Heraklion

Shit: meet fan.

A few travel delays due to weather ended up breaking Will— literally. Let me explain…

The day before we were due to leave Larnaca, I tweaked my back. Naturally, it happened while doing something incredibly heroic—putting on my socks. An old rugby injury has left my lower back forever dodgy, and this time it decided to act up just when we least needed it to.

The flight from Larnaca to Athens was painful, but I survived it. All I wanted was to get the connecting flight to Heraklion over and done with so I could lie on the floor and recover in peace.

But no.

Thanks to bad weather, the flight was delayed. Then delayed again. And again. And after ten hours in Athens airport, the flight was finally cancelled. Every passing minute saw my back getting worse. Even lying on the questionably clean airport floor barely made a difference.

We were told we’d be put up in a hotel and transferred to the next morning’s flight—a perfectly reasonable solution, since the airline can’t control the weather. But, of course, fate wasn’t done with me yet. As I reached for my bag to board the bus, my back completely gave out. Sitting upright in a bus seat only made things worse.

By the time we finally reached Heraklion the next day, I was in agony. Sam flexed her muscles and carried both of our bags while I collapsed at check-in, crawled into the lift, and spent the entire day lying on the floor of our room, sobbing like a true, rugged warrior.

So, we had to scrap all our Heraklion plans. The excursions we’d mapped out were replaced with slow, painful movements and a week of rest. Luckily, I regained just enough mobility to manage some gentle walks. I made it to the end of the breakwater and wandered through the pretty, compact streets of the town centre.

We managed one proper outing—to Knossos. Even if I had to lie on every bench and overdose on Panadol to get through it, the trip was worth it. The ancient ruins were fascinating: vivid frescoes still clinging to the walls, remnants of colour and imagination, and stories of people leaping over bulls echoing in the stones. We were in awe.

Ironically, my back injury forced us to see Heraklion in a totally different light. Instead of rushing from site to site, we slowed down. We spent our days lazily wining, dining, coffeeing (yes, that’s a verb I’m claiming), and strolling with no particular destination. It turned out to be a gift in disguise.

After Heraklion, we flew up to Thessaloniki for a few quiet days before heading home—vowing to return someday, especially to Heraklion.

Preferably with two functioning backs.