✈️ Episode 6: British Kids in Greece, 80s & 90s Holiday Memories (and a Few of Mine)

✈️ Episode 6: British Kids in Greece, 80s & 90s Holiday Memories (and a Few of Mine)

For a whole generation of British kids, Greece in the 80s and 90s wasn’t just a holiday destination it was the summer soundtrack. If you were there, you remember, mosquito coils spiralling away in the evening, that first ice cold bottle of Fanta Lemon, and shoulders that went lobster red by day one because nobody believed in Factor 30 back then.

Family holidays had a rhythm to them. Not the kind you downloaded from your favourite streaming service, but one made up of inflatables squeaking in the sun, the smell of suncream, and the sound of your mum saying, “Don’t drink the tap water” for the tenth time that week… then you panicking at how you’re going to brush your teeth.

I was lucky as a child. Summers meant at least two weeks away somewhere sunny in the school summer holidays, Rhodes, Corfu, Zakynthos, Cyprus, Portugal, and a handful of trips to the south of France to name a few, having visited four of the seven wonders of the ancient world before I was 15, I was especially lucky. Those places stitched themselves into the fabric of my summers. Greece especially. It had this mix of warmth, food, and energy that stuck with me.

We splashed in the pool for hours with nothing but a lilo, a cheap football, or maybe your favourite G.I. Joe figure that somehow ended up being the designated rescue diver. If things got competitive, someone… usually someone’s dad, would toss a coin into the deep end and we’d all dive for it like Olympic hopefuls. No Bluetooth speakers. No inflatable flamingos the size of a Fiat Panda. Just sunshine and imagination.

One summer, I specifically remember being handed a glass bottle of Orangina for the first time. That little round bottle, the fizz, the pulp, it was magic. And like every other drink abroad, it never tastes the same at home. Somehow, Fanta Lemon, Orangina, even Coke just belonged to hot afternoons in Greece, condensation dripping down the glass, not in a rainy Tesco car park back in Britain.

Another memory that stands out, kayaking with my younger brother (he’s four years younger than me) in a busy river estuary. I thought it’d be a relaxing paddle. It wasn’t. There were cruise ships and massive rotating buoys. The current pushed against us, his arms started to ache, and before long I was towing him along, sweating under the sun, cursing quietly while also making sure he didn’t drift off into open water. That’s the kind of holiday memory you don’t plan, but it sticks forever.

Then there were the classic package holiday moments, the transfer coach winding through dusty roads, a rep talking about excursions nobody really wanted to book, everyone just itching to jump into the pool. The pool itself was a whole world, Super Santos footballs, snorkels that always leaked, and that one kid who could hold his breath way too long… or the one time that someone left a log floating…

Meals were another marker, almost ritualistic. Eating out as a family felt like an event, not just refuelling. You’d try different restaurants each night, then return to your favourite one on the very last evening of the holiday. That’s when you wore your best outfit, that you’d saved for that night. For some families it was chips with everything, none of that foreign food, but for our family, it was always the tavernas and the local dishes. Souvlaki skewers sizzling over charcoal, Greek salads that seemed enormous (and suspiciously full of feta), Stefado and Kleftiko, Gyros and calamari rings that you swore you didn’t like but always ended up stealing from the plate. And bread baskets. Always bread baskets. After the meal, we’d head back to wherever we were staying and my dad would do the opening a wine bottle with a SAK dance.

The days had their rituals too. My dad would be up early and sneak out in the morning, returning with fresh bread and bottles of water so there was something easy for breakfast or a quick lunch… he may have also brought back a bottle of wine too… Supermarkets abroad were like treasure hunts, “Wow, they sell that here?” Of course they did, but half the fun was gawking at mysterious snacks and packaging that made no sense. To this day, I’ll happily lose half an hour wandering through an international supermarket just to see what’s on the shelves.

Some people loved the sunbeds and stayed put all week. I never really had that in me. Even as a kid, I liked to wander find a little street, stumble into a shop, or discover a tiny beach with locals instead of tourists, when I was really young, obviously, I was in the company of my parents, I didn’t roam like I was a feral Brit. Those moments always felt richer than staking claim on a sunbed at dawn.

And then there were the friendships. You’d meet a couple of kids by the pool, and suddenly you were inseparable for two weeks. Sometimes it stretched beyond the holiday, you’d exchange addresses, send the odd letter, maybe even swap football stickers through the post for a year or two until life moved on.

Leaving was always bittersweet. Airports full of peeling shoulders, sand still in your shoes, ouzo bottles wrapped up in damp towels, and parents who swore next time we’d pack lighter.

Looking back now, those trips weren’t just holidays, they were foundations. They taught me curiosity, patience (sometimes), and that the best stories often happen when things don’t go to plan.

Times have changed. But those little things, the bread run, the supermarket wander, the lastnight dinner in your “smartest” clothes, the coin diving contests, they’re the pieces that stick. The kind of holiday magic you can’t really book, only stumble into or make yourself. Now, kids seem to be stuck in their iPads listening to music, not even talking to other kids, it’s a shame, almost like a missed childhood… maybe that’s harsh… it’s just deliver ent from mine.

What’s your strongest holiday memory from childhood, the one that still makes you smile (or cringe) every time you think about it?