Or, if you prefer, Zante.
Five years ago, I took my first summer holiday abroad to that particular Greek island. Why, in thirty-seven years, had I never done so before? I can only shrug, say I didn't realise what I was missing, happy to stay closer to home, go out in the car, somewhere I could travel to and from in a day, return to my own bed each night. So, early one Sunday morning, bags packed, I was taken to the airport and jetted off to sunnier shores. Since then, I always think it's when that first breath of warm air hits you as the aeroplane doors open, that's the moment you realise you're on holiday.
My holiday on Zante was with a big group, including the lovely lady who is now my better half, so I wasn't stuck for company. Admittedly, it took a few days to learn to relax and enjoy sitting in the sun, often thinking I should be doing something, anything, except what I saw as lazing around. I took two books - both by Homer - hoping the golden sands and deep blue sea would help me appreciate those epic works. There's plenty to see on the island - including a rusted old shipwreck, viewed from above on what feels like a diver's board (it's more safer than that, of course) - the locals are extremely pleasant and helpful, while the food is absolutely fantastic.
I also found inspiration there, concocting the basis for a story that would become a novel. It's changed much since then, but it's finished and ready to go out into the big wide world in search of representation and, one day, publication. I've visited the other Ionian islands too, as well as Rhodes, but Zakynthos will always have a special place in my heart for many reasons, including the time I had traditional Sunday Lunch with a pint of Guinness while it was 35 degrees centigrade outside. Well, why not?