Leaving Corfu With Stories To Tell

The family holidays my sister and I experienced together are some of our most treasured shared memories. After years of changes that neither of us could have foreseen, we decided that it was time for us to get away.

Over dinner one evening, my sister and I reminisced over past holidays. Then, looked at each other. A look that resulted in the two of us impulsively booking a holiday abroad. Though this action was taken months prior to the trip, we barely researched the location. Collectively, we had a mutual checklist. Somewhere hot (my sister’s suggestion), but not too hot (mine). All-inclusive (a demand from my sister). A balcony (this is important to me) and a pleasant room for us to get dressed up in for the evening (we both wanted this).

I must stress that this is not a review of Corfu. For we did not leave the hotel once. Riding as passengers on the shuttle bus from the airport to our hotel, we realised that our intentions to drink at bars and dance into the night may be restricted. Quiet cafes with the locals drinking strong coffee and one or two boutiques were in sight. Only on the last day of our trip did I learn that we could have spent a day in Corfu Town and that Kavos was only a twenty-minute drive away. Despite the location of our experience being condensed, the depth of it was not.

I write this with a satin sleet-coloured all-inclusive band wrapped around my bronzed wrist. Refusing to accept or acknowledge that I am no longer there, it remains worn. Truthfully, I fear my departure from the person I was in Corfu more.

Let me start at the beginning. The weather was warm but wet, too. Now, I love the rain. But, you cannot sunbathe in the rain. Due to the complexity of my mind at this time, all I desired to do was lay underneath the sun and attempt to settle the noise. Though this misfortune and sparsity of sun dampened our clothes and beds, it did not dampen our spirits. Wrapped in cardigans and huddled underneath an umbrella, we played rummy while drinking hot chocolate. With a view of droplets hitting the grand sea in the distance, staying indoors was not an option.

It came to my sister and I’s delight that there was entertainment each evening in the hotel. As I said, we did not do much research. After eating too much dinner, we left the restaurant and made our way to the rooftop to await the night’s act. Wearing a red dress and my hair back, my chest and spine glistened in the candlelight. Playing cards decorated the table and my palms held a daiquiri. This was exactly what I had envisioned when my sister and I said we needed a break. It was perfect. Then, I got drunk.

I have never been on an all-inclusive holiday at legal age. So, taking advantage of the limitless alcohol was never something I was able to divulge in. For the last few years, I have recited the same line to people, strange and familiar. “I don’t drink.” However, in the last few months, my newly single sister and I have been staying out until the following day and drinking more than we should. Befriending the manager at our favourite London bar certainly helped financially, but I could never afford to get drunk. Anyway, I did not want to. Each time I have been drunk in my life, I wake up the following morning, with a pounding head. Not from a hangover, but from guilt. This is why I was sober for six months. This is why I tell people, strange and familiar, “I don’t drink.”

But, I believe I am an extrovert. Confident and unashamed, I will speak to anyone and say anything. Other diners at the restaurant looked at me in my red dress with judgment. Preconceptions about the respect I held for myself and my character. Men look at me while sitting opposite their wives. Women look at me like I must not be associated with their kind. I am aware of how people see me. The stares and lack of smiles can disturb my mood. When I am sober, I do not take an interest in what others think of me. When I am drunk, I do not give a fuck.

Due to my dispersed routine of drinking, I labelled myself as a lightweight. Just one or two shots of vodka will be enough to give me a high to last until sunrise. Now that I drink more often, my tolerance has built. I will have another two shots, I thought to myself. They’re free! Then another two. Then three. Moving onto rum because the vodka tasted like piss, I asked the waiter to take some with me. Each time I had a shot, he did one with me, too. This tradition lasted the entire week.

A saxophonist played Arctic Monkeys’s Cornerstone - which I am grateful to have been only slightly intoxicated for. When the liquor started making its way to my head, causing it to spin, I enjoyed a night full of laughter. The rowdy group of English men sitting across from me sang Roxanne louder than the Saxophone could. Sitting with a married couple my sister and I met in the rain on our first day, I won a game of rummy - despite viewing blurry kings and queens. Each game after that was lost. I told one of the waitresses that she was so pretty, it should not be allowed. And I almost crushed a waiter, my drinking partner, while embracing him in a hug goodnight.

