My mother used to say, “Safe travel is the only way to travel as a woman.”
Yet, I have a terrible, awful sense of direction, which has led me to sketchy places. I rejoiced when GPS technology became available to navigate me through unfamiliar locations.
Unfortunately, GPS had zero clue what to do when, two days before my flight to Greece, my travel itinerary fell through. Friends of an associate, with whom I was supposed to stay, could no longer house me for two weeks.
The family insisted that they had made safe travel arrangements for me, but we were strangers to each other. Could I trust them?
The family lives in the mountains near Heraklion, the capital of Crete. They booked me a room at their friend’s hotel in the City of Hersonissos, fifteen miles away from them.
How I managed unexpected travel plan changes.
This recent development left me unsettled. I had just sold my childhood home and was living out of two suitcases.
A sense of dread made me wonder whether I had blown up my life in spectacular fashion. Despite my careful planning, I was fretting over where I would rest my head on a different continent.
A mix of pride, determination, and desperation compelled me to board a plane in New York City and hope for the best.
I still don’t recognize this new me.
Eighteen hours later, I arrived at Heraklion’s airport, unsure who was picking me up, what hotel I was staying at, or where it was located.
My travel plans put flexibility first and safety last.
Near the taxi stand, the matriarch of the host family, Gelly, approached me in a long, flowy blue maxi dress. She hugged me, piled my luggage into her tiny white car, and we sped off.
As we zipped through the mountains, I doubted my sanity again. What middle-aged woman flies over 5,000 miles across the globe without a firm itinerary? I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
I exhaled and counted to four to slow down my panicking. The view of the moonlit Mediterranean night calmed me down. Twinkling lights lit up hillside homes.
I sensed that the Aegean Sea was nearby. I had chosen Crete as my first stop on my European trip because I wanted to relax by the water. The regal mountains were a bonus.
Solo female travelers benefit from kind locals.
Gelly swung the car onto a narrow street and double-parked in front of a whitewashed building with Venetian architecture. The small hotel’s owner, Efi, a woman with a ponytail and wearing shorts, waited at the stunning wooden door.
She stood in respect, like a one-woman welcoming team in Downton Abbey. The hotel’s old-world charm gave me a sense of optimism and hope.
Efi guided me to the empty dining room and pointed to a stuffed mauve sofa. I sank down into the coziness and nursed the glass of orange juice she offered. (See her in action in my Standout Memories.)
I was delirious. My travel time included a seven-hour layover in Athens, where I ate lamb stew and toured a few blocks. Now, I craved a shower.
I inadvertently found a safe place to land.
The next afternoon, I discovered that the hotel was ideally located: five minutes from the beach and three minutes from the main street. My updated itinerary was a gift.
It gave me a soft landing as an American who, unfortunately, hadn’t studied Greek culture enough to acclimate right away. If I had stayed in the mountains, I wouldn’t have had transportation to explore the sights.
Solo female travelers can feel at ease and protected in Hersonissos, especially once they connect with the community. I combed most streets many times over, appreciating the swaying palm trees and counting the number of stray cats napping in the shade.
Euro-techno music played everywhere, like a soundtrack throughout the town. The fast tempo made me dizzy. I wanted to savor each moment, not rush through experiences.
Smiling employees stood at the entrances of their establishments. They said, “Hello” in English, not Greek. Most of the signs were in English.
This was a crutch that would buckle from under me in a different city a few weeks later.
In Hersonissos, I stumbled over basic Greek phrases. In my fifties and under stress, I struggled to add Greek words to my vocabulary.
The tourism staff communicated in a second language to welcome me to their hometown. And there I was, tongue-tied.
To my delight, I learned how to pronounce one Greek word. During a chat with an employee at a leather goods shop, she said, “Crete.” It sounded like “set” or “wet” instead of like “beet” or “feet.”
I filed away the correct pronunciation for future reference. That one was easy to remember.
How slow travel changed my entire experience.
The beauty of Crete soothed some of my anxieties away. In Hersonissos, the rolling waters of the sea lulled me to sleep. At first, I thought the crashing water was a storm, but it doesn’t rain in Crete during the summer.
Each morning, I walked down the hotel steps, glanced out the window on a landing, and marveled at the splendor of the coastline.
Sometimes, I saw early birds making their way along the beach. They were eager to capture as much happiness as they could at this destination. Why shouldn’t I?
My personality type is a mix of extrovert and introvert. In unfamiliar spaces, I can be self-conscious.
Despite my new surroundings, I held deep conversations with strangers. However, I limited my excursions to the daytime. I was in a vibrant city; however, every night I was in my hotel room before sunset.
I didn’t meet any solo female travelers. A few were in Hersonissos, though. The locals mentioned their interactions with them.
During the two weeks I spent in Hersonissos, I counted only two solo male travelers. One middle-aged man wore a Hawaiian shirt while the other wore a baggy t-shirt.
They both wore sandals and walked in confidence, enjoying their own company. One seemed in a hurry. The other stopped to window-shop. What were their stories?
I am thankful that I boarded that plane in New York City. I am a much wiser person in Hersonissos than I was at JFK Airport.
The new-and-improved me is braver. But I will always keep GPS within my arm’s reach.