Need Another Holiday: Our Greek Poseidon Adventure

Boat trips in Greece. I love them. 

When I saw a little advertising board outside the local tour company in Kos, trying to sell me the perfect day, I immediately pictured myself sailing along in the sunshine, blissfully smiling out at the sparkling sea. I knew I’d have a fabulous time because I’d done similar trips before, on other Greek Islands. It was always a dream of a way to spend a day.

As I glazed over at the happy memories of diving off boats into clear waters and munching souvlaki on deserted beaches, I wistfully waxed lyrical about the joys of messing about on Greek boats to my Other Half. It wasn’t hard to convince him that the three island boat trip would be the highlight of our holiday. So, into the tour office we went, and out we came with tickets for the following day.

The type of view you can only get from on board a boat

Later that night, I regaled my husband with stories of Greek holidays past as we slurped our local brew in the balmy evening heat. Hell, I think I even re-enacted my diving technique on dry land, such was my enthusiasm for the next day’s excursion. Excited? Yes. Intoxicated? Oh, you’d better believe it.

The next day started with a groan and a sore head. One too many last night maybe, but a litre of water later I was ready to get on board. Bring on the boat. My husband seemed in good spirits too, though the aftermath of an extra pint of Mythos seemed not quite as easy for him to shake off. 

Once on board the aptly named “Poseidon” (oh how I wish I had a photo to prove that was the name – I wasn’t blogging then, so I hadn’t quite realised the importance of picture documentation), I waited happily for us to sail out of Kos Town. And  it took all of ten minutes out at sea before my husband was throwing up in the one, tiny, on board toilet.

Turns out he’d left his sea legs in last night’s pint glass.


He came back after a few minutes, pale but (half) smiling. I hoped he’d be ok as I tried to remember if it was my fault we’d had “one for the road”. 

At about the same time, we saw a girl hobble down from the top deck, with the same sorry expression as my man. My Glaswegian husband nicknamed her “Hen”, a Scottish term of endearment. She looked like she needed all the endearment she could get as she held a plastic sick bag limply in her pale hand. 

Unfortunately, the sight of her ultimately pushed my husband over the edge, and he ran to the loo again. 

This time he was gone for ages. And even I broke out in to a cold sweat as person after person attempted to open the toilet door. What was he doing in there? And was it even possible for a person get their head stuck down a toilet? 

The minutes dragged on while I waited for him to reappear. And every time I looked forward I saw poor Hen, ready to lean over the side of the boat, trying desperately to keep looking up at the sky on the advice of one of the Greek crew. 

And still my husband stayed locked in the loo.

When he eventually emerged, the sun burned  kissed glow from the previous days had vanished. Instead he gave off a slight green hue that was pitifully emphasised by the green T-shirt he was wearing. He was also drenched in water as a result of an over enthusiastic face splash, but he looked so much like he’d just stepped out of a horror film, that it might as well have been blood. He was not a pretty sight.

All this before we’d even made it to the first of the three islands. How on earth would we ever make it back to Kos Town?

As soon as we hit dry land, I was more than happy to sample the local beer. 

It might seem strange to say it given what you’ve just read,

but the boat trip actually was one of my best days in Kos.

Once I let my husband sleep off the sea sickness in a dark corner, I lost myself in the wonderful views and the swish and the slosh of the blue-green water. And after a swim at the first stop, he slowly started coming back to life (though it would be another two days before the colour returned to his face).

My husband might claim he’ll never go on another boat trip, but I’m telling you it’s one of the best things to do on the Greek Islands. Just don’t drink too much the night before, and if you do, well it’s probably best you have a hair of the dog before you salute your captain. 

Maybe that’s why sailors drink rum…

Oh, and if you’re wondering what happened to poor Hen? Well, one of the male crew took quite the shine to her; carefully monitoring every stage of her recovery. So for all we know she’s planning a Big Fat Greek Wedding by now!

Yamas!

Have you ever had your own sailing adventure on your travels? Do tell!