During the following morning by the pool, I was met with amused stares from sunbathers and each waiter asking me how my head was. “Lady in red!” I heard behind me while ordering a bottle of water from the bar. Turning around to the large group of rowdy English men, I hid my face and said, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Days after, the sun came out from hiding and my sister and I enjoyed our routine. There was nothing mundane about it. We ate too much for breakfast, sunbathed, ate too much for lunch, sunbathed, showered and changed into our evening attire of long dresses and big hair, then ate too much for dinner. With playing cards still sprawled across our table on the rooftop, I had shots and a mocktail, but not near enough alcohol to get drunk. The buzz was limited and I knew when to stop. I did not want to annoy my sister any more than I had that night wearing a red dress. But, it was our final night after all.

Long story short, I did annoy my sister. Despite it being a night I will treasure for selfish reasons, I hope she has forgiven me now. I will speak to anyone. I will say anything. Though, from a distance. Physical touch, more specifically with men, is something I steer from for reasons I will not delve into. It is what I wish was different. That act of being close to somebody is something I long for, but can never bring myself to birth. Turns out alcohol is a great way to silence the things you tell yourself. I danced with strangers. I had my arms around men. I held one in a way that I cannot shake from my memory. Because I do not want to. Lord knows I would not hold him like that sober. I rose from my chair and got everyone to sing. I took shots with people whose names I do not recall. I had fun.

It has been a while since I have had fun.

I bet you’re thinking the story ends there. That the anecdotes of my drunken state would terminate under the moon. Eating my final lunch opposite a Greek sea and sister, I asked the waiters if they would have a shot with me. Though they were unable to drink on the job, the bartender filled six glasses with water and two with tequila. One for me. One for my sister. Cheers.

Returning to the pool once more, I located a man I met outside the restrooms the night before. Calling his name, we spoke and exchanged contact information. We had a shot together.

The woman I danced with had returned from her trip to Corfu Town. I took her and the man to the bar with me to have a shot.

Certain I was finished, as I would have to be sober for my flight in three hours, I sat on the rim of the pool with my legs floating in the cool water. “How’s your head?” I could not go anywhere in that resort without being recognised as the woman who was louder than the band. Conversing with a couple, poolside, for twenty minutes I turned to them and said, “Do you like tequila?”

Each time I returned to the bar asking for shots, which were many, the waiters looked tired of seeing my face. Especially since my volume increased higher than my previous visit. It was almost time for my final dinner. My sister had already left. So, it was up to me to be conscious of the time and not be late for our shuttle bus. In my mind, this was enough to label myself as responsible.

With a slight stumble in my step, I gathered my things and made one final offer to sunbathers. “Who wants to have a shot of tequila with me?” I called out. “I’ll be gone in an hour. Don’t worry.” Confused and curious gazes were thrown my way as I shrieked like a chimp across the water. One man in particular, I noticed, was watching and smiling. I knew he wanted to have a shot with me, so I confronted him. He and his wife were cautious, as I am sure this is not a common occurrence on a relaxing holiday. But, they both wanted to take up my offer. So they did. As well as the two women sitting beside them. I was gathering an army. “Last chance,” I called out. “Tequila!”

Before I could even grasp what was happening, I had fourteen people rallied at the pool bar. Including the two friends I made. Plus one waiter. We each had a paper cup filled with tequila between our fingers. After making cheers around the flooded circle, we drank in synchronicity. A loud applause filled the warm air. I felt happy.

Hugging goodbye to my new friends way too many times, I proceeded to take the waiter's arm in mine. Reaching the lobby, I left kisses on his cheek and was approached by a furious-looking sister. The only time I saw her smile was when the waitress who I told was not allowed to be so pretty caught a glimpse of me and ran into my arms. While people sitting in the lobby drinking orange juice watched us spin in circles of laughter with confusion, once again, I felt happy. I had a story to tell.

As you can assume, my sister’s mood did not sober as I attempted to. Buying her Burger King at the airport certainly got me closer to a smile, though. I thought I did well to mask my inebriation. My tone was calm and my smile was wide. Although, my eyes were too and I constantly, though calmly, uttered “schnitzel” to strangers in the queue. For reasons, I can only assume, are because “schnitzel” is a funny word. “Schnitzel,” I said. “Shnicken Chitzel.”