“Two minutes, two minutes” he whoops, pointing off somewhere in the distance before slapping both hands on the steering wheel. The doors close in our face as we shoulder on our backpacks, the bus spluttering off around the corner. Nikki and I look at each other and then around; we’re in the middle of nowhere, or so it seems. It’s been over 24-hours since we first set out for Corfu; and while we have finally arrived on the island, there is still no sign of our hostel.
Two minutes? Two minutes my arse! We’ve been trudging our way through the city of peaks* for at least an hour, and with each twist and turn, we hold our breath, hoping to be met by some sign of civilisation, but always remain disappointed.
Throwing our packs to the side of the road, we slump down in exhaustion, our heads resting in our hands. “What are we going to do?” I mumble. “We don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction!”
Going against the advice of all those who have come before us, Nikki and I made the decision to travel the Greek Islands out of season. Although it is still early in the afternoon, the sun is beginning to set and there is a slight chill to the November air.
We’ve been sitting in silence for god knows how long when a gentle purr begins to climb the hill, pulling up beside us. “You girls want a lift?” he questions in broken English. We are seated in the backseat, buckling up our belts before either of us have a moment to clearly examine the situation.
Now that we’re in the car, we see that there are actually two people travelling, and that both are men in their late thirties. “Thank you so much for picking us up”, I gesture. “It’s been a bit of a mission to get to our hostel”. They talk amongst themselves and I wish I could understand Greek. “We’re just staying at the Pink Palace, it’s not too much further is it?” I ask. The driver looks at us in the rear view mirror and shrugs.
My fingers tiptoe across the space that separates me from Nikki and I gently grab her hand. What have we gotten ourselves into? We drive in silence, a million different scenarios playing out in my head, all of them ending badly. Suddenly, the car swerves off to the side of the road as the driver rips up the hand brake. He turns around to face us. “We’re here!” he beams, almost a little too enthusiastically. Sighing, I rest my head on the window and pray that whatever they do to us, they do quickly. Then from the corner of my eye I see it, a bright pink building sitting obnoxiously before us. Scattered around the building are several other pink blocks and a pink bus marked 'The Pink Palace'. We get out of the car dumbfounded, relieved. Both men help us into our backpacks, shake our hands and wish us a great holiday before speeding off out of sight.
*The name Corfu is an Italian corruption of the Byzantine Koryphō, meaning "city of the peaks”
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