to take some dramatic photos before realising my lens was relishing in grease (*cough* Greece *cough*), so I just stood there leaning over and licking it so I could smudge it clean (which must have looked totally insane to the tourists around me).

The weather grew increasingly hot, and the tour guide went on an incessant ramble, and I have to admit that I was starting to lose the will to live a little bit. The tour soon drew to a close however, and we took a bus to Heraklion. Our guide gave us a few pointers, and as he continued to drone, I broke away from the group. Suddenly, however, a woman honed in on me like a pointer dog, and smothered me in facts about her life story and pregnancy, urging me to give her money to fuel her drug addiction (don’t quote me on that). Once she started decorating my hair with roses, I slowly began to creep away, to the safety of the tourists.

Madre and I discharged ourselves from the rest of the group and went to a small art gallery, (which had a guy playing classical music on the piano in the background), and then wandered about the Heraklion Museum, which had lots of frescos from 1600 BC – kind of incredible.

After a while, we made our way back to Malia and ate at a place called San Giorgio (helloooo large portions). It was quite cute there, even if the dolmades weren’t something my tastebuds could get used to.

I think that if I were to go back to Greece, I’d want to go somewhere more secluded, maybe without electricity and running water, where the only transport available is donkeys. That probably sounds really extreme, but coming from a girl born in a 1st world country, I can’t imagine the kind of life people in those conditions would live, and I’d want to actually experience it for a little while. You know when you see documentaries about the poverty in Guatemala and whatnot, and the people involved have all these epiphanies at the end? I’m just saying, that wouldn’t be too awful.

Day eight was quite laid-back, and started with the stale toast that Maria Rousse always seemed to serve. We went down to the strip, swam, and relaxed. Considering the fact that our flight home would be in the early hours of the morning, we decided to just take it all in and sit back.

When 5pm rolled around, we hunted for a place to eat our last meal at. The final contender for that role was a small place called the Petrino Garden. Why, I hear you ask, did we chose this particular establishment? Obviously because of their flawless decor. Olives hung above our heads, herbs in red and blue pots sat on green and yellow shelves, cacti sticking out around the back… I honestly fell in love with it. The food was pretty darn good too, especially dessert – a gigantic melon sliced in half filled with ice-cream and chocolate wafers, blanketed in hundreds-and-thousands and pierced with a selection of cute little plastic figurines, and a homemade clown thing with a polystyrene smile. And to top it off were two gigantic sparklers fizzing away, like tiny fireworks on the dinner table.

We left soon after, once the waitress had given us both a bunch of kisses on our cheeks and I’d gotten a load of last-minute camera shots of Malia.

Day nine started and at around 1am our coach arrived to pick us up. As we were hauling our suitcases out from Maria Rousse, the waiter (the one with the name of the Spanish verb) came out to say goodbye to us. When he turned his attention to me, he went in for a handshake… and I went in for a hug, and one with quite a bit of momentum as well. Honestly. Just as that happened, I felt his eyelashes quiver against my fist, and what do you know it, I punched him in the eye. He said “ow”, and I apologised and backed away.

We packed out bags onto the coach, and as we started moving the Olympic Holiday reps, both males around 25 years old, quickly introduced themselves and then suddenly delved the coach into music – loud,  fast paced and teeming with n-words. It was basically a party bus, as derogatory slangs burst out from the speakers and the reps sung along with it, taking turns to rap solos. The driver kept trying to turn it down, but they swished his hand away and continued cursing to the lyrics. This lasted for an hour.

We finally made it to the airport, where my mother realised she’d bought a bottle of wine and put it in her overhead bag – to which security pulled it out and chucked it into the nearest bin.

4am rolled along, as we boarded the aeroplane to a pilot that sounded drunk and kept getting facts about the journey wrong – i.e. how long the flight actually was. This was definitely unnerving but hey, four hours later we had landed safely and I was in one piece.

The second we stepped off the plane, all I noticed was the change of air. I don’t know if you guys get this too, but it didn’t smell sweet and warm anymore, but instead cold and flavourless. But eh, maybe its just me.

From there, we just took a taxi back home to the Absolute Middle of Nowhere.

All in all, I had a great time in Greece, and I’m happy that I got to share it with y’all, regardless of how belated it turned out to be. If I’m honest, I probably wouldn’t return to Crete unless we stayed in a derelict village that literally runs on just horsepower, or got to visit Athens, or Santorini, or… okay, I probably would go back again. But with so much of the world left to explore, I think I’d probably prioritise Peru and Italy and the like. However, I would honestly really recommend a short stay around Malia, especially if you’ve already visited somewhere relatively close like Turkey due to the fact that you can then piece together their shared histories.

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Okay so, a handful of days ago, my family and I started talking about how we wanted to go abroad for a week or so, perhaps the Amalfi Coast or Rome. I kind of just shrugged this off, because I’d literally spent my Summer trudging around London and Watford. My dad was like “nah I’m good thanks,” so BAM, two days later I was on an aeroplane to Malia, Crete, party central. With my mum. And it was awesome.

As some of you may know, I have a problem with taking photos. I can go out for the day and take hundreds of photos of a cigarette balancing on a tree, or a baby on some swings. So, naturally, I probably took over 2,000 photos in total whilst on my stay in Greece (keep in mind that we were literally only there for a week). I will split up my trip to Greece into two parts, but that still leaves a lot of photos. Bear with.

So my first day in Crete was spent travelling and running over people’s feet with my suitcase, so I think we’ll just skip that part out and move on. The second day, however, started by me awaking from a four-hour slumber and wondering where the heck I was. Then, the minute I heard the incessant chirping of the crickets and breathed in the air that was so humid that it was almost an effort to respire, I was like “oh right, I’m in Malia”. 

