Checked out after another big, filling breakfast and walked up to the bus stop where the driver on the public bus we wanted, which was already 25 minutes late, just shrugged his shoulders as he drove past us. So we waited another half hour or so until the next bus came past.
The north wind was still blowing a gale (not a good omen for tomorrow), so we decided to check out the three beaches at the southern end of the island. First up was Platys Gialos, where the bus disgorged us. A nice beach, but nothing that appealed to us. The whole beach, except for about 20 metres at one end, was claimed by the many hotel resorts, who specialised in extracting 30 euros per person for the use of a sunbed and umbrella to partially shade the sun bed, then directing them to the only option when they got hungry – the hotel restaurant. A cut-throat business, the attendants were all linked together with headsets to make sure that they kept an eye on every unaccounted tourist, and nobody slipped in. The beds ran right down to the waterline, which were the most sought after of course.
They even had special offers going. For 60 euros (about AU$100) per person you could have a sun lounge each, and each couple got an umbrella, a bottle of champagne, a lamb platter for lunch, a free reservation in their restaurant for dinner (value for money here folks), and an extra set of steak knives. There were even sunbeds with privacy screens!
So we kept walking to the next option – Paranga – about 20 minutes further around the coast. Still wall to wall sunbeds, courtesy of the many beachfront hotels, but not quite as cutthroat. No special offers, no miked up attendants, and even 50 metres of beach for the plebs. Still not our scene.
Another 20 minutes around the coast we hit paydirt – Paradise Beach. Backpacker heaven. Still a couple of waterfront hotels, but this was where the hostels are. Lots of free standing shacks around the beach. You could buy a slice of pizza, an ice cream, or maybe a sandwich instead of a 20 euro meal at a restaurant. Judging by the speakers and light systems, it must be party central at night. The resort started in 1969, the same year as Woodstock, and the pictures around the walls of those heady days looked like a casting call for the musical ‘Hair’. Just think – most of them are now lecturing their grand children and voting for Trump.
Humming ‘The Age of Aquarius’ we took a bus back to the Old Town, principally because they only go to there, then walked back to the wonderfully friendly Charissi Hotel where we were joined by Brendan and Rachel, and shuttled to the New Harbour to meet the rest of our tour group for the next 7 days, as we head off to Santorini in a small boat with a gale force wind behind us. Oh, did I mention that I decided that discretion was the best part of valour, and bought some sea-sickness tablets?
Platys Gyalos
Mykonos Old Town
Platys Gyalos
Platys Gyalos