Drunk and Sailing Around Mykonos

A husband and wife posing for a picture in the sea in Greece. Wife is laughing and falling below water because she got drunk when sailing around Mykonos
Drowning in the sea because wine happened

Awkward Classic.

I’m not sure if I regret, or totally love that I got absolutely drunk as my husband and I went sailing around Mykonos. Hilarious? Yes. Awkward? Yes. I guess in recent years it’s become in vogue to be ‘awkward’ as a woman. Do you understand how maddening it is when a cute, petite, beautiful young woman who is society’s ideas of perfection brands herself as “awkward?” “OOOOH, I’m so awkward – I laughed a little too loud tee hee!” 

Get the fuck out of here. 

I am awkward in the old school sense of the word. When I share my awkward moments series about my life you will cringe, you will laugh, and you will blush. I promise you, the last thing you’ll be left thinking is, “aww, that was cute.” 

My husband and I took our honeymoon in Greece. We love history and grittiness, so we started in Athens which was a joy. We finished in Santorini because of its promise of romantic allure. In the middle of our trip, we visited the island of Mykonos. 

We both enjoy drinking, dancing, and beautiful views – so we had to spend some time checking out the vibe of the island. 

We booked a trip for a semi private cruise to Delos and around the island. Before we had even began drinking, I was intoxicated with joy from knowing aside from the crew and one Greek woman, we had a rustic sailboat to hit the seas all to our own. It felt luxurious – the type of thing only celebrities get to do. 

The company we kept for the day was awesome. The woman was middle aged, blonde, and incredibly gifted in conversation. I like to chat with people, but I often run out of things to talk about. The blonde did not share the same struggle as me and was able to always ask questions and tell stories to bring us closer with her. 

Dilly Dallying in Delos

I love ancient civilizations. In particular, I obsess over any kind of mythology or mystical elements of ancient cultures. Therefore, there was no ways that I was going to miss the chance to spend a few hours in Delos! It is said to be the birthplace of the god, Apollo. Delos was an incredibly important seaport and religious center for ancient Greece. While most of the statues lay in ruin, you can still marvel at the pieces that are in tact such as the Lions of Delos. Or, if you’re anything like me, you can check out the ruinous pieces from every angle and imagine what might have been.

Wine Not?! ( Apparently, There Are Lots of Reasons “Wine Not” )

After walking through history in the sweltering sun, we were brought back to our ship and the party started. “Can I get you some wine?” asked the ridiculously good looking attendant on board. 

I had some rose, and my husband had white. The glasses were pretty small, and that, my dear friends, is where the real trouble begins. 

We’ve all been there. “Hmm, this glass is pretty small. I better have 40 more to equal one drink!” 

A woman holds a plastic glass full of rose, is drunk and sailing around Mykonos and smiles at the camera wearing sunglasses.
Sipping on some rose as we sail around the sea in Mykonos, Greece. Step one in getting drunk and sailing around Mykonos…pound all the wine.

In the sun, on this ship, with nothing to eat beforehand I pounded wine after wine and stretched out on the sun bed like a princess. “More wine!” I found myself requesting, before the last glass was even finished. Why? I wouldn’t want to give my body 30 seconds to sober up while I waited for the next glass. That might have unleashed a stream of good and thoughtful decision making. Who needs that on an experience like this

Enjoying every second of soaking up the sun.

I remember most moments of my travels fondly. However, there are some memories of my travels that looking back even I can’t believe were real. These memories are an affirmation on even my most dark and frustrating days that hard work pays off, and that  through my hard work, I lead an exceptionally beautiful life. 

A couple on their honeymoon enjoying being drunk and sailing around Mykonos.
Hubby and I loving every second of our chartered sail around Mykonos!

A Moment to Remember

Our captain docked our boat in the middle of the beautiful blue water. It was the color blue that usually only exists within the realm of computer backgrounds and destination monthly calendars. He was elderly, a bit hardened, and had definitely seen some wild things in his life, but never stopped smiling. His skin was red and leathery from the sun constantly beaming on him, and he had long shaggy hair. He lit up a cigarette, sipped on some ouzo, and told us to dive in and swim around. Little moments like this are why I came to love Greece. The nonchalance of the captain of a ship sipping booze and smoking cigarettes while letting his patrons jump off his boat would never happen in the US.

A view of a yacht hailing from UAE that the couple on board took as they were drunk and sailing around Mykonos.
Our view from where we docked in the middle of the sea.

