One Summer in Santorini. Sandy Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ somehow vanished between Sydney and Auckland. On the next trip, my new suitcase emerged a mangled mess on the baggage carousel – hello LA and, yes, fellow passengers, those are my knickers, thank you very much. And I barely recovered from a raging case of malaria in Peru. Okay, so it wasn’t actually malaria. It was salmonella, but it still knocked me on my bum for five days when I was supposed to be hiking the Inca Trail.

      I looked out the window at the passing clouds. Maybe all the panic was because I hadn’t travelled in more than a year; I’d lost my mojo. Still, I should have been excited. After one night in London, I was flying to Santorini. Yes, the Santorini – of Greek Island fame.

      Even though it was only for a night, I was really looking forward to London, as I was seeing my little sis and I’d missed her like crazy. Catherine – Cat – had moved to England years before. Actually, we’d moved there together, but she stayed and I moved back to Australia. We only saw each other in the flesh every couple of years when she came to Sydney or I went to London. I knew she’d ease my worries – real or imagined – with a firm dose of tough love. It was one of the many, many reasons she was my best friend.

      The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. I had a breakfast of rubbery eggs and something that resembled a sausage, washed my face with a moist towelette, and watched three episodes of FRIENDS back to back. Finally back on terra firma, I disembarked and shuffled along the hallways of Heathrow, cleared immigration, and before long, I was waiting at baggage claim for my backpack. I was normally a suitcase kind of a girl, but the brochure had said to pack light. Apparently, there wasn’t much space inside the yacht.

      Oh, did I forget to mention that? My trip started in Santorini and then I’d be sailing around the Greek Islands for ten days. Not by myself – I don’t know how to sail. The skipper would be doing the sailing, and there’d be some other people with us, but most importantly there would be me – on a yacht!

      As I watched bag after bag pop out of the baggage chute and tumble down onto the carousel, I finally started to feel it, the excitement. There you are, you elusive little minx! It bubbled up inside me, and I had a sort of ‘baggage claim epiphany’. I was going to Santorini! In Greece! And then to a bunch of other Greek Islands!

      I could picture myself on the bow of the yacht wearing my new tangerine bikini and duty-free Prada sunglasses, which both looked fantastic on me by the way, the wind whipping through my hair like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Only before the iceberg. And about a hundred years later. Oh, and sans Leo.

      Finally, after what felt like a millennium, my bag appeared. Good thing too, as my yacht fantasy was degenerating into an 80s music video. I grabbed for the handle, fumbled with it a bit, then lugged it off the carousel. It wasn’t big, but it was filled to the brim with the perfect Greek Island trousseau: the obligatory summer dresses, bikinis, shorts, flowing skirts, cute tops, and a sunhat. I was a travelling cliché and I didn’t care. Did I mention I was going to Greece?

      I dragged the backpack over to one of the airport trolleys, swung it aboard, plopped my beautiful new leather handbag on top, and headed for the ‘Nothing to Declare’ exit. The only thing I had to declare was that I was going sailing on the Aegean, and I didn’t think the Customs agents gave a crap about that.

      Cat was waiting behind the silver railing on the other side of the security door. We look almost identical, except I am five-foot-six and she’s five-foot-nothing. She says she’s five-foot-one-and-three-quarters, but she’s not. She did get the good hair, though – cow. It’s the only thing I hate about her. While I’m stuck with masses of curls – the really curly ones that do whatever the hell they like – she has thick cascading, chestnut waves. Like I said, cow.

      ‘You’re here!’ she declared, ducking under the railing and throwing her little arms around my neck. I stopped pushing the trolley and returned the hug. We stepped back and regarded each other.

      ‘You look fab!’ I squeaked, tears in my eyes.

      ‘You too!’ she lied.

      ‘I just got off a twenty-eight-hour flight. I look like crap.’

      ‘You’re right, but it’s nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Come on.’ She took over pushing my trolley, and I followed obediently as she parted the crowd with a series of slightly rude ‘excuse mes’.

      *

      Back in her Docklands flat, my hair wet from the best shower I’d ever had, I sat on her couch, a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate biscuit in the other. We emailed and FaceTimed regularly – we weren’t estranged or anything – but nothing was the same as actually being together, and we chatted non-stop, catching up on all the things that sisters chat about.

      ‘So, tomorrow you fly to Athens and then what?’

      ‘I pretty much fly straight to Santorini. The stopover in Athens is only four hours. I thought about sightseeing but knowing me, I’d get caught in a traffic jam on the way back to the airport and miss my island-hopper.’

      ‘You probably would.’

      ‘Thank you. No really, I mean it,’ I replied, my voice thick with sisterly sarcasm.

      ‘What? You do tend to have shitty luck when you travel.’ See? But impending bad luck aside, I happily realised that excitement was thrashing anxiety’s ass.

      ‘Cat, I’m going to Santorini tomorrow!’

      ‘So, that’s where you’re going,’ she said, giving me crap. Jealous. I ignored her.

      ‘It’s just … It feels like I booked this trip ages ago. And, yeah, I was excited at the time, but it’s been months. After a while it stopped feeling real.’ I grinned at her. ‘Until now. I can’t believe I’m really going!’ Then I stopped grinning. ‘I’m not being too obnoxious, am I?’

      She smiled. ‘No, I’m happy for you. Really, I am.’ So not jealous, then.

      ‘I wish you could come.’

      ‘So do I, but there’s no way I could.’ Cat was a teacher like me, but while I was on holidays, her school year had just started.

      ‘Probably for the best. It could be a huge disaster of a trip.’ My inner pessimist was back, the lurker.

      ‘Don’t say that. It won’t be a disaster.’

      ‘You don’t know that. You just said I have shitty luck. And I do! Every time I travel somewhere, things go wrong. Look at last time in Peru! Plus, I won’t know anyone, and …’

      ‘Sarah, it’s not every time. I was only teasing. And Peru was ages ago. It’s a little bad luck now and then …’ She trailed off, shrugging. ‘Besides, you used to run tours for weeks at a time – for fifty people! You’re an experienced traveller.’

      ‘I know, but …’

      ‘But nothing. Random bad luck aside, you’re you. You know how to make friends with strangers. And you’ve been around.’ I threw her a stern look. ‘You know what I mean. I mean you’ve literally been around. You’ll be fine.’

      See? Tough love. Everything she said made sense, but …

      ‘But what СКАЧАТЬ