I spent the morning trying to impress the hotel staff with my Greek (to which they laughed and said I have a “long way to go”, the cheek), and then we took off to the classic Strip of Malia, where all the partygoers go to, well, party. If I’m being honest, it was kind of sad that this cute little Greek town has been turned into a place where people go to just get drunk and do The Thing. It was all ‘foam parties’ and ‘booze cruises’ – where is the authentic Greek culture? Where is the rich history behind this? Why are the locals being sent away to the “olde town” whilst skinny white boys carrying six packs vomit up tequila onto their land?

Malia beach, by the way, would be beautiful if it weren’t for the severe congestion full of tourists burning their pale flesh. So, we stopped there for a bit, cramming to get a view of the ocean, before heading back to our hotel Maria Rousse. There, after taking advantage of their awesome pool and overindulging on ice-cream, our rep (Calvin? Kevin?) told us about the “classic” drinking forfeits that they have over here, where they pour beer down your throat (Suffragette, anyone?). Naturally, I first thought he said spit instead of beer, and that led to a very awkward conversation. 

I asked one of the hotel staff what his name was, and you know when you ask someone something and they reply and you don’t understand so you ask again, just to repeat this vicious cycle? Well, as not to embarrass myself further, I then proceeded to nod. To this day, I’m sure his name is the Spanish verb for ‘we live’. 

The Olde Town was definitely my favourite place in the whole of Malia. You get to see all the locals in their little communities and big families, with the children playing football in the street and the elderly nodding off on chairs outside their houses (this is actually a really common thing). These houses, by the way, were all rustic and messy and absolutely stunning, and just how I expected authentic Greek houses to look like. 

We ate at a place called Kaleman for dinner the first/ second night, which served pretty awesome food. The only problem was the rogue bug that landed slap-bang in the middle of my food – apparently I screamed and a bunch of people jumped from surprise, but eh, let’s not get caught up in the small details.

The third day was spent walking so much that I’m surprised my kneecaps didn’t spontaneously combust from all the friction. We walked down this massive stretch of dust road, which was filled with rusty, quaint buildings – classic Greek buildings that people actually live in (funnily enough). They just seemed so unnaturally stunning that I assumed they were a bunch of antique holiday homes.

I don’t know about you guys, but I have never been to an all-marble cemetery. But, that’s exactly what we passed as we continued our walk down this long, deserted road. The coffins were out in the open, and were all made of this gleaming white marble. The tombs were larger than I would have imagined, and a small white chapel shadowed over the land at the back. 

We went down to Malia Port, which is insanely overrated. All there was was a couple of rusty boats and two local children staring at me as I tried to take semi-decent photos of the nothingness surrounding us. Don’t get me wrong, it was a cute place to stop at, but  I wouldn’t walk a mile just to see it. If you walked down a little bit though, you would get to the beach. Pale sand, choppy turquoise waves.. it was magnifique. And, at the edge of the water was a small white lone chair. I don’t know why, but the simplicity of an abandoned chair overlooking the waves was really beautiful. 

We continued our trek, leading us to a small resort called Cretan Malia Park. As nice as it was, I don’t understand why someone would pay to go all the way down to Greece, just to stay in a big resort and stay there the whole time. I always thought that the whole reason behind going abroad would be to explore new places, cultures, languages, and the such – not stay by the pool all day – but eh, I could be wrong.

There, we ordered some quick food, and were served by a rather grumpy waiter. Once we finished ordering though, he was like “all inclusive, yeah?” and we said that no, in fact we weren’t. His features then shifted slightly, and so did his attitude. From then on, he was a lot more positive, and even put extra ham in my vegetarian sandwich which was thoughtful. 

For dinner that evening, we ate in the roof garden of Stablos and Elizabeth, which gave us a great view of the square below, which all fitted around the church with a clock tower dusted with birds. The food portions were crazily large, as in the starter alone could have fed three people. And my madre and I both ordered two courses each. I kid you not. We were practically bursting at the seams when we left.

I have found that countries with hot climates such as Greece and Turkey tend to have roads filled with people on mopeds – which makes sense, considering how much cooler they will be (both temperate-wise and status-wise). But never before have I seen people riding with literal animals tucked into their armpits, like I did on my third day in Greece. The loud rip of a moped erupted from the road to the side of me, and I looked over to see a man riding, with a small fluffy dog under his arm, fur ruffled by the wind. And what’s more insane is the fact that I saw people both on the phone and smoking, driving at the same time as they held a kid on their lap. I have to admit that they’re very skilled people, but boy is that a weird sight for the eyes.

Day four started with a bang. Or more accurately, the crashing noise of my mother trying to prise open the balcony door. 

By the way, there’s this one little patisserie in Malia which sells the best ice-cream I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what it’s called in English, but the title printed above the door looked something like Syovpo’s. I ate an insane amount of ice-cream (oh hey there, Crohn’s Disease) from that shop, with the only problem being that the owner had a tendency to close up the part of the shop that sold ice-cream at super random times of the day, and for no apparent reason. 

Anyway, the forth day was pretty laid-back, as we just walked around and tested out food. We ate dinner at Toto Lotto, which consisted of pretty food in very pretty surroundings. The tables were awesome, with slabs of glass covering a whole collection of postcards from various places and events – but the dead pufferfish that stared right into your soul was a definite downer.

I spent the rest of the day out in the warm weather, writing. According to my notes from that day, I basically just thought about my Greek expectations. To summarise, I imagined crumbling white handmade buildings (thank Mamma Mia for that one, kids) with locals riding up steep paths on donkeys. For some reason, the fact that we were going to Malia, a part of Greece famous for partying, didn’t completely register with me, hence my surprise at all the gigantic commercialised partygoer things.