Kos [Unfinished]
BeKos bekos bekos bekos… bekos of the wonderful things he does. That was just a little word play guys. It was a reference to the Wizard of Oz. A bit of Saturday morning fun. Don’t mind me, I’m just messing around.
Myself, Theo, my Mum and my Dad are currently embarking on our first family holiday since Barbados last Christmas, a travel writing which I never ended up finishing because (bekos) I spent the whole holiday problem drinking in the wake of a heavy break up. (A note from present day Max: you will NEVER guess what happened on this holiday, except this time I had no excuse).
Kos should be different (present day Max: key word being ‘should’), though, since this time I’m not in the midst of a breakup and the bar isn't free. I imagine I’ll still problem drink, but it’ll be fun, measured problem drinking unlike last time, which should allow me to finish this without too much trouble. The only thing standing in my way is the same thing that stood in my way during my last holiday- a trip to Paris to visit Juliette- namely, my teaching course. I imagine I’ll have to spend around 3-4 hours in Kos at my laptop, planning a lesson to be delivered around 6pm BST on Thursday night, which is 10 pm Greek time. I hope this teaching abroad business is worth it. Lord knows I’ve taught a few broads in my day. Wahey!
I’ll quickly set the scene. The four of us are heading to Kos to meet my Aunty Rachel, my cousin Posie, my Nan and my Uncle Mark. Kos is Greek island, which makes this my first ever visit to Greece; Cyprus being independent. I’m deeply excited to see white stone buildings and ancient ruins everywhere I turn. I’m also deeply excited to chat to some Greeks, because I truly believe they’re the friendliest people on the planet. Some of the most beautiful, too.
As of now, we’re sat on the plane, delayed by 40 minutes due to an issue with the fuel. This would’ve provided me with a great opportunity to nail my lesson prep before arriving, had my dogshit laptop not died 30 minutes in. Hence my decision to start writing this. Not much has happened so far. Theo and I traversed the duty free fragrance shop, where he coated himself in Dior eau de Sauvage and I bathed in Dior Sauvage Elixr (one of the fragrances Jeremy recommends for getting compliments). Next, we tried half shot samples of spiced rum which Theo insisted served to get the creative juices flowing, whatever that means. We then hit WHSmith so Theo could buy himself a few books. This was strange given that he cannot read. Regardless, I wasn’t going to let him buy any old junk, and we settled on The Man in the High Castle by Phillip K. Dick (the alternative history novel where the Nazis won), and Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. Theo has since flicked through a few pages of the former, before watching Netflix instead. After WHSmith, we each bought a pair of Polaroid sunglasses. I left my previous pair in Paris, which really broke my heart, so I can’t wait to get equally attached to these before leaving them somewhere else fun. We both got a breakfast muffin from Pizza Luxe in the airport, then met back up with Mum and Dad to head towards the gate. Before boarding, we opted for a turbo piss to save going in the onboard cubicles that neither of us fit in. Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I’m a shy pisser, meaning that I can’t go in urinals if anyone is nearby. So, I waited for a minute by the stalls. Theo decided to accompany me, either for the company or because he continues to copy me, even into his 20s. Here, we heard the closest thing to an explosion Manchester airport has ever seen. A real plfffffplapbrrrrrrr type diarrhea fart. A genuine bomb threat shit. That was enough to convince me it was worth risking failure at the urinal (a ridiculous delusion), so we moved back. Inevitably, I couldn’t go, leaving me with the sole option of taking a two pace walk of shame back to the big shitter’s domain.
Well, that’s enough of that crass junk. The fuel issue has been resolved, so I imagine we’ll be heading off soon. To read, I’ve brought The Catcher in the Rye, a James Baldwin novel whose name escapes me (gifted by my Aunty Rachel), Tess of D’Urvervilles and A Streetcar Named Desire. I think I’ll start with Streetcar, though the temptation to read Catcher for the fourth time is nearly overmastering.
Great. Oh that’s just great. There’s someone on board with a serious nut allergy, so we’re not allowed to eat nuts. Are you kidding me? How is that my problem? I don’t even have any nuts to eat and I’m mad. Some people are so inconsiderate of others. Get off my plane and get out of the gene pool you wet wipe.
I finished streetcar in one sitting. Mind, it’s barely 100 pages and a play, which makes it fairly easy reading. Still, it’s a page turner. I’ve only read Tennessee Williams once before, and that was Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Streetcar has the same mysterious romance to it; all the characters seem to be grasping at something vaguely out of reach, something none of them are at all sure of the nature of. His plays glow with the sad beauty of human frailty. His heroines are all so endearingly flawed, you can’t help but fall in love. Poor Maggie, poor Blanche. I’d like to read The Glass Menagerie next, though I don’t think my heart could take one after the other, so I’ll leave it for now.
