My First Solo Island Trip: Two Days on Agistri

I took a solo island trip to Agistri. Two days that felt like ten. The best part? The unexpected moments and interesting encounters that became mini-adventures.

A few weeks ago, I decided that since Memorial Day was coming up and my US clients were taking the day off, I was going to take a solo trip to a local island. 

I picked Agistri because my nail tech told me I'd like it, and that was enough for me. I bought the ferry tickets, booked an adults-only boutique hotel, got the dog taken care of by my great aunt, and then, leading up to the trip, I was like, where am I going by myself? 

I started watching YouTube videos about the island. I had already packed a week in advance so I'd be ready Sunday morning. 

Getting There 

Sunday morning. I walked to the port, found gate E9, and got on a line.

I asked the girls in front of me if this ferry was going to Agistri, and one of them goes, "No, it's going to Aegina."

Am I on the wrong line?

Turns out, no. The officer at the gate confirmed in Greek: ‘Yes, Agistri, just making a stop at Aegina first.’ Crisis averted.

I found my seat…or tried to. The numbering on this boat made zero sense to me — 1,000, 800, 600, 400, 200 — going down in increments of 200, which I did not figure out until after I'd gone back to the same woman twice. She was annoyed. Fair enough. 

I found 202, right in front of the TV, but I was not watching the TV. 

I was watching us leave Piraeus. 

Once we started moving, the boat just glided across the Saronic Gulf. The seats were like something out of Delta Comfort, and I paid €35 round trip. 

Fifty-five minutes later, we pulled into Megaloxori Port. 

I always think of these speedboats like buses on water. They cycle through the islands, they call out the stop, and you'd better be ready to get off when they say the island name, or you're heading to the next one whether you planned to or not. 

At the port, there was a small bus - the bus, really; it's the only one - that ran to Skala, one of the main villages, where my hotel was. Bus fare: €1.40. Took five minutes to get there.

I couldn't find the hotel right away - it was tucked down a little alley. Once I got into the room and saw the light blue walls, the beautiful bedding, and the tiniest iron I have ever seen in my life with its own proportionally tiny ironing board sitting in the closet, I was completely charmed. 

Day One: Figuring Out How to Just Be 

Okay. I'm here. Now what?

I'm alone all the time — I live alone, I work alone — but this felt different. No one else's energy to manage, no one waiting on me, nowhere to be.

I had made myself a loose schedule before I left, so I wouldn't just stand in the room staring at the walls. Which was already what I was doing.

I got changed and went to explore.

Everything was closer than the map made it look.

I found what I'll generously call a beach, more of a small port area where you could get into the water, but the sky was gray and cloudy. I set myself up anyway.

Within about ten minutes, a large group of what looked like 16 - 18-year-old English tourist boys descended on the area. Loud, obnoxious, completely unbothered by anyone else's existence.

One of them was walking around in soaking wet socks. Soaking wet socks. I cannot explain it.

They debated whether to stay for about twenty-five minutes if they should stay and finally left. Then it started drizzling. I gave it another half hour and left too. 

I grabbed something to eat at the restaurant right next to the hotel, sat outside, and just people-watched while I ate. That's when I started to clock the island: incredibly kid-friendly, families and toddlers and electric bikes everywhere, nobody rushing. I slowed down to match it. I spent the next couple of hours just taking it all in.

Once I felt settled, I walked further down the main road and came across another beach — cushioned beds, umbrellas, music coming from somewhere. I had my beach blanket, so I just put it down and stayed for the next four hours.

At some point, I napped, and when I woke up, there were three moms and five toddlers just doing their thing in the water nearby — completely laid back, giving the kids room to be kids without hovering over every move. I watched them and thought, this is a safe place. 

First night, I took myself out to dinner. Got a souvlaki. It was, without exaggeration, the worst souvlaki I've had in my recent memory, and when I got the bill, I had a strong feeling the guy was adding a little tourist tax to the total. I didn't leave a tip. I walked myself back to the hotel.

On my way through the alley, I passed the restaurant from earlier that afternoon. The owner was standing outside. He said good evening. I said good evening. And for some reason, that tiny exchange was enough; someone on this island knew I existed.

Back in the room, I didn't turn the TV on, finished my book, started a new one, and called it a night. 

Day Two: A Van, a Horse Named Margarita, and a Rock in the Sea

The horseback riding guy, Nikos, called early to tell me there was a group going out at noon. Take the 11:15 bus to Aponisos, the other side of the island, bring my beach stuff, there's a beach nearby, catch the bus back to Skala at 3:00. Perfect.

I got dressed, packed my bag, and walked outside to check the bus schedule.

No buses.

There was a phone number posted on the board. No one answered. I went to the café next door for a Freddo, asked the guy behind the counter what was going on with the bus, and he told me he heard there won't be one running until Thursday.

