We had decided to spend two “relaxing” weeks touring on the island of Lefkada and in the northern villages of mainland Greece. And by relaxing, I was imagining leisurely drives, lazy lunches, plush hotels every evening, and perhaps a cocktail or two by the pool. You know, the type of holiday where the most stressful decision you make is whether to start your day with a cappuccino or a mimosa.
But Alex—bless her adventurous soul—had other ideas.
Adventures in Lefkada
Our second stop on our endless journey of “relaxation” was the island of Lefkada. If you’re unfamiliar with Lefkada, let me paint a picture: it’s an island that’s essentially split in two. The east side, which I like to call “Civilization,” is where you’ll find tourist-friendly hotels, infinity pools, and perfectly respectable cocktails served with little umbrellas. You could practically hear Frank Sinatra playing in the background. The west side, on the other hand, looks like it was designed by a mad Greek god after one too many ouzos—rugged cliffs, hair-raising drops, and a landscape that makes you wonder if it’s all just a test to see how quickly you can regret your life choices.
Guess which side of the island Alex wanted to visit?

Google vs. Lefkada
So, off we went, crossing the bridge and venturing into the jagged peaks of West Lefkada, supposedly “in search of photo opportunities” for Alex. Which, as it turned out, meant driving on roads that made me wonder if they were actually meant for vehicles or if we were part of some bizarre Greek reality show called Foreigners in Fear. The roads weren’t just winding—they were coiling. Tight turns with no barriers, sheer drops that made me clench bottom muscles so hard, both of my buttocks were gripping the seat. I was praying there wasn’t a goat—or worse, a bus coming the other way.
And the best part? No signs of civilization. Just us, a rental car, and a navigation system that kept cheerily suggested, “Recalculating”. Even Google had no idea where we were going.
After what felt like a thousand kilometres—but was probably more like fifty—we finally arrived at our destination: a lighthouse perched at the very southern tip of the island. A breathtaking location, if you enjoy breathtaking in the sense of “my last few breaths might actually happen here.”
But this wasn’t just any lighthouse. Oh no, this was the infamous peninsula of Akroriti, where, in ancient times, they would perform rituals by throwing convicts off the cliffs. You know, because why build a jail when you have gravity and no concept of health and safety?
But the real twist? These weren’t just executions. No, the Greeks decided to make it sporting. They’d tie birds’ feathers to the convicts’ bodies to give them a slim chance of survival. If they flapped their way to safety, they were spared. If not—well, let’s just say they probably didn’t need to worry about their parole hearings. And as I’m standing there listening to Alex recount this cheerful history lesson, I’m thinking: “Great. Now not only am I risking my life driving these roads, but we’re doing it in a place where gravity has a historical record of winning.”
You’d think that would be enough of an adventure, right? Wrong.

Alex vs. gate
Because you see, to Alex, the view from the safe side of the fence wasn’t nearly good enough. Oh no. She wanted to capture the real essence of the cliffs, the exact spot where these poor convicts met their fate. So what does she do? She gets down on her belly, wriggles under a rusty iron gate—the gate that was put there specifically to stop lunatics like her—and shimmies out to the very edge of the cliff.
Meanwhile, I’m back in the car, blissfully unaware of this insanity, scrolling through Facebook and wondering where the nearest taverna was. I’m thinking she’s off snapping a few picturesque shots of the lighthouse like any sane tourist. Fifteen minutes later, she strolls back to the car, all smiles, and hands me her camera.
I nearly had a heart attack.
These weren’t just any photos. These were the kind of photos that only an adrenaline junkie or a daredevil would take—looking straight down into the sheer drop, with her feet practically dangling off the cliff side like some sort of sacrificial offering to Apollo.
“What were you thinking?!” I gasped, gripping the camera like it might somehow pull me over the edge just by association.
“What’s life without a little risk?” she said with a nonchalant shrug, brushing dust off her jeans like she’d just finished a leisurely yoga session, rather than a near-death experience.
“What’s life without a little sanity?” I muttered, still pale.

How about a nice quiet trip?
But she wasn’t fazed in the slightest. To her, it was just another box ticked off on the grand adventure checklist. I, on the other hand, was still mentally drafting my will.
Look, I’m not against a bit of adventure—within reason. But when the locals are looking at you like you’re the one who’s lost your mind, maybe it’s time to reconsider your choices. Let’s just say that while Alex was busy conquering cliffs and snapped death-defying shots, I was busy discovering the true meaning of “too much information” from her camera roll.
So, while I may not have the best stories of serene hotel stays or lazy afternoons by the pool, I do have a newfound appreciation for flat, solid ground and guardrails. Next time, though, I’m booking us a nice, quiet trip somewhere far less… vertical. But little did I know at the time, our next stop was to be the villages of northern Greece, above the clouds were even the mountain goats fear to tread.
Until then, I’m sticking to cocktails by the pool. Cheers!
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