I think the quality of my writing might have stagnated recently due to a lack of inspiration. Now, I’m not talking about heartbreak and destitution, I’ve had enough of all that. I mean literary inspiration. I’ve read two books in the past 10 months, for my shame. Sure, I was burnt out after my masters, but it’s no excuse. You have to feed a writer good writing, otherwise they’re just a writer. I intend to be a good writer and I think Streetcar might have been the perfect appetiser.
Just landed. I always wonder why people stand up before disembarking happens. Might as well save your legs, I think. Hope you guys enjoyed that fascinating observation.
We disembarked and picked up our bags, now we’re on a 15 minute drive to our hotel, in an incredibly luxurious Benz. I’m taking in the sights as I type. White stone buildings yes. Mountains yes. Treacherous, jagged landscape dotted with brown-green foliage yes. Funnily enough, it reminds me a lot of Cyprus. Kos is so small that you can see both coasts from the centre, and mountains on other islands look as though they aren’t separated from us by a body of water.
Now I can’t wait to change into something a little more comfortable and then demolish a cold one.
A beautiful Greek lady just served me pineapple juice with sparkling water and rosemary. We have indeed arrived in our hotel. They’ve REALLY leant into the whole rustic Greek vibe. Each room is in its own little stone hut; there are lines of them, furnished with timber, Mediterranean plant life and bamboo canes. It looks straight out of ancient Sparta, I think.
Well, after a very short golf-cart ride to our room, I took a long overdue shower then headed to the bar to meet Posie and Aunty Rach. The bar, pool and restaurant are all around 20 metres from our room. It’s another 20 metres to the beach, which you can see out to from the bar. We found Posie reclining by the pool and she greeted Theo and I with a hug. Then, the three of us trekked over to the bar to order our first drinks of the holiday. I opted for a pint of the local draught lager and Theo, typically, did the same. Posie ordered a cocktail they call the Stranger Things. Guaranteed to send you to the upside down, or so I’ve heard. That was a bit of a dead joke. A really dead joke, actually. I’m updating this from the beach, the day after the events I’m in the process of describing, having just read some of James Baldwin’s ‘Another Country.’ The only downside to reading brilliant works like it is that they often make me feel very inferior. This little number really can’t compare. Oh well, maybe one day I’ll get there.
Anyway, Mum and Dad joined us soon after, quickly followed by Aunty Rach, who welcomed us with her usual radiant warmth. Then, as was be expected, we spent two hours chatting and getting progressively more tipsy. By dinner time, we were sufficiently buzzed and VERY hungry. I changed out of my swim shorts and beach shirt into beige corduroy shorts, a white vest and a blue and white button up. Looking back on it, I really hit the Greek colour scheme hard, which made for a nice first fit.
Well, we walked the collosal hike from the bar to the restaurant and seated ourselves at a table for 6. Here, for whatever reason, the friendly, cheerful discussion we’d been having in the bar suddenly turned quite dark. On one side of the table, Mum, Aunty Rach, Theo and Posie discussed the tragic death of Posie and Aunty Rach’s neighbour: a twenty year old girl hit by a car whilst walking her dog. The dog died too. This sparked a wider discussion about dead kids and led onto yet more horrible issues on account of Aunty Rach’s broad wealth of knowledge on the topic of gut wrenching tragedy. Aunty Rach works for a company that makes true crime documentaries, you see. This makes her an endless font of stories about nurses who kill, mothers who murder and lovers that… (L)assassinate? Well, those topics dominated the conversation on one side of the table, as I say, while the other side- myself and my father- got into a very heated argument about the last season of Game of Thrones, of all things. Theo and I had recommended everyone watch it, but explained that the last season was a serious discredit to the rest. In response, my Dad argued that it couldn’t be an objectively bad interpretation because art, and it’s interpretation, is always subjective. To this I responded that the last season isn’t an interpretation nor an adaptation because it’s not based on any source material, hence it being so dreadful. My Dad then insisted that it couldn’t be bad because, again, art is up to subjective interpretation. We went back and forth on this for a while, our voices raising slightly and our family members politely suggesting we drop the issue. Neither of us are the kind of people able to drop anything, so we did not. My Dad has an insufferable habit when arguing of moving the goal posts, so that he his argument can’t be wrong. He likes to find a issue within his argument that is obviously correct, and act as though that was his sole point all along. Either that, or he picks up on a small factual error in your argument and redirects the discussion to that, as if it discredits the wider argument. This time, he insisted he didn’t care at all about Game of Thrones, and he’d only ever been arguing that art is up to interpretation. I have a Literature Masters, so I’m acutely aware of that fact, funnily enough. When I responded by saying that he couldn’t make a tangential point related to the previous conversation, i.e. Game of Thrones, then act as though it was an entirely unrelated issue, he said he could do whatever he wanted. Of course, he wasn’t wrong, but it’s not really relevant, is it? Towards this point in the debate, he employed the genius tactic of subtle belittlement, insisting that I was drunk, getting too worked up, speaking too loudly and just generally bothering everyone else. I noted that that was a little rich, then sat stinging with that feeling of smallness that only your Dad can grace you with. In the end, we opted to drop the subject on account of our starters arriving.