I went back and broke the news to the small crowd of people now gathered around the timetable board, equally confused.

I called Nikos back and explained the situation. He said, let me call my guy, and within five minutes, he called back. There was a van heading that way with a group, there was room, and I could hitch a ride. 

So I found the black van, found the group, and we all loaded in - eight of us heading to a completely different part of an island I'd been on for less than 24 hours. The driver looked exactly like the Greek actor Yiannis Bezos, right down to the vintage surfer sunglasses. 

He greeted me in English, I answered in Greek, and suddenly there was camaraderie; he's telling me about island life, asking where my family's from, the guy was building a whole file on me.

I sat up front with him the whole ride, and it was one of those moments you genuinely couldn't have planned.

I got dropped off at the stables. And saw three white horses. I greeted the horses before I greeted anyone, naturally.

Margarita, Aponisos Horseback Riding

My horse's name was Margarita, and Margarita was not interested in keeping up with the other two. I gave her a light kick, the guide told me to give her.

She was not moved. She had her own pace, and she was committed to it. I respected it.

An hour through the trails, the open land, the occasional stretch of road. At some point during the ride, I started thinking about all the historical fiction I read — books set in the 17th century where a horse was your mode of travel. Travel to another village, a town, or even another country. All on horseback.

And here I was on a white horse named Margarita. It was giving main character energy.

After the trail, Nikos pointed me toward the beach. I walked out of the stables and followed the road, and that was the thing about being alone on this trip; every one of these little transitions was a mini adventure, on my own terms, at my own pace. I was really enjoying myself.

I found a fish taverna and sat down. Fresh grilled sardines and a choriatiki (village salad), and I'm telling you, one of the greatest tomatoes I have ever eaten in my life. Homegrown, from someone's garden, you could taste the difference immediately. The sardines were on the daily special, fresh in that morning.

I reacted the way I always react to food in Greece: mild disbelief that something this simple can be this good.

After lunch, I paid, changed in the bathroom, and walked across a cement bridge to what I can only describe as a floating rock (Aponisos Island). Layered with beach beds, umbrellas, a ladder going straight down into the water, and a peacock, just living there, roaming around like it owned the place.

I paid €6 for a regular beach bed and umbrella, as opposed to a cushioned beach bed. The umbrellas had a menu clipped to the pole and a button. You press the button, and a server comes to you. Table service. On a rock. In the middle of the Saronic Gulf.

Aponisos Island

Beach Table Service

I laid under the umbrella, taking in my surroundings, and the occasional peacock cry, and watched the sun glistening on the water.

The woman next to me leaned over as I was taking photos and offered to step out of the frame. American accent.

Turned out she was a wedding photographer from New York, what are the odds?! There with her husband and daughter, renting electric bikes, touring the island, working a wedding event nearby.

I surprised myself with how open I was to just talking to people. I usually tend to keep to myself. 

At 4:00, Nectarios, the taxi shuttle driver, called; time to head back. We packed eight people into the van again and started back toward Skala. By the time he dropped me off, we were chatting like old friends.

When he saw me walking in the opposite direction of my hotel, he called out from the window, Hey, your hotel's that way.

I said, I know. I'm going to the beach.

He just laughed. You literally just came from the beach.

I know. I've got two days. I'm getting my base.

I went back to the beach from the day before, put my towel out, and went in the water a few times. The same moms showed up with their toddlers. It had been two days, and I started to feel like a local.

That night I took myself to dinner again. I wanted pasta, but the place was empty, and the menu wasn't doing it for me.

So I moved on to my second option, got fried calamari and another Greek salad, and watched the sun set over the water.

Ate slowly. Didn't talk to anyone. It was exactly the kind of quiet that resets something in you.

Headed back to the hotel, and got my stuff ready for the morning because I hadn't seen any bus times on the board, and was mentally preparing to wake up early to walk the 25-30 minutes to the port. 

Checkout Morning

8:30, everything packed, I bring it all downstairs. The reception sign says back at 9:00. The ferry was leaving at 9:30am. I was cutting it close if I had to wait for the reception to open.  

I walked into the breakfast area in a quiet panic and told the breakfast ladies there I needed to check out, there were no buses, I had to get to the port —

One of them stopped me.

Sit down. Have a coffee. The buses run at 9:15. You have time.

She brought me freshly baked sliced bread, homemade marmalade, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a Greek coffee in a mug that was enormous.

Full aunt energy. She set me straight. 

I went across the street to check the timetable. It was full of times. There was absolutely a bus.

I went back, finished my coffee, checked out, got on the bus, made it to the port, and made it home.

Two days felt like ten. Time literally slows down when I'm on a Greek island. So much so that I forgot my bathing suit there, like I was staying another day.  I would go back alone in a heartbeat. Same pace. Different parts of the island on an electric bike for sure.