Monday 28 May 2012


For the last four days we have been on honeymoon (yes, I’m blogging on honeymoon, but in all fairness I don’t keep a diary so this is my version of documenting life…and my husband is watching Grand Prix as I write this); I think it’s been four days? To be honest, it’s all been a bit of a blur due to the fact that we are finally sleeping and have plunged into a state of mind numbing relaxation. Trust me, this is a totally foreign state to both my husband and I and it took many days to get here.

Upon arriving at the hotel we were greeted by the friendliest staff imaginable, which coming from London where customer service is nonexistent, we found a tad shocking (why are they smiling at us? Do we have something in our teeth?). After being congratulated on our marital state by all, including the man that delivered our luggage to our room – at least I think he was congratulating us, I don’t understand Greek - we were shown around the breathtaking grounds of the hotel and then led to our oceanfront room (okay I’m gloating, but why hide the bliss, you know what I mean?)

Upon entering our room we were met by a woman who was holding a tray of champagne and a variety of decadent snacks. I thought my husband was going to hug her. Of course on the bed were the requisite flower petals in the shape of a heart  - at least it didn’t spell out love – and by the bed, a dish of honey with walnuts. We were told this was a Greek tradition to bless a marriage, or make you incredibly fat. My hips were quickly starting to realize that this trip was not going to be kind to them.  

The first few days of the honeymoon consisted of us cramming in as much as humanly possible in some sort of delirious fog whilst my husband asked me what time it was every five minutes (he claims this obsession was because he wanted to fit in as much as humanly possible). Every time a staff member remarked at how much we were doing and we should simply relax (it was said in a sweet, Grecian way of course) we would dole out our stock response with glazed eyes: “We have a kid back home.” It’s amazing how this statement renders any recipient speechless and is followed by an all too-knowing nod, followed by: “Go in (maniac infused) peace, and get it all in while you can!”

So, after doing every conceivable activity: working out, spa appointments, tennis (damn, was that amusing for the guests walking past our court. Agassi and Graff we are NOT), biking, and trolling the prodigious buffet like winter starved animals (this was no run of the mill buffet I assure you. I’m from America, I’ve seen my fair share) and sleeping a ton, we finally began to downshift into profound mind-numbing relaxation. Then again, it could’ve been the three pounds of feta cheese and homemade bread we had consumed over the course of the first two days that finally slowed us down.

From that point on, we began that slow motion amble that most guests adopt a few days into their stay. We’d amble to the restaurant, amble to the buffet (I shall keep mentioning the buffet, cause LORD was it glorious. Again, my hips didn’t think so), amble to the lounge chair, amble into the ocean – well sort of, it was cold as hell and we’d have to count in unison and then run in screaming – amble to the pool. You get the idea. We’d even amble in and out of bed like to aching eighty year olds (I blame the tennis) without a care in the world or what time it was – although that said, we were amusingly always aware of what time breakfast was being served.

During this zoned out ambling we’d of course find time for our other favorite activity (get your mind out of the gutter) which was people watching, and our hotel was happily rife with things to gawk at. We had plenty staff to vote on in order of competency and emotional stability (so much fun); many Eastern Europeans to play ‘name that language’ with – Estonian, a total mystery; or the even more fun game of trying to figure out ‘how long have they been married?’ according to how much couples spoke to one another at meal times. (I know I know, catty as hell, but at least we can admit it). There were also outfits to dissect – oh so many wedge heels and sparkly short shirts that were deemed dresses and outfits my husband would give funny names: "here comes leopard floaty dress girl and clown pants guy!"

Then there was the ‘posing’ couple as we called them. She was young and long legged and he was always hiding under a hat lugging around a large camera. The best part, they would wander around the hotel and she would pose in front of every conceivable spot in the most provocative of ways. Of course this would amuse my husband to no end and he would nudge me to attention as she did some backbend in front of a fountain. Of course, from there on out whenever he wanted to take a photo of me, my simple stance of smiling, arms by my side, just didn’t cut it.

The only thing hindering our total blissed out state was the fact that despite our best efforts, the King’s absence was heavily felt especially when we’d gaze upon other families bonding and having fun. We would then remark at all the things that the King would heavily dig – the buffet of course and the long legged Russians. Then again, at the first sight of a child’s tantrum or an exhausted parent pushing their toddler around the grounds in a pram for the fiftieth time in hopes of sleep, we’d quickly remind each other that the King rocks, but total halcyon bliss rocks harder….as does twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and a trip to the spa.

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