The hotel was a little guest house just off the main drag in Parikia, and my balcony had the tiniest glimpse of blue.
But it had AC and a fridge and I was convinced I did get the best deal on the island.
I set about walking to explore. I bought a towel, a delicious chicken gyro with taziki and onions and french fries all wrapped up in a soft warm Pita. I bought a cheap t-shirt and immediately cut off the sleeves. It was time to say goodbye to the South Sudan farmer’s tan.
I did some more exploring, finding the bars, the clubs, the shops, and the restaurants and saw that the majority of Parikia consisted of winding streets through whitewashed buildings. I navigated a few of these streets and found mostly mom shops and decided that though they were picturesque, I did not need any potpourri.
It was time for the beach.
I spent a few hours on the beach only to be aurally accosted by the screams of an American high school volleyball team. Four years ago, a flock half naked high school girls would have been manna from heaven, but at my age, it was more of a bother.
I packed my things and headed for a beer.
I sign caught my eye: Ice cold beer 1.70 euro.
I walked in an discovered it to be a Mexican restaurant. Now this was manna. I had chips and salsa and ended up meeting the owner and her friend. Both wonderful Brits, I promised I’d be back.
That night I could not bring myself to party. I was so tired from bouncing around, I stayed in and watched a few episodes of Entourage and a movie.
The next day I was gonna scoot.