We began in Athens, a city that feels both ancient and alive in the same breath. Our hotel sat in the shadow of the Acropolis, so each morning we’d wake to a skyline shaped by history. The streets of the old town wound around us and we spent hours wandering and exploring, each turn revealing something new. A Taverna, a café spilling chairs out onto cobblestones, a shop stacked high with honey and olive oil, or an impossibly old doorway framed by fuchsia bougainvillea. Although it was hot, the Acropolis itself was worth every slow step up the hill.

Then the real shift began. We swapped the hum of the city for the roll of the water, stepping aboard our charter yacht.

Getting provisions for the week was an adventure in itself — eight of us somehow piled into a five-seater car, along with a couple of strangers, for the trip to the grocery store. Seatbelts? Optional. Road rules? More of a loose suggestion. By the time we returned, our shopping bags were crammed under feet and perched on laps.

Thankfully, life on the water has its own kind of time; one that runs to the rhythm of the wind and the next swim stop.

Day one of sailing set the tone; ferries were cancelled due to high winds (not that we checked), and we set off into choppy seas. Somewhere between Poros and open water, a lounger cushion took flight from the flybridge. We turned the boat around in dramatic fashion, but it was long gone in the waves.

Poros was warm and welcoming, but Hydra brought its own character. The only way in was via a fast, bumpy water taxi, and once there, the streets were free of cars — donkeys and horses rule the road. We hired a horse for a ride around town, a decision that would’ve made for a beautiful photo… had we not all left our phones behind.

Days blurred into a happy cycle of sun, swims, and late lunches and even later dinners in family-run tavernas, where the fish was caught that morning and the wine was poured like it was water.

One night we anchored in a tiny, cliffside bay near Hydra — just us, the sound of the water, and no phone reception. The kind of isolation that’s both slightly unnerving and completely magical.

The return trip was no less dramatic. We passed close enough to the Athens wildfires to see firefighting planes scooping water from the sea around us, banking hard and heading back towards the smoke. It was sobering and surreal all at once.

After a week afloat, we sailed back to Athens and immediately switched gears again, boarding a ferry bound for Paros. We stayed in Naoussa — a village so postcard-perfect it almost feels like a set. Whitewashed alleys, cobalt shutters, and bougainvillea spilling over every wall. Our villa perched just above the town, with a pool looking out to the distant blue. Days slipped into a rhythm of slow mornings, pool swims, and wandering into town for dinner, always ordering too much.

We closed out our Greek adventure with two final nights in Athens, this time staying in a neoclassical mansion that felt like a love letter to the city’s elegance. High ceilings, marble floors, and windows that opened to the sound of the street below. We spent those last days revisiting favourite spots and exploring more museums and history.

From there, we weren’t quite ready to head home — so we didn’t. A short flight landed us in Dubai, where the skyline swaps marble ruins for glass towers, and the desert air holds its own kind of magic. We stayed on JBR The Walk, a stretch that buzzes late into the night with restaurants, beach clubs, and the sound of waves breaking just beyond the promenade. Four days of sun, sea, and city — then finally, it was time to board the long flight home.

We came back a little sun-worn, with skin still warm from days on the water and that nostalgic weight of memories that you know will stay for years. Greece had given us its salt air and golden light, and we carried a piece of it back with us.

Did it all go to plan? Not even close. But will I carry the memory of that trip—the sunlight on the water, the sound of laughter on the deck, the moments of care and courage when things went sideways—for a lifetime? Absolutely. Sometimes the story we end up with is far better than the one we set out to write.