Adventures of a born-again virgin package holidaymaker

This was my first venture into the world of package holidays for some years (which I suppose makes me a born-again virgin), and my expectations had been fashioned more by TV programmes such as ‘Benidorm’ than by personal memories. Sadly, and based solely on the journey, I am ready to conclude that ‘Benidorm’ is frighteningly accurate.

The adventure started at the airport where, having checked in without issue I sauntered through security to the departure lounge. So far, so good; as a frequent traveler and user of the airport I’m on familiar territory. However, once in the unavoidable sterile, glaring world of duty free I began to realize that I was looking at things – and people – differently. I would normally pay no attention to the tables around which obvious charter flight passengers are gathered, happy with our peaceful coexistence and secure in the knowledge that we would soon be going our separate ways. Now that coexistence had been replaced by cohabitation, and it was a question of whether I would be sitting next to the family with the sugar-high kids, or the middle aged couple enjoying their fourth round of beers with Jagermeister chasers.

The flight was good in that we arrived at our destination without incident. However, the three and a half hours it took to reach our destination could easily qualify as torture under the Geneva Convention. At first I was relieved to be sitting next to the middle-aged couple who by this time were in a semi-drunken stupor and posing no threat. But then I looked around to find myself surrounded not by one but four families with sugar-high kids, none of whom were content to sit and stare at their iPads like nice scheduled flight children. I had no choice but to engage the old adage, “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ’em”, and was soon armed with two bottles of red wine and my book.

We arrived at our destination at 11pm, by which point the sugar-high kids had crashed and turned into jibbering, drooling wrecks who wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Sorry kids – this is a package holiday and as we make our way from the airport to the various hotels for the next hour our over-enthusiastic rep is going to talk incessantly into his microphone. You will be told about the mountains to the left, the orange groves to the right, the olive trees straight ahead, and all manner of things in between. And never mind that it’s pitch black and you can’t see a thing; he has a script and he’s not afraid to use it. I finally reached my bed at 1am. I survived and live to tell you about my first full day as a package holidaymaker. Until then.

I suppose I should backtrack a little and tell you where my adventure has taken me. I flew to the Greek island of Crete, the fifth largest island in the Mediterranean that boasts 3.5 million olive trees and 1.3 million orange trees. You see, I was listening. I am staying in the small resort town of Agia Marina, approximately 20 minutes by bus from Chania Town on the island’s western part. Agia Marina and neighbouring Platanias (where one ends and the other starts is seamless), are today a series of self-catering apartment complexes lined up along the sea front. It’s not as bad as it sounds; the buildings are no more than two storeys high and quite discrete. There are plenty of restaurants and bars/ cafés to suit all tastes and budgets, and the old village of Platanias is perched on the hill for those of us who prefer a bit of authenticity.

In terms of culture, there is a beautiful orthodox church in the old village, under which is a 150m long tunnel that served as a shelter during WW2 and today houses a museum dedicated to the Battle of Crete. Both are locked. Consequently, if you don’t want to spend your day relaxing by the pool or listening to the clear blue Mediterranean lapping up onto the sandy beach, there’s not much to do.

In the evening the towns come to life, meaning the bars will play music at a tolerable volume, and restaurants will fill up with people who will enjoy good local food such as souvlaki with chips, chicken with chips, or moussaka – with chips. There are some restaurants offering traditional Cretan cuisine and one that I found, and I highly recommend, is Haroupa Taverna in Platanias old village. The food is excellent, the service charming and personal, and the view of the sunset while eating chicken - with okra - is breathtaking.