1993 – Mykonos

It was June-July in Mykonos, which meant that it was getting on in the season. Soon after arriving, I met up with Linda from the States. Although probably a decade older than me, we hit it off immediately and I ended up staying at the same whitewashed, picturesque little pension near Agios Stefanos.

I’d decided to travel to the island on the glowing recommendation of one of the travelers I’d met in Athens, but completely stuffed up the timing. Instead of being populated by a large and eclectic contingent of young backpackers, Mykonos was overrun by “hetero-hostile” gay folk and a few tourists here and there.

One evening, Linda and I decided to go into town to party, a good 2km walk away. Disappointed with the sedate atmosphere in the popular pubs, we walked around looking for some kind of action. Hearing pulsating music and shouts of enjoyment coming from a seedy looking establishment, we went in, sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of rounds. It didn’t take us long to figure out that unless we masqueraded as lesbians, we weren’t welcome. Our reluctance must have been transparent, as we were pretty much booted out within the hour. Still with our glasses in hand, we stumbled out of there laughing hysterically; definitely the worse for wear. We decided to wend our way back home, and that’s when the scary bit started.

In 1993, the road from Mykonos town to Agios Stefanos was a windy, but well-maintained dirt road, with plenty of hills and no houses along the wayside. (I see from the internet that the whole area has been developed since then).

We started off our long walk talking companionably and sipping what was left of our drinks. I don’t quite know who heard it first, but there was the distinct sound of footsteps following us in the silence. We couldn’t see anyone behind us, it being pitch dark and the early hours of the morning. Feeling a little apprehensive, Linda (definitely more streetwise than I was at that stage), suggested that we break our glasses against one of the rocks at the side of the road so as to at least have a weapon if there was any sign of a threat. As a test, we came up with the plan to sprint for about 100m and then see if the person behind us ran too. Well, you can imagine how spooked we were when we heard the scuffling footsteps break into a run. Instant sobriety! Terrified and to be honest, quite winded (both of us were smokers), we ran as fast as we could until we came to the beginning of the developed area, ducking over and behind a low wall surrounding one of the first gardens we encountered. The footsteps thundered past, paused for a heart stopping moment and then continued on. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved.

We must have hidden behind that wall for about half an hour before warily sneaking the rest of the way back to the pension, on the lookout for anything suspicious. Once inside, neither of us could sleep so we polished off a bottle of retsina (horrible stuff, but all we had at the time) and finally nodded off sometime near dawn.

We didn’t stay long in Mykonos, needless to say. We left for Syros on the first available ferry. While we were in Syros, we heard the hair-raising news from a Greek guy that there had been a serial rapist at work in Mykonos who had assaulted several female tourists during the high season. I often wonder whether Linda and I didn’t have a lucky escape. Guess I’ll never know.