Greek Honeymoon Gone Wrong Pt. 1

Honeymoons. Ah yes, those sun-drenched escapes filled with romance and relaxation—the crown jewel of post-wedding bliss. Everyone raves about them. But here’s what no one warns you about: honeymoons have a dark side. Beneath the surface of couples’ massages and cocktails lurks… reality. Let me explain.

In June 2024, Jake and I finally embarked on our long-awaited honeymoon: ten days in Greece, a dream destination for us both. I wish I could say it went off without a hitch. It didn’t. In fact, it was hitch city.

But before I get into the nitty-gritty, let's take a moment for the Greek-inspired nails:

Now, there were plenty of tiny hiccups, minor snafus, if you will. Like our brilliant decision to skip the direct flight and instead take the scenic route: a nearly 24-hour journey to Athens. By the time we arrived, my feet were so swollen they were oozing out of my sandals (No blood clots, just prone to swelling). I lost my luggage en route, of course, only to later discover it in a massive warehouse filled with thousands—literally thousands—of abandoned bags. Transportation? A nightmare. Why? Because Coldplay was headlining in Athens, and apparently, Europe really, really loves Coldplay. The city all but shut down for it. I also stepped on a sea urchin twice, and experienced the most aggressive case of travel constipation.

Very romantic.

Now, for the bigger stuff...

While in Crete, we took a day trip to Elafonissi—one of the top rated beaches in the world. It was about a 2.5 hours bus ride, but so worth it.

Me at Elafonissi, looking like Bigfoot. I did not ask for this picture, nor was I aware of being photographed.

Me falling after stepping on the sharpest rock in the world.

Jake and I at Elafonissi

And, oh... oh my god. How did another picture of my nails get here?

But here's where things get dicey.

The bus from Elafonissi is scheduled to leave at 4 PM sharp—this was made crystal clear to everyone when we arrived. The model tourists that we are, Jake and I are back on board by 3:50. Then, the excursion director announces that one couple mixed up the time, so we’re waiting on them.

In my mind, that means I’ve got time for a quick bathroom break and a change of clothes. Meanwhile, Jake is already passed out—snoring softly. I shake him gently to say I’m heading to the bathroom. His eyelids flutter in response, but whether or not he registered what I said is unknown. Just to be safe, I also tell the excursion director. “No problem,” she says. “Take your time. No rush." I go to the bathroom and change. But when I walk out, this is what I find:

The bus left me there. In mere minutes, I went from having the experience of a lifetime to being abandoned in a remote corner of Crete. Alone. No resources. No plan. My honeymoon officially entered survival mode.

If you've ever watched Spongebob, it truly felt like the Rock Bottom episode:

And I know what you're thinking: Where’s Jake in all this? Jake was dead asleep—blissfully unaware that his wife had been stranded in a foreign country.

Okay, but why didn’t I just call him? Great question. Jake, in a bold cost-saving move, decided not to pay for an international phone plan. So no calls. No texts. Just vibes.

Alright, so I waited for the next bus, right? Wrong. That was the last bus of the day. And taxis or Ubers? Elafonissi may be paradise, but it is not on the grid. Rideshares do not service that location.

So I just found a place to stay the night? Hilarious. There is no “town” at Elafonissi. There’s a convenience store, a beach shack, and that’s about it.

Panicking would make things worse—I knew that. So instead, I bought myself a nice, crisp bottle of water with the few euros I had left, sat on the curb, and tried to think about things rationally. I still had my phone, so I googled the excursion company and found a number. However, when the person who answered the phone only spoke Greek, I knew I was back to square one. That left me with two options: I could ask the convenience store owner to give me shelter for the night, or I was sleeping on the beach.

About twenty-five minutes later with still no sign of rescue, I began to accept my fate. But suddenly, my phone rang. A mysterious London number flashed on the screen. And somehow, deep in my soul, I knew: this was Jake. Now, I’m not big on cursing. I really try to keep it classy. But in that moment? All bets were off. I answered the call and skipped the pleasantries entirely. It was a passionate monologue—equal parts rage, relief, and disbelief. I won’t recount the full symphony of expletives, but let’s just say... I got my point across.

Now, to be fair, I wasn’t entirely sure it was Jake on the other end of the line. It was a foreign number, after all. And as the silence stretched on in the wake of my profanity, a small part of me began to panic. I braced myself for a British voice to politely respond, “I beg your pardon?”

But then, finally, Jake spoke. And all he said was, "Unfortunately, yes. We did leave you there.”

I was stranded for almost and hour—cold, hungry, and scared. I'm just kidding, I was fine. But I was PISSED. The bus eventually came back and got me, and everyone starred at me as I got on—eyes wide with quite admiration for my strength and composure. The kind Londoner, who lent Jake her phone, said, "Babes, you alright? I'd be in tears. And you're poor husband woke up in an absolute panic." But this wasn't about Jake. It was about me.

I survived.

Daphne, the excursion director who had oh-so-casually left me behind, came over to apologize. She thought the whole thing was hilarious, laughing while explaining that she thought my name was Amanda—one of the women who’d actually been late for the bus. So when she did roll call and Amanda answered, she figured all was well. How you get Amanda from Maddie is beyond me, but hey, accidents happen.

In the end, it was all water under the bridge. Now that I was safe and sound, the terrifying ordeal started morphing into what it was always destined to become: a great story.

Stay tuned for part two! You won't want to miss it!