My husband was really enthusiastic and was practically falling of the side of the boat before we even docked. He’s a dare devil and enjoys cliff jumping in his free time.

A man jumping into the sea from onboard a ship in the waters of Mykonos.
My husband who is fucking fearless diving into the water!

I was a bit more reserved, but my large thighs and I held my nose and took the plunge. It. Was. Awesome. 

The attendant, the captain, the Greek woman, ALL of us – a makeshift family took turns jumping into the sea and splashing around. At times we would laugh and talk – other times we were all perfectly silent and peacefully taking in our surroundings. As I kicked around in the water, I felt so happy, happier than I ever remember being in my adult life. Laying in the sea and floating on my back was the first time in years I had been able to just…be without thinking, worrying, planning, prepping, and working. 

Absolutely no fear in this adventure.

Then, the turn for the worst, folks. The slippery slope. The good looking attendant offered to “shuttle us” to the legendary Tropicana Paradise Beach Club in Mykonos. I was pretty lit, but in that “cry because I’m so happy” stage of being lit. 

Our attendant driving us over to Tropicana Paradise Beach! If you look at Arthur’s glasses, you can tell we weren’t exactly sober to begin with!

Way Over the Borderline – Madonna

The place was cool enough with tons of umbrellas and beach chairs set up and some kind of transcendental beat vibing through the air. The place is adorned with wooden, breezy, Bohemian seaside decor and offers a stunning view of the water. However, it’s a douche haven. The kind of place where you roll up and know you’re going to have to take out a loan to pay for even one drink. 

Well, I’m surprised that I’m not in complete debt because folks, I had THREE drinks, and possibly a shot – I think I remember that. I didn’t intend to get to the point where my vision was blurred and my body was swaying. But, I was on vacation and the drinks were SO damn tasty. I wanted to bring a drink back to the boat for our Greek friend. However, the bartender – despite having five fellow bartenders did that thing where she pretended we didn’t exist even though we were their only patrons. I AM grateful that the booze gave me the courage to say the following. 

“I see you’re purposely ignoring me to maintain an appearance of being a ‘hip hang out’ you just lost a shit ton of money because now I’m not ordering anything else form you.’ She tried REAL hard to recover from her bullshit, but I was drunk…and petty…and so I stormed away after paying for my bill. 

Ohhh, I could feel it. My eyes zooming around like flying saucers in my head as we were transported back. My speech was slurring and my head buzzing – there was nowhere to go but down.

This Summer’s Fashion Trend – Noodle Hair

My husband, the Greek woman, and myself sat around a small table while the attendant served us a delicious plate of homemade pasta with shrimp. After barely eating, it looked delicious and I couldn’t wait to dive in. 

I rocked back and forth on my folding chair enjoying the sun and twirling my pasta around my fork. “I wouldn’t do that” suggested my husband as the Greek woman spoke to us about…something, I don’t remember. 

Then, I remember falling backwards in slow motion. 

My feet kicked the table and all of the food on it. 

My butt got stuck deep down in the collapsable chair and it folded me into a sandwich. 

Literally what I looked like.

The pasta went all over me including my hair and face – I was wearing every bit of it. 

I remember peeling shrimp out of my hair and hot tears in my eyes from the shock of falling. The captain, the attendant, EVERYONE ran to me to get me out of the chair. 

The most embarrassing part wasn’t the fall itself, but the totally over the top reaction from everyone. 

My husband shaking his head because I was wasted and laying in a pile of shrimp and spaghetti with noodles in my hair.

The Greek woman standing with her hand over her mouth as if I just shattered every relic in St Peter’s Basilica. 

The good looking attendant acting like pulling me to my feet required as much humanly strength as pulling a whale out of the ocean and into the boat.

The captain cursing in Greek and saying over and over that all of the chairs should have been nailed to the boat – he truly felt so bad which made me feel absolutely terrible. 

“Do you want more pasta? I can make more!” asked the attendant. Do I want more pasta? You just broke your back trying to lift me, do you think I need more pasta? No, but if you could drown me off the side of the ship and kill me, I’d be much obliged I felt like saying. 

I walked to the front of the ship and lay down on the sunbed. I wondered to myself why I was the way that I was and which of the 4,500 drinks that I had did me in. “Will you have a shot of this and dance with me, Stephanie?” asked the Greek woman politely. 