I must note quickly that the views in this place are unreal. The background to this tiff was the orange sun setting behind the silloutte of mountains on a distant island. The staff and clientele are also mainly beautiful women, the former being Greek and the latter the assorted European wives of rich men.
Anyway, the starter was a trio of truffle arancini which went down beautifully with the local white we were drinking. They didn’t, however, fill us up a great deal. That issue persisted with the main course, beef cheek. It was delicious and delicate, but again there wasn’t very much of it. That meant we’d effectively drank on an empty stomach and four hours of sleep all evening. That might retrospectively explain the argument, I suppose. It also explains why our parents went to bed immediately after desert was served.
Once they’d left, myself, Theo and Posie relocated to the bar area to talk about things we’d rather not discuss with our parents. The first topic was politics, which quickly became horrifically depressing, so we moved on to an equally joyful topic of love. Specifically, Posie’s love life. The poor girl has been in a gut wrenching situationship for most of the year with a guy that made her fall in love, then decided to move to Australia. I can’t exactly talk given my move to St Andrews, but it’s still sad for her. I reassured her that everyone has to have a first real love and everyone has to have a first real heartbreak. You’ve got to feel more pain than you thought possible in order to feel the equivalent joy. All love ends in heartbreak and death. Plenty more fish. You get the idea. I think I actually read a poem of mine at them to get the point across, which is a little embarrassing, but anyone who has read any of my poetry knows very well that I feel for my dear cousin right now. She’s a very strong girl, though. She’ll pull through.
After that cheery conversation, we called it a night. Theo and I retreated to our room to catch the end of Germany v Denmark, which sadly ended with a Kraut W. The predictable result, along with the copious amount of booze and lack of sleep affecting both of our systems meant we fell asleep without any trouble.
This morning, I woke up at 7.30 am covered in insect bites. I don’t know what it is about me that they like so much. I’d say I run sweet but everyone knows I run salty. Oh well, my tragic tan lines have already ensured I’m auraless this holiday, so a few bites won’t do all that much damage.
I rolled around in bed trying to fall back asleep until 9.30, then got dressed and joined the family for breakfast. Now, I’ve eaten a lot of hotel breakfast (bladee reference ?????) buffets before, but this was really something else. This was the kind of food that makes you understand why the Greeks were able to establish Western philosophy and conquer the world all before us Brits had started writing. Shockingly, I went for a big bowl of decadent Greek yoghurt, a plate of goat and sheep cheeses and a handful of olives. The orange juice and coffee were awesome too; freshly squeezed and brewed respectively. The only thing that bugged me was the fact that they served baked beans. British culture is really a scourge on the world’s cuisine.
After the delight that was breakfast, I squeezed into a pair of speedos and headed down to the beach, where I began updating this. I also started the Baldwin book and took a plunge with Theo. I suggested we swim right out, to which he responded that there was a deadly shark attack in Kos just last week. From then on, every glistening shape and every suspicious shadow was a shark. The knowledge imbued us with a thalassophobia so deep that we were afraid to pick up a sea sponge we found.
Despite our fear, my time at the beach convinced me that Greece might be the perfect destination for teaching next year. It’d be heaven, surely. At least it would be if it’s anything like this.
We spent a few very windy (21 mph with 35 mph gusts) hours at the beach, then returned to the bar for lunch. Again, the food was unreal. Myself, Mum, Aunty Rach and Posie all ordered chicken souvlaki, while Theo opted for calamari. The chicken was unthinkably tender, the Greek salad that came with it was so fresh, the flatbread that I wrapped it all up into was so fluffy. Really, it was special.
Lunch set Theo and I up perfectly for a little midday gym session. For whatever reason, I’ve got it in my head that I’d better live like an Ancient Greek whilst I’m here, and that includes the nature of my exercise. The gym itself helped with this delusion, which I’m sure is intentional, as all of the equipment, even the rowing machine, is wooden. I’m aware the Spartans didn’t hit PRs on wooden squat racks, but the setting almost makes you believe they did. Nonetheless. I kept it authentic with a calisthenic push day and skipping to warm up and warm down. Calisthenics are really no joke, so the pump I got from it was enough to turn heads. My head, at least.
