Arrival, Unhurried
Our trip began with a two-hour drive across the Pennines to Manchester. The landscape is familiar yet always impressive, even if its charm fades slightly when you spend long stretches tucked in behind a slow-moving lorry.
By early evening we reached our overnight hotel, having already dropped our bags at the Twilight Check-in in Terminal 2. With that small but significant task done, the journey felt lighter somehow — less about logistics and more about simply being on the way.
After settling in for a while, we headed out to the Tatton Arms for dinner, with planes arriving and departing overhead. Nothing elaborate, just a gentle easing into travel mode — the kind of evening that helps you leave home behind without rushing the moment.
We were up early for the 7am flight. Dropping the car off directly outside the terminal was straightforward, and within minutes we were crossing the road to meet our friends — three other couples travelling with us to Skiathos.
The flight itself was uneventful and pleasantly short. Before long we were descending towards the island, touching down with a noticeable bump — the runway here is famously brief.
A short coach transfer followed. It was close enough that we could have walked it (and later in the week, we did).
Greek Salad
Lunch had been unhurried. A Greek salad arrived heavy with sun-warmed tomatoes, thick slabs of feta glistening with olive oil, capers scattered across the top. Simple food, but exactly right, eaten outdoors, with time stretching slightly now that travel was behind us.
Later that afternoon we set out on our first gentle expedition into Skiathos Town. There was no plan and no real sense of direction, just a slow drift away from the hotel and towards wherever the evening seemed to be gathering.
As we wandered, the town revealed itself in small scenes rather than grand statements. A swallow perched high under the eaves, watching quietly from the shade. Narrow streets softened by age, their stone underfoot smoothed by years of footsteps. White walls caught the fading light, while shutters, painted pale greens and blues, stood half open against the warmth.
By early evening the harbour had taken on a different character. Fishing boats sat low in the water, their reflections broken gently by movement, while the sky darkened into deep blues and silvers. Cloud cover drifted slowly overhead, catching the light and holding it longer than expected.
Skiathos Harbour
Later still, the town narrowed again into candlelit lanes. Tables were set neatly along stone pathways, menus resting on stands at the edges of restaurants waiting for the night to begin. Bougainvillea spilled over doorways, softening corners and shadows, and the air carried the low murmur of conversation mixed with the scent of cooking drifting from open kitchens.
We lingered without needing to decide much, pausing here, turning back there, before eventually heading towards dinner and then back to the hotel. Tired, but in that gentle way that comes from warmth, walking, and a day that has unfolded without hurry.
The holiday had begun quietly, and that felt exactly right.
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