He was full up himself, he said, but tomorrow night he could give us a room. What to do until then? "Don't worry." He phoned around to no avail - Eleni? No. Mrs Vasalas? No. Katarina? No.
"Don't worry."

We sat on the terrace for the rest of the afternoon, too tired to move, while the street gradually woke up, sure in our minds that Apostolos would "find us something." As the hotel guests returned from the beaches or surfaced from their naps, we met them all. There was a neurotic lady film producer from California and her two friends, two young backpackers from Scandinavia, a rather suave Italian and his lady friend, an elderly lady with bright red hair from Athens, and others. They were all very sympathetic to our plight but no-one had any suggestions, other than a night on the beach.

"Don't worry!" said Apostolos.

One by one the little shops along the street reopened for the evening trade and Niko, the owner of the tiny boutique opposite appeared. Apostolos and Niko went into conference. Niko made one phone call, and before we knew it we were shovelled onto a bus heading for the beach resort of Platys Gialos and the most expensive hotel on the island. A guest had suddenly been called back to Athens and they were going to let us have his room. And what a room it was. The bathroom, always a bit of a worry in Greek hotels, was a symphony of moulded plastic in red and white, the shower worked, the loo worked, the bed was comfortable, there was TV, and outside - wonders of wonders - a swimming pool. I didn't care if it cost a fortune.

Picture Page: Scenes from Sifnos

Part 7: A room with a view

this travelogue is part of the subside travelzine
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