It’s embarrassing to admit I’ve been on holiday, but my Greek amber gamble was worth it
"Have you been on holiday?" Is not something anyone ever says to me. I am fair, ginger, I do not tan. I redden. Which is also an apt way to describe how embarrassing it can be to say you’ve been abroad on holiday at the moment.
It's been an excellent disguise these past few days, since returning from a two-week Greek rock climbing and culture trip with my boyfriend; first in Crete and then Athens and the Peloponnese. That and the fact we left in drizzle and came back to the broiling sun. My colleagues look more bronzed than I do. What I am though is an amber gambler.
By the third time the British Airways pre-record informed us that all lines were busy, disconnecting our call with a dreaded beep, we knew the decision was made. We would be flying to Greece for our holiday – despite it being on the amber list.
A two-week trip booked in January, ostensibly to attend a family wedding that had been optimistically/recklessly scheduled for a then distant May bank holiday, had always been an Olympic long shot.
As the days ticked down and the lockdown extended, like a poker player with a poor hand but plenty of front, we held our cards close to our chest. A fortnight to go, the bride and groom crumbled. Threw in their lot and postponed the wedding. They would be spending their non-wedding day in the Scilly Isles instead.
By now we were sweating like a desperate man in a casino down to his last chip. Like everyone else: we needed a holiday. Finally as the Government proceeded to redefine amber in a way that threatened to have dangerous implications for motorists everywhere, we took the inability to cancel our flights as a sign that we should proceed with our plans to head to amber-listed Greece with caution.
Throwing good money after bad, we booked our Covid-19 tests and hoped for the best.
I admit that I never had any doubts it would all be OK – but then I’ve missed flights for reasons too banal to list. I once spent five hours waiting for a connecting flight in Costa Rica, only to board the wrong plane at the last minute. On Super Saturday on July 4 last year, as the first lockdown ended we were in our car, on a Eurotunnel train revving towards Italy for two weeks. Experience has shown me that these things work out.
My boyfriend Harry, though, met every hurdle like a nag in a steeplechase (the last of my poor gambling puns) looking back in disbelief every time we managed to clear one. Our recent trip to Greece was no different. Pre-flight PCR test, £100 from Boots; negative. Passenger locator forms; extensively filled in. Heathrow queues; pacey, barely existent.
As we touched down in Heraklion and the border patrol waved us through with a desultory check of our negative Covid-19 test, we congratulated ourselves that qui audet vincit. Never mind that we had to spend an entire afternoon of our stay in traffic-heavy Heraklion to get a rapid antigen test so that we could fly on to Athens (£20 euros each, never checked).
If ours seems like a selfish story of two gadabouts that make Stanley Johnson look like he had an essential reason to travel, then I accept the charge. Although, in our defence, we did think about the risks of spreading the virus, but counted on immunity from the fact we both had Covid-19 on Christmas Day as mitigation.
Greeks do wear masks, but they’re hotter on making sure you don’t put loo roll down their plumbing. As fashion trends go, they are overwhelmingly fans of the chin strap mask, or bare-nosed protuberance. Social distancing in Athens isn’t draconian, more naturally enforced by the fact there aren’t any tourists. I’ve never seen the restaurants in Plaka so empty. In cooler, non-touristy Exarcheia things are different and young people are enjoying the café culture like it’s a typical summer.
Our welcome though was always warm. At the delightful Mazaraki Guest House, in the Peloponnese, backed by the Taygetos Mountains and looking down to Byzantine Mystras and modern Sparta, they couldn’t have been more pleased to have their first weekend with a full house. Unlike in Athens, Covid-19 numbers have been low in Laconia. This has been a crisis of the local economy more than of health. Family tavernas have fallen over themselves to make us feel fed and watered, a pleasure when it’s from the Taygetos springs. Hospitality is what Greece does well and what they want right now to get back to doing.
Yet, the beaches and restaurants are empty. In Kyparissi, a lime-washed village hemmed by cliffs and sea and beloved of climbers, we were the only ones on the beach. For those who struggle with crowds, it is perfection. The sites, even the big ones like Epidaurus and Mycenae, are serene. For those who like their 2,000-year-old culture all to themselves, head to Ancient Messene, where the remains of both stoa and stadium ache for the footfall of busier times, both ancient and modern.
Of the few tourists we encountered the majority were from Germany. Everyone is politely keeping their distance, notionally aware that Europe depends on us not to abandon all caution.
Our last stop was Nafplio, the chi chi gateway to the Peloponnese, which teemed with holidaying Athenians; a shock after so much seclusion.
Locating online where we could go to do our return to the UK PCR test was far from easy but Harry eventually found the information out on, of all places, the Chinese Embassy website.
It was not a stress-free decision to travel. It certainly wasn't cheap. If there is a penalty for being an ambler gambler then it is the £415 I have spent on tests alone in order to go, come back and be released early from quarantine with a negative test on day five.
Read more: A complete guide to the best hotels in Greece
