Armed with a pocketful of money I boarded the Poseidon Express in Piraeus, bound for Ios. I had been meaning to try to find a friend from L.A ( Alicia ) in Crete, but I had met, literally thousands of travellers on their way to and from the Cyclades and it was time to check them out myself.
I was travelling solo now, my favourite way to go, and Athens sank beneath its smoggy cloud as the ferry belched out more blackness into the blue.
It was not long before I bumped into some friends from Athens, Canadians and Americans and we drank our way into the night.
I remember my attire well, I made a contrast from the tidily adorned students with whom I journeyed. I was in my spartan sandals, black cotton trousers and various bracelets, on ankle and arm jangled in the sun.