A Departure

This is Island Life

There was already a crowd when I got there, all ages, carrying suitcases, backpacks, carrier bags with clothes packed in. I took my place in the long queue and saw that those around me were older and looking very slightly worried. Not being able to speak Greek meant I could only shrug my shared concern but there didn’t look like there was a ferry coming any time soon. The scheduled time had been and gone but this was Christmas and that sometimes happened. Many of these people were visiting relatives on the mainland but I had a flight to catch tomorrow.

This was Island life, I was told. In summer, the ferries came and went all day, packed with tourists and travellers, family visitors. But I’d never had the need to leave until now. I’d been here for four months and still couldn’t believe how much my life had changed. That morning of the 20^th of December, I’d been outside in shorts, reading while having breakfast. Greece was like that. Sunny until Christmas, dark and grey until March. There had been rumours of a strike but surely they wouldn’t do that with Christmas travellers. So, more in hope than expectation, I set off to the Ferry Terminal extra early.

It was small island and I had been teaching English there for a few months, so I was a familiar face to the locals. As an English teacher, everyone wants to practice their language skills which makes you very lazy when it comes to learning Greek, a language extraordinarily difficult anyway. As the day progressed, especially after 4 O’clock, the queue got longer and the crowd got bigger. Nobody objected if elderly relatives jumped the queue and seats were given up willingly. It was all very jovial on the surface but, underneath, the very real prospect of isolation over Christmas was beginning to kick in.

The darkness began to seep in, late afternoon, and the bars and cafes which lined the small harbour began to come to life, lights flickering on, music beginning to play. Passers-by – some friends, some family members – who knew people in the queue, came over to chat and pass on news, or fragments of gossip. The ferries were certainly off. A strike. No, they were definitely on but delayed. One was on its way. A storm had blown through near Piraeus. Go home. And some did. Those who had the option of returning to their homes could travel tomorrow.

Food appeared. Crisps, fruit, chocolate, passed around freely and generously. Hours had passed and the buzz of chatter, even laughter, had increased, perhaps in slow acceptance of our fate.

Then, at about 8 o’clock or so, more and more travellers began to arrive, joining the queue. A ferry was coming, the TV News had announced. And, yes, in the distance we could see the first trace of lights approaching, a siren signalled its imminent arrival and cheers broke out. Curiously, someone began singing ‘Jingle Bells’ in English, and we all joined in. Some ran to phone home, alerting those who’d given up that they could return. We worried that there would be too many to get on but these ferries are big beasts and, crammed to the gunwales, we were on our way.

Bottles of beer were opened and shared, clinked together in celebration. ‘This is Island life,’ I was told, not for the first time that day.