‘There’s no room for us there,’ replied Duncan. ‘We’re docking here for tonight – maybe tomorrow night too.’ I hoped for the former, as not being docked at the marina meant we weren’t connected to electricity or water. And that meant the water supply we had on board needed to last, and we wouldn’t be able to generate power for hot water. And that meant cold rinses for the foreseeable future instead of hot showers. Bugger.

I wasn’t bummed out for too long, though. As Duncan expertly manoeuvred the boat alongside the dock, I checked out the town. We were docking at Ermoupoli on the island of Syros, the capital of the Cyclades Islands. Unlike other towns and villages we had seen on our journey, this place didn’t look typically Greek. It was more like somewhere in Italy, or Spain – perhaps Southern France.

And it was spectacular.

Pops of pastels dotted the densely packed hillside, which overlooked the dock. I could see influences from several different types of architecture: classical, Byzantine, French provincial, and a few I couldn’t identify. It was like the European Union of architecture. And we were right in the thick of things. I mean right there in the town. There was a bus stop about three metres away, and the dock was filled with evening commuters heading home after a workday. They ignored us; perhaps they saw a yacht full of travellers docked there all the time.

I was in heaven. Juxtaposed against the sleepy village that had greeted us on Ios and the relaxed marina we’d left on Naxos, Ermoupoli was a thriving, bustling metropolis. I couldn’t wait to get out into it.

I turned to Hannah, who I’d barely spoken to since she taunted me that morning, and she looked as excited as I was. ‘Want to go exploring with me?’ I asked.

‘Oh yeah,’ she said. Without another word, we both slipped below deck. Within minutes, our cabin became a flurry of discarded clothes, as we complimented each other on our choices and competed for the mirror on the back of the door. ‘You look hot,’ she declared. I looked down at my outfit of skinny jeans and a flouncy top. I had my high-heeled sandals ready to slip on once we left the boat.

‘You think?’

‘Absolutely. What about me?’ I loved how she shamelessly fished for a compliment. It was easy to give, though, because she looked great. She was wearing a floaty summer dress, had fluffed her hair, and was wearing a slick of pretty pink lip gloss.

‘Hot, definitely hot.’

‘Well, then let’s go and explore!’ She grabbed her purse and was checking the contents when I got a twinge of guilt.

‘Hannah?’

‘Mm-hmm?’ She was distracted, counting her euros and loading up her bag with a compact and her lip gloss.

‘Should we see what the others are doing?’ She stopped fussing with her bag.