The Lonely Sad Ghosts Which Chase Us To Beautiful Places

Solo travel adventures in the Sardonic Islands in Greece

Welcome back friends,

Isn’t it strange the expectations we have of places we visit? What we ask of them?

The magazine covers we have seen, the books we have read that led us to imagine that there, in some distant land, life would sit on us smoothly. The demands we create for that place to be the place we walk the world calm and unperturbed.

Earlier this year, I went to Greece for the first time. After the plane, the train, the boat, I arrived on an off-season island and sat on an idyllic balcony which looked out directly at the most crystalline water I have ever seen. It was even more perfect than I had imagined.

A glimpse of this Greek island paradise. Photo: C Knapman

Determined to get into holiday mode, I made a coffee and sat down to look at the horizon. I willed myself to pay attention to each of the colours before me. I listened carefully to every new sound. It was incredibly beautiful, but I struggled to feel anything about it.

Instead, I found a new lingering sadness which seemed to have hit me the moment I stepped off the boat. I felt idiotic for taking up only one chair on this romantic balcony made for two. To be in paradise all alone.

The perfect balcony. The sky blue beyond blue. Photo: C Knapman

I had come from Dubai, with its straight-lined constructions, urgent phone checking and familiar stress. A lot of ways to fill days with talking and getting things done. Not a lot of time for the rest of living.

This island made a lot of space for those other aspects of life. It had only a few rough footpaths and roads. I had thought quiet would be the anecdote I needed, but it felt empty. And the boarded-up, off-season cafes felt like a personal affront. I went to one of the few open restaurants. I felt stupid sitting by myself. I looked around for company, but only found my loneliness reflected back at me. I ate quickly and left.

Then, I bumped into an old colleague, one of life’s strange synchronicities. A person I knew from working in Asia, who I hadn’t seen in almost 10 years. It was a brief exchange and while struck by the beauty of chance - I could find no story in it. It should have felt like magic, but instead, I stood beside his table, where he ate lunch with his partner and another couple. And when I walked away, felt even more out of place.

I have done a lot of solo travel where I felt adventurous and brave, in tune and wild, connected to the world, to place, to culture. I have joyously eaten alone. But in this paradise, I felt ridiculous and rejected. The local wine came in handy that evening.

Pebbles and flowers - beauty in all the details. Photos: C Knapman

The next day, I went for a run, I ran fast until I was red and glistening, up the hill, down the hill, stopping at the top to look at the view. Then I ripped off my clothes, as everyone on the beaches was unashamedly naked, and I jumped into the sea - sweaty and shiny. I hired a bike and cycled up a different hill then down again. I drank a coffee and looked at the sea (again).

I was mastering the art of doing nothing. But I wasn’t really doing nothing. I was filling a day which felt threatening in its expanse.

And in the space, I started to wrap myself up with the sea, the trees and the shore’s quiet rhythms. I stopped trying to shrink myself.

I stopped feeling worthless when I cycled back that evening. I stopped believing I needed someone there to look at the view to enjoy it. I allowed myself to sink into the earth, as I was. Sadness and life. Sadness and beauty. Sadness and ice-cold water. Sadness and the most beautiful sea I have swam in. The most beautiful sea I have ever swam in.

It is not the only time I have been to paradise and found sadness. Yet, beauty can also be a beacon, which coaxes away our pretences until we can sit together with them.

Island wild treasures - close up. Photo: C Knapman

Early morning light on the bay. Photo: C Knapman

I woke up early the next day to swim in the morning ocean. I let the new light brush against me. I let the cool morning water shock me. I even let dark shapes in the deeper waters scare me. I stepped out, my skin astonished.

I walked barefoot up the rough path from the shore. I couldn’t rush, even though I tried, as thousands of tiny pebbles niggled into the soles of my bare feet.

The ground underneath me was talking, I thought.

Not everything in life is smooth. Not every moment can be rushed over or pushed aside to get to the next thing.

When the path is rough, when the path is uneven in life. You need to go slower. You need to watch your feet. You need to be careful where you tread.

Hard times sit in us. Harshness needs unpicking. Pain needs tended to until it no longer jags at our sides. And sometimes life just needs witnessing.

So I let the pebbles dig in.

What else did I have to do?

And that wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t nothing at all.

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Thank you if you read and wrote to me about last week’s piece about domestic abuse. It wasn’t an easy one to share and I really valued all your thoughtful responses. Your comments and replies to my writing are one of the reasons I felt brave enough to write openly about abuse and trauma.

If you haven’t read it, you can find it here:

Does It End With Us?

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Travel With Me

• How many times have you gone to a place that you thought would be paradise and it just felt hard? For me this has happened many times.

• So let me know your thoughts on the expectations we have of travel and the ways you deal with feeling blue or alone in the unknown.

Here with you on the journey,

Catriona