"One Word" of Travel Advice

Kassiopi

Everyone has advice about travel. Travel light, most people say.  Others advise, Take twice as much money as you need and half the clothes. Audrey Hepburn said, “Paris is always a good idea.”

My advice is, always learn at least one word of the language of the country you are visiting. Being able to say “hello” or “thank you” will make more of a difference than you can imagine. At least, I figure I’ll give the native speakers a laugh. At best, trying to speak the language can build a bridge to unexpected places and perks. I discovered that being able to say “good morning” in Greek paid off for me on my recent cruise.

Our cruise line hired a smaller boat to take a group to several spots on the scenic island of Corfu. Our own S. S. Minnow dropped me, my husband, Bill, and thirty other beach lovers in Kassiopi, a tiny Greek village/postcard come to life. Cafes and shops ringed Kassiopi's harbor, but it was a bit early for a snack and my husband is not a shopper. So we headed toward the first place I go to take the temperature of a new country – the grocery store. Kassiopi’s market offered a welcoming spread of local cheeses, breads, olive oils, and tourist kitsch.

Several fellow travelers shuffled through the shop, replying in English when greeted in Greek by the owners, an older gentleman and a young woman who looked enough like him to be his granddaughter. They made their purchases and left.

I eyed plastic place mats printed with a map of Kassiopi.

The gentleman greeted me. “Kalimera.” Good morning.

A word I knew! I took a deep breath.

“Kalimera,” I replied.  He smiled.

I pointed to the map. “Beautiful.”

He nodded. “Beach?”

He must have assumed I was searching the map for a beach.

I remembered the word for yes. “Ne.”

He pointed away from the harbor, up the hill behind the shop. “Pristine beach. No cigarette butts.” I laughed; he definitely knew some very helpful English.

This was unexpected, but highly useful, tourist intel. My husband heard “beach” and perked up.

I thanked my gracious grocer/tour guide with a smile. We purchased some snacks and olive oil and headed in the direction the man had indicated.

Bill and I headed up the hill, which led past a dramatically crumbling fort we hadn’t seen on any of our tour information, then followed a trail further up the hill, past numerous feral cats, backyards strung with laundry drying in the sun, and deep into a sea of olive trees.

Just when I started wondering if the “pristine beach” was this guy’s little joke on tourists, we saw it: Sparkling peacock blue water ringed by a bright white half moon of beach at the end of our trail.

“No cigarette butts,” I breathed.

Do you have any travel advice?