I took it to numb the pain and the scratches on my body – it was a shot of Mastic. If you’ve never had it it is super sweet and reminds me almost of drinking jellybeans, or sweet bubblegum. It’s absolutely one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted. I stood up to dance, but fell over several times. Turns out being butt-wasted while cruising at high speed on the seas makes for a bad mix.

Never Again.

I swore after that shot and epic fall that I would be done drinking for the rest of the trip. 

Upon arriving back, I fell asleep by the pool – then my husband moved me to our room. Hours later – this is not joke, I was awakened by a cat falling through out fireplace, running through our room, and jumping off the balcony to the patio down below. 

When you’re under the influence and think your selfie looks FIRE.

We ate ate the fanciest beach front restaurant in all of Mykonos. It was totally private and we were only steps from the water. My sobriety challenge lasted exactly four hours. Rather than sulk and suffer from my day hangover, I laughed off my experience, chalked it up to having a fun time on my honeymoon in the sun. I think that on such a special occasion, it’s OK to be drunk and sailing around Mykonos!

Feeling rested from my nap, I tried blue wine for the first time. I wanted to try it desperately a few weeks earlier in Romania – but the bar we visited was sold out. At the chance of finally trying blue wine, I was thrilled because what better place to try blue wine than in front of the bluest waters imaginable? I loved every sip of it. This time…only one glass!

Want more awkward stories? Join me in Iceland.

The Awkward Moments Series: A Tragic Tale of Embarrassing Myself via Horseback Riding in Iceland


The Odyssey. A tale of a man dickin’ around the seven seas trying to avoid his wife for an absurd amount of time. The moral, according to my 9th grade honors English teacher, was to be aware of hubris, or excessive pride.


That’s what all the other kids learned, anyway. I spent all my time blowing off classes, getting into trouble, and doing the bare minimum to move onto 10th grade.


If I had taken class more seriously, perhaps I wouldn’t have wound up in a precarious and embarrassing situation. Yes, perhaps, I would have avoided falling danger to my own horseback riding hubris.

Third grade. I took two years of horseback riding lessons. I think I did OK, I got as far as learning to trot. I really liked the experience, and have gone trail riding every once and again, but never seriously studied the equestrian arts since let’s say 12 years old.


So…naturally…when a horseback riding instructor says, “Only people with five or more years of experience should ride this horse. Is that anyone here?” It seemed like I, 26 year old Stephanie, was the person naturally fit for this job and this horse.


Equestrian Expert.

Once you ride a horse, you never forget (is a saying I made up in my head that day.) As far as I was concerned, I knew everything there was to know about riding a horse, so why couldn’t I ride this one? Climb on, hold the reins, steer, I got it, bro. I’ve done this. The instructor looked me in my lying eyes and said, with furrowed brow, “I want to reiterate. You need to have ridden horses for five years to handle this horse. You have this experience, yes?” An audience looked on, and I really remember being pretty fucking good at horseback riding. “Yeah, I love horseback riding, for sure.” She nodded and pulled out a smallish guy from a stall (all Icelandic horses are very small, and I was at my heaviest, 170 pounds. Please keep this in mind as you read.) I scoffed and walked over to meet him. She told me his name in Icelandic, looking back I think his English translated name was, “biggest asshole and piece of shit ever.” I lead him out to the horse play pen to show him who was boss.


“I’m assuming you can use the stirrups to get yourself up” declared the instructor. Piece of cake. Nottttt. If only I hadn’t eaten so much cake, maybe I could have done it. I pretty much just choked the horse to death by pulling on his reigns to hoist myself up. My foot got caught in the stirrup and he began  sauntering around in circles with my foot still in the stirrup, so I just giddye-up hopped behind him until someone came to rescue me.


“Are you sure you can handle this horse?” the instructor asked again. Again, hubris, swelled through my veins. “I said yes, maybe you should offer a step stool to your riders. Anyone would have trouble climbing onto a horse with no step.” I held the reins as I remembered and put my feet in the stirrups. I asked my husband to take a photo of me, as it would look really cool on my Instagram. The horse again began to walk in small circles as if he were short circuiting. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get him to stop and now people were starting to look at us. Small, careful, circles. Nose to tail. Every time Arthur tried to snap a photo, he was facing the wrong way due to his circling, of course. The instructor joined by a friend came out to explain the rules and my horse stopped, thank God.


