Day 2 and 3 Getting lost uphill, I’m a Lesbian get me out of here, and things that go bump in the night.

Hello again lovelies,

Monday started peacefully enough. Breakfast at the house, a gentle potter about, and then the decision to head down to Scala to put some flyers and posters out for my workshops.

The plan was simple: walk into the old village, find a taxi, and glide effortlessly down to the coast. Reality? Not so simple.

Eressos Village

This year’s house is a little further from the centre, but Anja had explained to me several times how to get there. To be fair, she could have explained it a thousand times—my sense of direction is practically non-existent. Eressos is stunning, but with its winding lanes and many identical houses, it’s also a labyrinth. I wandered happily at first, snapping photos, enjoying the sunshine… until I realised I’d been walking uphill in every direction for half an hour. By this time i was as we say in Lancashire T'wot (too hot,) too lost, too done.

Eventually, I stumbled back to the house and abandoned my mission. The stress of the previous day—almost missing my flight, terrifying landings, everything—hit me like a brick. Anxiety has been a huge shadow over the past year, making me withdrawn, cancelling plans at the last moment and avoiding people I care about. it's really affected my confidence. For a moment I was full of self-doubt, wondering what on earth I was doing here.

But no. Not this time. Not here, not now.

I did some breathing exercises, gave myself a mental shake, and texted Anja. She swooped in like the goddess she is, gave me a lift to Scala, and we spent a lazy afternoon with Storm and some new friends. Beer, laughter, sunshine. When one of them asked if I’d help with gift shopping the next day, I agreed immediately—gift shopping is my jam.

That night I retreated early, cooked myself dinner, and sat on the patio under a waxing gibbous Moon in Sagittarius. A perfect moon for adventure, optimism, and focusing on goals. I let her light soak into me, set intentions for healing and growth, and once again I slept like a baby.

Tuesday began with coffee, breakfast, and watering the plants. Then came Mission Impossible: finding the village square.

This time I succeeded! With a few wrong turns (naturally) and the help of a kind elderly lady with groceries, I finally made it. Feeling triumphant, I rewarded myself with a peach tea before grabbing a taxi to Scala.

My buddy Storm joined me in handing out flyers and even a spot of fly posting down the back streets—she’s been coming here for 14 years and knows everyone. Then it was shopping time with my new acquaintance, rounded off with a mojito by the sea. Bliss.

Sellotape Ninja Storm

Until.

My shopping pal suddenly confessed they’d been thinking about me all night and felt we had “relationship potential., despite certain obstacles......

The biggest obstacle being that he’s a 44-year-old male man from Preston.

Only me. Honestly. I could come to a place with more lesbians per square metre than anywhere else on the planet and attract a straight bloke.

For a short moment it was an “I’m a Lesbian Get Me Out of Here” situation. But I had to admire his openness and honesty. I explained gently that, as a lesbian, I couldn’t return his feelings—and even if I was straight, dating someone who was eight when my eldest daughter was born was not on the cards. He took it graciously, and we parted on good terms. A sweet man, and I hope he finds someone perfect for him.

My evening ended watching the sunset. Perfect. Until bedtime.

As I drifted off, I heard a loud bang upstairs. Then footsteps. My heart stopped. I shot up like a scalded cat, switched the light on, and sat there plotting my escape. Silence. Lights off… footsteps again.

Now, I watch far too much true crime, so my brain immediately jumped to “Dexter-style kill room being prepared upstairs.” Eventually, I braved it—keys in hand like some makeshift weapon—and searched every room. Nothing. No open shutters, no windows banging, no lurking murderer. Just me and my overactive imagination.

I went back to bed, leaving a light on in the dining room for safety. Just as my heart rate calmed, the lights began flicking on and off by themselves. On. Off. On. Off. Every time I moved, it stopped. Every time I settled, it started again.

In the end, I pulled out my tarot cards—always my grounding tool—and convinced myself it was either residual energy (which often feels like a haunting) or perhaps the spirit of Thelma, Anja’s dear friend who owned the house before passing. Comforted by that thought, I finally drifted off.

Today’s plan? A full sage smudging, top to bottom. Just in case.

Thanks for reading, my loves. It means the world. Tomorrow I’ll share more escapades and a deeper dive into one of my biggest intentions for this trip: healing the most complicated wound of all—the mother wound.

Much love and bright blessings,

Bex ✨