We did a good job of ignoring the bingo night, useless reps and desperate couples who've got no conversation themselves and look for you to hook up with. Instead, we went into the small town to seek out real Greek food. We found it in every restaurant we visited too. We also discovered a gem which was half-Greek-half-English (a bit like Prince Philip), called Sergios. They specialise in home-made pasta and pizza though, not traditional Greek but they did a very good job of putting a smile on our faces as we stuffed it with dough balls, pizza, pasta and Greek wine.
So after a great relaxing holiday, the going home saga began. At 2:30AM, we were picked up by the bus, taken to the airport and told "as you know there is a 7 hour delay". We didn't know, but we knew now. Thanks Thomas Cook, you are very informative. It ended up being a much longer delay in the airport with a 12 euro voucher to buy an old looking sandwich from the war. We were eventually flown home on an antique rented french plane where the only way on and off was from stairs at the back of the plane (recently featured on Channel 4's Plane Crash). The arm rests were stuck on with gaffer tape, not sure what the wings were stuck on with.
