I’ve found it incredibly hard to even begin writing the last blog of this series and it’s taken me a while to understand why.
When it comes to life; when it comes to writing; when it comes to love…I am a perfectionist. I can’t recount a romantic scenario to my friends unless I know the exact words that would do it justice. I can’t start a written project if I’m not in the right mood because that would taint the beauty of it. I can’t fall in love twice because no one would ever come close to resembling the man I am in love with today.
I am a perfectionist.
* * *
Sitting in a fiercely air-conditioned airport at 2am waiting for our flight, I knew from my downturned mouth and pathetically watery eyes that Pefkos was a place we would cherish. It was our first big ‘getaway’, our first adventure of the wider world together. We learnt things about each other that we were previously unaware of and STILL loved in spite of them. And – most importantly to me – we made a promise to each other that we will never break.
It was a difficult little town to leave behind. With all of its hidden coves, gigantic bottles of wine and sugar cube cities just over the next hill top, Pefkos never ceased to be breath taking. Nothing was too overwhelming there; there weren’t too many tourists or larger than life Grecian characters that intimidated you whilst you attempted to ignore the stray cats twirling round your legs, desperate for a scrap of your dinner. When thirsty, you’d find your cure in the nearest cocktail bar (or, in my rather mature case, the local brand of lemonade). As we bad our final goodbye to the beach and turned towards home, I felt the beauty of the trip ebbing away.
There was nothing stopping you from feeling at home and everything stopping you from wanting to leave.
* * *
Some holidays pass in a blur: a splash in the pool here, a bottle of wine there…and some stay with you. Pefkos has now, weeks later, become like a little sun that our world revolves around-now we find ourselves determining the date by counting forward from the day we arrived back in England and comparing each bite of food to the cuisine we sampled abroad, driving our friends and family mad.
When all is said and done, it felt like our adventure had a sprinkling of that magic called Life that we all somehow manage to pass up on in our everyday routines. The memories we now have gleam that much brighter upon recollection in the dreary British summer and the touch of a hand or a kiss at sunset feels that much more poignant now the feeling of sand beneath our feet has faded away.
Stepping on to the outbound plane that (early) morning felt like the end of a perfect journey, the finality of a ‘Trip of a Lifetime’ returning to everyday schedule – but I shouldn’t have felt sadness.
We still have such a long way to go.