Page 64 of Not My Greek Wedding

‘Not particularly. I would like to build my business alone. I guess pride is a terrible thing.’ He shrugs.

‘Not really. I think there is a lot to be said for building something for yourself without a handout. That’s what I call a real achievement.’

I can’t help but think of Christos then and how his father gave him a head start.

‘My parents don’t have much, but then they can’t really help with a singing career anyway,’ I continue. ‘Although I have to say that my dad did work extra hours so I could have some singing lessons as a teenager, which I am truly grateful for.’

‘That’s nice,’ says Andreas. ‘Your parents could obviously see your talent from a young age,’ he says kindly.

Before long we park up on a small high street lined with several tavernas, one or two villas and a pharmacy. Andreas takes a bag from the back of the car. ‘In case I find any treasures,’ he explains.

The view from here gives us a glimpse of the glorious blue sea below. The ruins of a Venetian castle stands over the town, the Greek flag blowing proudly at the centre.

We pass a few more cafés and tourist shops as well as a beautiful church, with six bells on its tower, dazzling white in the sun.

‘We can access the beach by some steps,’ says Andreas as we walk, the heat beating down on us.

The village is a jumble of white houses, an occasional blue-domed church and reminds me of a smaller version of Fira.

‘Do you mind if we have a look inside the castle ruins before we head to the beach?’ I suggest. ‘I imagine the view down to the sea will be quite something.’

‘Sure,’ he says, before we stop at a shop and buy two bottles of cold water.

Climbing the ancient cobbled steps, I can’t help but think of the people of long ago who stood here keeping watch for invaders.

After the short climb to the top, the view as expected is spectacular. I take in the houses that slide down to the sea, along with the view of Fira and the caldera. I stand and simply stare for a few minutes, taking it all in.

‘So you like history?’ he asks as we make our way back into the windy narrow street.

‘I suppose I do, yes. I especially enjoy visiting a castle. My grandfather took me to quite a few when I was small,’ I explain, recalling the days out that I have fond memories of.

‘Then I guess that is something we have in common,’ he says. ‘And if you like history, there is an archaeological site notfar from here that has an ongoing dig,’ he tells me. ‘Maybe you would like to visit that some time. The ruins are very well preserved.’

‘That sounds lovely.’ I smile.

We walk on until we are standing at the top of some steps that lead to a small rocky beach below.

‘We can grab a cold beer shortly if you like,’ offers Andreas. ‘I think that heatwave has definitely arrived, as it feels hotter much earlier in the morning,’ he comments.

The steps down seem to go on forever, but eventually we arrive at a stretch of rocky beach that looks out across some water with a few boats drifting in them.

The tiny harbour is host to a couple of tavernas and one or two shops. A shop selling scarves along with jewellery made from sea shells catches my eye, the objects displayed outside on a wooden table, and I stop and take a look.

Another shop sells painted wooden door plaques and seascape watercolour paintings. Ruins of houses can be seen dotted around the area and even one or two abandoned fishing boats, yet it manages to look charmingly rustic.

At the far end of the small beach, Andreas finds a bench partly shaded by a huge tree and sets down the cooler box.

‘Looks like you have thought of everything.’ I smile as Andreas twists the top off two cold bottles of lemonade and hands one to me.

‘Maybe we will get that beer later.’

‘No really, this is fine,’ I tell him as I take a glug of the refreshing lemonade.

He sets out slices of spinach and feta pie, dips, olives, and two fat juicy-looking peaches.

‘This is absolutely lovely,’ I tell Andreas as I eye the impressive picnic. ‘I can’t remember the last time I went on a picnic. We don’t often have the weather back home.’

‘I cannot imagine living in a place without sunshine,’ he tells me as he sips his drink. ‘I thought it better to sit here on the bench, as the small beach is very rocky.’

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