I'm on holiday in Greece, but now I can't leave my villa

It's slow living and minimal movement for me as I spend lockdown solo in Crete.

I came to Greece for a week’s holiday. Since then the British government has flicked the lockdown switch. I hadn’t known that would happen when I accepted an invitation to Greece on a press trip, but still, travelling for work has been fully compliant with the FCDO’s advice and, as you can imagine, it’s been a tough year for professional travel writers to earn a living so I was grateful to get back in the saddle.

Now Greece is also entering its second lockdown as part of its strategy to prevent a wave of Covid-19 cases, this time for three weeks and during which time the borders are not closing. As we segue into the final stretch of 2020, the Greek death toll still remains in modest triple figures, but in response to an increase in cases — particularly in the north and in the capital — the Prime Minister is widely supported for taking strict preventative measures.

I met with his nephew Kostas Bakoyannis, the Mayor of Athens, at the start of the week to talk about how he’s put this time to precious use for the city. He explained that it has proved to be an opportunity to reinvent digital infrastructure, build a new centre for homeless people, create food-delivery systems for the vulnerable, improve public spaces, plant trees to create promenades. The importance of community in maintaining social wellbeing is also what the mayor spoke most passionately about.

I often celebrate the Greeks' community spirit, and it has been a true tonic in 2020. When my dear friend Danai invited me to stay in a 400-year-old villa on her family’s organic farm, Metohi Kindelis in Crete, I jumped at the chance to head to this Greek island with a Mediterranean climate rather than race back to cold, miserable Lockdown London. So here I am, looking out over the garden with only kittens for company, experiencing slow living in a way I’ve never before had the chance to. Making simple meals from ingredients straight from their farm is letting food be my medicine, to borrow Hippocrates’ much-quoted words. It’s a strict stay-home directive here too, and any essentials I need will be dropped off (I’ve stocked up on less urgent supermarket supplies and delicious Cretan wine from Manousakis winery).

People here are only allowed to go out between 5am and 9pm either for work or health reasons, to walk a pet or go jogging, then if they visit a pharmacy or the doctor, or go to the supermarket or for an urgent bank appointment, they have to notify the authorities by text. But spirits don't seem to be low. One of those magical, hard-to-translate Greek words I love is 'kefi' — it’s their passionate, high-spirited enthusiasm, often as the counter to melancholic times. Over a final tasting with wine producer Alexandra Manousakis, then dinner at her husband Afshin Molavi’s excellent restaurant Salis, I’ve had a serving enough of kefi to see me through autumn and winter.

The Greeks aren't the poster nation for compliant and conformist citizens, but when it comes to current health and safety considerations, I’ve been struck with admiration at their diligent mask-wearing. It puts my West London neighbourhood to shame. It’s part of the reason why I'm happy to be here for now — I got fed up with going to my local Sainsbury’s where so many shoppers and staff would not bother with any PPE.

I’m fairly confident that me lying low here with minimal social interaction is actually less risky and more responsible than when I’m home in London. Surely, abiding by Greece's clear regulations and riding this out in self-isolation is sensible? On social media, I’m being hounded by other users, lambasting me for promoting travel in 2020. This just highlights to me the volume of negativity and judgement in the air at home — and why I’m not in a rush to get back to choke on that atmosphere rather than be able to inhale fresh island air sweetened by the scent of jasmine in a private garden (as I duck cover to avoid stoning from trolls for that line). Who can blame me for choosing to stay somewhere where my soundtrack involves the rustle of leaves and birdsong?

I’m still working as I always do, on my laptop. But it's just at a farm table with a kitten on my lap rather than in my sitting room, listening to the rainbow of profanities emanating from passers-by on the pavement outside. I’m spending a fraction on living costs – London sucks money out of you for just existing there, and here I eat fresh fruit and veg from the farm and – barring the €11 (£10) I spent on a deodorant in a posh tourist-trap pharmacy – it’s far cheaper.

British Airways has been helpful each time I rebook my flight — chatting to the cheery call-centre staff stoically working from home has been a joy. Domestic travel here is still allowed, but only for those returning to permanent residence, family reunification, business and health reason, and my Aegean Airlines connection is so far still operating. So if flights do get cancelled, well, I'll stay put. I'm happy to hunker down in this hidden-away home.

My new routine involves FaceTiming with my daughter when she’s home from school; we’re cherishing this new way of communicating like best friends, laughing and chatting, sharing things we never would have shared cooped up in my flat like we were last lockdown. We actually had a precious Lockdown 1 together, bingeing on Schitt’s Creek and cooking endlessly, but now it’s her dad’s turn to have this bonding time with her. He’s always been supportive of my job requiring me to travel and this week jokingly quipped "There’s no reason to rush back to this  —  enjoy your gap year."

I think I will.