Once we’d finished in the gym, Theo, Mum, Aunty Rach and I kicked back by the pool, talking about my road trip, the books we’re reading, crime documentary names and the cause of my Dad’s immense rage. We knocked back a few cocktails, then Theo and I relocated to the beach due to a lack of loungers.
That about brings me up to date. I love when this happens. Sometimes I feel like I can’t quite relax until I’m fully up to date with this bad boy, which is a pain. It’s definitely worth the hassle since, even if nobody else reads my writing, I know I will. Still, writing is by far the less interesting component of the travel writing equation. I’m going to go for a swim now, as my legs are starting to redden and the wind is blowing sand in my eyes.
On our walk back to our room, an old man approached us, then turned his phone round to reveal an AI generated image of a cow with Swiss flags on its ears eating spaghetti. “Have you seen this? The match,” he said with a smile. Switzerland beat Italy yesterday, you see. Still, I haven’t a clue what the image meant. Having showed us the image, he sauntered off, pleased with himself. What an odd interaction- I wonder if he had a quest for us.
Well, we didn’t get up to much for the rest of the evening as England were playing Slovakia at 7 pm. We showered and chanted into our red and white colours, then collected a pair of pints to enjoy whilst suffering through the game. And suffer we did. 94 minutes of torture redeemed by the heroics of a certain pood smelling ham. What a goal. Once Kane sealed the deal, the remaining extra time was more of a chore than anything, and both of us prayed we’d go to a late dinner with smiles on our faces.
Indeed, we did, having watched Southgate’s men drag themselves through to the quarter finals. For dinner we had starters hardly worth describing, along with pork cheek and chicken stew for our mains. Our waitress was a very pretty girl whose sole flaw was a hood rich tattoo on her arm. She gasped in sympathy when I mentioned that a cockroach had scurried under our table, and she congratulated Theo upon hearing it was his 20th birthday the next day. We asked her where we ought to go to celebrate, and she responded with the obvious news that Tuesday nights aren’t the most rambunctious as a rule of thumb. We polished off our plates, met up with the family, then went to bed around midnight to conserve energy for the first day of Theo’s twenties.
I began the next morning on the beach for a yoga session with Mum and Aunty Rach. The wind threw off my balance and the lady asked some serious bending of us, but beyond that it was blissful. I love meditation whenever someone tells me how to do it, and the scene of turquoise ocean, white sand and distant peaks compounded the serenity.
The downwards facing dogs helped me build a serious appetite, and, in the spirit of my healthy start to the day, I went for Greek yoghurt and Greek salad, both of which were as gorgeous as I’d hoped.
Our day really began after breakfast, though, as we thought we’d foray into the nearby town of Marmari.
Side note: I’m updating this from the beach once again, and there’s a giant helicopter collecting sea water a kilometre away in an effort to put out a huge wildfire that’s concerningly close to our hotel. Maybe Al Gore was right all along.
Side side note: most of the rest of this account is in note form, which I’d intended to write up at a later date but never did. It’s a real shame, but I still think the fragments I have are worth sharing, and the notes themselves are quite funny due to their lack of context. Enjoy.
The Marmari excursion was eventful for a number of reasons.
Time limit for nanny
Dead cat
Philosophy
Split up
Building site
Bulls
Scouting mission
1.5 hour walk
Nanny arrived, drinks, food (gyros)
Beach, lacerated shoulder
Changed
Taxi to Kos town
Footy
Pirate ship road (Davy jones)
Bar street harassment
Bar in the square (light up throwers, yard stick, little cars, kid with buggy)
Bar in the other square, dj, popping, gorgeous scenes
Posie left because she insists that her frontal lobe has developed and she’s lost the capacity for fun
Caught the end of the footy
Bar street rotate
Dancing to cheesy music and having my usual frustrations
Girls dancing on bars. Actors all of them actors.
Met a friend called Mark who had a hairy ass and liked it ate
Dropped glasses in the loo
Theo asked me to “do my thing” while he talked to a girl
Chain smoked whilst he necked on with her then went home at 4 am
Next day, 6 hours sleep, dragged to breakfast
Theo spotted returning at 7 am
Studied for three hours with a brief pizza break and finished everything
Have been sober today
Reading, listening to music, swimming
Observing gay couples
Guy doing butterfly in the relaxation pool
Pregnant lady flashed us
I worried the baby might drown when she got in the pool.
