Next time you sit in a hotel room with your laptop and try to access the net, you might just be redirected to a similar screen:

Don’t give up! Before caling the reception and requesting (costly) access, remember that an IT specialist isn’t always a “specialist”!

We actually made it to Bodrum!

The ferry was waiting at 09:30 and, after having proceeded through customs, we were off on the bright blue sea for a 45 minute crossing.

Having arrived in at our destination we were wisked off onto a “sight-seeing” tour (included in the price of our ticket) which included:

• 15 minutes to look at the remains of some ancient windmills.
• 15 minutes to check-out the remains of the city’s gates
• a drive past an amphitheater
• and the highlight of the venue: 45 minutes at a jewlery wholesaler where you could get gold at “unbeatable” prices.

Needless to say: we spent that time looking for a pharmacy that would sell us some pain killers which would sooth Vic’s “that-time-of-the-month” belly.

Luckily we were soon back amongst shops selling genuine Lacoste t-shirts (@ €100 a piece) next to the competition offering “nearly” the same stuff for €20 for 5 (end-of-season prices, you know..).

A definite highlight of the day was the experience of a REAL Kebab at one of the local’s places (in case you don’t know, the Kebab as we Europeans know it was invented in 1971 in Berlin…). It was quite a challenge to choose the one we wanted from the “foreigners-only” menu that had been brought out of hibernation in our honour. But “Adana-Kebab” seemed to ring a bell so that’s what we ordered.

Oh, BTW: “Adana” turns out to be the chili version. Our sinuses showed their gratitude for the rest of the afternoon..

I had had visions of arriving back to the ferry, only to be told that our 50%-tickets were only valid one-way. But we were let back onto our vessel without the slightest fuss and duely shipped back to our island of departure.

Fun day, but I was seriously looking forward to our last day spent horizontally!

We were very tempted by a day trip to Bodrum.

After all, Turkey was only a 45 minutes’ boat trip from our island and we’d never been there before.

But the €46.00 per person as advertised by our travel agency was rather steep so we finally decided to forget about the idea altogether…

Until… walking through the port in Kos City (the day after our successful tour: don’t ask what we were doing there again – so I won’t have to tell you it had something to do with jewelry), gazing at the various ships of all sizes, we were suddenly accosted by this jovial-looking Greek who ask us if we might be interested in a trip to..Bodrum. On an official ferry, that is.

And as he happened to be sitting on the gangway to the said official ferry, behind a table, and was sporting an official-looking book of tickets, we asked for a quote.

“€10. Per person”, he beamed. “My boss told me we have a special offer today, and that’s it: 50% off!”.

“Worst things can happen than getting conned out of €40″, we thought and purchased our fares for the next day.

I admit that I did lay awake that night, wondering if we were to ever reach Turkey, debating whether it was safe to take my three girls on such a risky escapade.

But then I remembered what Greeks were famous for and I knew my family would be safe and sound..

These holidays were especially extraordinary as it took much longer than the usual 3 days before we got a bout of “itchy feet”.

With that, I mean the feeling we are used to experience after 3 days of lying on our backsides soaking up the sun and not doing anything more than moving our frames from a vertical to a horizontal position and back again (with looooong periods in between, especially if your stomach muscles are on strike due to a certain football match).

Can’t understand why: all of us were in a pretty good shape before we took off..

Anyway: this time, it took 5 whole days before we decided to become really adventurous, rent a car and spend the next day exploring the island.

We dragged the kids out of bed at the crack of dawn (I’ll spare you their expletives at that moment), enjoyed our usual light breakfast of a fresh omelette with bacon and a generous helping of fruit salad coated with greek yoghurt and honey, before whizzing off towards the horizon.

Our first stop was Kos City (it’s all a matter of strategy, my friends: THAT’s where all the shops are. Want some peace and quiet for the rest of the day? Make sure your passengers spend it comparing the Dolce&Gabanna belts and Gucci bags they purchased that morning).

Besides the myriad shops, the place turned out to be a very pleasant mediterannean town with a port full of “dirty-capitalist-owned” yachts and your typical sight-seeing boats.

We had a great time watching the girls spend our hard-earned income and admired the Greeks’ practical way of dealing with relics of the Ottoman presence on the island:

But soon our wallets were empty and it was time to move onto the “picturesque” town of Zia, an apparently delightful village perched upon the slopes of Mount Dikaio which offered a panoramic view of the entire island.

The view was great, the shops were delightful as were the many tour buses parked all over the place bringing delightful tourists to see a delightful village; we were so overwhelmed by delight that we decided to press on towards Pyli and its famous medieval village.

Unfortunately we must have been “pressing on” to rapidly as, upon reaching the main road again, we suddenly realised that we had yet to see anything older than a couple of rusty jerry cans, let alone medieval buildings (or even a sign to guide us towards their magnificence).

So we shrugged and headed for Kefalos Bay, home of the island of Agios Stefanos and its church of the same name.

The bay was lovely and the island pretty magical (reminded me of Eileen Donan). We managed to take a couple of interesting pics of old fishing boats and talk to a weathered greek fisherman (who replied in Oxford-English) who directed us towards the old town of Kefalos.

We didn”t stop there either as it looked like yet-another-southern-European-village: no blue roofs, no wickerwork chairs: nada!

We were getting quite desperate by now as the kids had started threatening to walk back to the hotel by now, but we still had one card to play: the last remaining working windmill in the WHOLE of Kos! Yeahhhhhh!

So we drove to Antimachia, looked at the windmill (which is surrounded by buildings: must be fascinating to watch when it’s windy), didn’t bother to take any pics (or get even get out of the car for that matter) and decided unilaterally to call it a day.

We’d been there, done “it” and most certainly were NOT going to buy the t-shirt.

But we did have an addition to the World’s Thinnest Books: “Interesting and Beautiful Things to See on Kos“.

How long does it take for a (relatively) untrained, male, Caucasian, 40+ year old body to recover after an hour and a half of playing football?

Ok: and just for fun, let’s add the following facts to the equation:

• The ambient temperature was approx. 25 degrees C
• At a pretty early stage of the game, the (relatively) untrained male discovered the joys of tackling on an artificial pitch, proceeded to remove around 3 cm2 of epidermis from his left kneecap (an injury he instantly wished he could have shown his grandchildren).
• His 14 year old daughter was on the opposite team

The answer is (alas) a painful 68 hours.

It is amazing actually: you never know which muscles you actually need to survive an average day until they are mortally wounded. Especially if that average day happens to take place during your holidays.

Now logically you would think that would actually be the best place to have “muskelkater” (sorry, I haven’t found a suitable English translation for that brilliant German term which basically means “muscle hangover”): no buses to run for, no meetings to hobble to, no stairs to climb.

But you are wrong.

There is nothing more painful than attempting to lie down onto a sunbed if your stomach muscles are rebelling; of course, the same applies when reversing the movement.

Apart from the moment when the muscles in your neck, which have feebly attempted to take over the task of hoisting your carcass to and from a horizontal position finally give up the battle.

Painful, VERY painful!

The simple task of getting up off a chair requires assistance from your loved ones: even more painful!

My only satisfaction was gained by watching Vicky hobble next to me, despite the fact that she is a muscular, thoroughly trained dancer…

She only suffered for two days, but we’ll be back! And next year, I will be carrying HER around!