His compliance lasted all of thirty seconds before he found and opening in the gate and just fucking walked out, with me on his back. “Ma’am, excuse me. Please come back, we need to go over the rules.” I fake laughed, but was sweating with embarrassment and seething with rage.


“Let’s fucking go, walk backwards.” I whispered in the horse’s ear, who was now walking further away from the gate wherever the spirit moved him. “Ma’am, you need to come back” the instructor shouted angrily. “Oh, yes, we’re coming. Here we come!” I waved confidently to her and my fellow riders as the horse continued walking at an embarrassingly slow pace further away, as if he were dying under the weight of my body. I pulled the reins as I had remembered to get him to go in the opposite direction. It’s like they weren’t even attached, no effect. “I’m not fucking kidding, let’s go.” I whispered again. He snorted and stopped, probably short circuited again, idiot. He began trotting around the horse playpen where one of the instructors had to come and rescue me and bring us back to safety.



We started in a single file line out of the gate, my horse was maybe 6th back. Well, he felt far superior to sixth place and so, would walk off the line and sidle up to the horse in front repeatedly. “Please control your horse. He needs to be back there.” Picture a person repeatedly trying to join a conversation they have been shunned from, and the conversers growing more and more angry. Whenever the instructors thought they’d gotten rid of us, they’d commence their joking and chatter. My horse did this four more times. Four more times he ran up to the front, stuck his big beak right in between their heads as they spoke, or casually pulled up next to them, and there was I, smiling and unable to control him laughing awkwardly and doing a queen of England wave.


They put him in the front of the pack, so he could feel like the leader or champion. It is here, that he thought it would be funny to buck wildly and do strange things with his body which terrified me and I had never seen before.


Again, I was scolded for not controlling my horse and the two instructors began to talk shit about me in Icelandic. I completely admit I did wrong from the get-go, but this horse had clearly never been ridden before. Nothing about his demeanor suggested he had ever been broken in, trained, or ridden. The whole group was made to stop as the instructors discussed what to do with me and Dickbag, the poorly behaved pony. I looked at him with rage in my eyes.


“OK, ma’am please get off the horse. You aren’t good for him, we need to bring you a new horse.” I got down from my horse with help and whispered that I hated him as I passed him. The look in his eyes told me he felt the same way.


My husband laughed and through looks agreed we would catch up with each other later as the instructor announced that everyone would go on ahead and I would wait with the other instructor for a new horse.

We waited in the freezing cold for thirty minutes because another instructor had to be radioed to come retrieve the horse, lock him up, and bring another horse. I was deeply embarrassed but happy to see him go.


Luckily, the instructor who waited with me was the kindest most understanding girl from Hamburg, Germany. I was honest with her, and told her that I did have experience, but from years ago and that I was deeply so embarrassed. However, I stressed that I didn’t think it was fair to pay for a lesson in skills I felt that I’d already had. She agreed and noted that anyone with experience is given a new horse to break in, so everyone should just be treated as a beginner. She also mused over her doing week long rides in the summer with her co-workers where everyone gets super drunk and thrown off their horses. Many of the horses just run away, but the Icelanders never worry because they run all the way back to their barn.

A new horse was brought and I actually began to feel very lucky. I was able to have a private experience on a much kinder horse who I fell in love with. We rode at my preferred pace and I got to make two new friends. Afterwards, we got to the barn ahead of everyone and I was given the opportunity to take photos and feed the horses who were hanging out in the horse play pen.


What I Learned: Cultural Nuances. Experienced in my world would mean, “have you done this before?” Experienced in Iceland means, “Do you feel willing and able to assist in breaking in this soul-less beast who has a reckless hatred toward all humanity?” I should have clarified, and not have been so eager to show off the skills that I could have sworn that I had. I feel that I missed some opportunities during the excursion, such as laughing and being with my husband. However, I also gained a private experience tailored to my needs and an opportunity to ride amidst the complete serenity and vastness of Iceland which I think wound up being incomparable. In the end, I found a horse I loved and got to interact with many other horses, learn more about the uniqueness of the Icelandic horse in particular, and hear more about the culture from my new friend. Much like Odysseus, my journey separated me from my spouse and felt like it went on for hours. I endured my journey in an unpredictable, feckless, and horrid vehicle (my horse) just as Odysseus had. If like me, you didn’t learn a damn thing from Odysseus’s inability to check his hubris, please, learn from mine.