All at once, I seem to have found myself at the end of my adolescence. This summer serves as a milestone in the truest sense: in two months, I will be an adult in actuality, which is something I’ve never been before. I’m at the end of a very long road and I’m at peace with the knowledge that I’m about to step onto a longer one. I’ve finished my formal education- for now, at least- I’ve made more friends than I thought possible, I’ve had my first job, I’ve had my first love and I’ve had my first heartbreak. Now, sat by a pool more idyllic than any I’ve sat by before, I feel calm in a way I never have, and it’s strange. At present, I’m a sojourner in my adolescence once again, but my clothes don’t fit right anymore. Even my skin doesn’t seem to fit right; it’s peeling off me as a write this. The truth will out and I will out too. I think I’m ready to embark on my life of wondering and wandering, searching for nothing in everything. I’m excited.
Dropped game
Swam for a while
Showered
Dinner- octopus, Greek salad, pastry
Trouble sleeping with air con, Theo snoring, sickness
Half English and Greek yoghurt breakfast
Cute waitress crying
Book, music, swim, rinse and repeat. Struggling to relax entirely without a mission to complete
Protagonist of my book killed himself after 1 chapter. Extremely real
Slightly less successful game
Beach, lost a paddle board
Tennis, broke two balls
Game plan decided on
Rum and Coke
Swim again, butterfly man returned
Best hotel I’ve been to
Pint
Sorted out my dodgy burn lines
Everyone doing their own thing now before we eat and beach party
Ate tuna tartare and some fish deal. Apparently grandpa used to love asking people their top 5 songs and movies. Just like me fr.
Started with euro trash music, then picked up
Lots of tequila from rep lady who wanted me
Babak pep talk
Generational duos performance from Theo and I
On our way to Kos town now
Did not understand how to postal vote, I have now failed to vote twice
Bite cream
Olive trees
Ate the biggest cowboy steak ever and laid off the booze for the sake of my lesson later
Said our goodbyes and came back to the hotel
Power napped for two hours. I’d been very sleepy all day.
Set up my laptop on top of a table on top of another table then taught my adoring 30 year old female students
Went for dinner
Slept after watching Naruto versus battles with Theo
Woke up this morning, grabbed my penultimate breakfast of Greek yoghurt with my standard accoutrements and two boiled eggs, for some reason
Asked the milf where I should go tonight, made a plan
Creamed up
Went to the beach, chatted up the two waitresses Felitza and Christina.
Two beers
Played catch w Theo in the water. He accused me of being bad but it was the wind
Sunbathed, wind is serious today which means it’s prime tanning time
Heading back to the pool now
Hung out and read for a while
Showered, packed
Said bye to aunty Rachel and posie
Waited an hour for a taxi, caught the start of the game
Headed to Kos town, said hi to nanny and uncle mark, moved on to a bar to watch the rest
Unbelievable game, Spain will win the euros
Gyros
Second game was less good
Moved on to bar street, felt like a baby watching cocomelon but not having a good time, too much going on
Walked ages through dark, seedy areas to Mylos beach bar, the goat
EDM music, decently priced drinks, big crowd, beautiful girls
So many worldies pulled by mid guys, I should’ve moved first
Theo suggested we divide and conquer, nonchalant meta didn’t hit
Immediately he pulled
Pep talk with Babak, Jack and Lucas
Walked out of bathroom and Italian beauty called Elise grabbed my hand
30 mins of dancing and talking later, she drops the boyfriend counter
This just in: hoes stay mad
Walked back to bar street, gyros
Taxi home
Slept for 5 hours
Up for breakfast, final pack, sitting by reception now
At the airport
Tried on every fragrance
Got a gyros and a beer and was ashamed of myself
Saw a man triple parked with three Amstel tinnies
I’m trying to watch one piece on the plane, but the flight attendant has been stood by me for 5 minutes serving food, and I don’t want her to think I’m weird. She’s not even cute, but namis body proportions are simply too embarrassing.
I have a very bad habit of falling deeply in love every time I see a pretty girl smile. I have an equally bad habit of falling in love whenever I see a pretty girl frown. These habits make Greece a crushing place to spend a week, as the women either look like Aphrodite or the Minotaur, which means that every woman breaks your heart or breaks your nerve.
Well, that’s all I managed to get down regarding this trip. It was fun and memorable, but due to the transitional point in my life in which it took place, I was far too busy to the necessary time to make this anything more than you see here. Still, there are a few diamonds in the rough, and I’ve enjoyed reminiscing on my time in Greek paradise while editing. I hope I get to write a real Greece 2 one day.
