I have already banged on about how much I loved Pollonia in one of my previous blog posts, but it deserves another going over. By day Pollonia was lovely, but by night it adopted a new quality entirely. In Mykonos it was the sunset – the peachy rose spilling across the horizon closely followed by a purple blue like the blurring and bleeding together of watercolours on a porous paper- the swift changing colour like a litmus test that lit faces with a golden glow and radiance that made everyone a hundred times better looking. In Milos it came as dusk slowly started to fall, the low light transforming anything and everything from ordinary to photogenic. A mellow glimmer of yellow tint on the waves, the paint-peeling boats, the trees, the sand, the people. Never before have I been somewhere where a change in time, or a change in light makes so much of a difference, and where colours have been so vivid that they become memories too, rather than just the setting, the scene, the food, the taste or the music.
At night the sky is dark, vast and clear- jotted with stars. It takes me back to a holiday in Mallorca a few years ago where we slept on the deck of a boat. After long balmy evenings of mojitos at Miji Miji we would fall asleep having studied the stargazing app whilst inspecting the velveteen navy sky.
The romance of Pollonia doesn’t end there. We thought we had been to the best beaches of Milos, and so when headed to the spit of land behind our accommodation on the last day we weren’t expecting a great deal. With time to kill before the taxi came to pick us up we planned on just sitting by the sea listening to music and paying little attention to much else- just passing time. What we found instead was another hidden slice of beauty.
Shadows of tiny fish darted across the sand underneath the thin slither of glassy water, their bodies going undetected. Unable to resist we stripped down to our swimwear and scrambled down the dusty rocks to get in. Our last few hours in Milos were then spent floating around like star-fish, skin darkening in the sun, levels of holiday-bliss soaring and memories of reality, the tube, bills, London, and work becoming yet more distant. A few other families found similar relatively flat spots on the rocks to put their towels and sandals and they too hopped in. In spite of this it still felt remote and special.
If you haven’t already, have a look at my other Grecian adventures/tips by clicking here.