Remember That Time I Was Shirley Valentine?

Tracey's solo Greek odyssey to Lefkada

“That's right Millandra, I'm going to Greece for the sex. Sex for breakfast! Sex for dinner! Sex for tea! And sex for supper! It's called the F plan diet." Shirley Valentine's famous rant was an iconic moment in cinema for women of a certain age – and I'm not sure that my mother, or Greece for that matter, has ever recovered.

Written by Willy Russell, Shirley Valentine is the British BAFTA-nominated screenplay about a disillusioned housewife who rediscovers herself in Greece. It came out in 1989 and I remember watching it with my mum, who was 42 at the time – the same age as Shirley – and seeing tears in her eyes as she identified with the titular character. Trapped at home with a pair of teenage kids and a grumpy husband working shifts, she longed for a sun-drenched solo escape to the Greek islands. And like Shirley, she wanted to experience a different life, even for a week or two.

Now a little older than my mum and Shirley, I feel I owe it to them to embark on my own Shirley Valentine experience. No, not the F plan diet! I've come to Lefkada in Greece to find some much-needed breathing space in my life. I've left behind my three teenage children and a marriage on its last legs and stepping off the plane, feeling that warm lick of sunshine on my face, I now understand how Shirley felt in that moment. Free.

In search of my own Greek odyssey, I chose Lefkada, one of the quieter Ionian islands, as my place to escape. Originally a peninsula on the western coast of Greece, Lefkada was clipped off by a narrow channel dug out by the Corinthians in the eighth century to form an island. Although Shirley Valentine was filmed in Mykonos, Lefkada makes a good body double and is known locally as the Caribbean of Greece, thanks to the dozens of pristine beaches which daisy-chain along the west coast. 

I'm staying at Katouna Suites, a sleek adults-only hotel in the wooded hills above Lefkada Town, where I'm immediately soothed by the heady scent of warm pine trees. The modern boutique hotel has just 10 suites, each with a huge terrace and sweeping views over the Ionian Sea, largely attracts loved-up couples who barely notice this solo Valentine at breakfast.

On my first afternoon, I head to Lefkada Town, the loosely termed capital and a charming place to potter. It has everything I want from a Greek town. Narrow cobbled streets lined with crumbling white houses with green shutters, buzzy pavement cafes, shady shops selling olive oil and lace, even a pretty custard-coloured church complete with ringing bells and an orthodox priest roaming down the aisle. As the sun starts to dip behind the marina, I follow the locals down to the waterfront and settle down in one of the cafes with the prerequisite ouzo and water to watch the sunset. Already I can breathe.

While it's tempting to spend my week smashing through my to-be-read pile of novels by the infinity pool, the rest of Lefkada beckons. It's an easy island to explore – especially for a navigation-deficient lady as myself – as it's largely one road circumnavigating the entire island threading together the various hillside villages and candy-coloured villas. The view from its highest peak looks like a packet of giant Love Hearts has been scattered through leafy pine groves. Keeping a keen eye out for loitering goats and stray dogs, I drive past crudely painted signs offering lunch or ice-cold drinks, and teeny tiny chapels tha look like they'd struggle to fit more than a handful of worshippers – even less if, like me, they became too fond of kleftiko.

I stop by a makeshift honey stall and buy some propolis, pollen and a jar of local honey from a man with a thick silver moustache, twinkly eyes and more than a hint of the Tom Contis about him. Eventually I arrive at Porto Katsiki on the southern tip of the island, one of the best beaches in the Mediterranean. Trundling down the hundred or so steps hewn out of solid rock, I keep having to stop to grin at the view – a curling sweep of white-pebble sand lapped by impossibly blue seas. Out of season, it seems to be just me and the locals who enjoy a quiet dip in the still-warm water, each squinting up at its famous white cliffs which slice through autumn's laser-blue skies.

I've since learned that Lefkada's safe and sheltered waters are like catnip to the sailing crowd. Regarded as one of the best sailing spots in Greece, I visit Sivita, a gorgeous harbour town where tawny-skinned couples tie up their yachts for long rosé-fuelled lunches in the Trocolo Bar, a popular boho-chic place with a driftwood and pink bougainvillea terrace on the waterfront. With the sound of sails clinking, seagulls cawing and the odd pink flamingo floatie waving from the bow, it's easy to see the draw of a sailor's life. If I had thought about it, I might have hired a little 30hp boat and explored some of the island's secret beaches.

It's also a hop and a skip from the island of Skorpios, once the summer retreat of shipping magnate, Aristotle Onassis and his wife Jackie O, who married on the island. Spending every summer on the island, Ari built a fancy marina for his beloved yacht Christina, an actual helipad and three new residences for the family. Still a billionaire’s playground, mere mortals like us are not allowed to visit now Skorpios is owned by a Russian heiress, but there are rumours of it opening up as an exclusive resort in 2024, so maybe I'll visit next time...

October is flamingo season in this corner of Greece, when its cool flat waters are showered in pink dust as flocks of the kitsch-pink birds return from Africa. Lefkada has one of the largest natural wetlands in Greece and it's this and the mild winters which attract thousands of flamingos every winter. During my pre-breakfast swim, I watch as a pink cloud of the crook-necked birds fly overhead, rhubarb-hued legs trailing behind, and decide to venture a little closer. A short walk from Lefkada Town is the Gyra Lagoon, a favourite flamingo haunt that also attracts pelicans, stork and spoonbills throughout the year.

Like my hero, I revel in dining alone in Lefkada's tavernas. For lunch, I would choose a quiet table and read a novel over a bowl of Greek salad, warm bread and an icy Mythos beer, entirely happy in my own company. At night, I'd wander up to the village to one of the two tavernas, order a carafe of chilled assyrtiko wine made from grapes grown on the island, and devour plates of fresh vinegary anchovies, roasted whole peppers and smoky pork souvlaki with crispy rosemary potatoes, every mouthful watched by five cats. 

As the week went on, the waiters would take a paternal interest in me and slide dishes of olives or a little ouzo onto my table each night. I would chat to the locals, including a friendly Dutch couple who spend six months a year in the village and said in summer the tables are sprawled out all across the road and have to picked up and moved every time a car passes.

On my last night, I wander back into the village to Kollokas, which has fast become my favourite taverna over the week. As I sit under the olive tree on the stone terrace, where rickety wooden tables covered with red-checked tablecloths are filled with chattering friends and families. Even on a Tuesday night out of season, it has a buzzy, friendly vibe. Twenty years ago I would have been mortified to dine alone but now it just makes me feel empowered. At the end of the film, Shirley says “I used to be The Mother. I used to be The Wife. But now I'm Shirley Valentine again.”

And that's how I feel after my week in Lefkada, finally like myself again.

This article first featured in Platinum magazine.