We met on a bus in Athens Greece. I remember seeing him for the first time in the waiting room he caught my eye. I really did want to stare. Something about him. He glanced over to me and smiled. That was our beginning.

It was the summer of 1992, I was working in Athens as an English teacher and I had decided to return to Wales for my summer vacation. Rather than go by plane I wanted to save money and go overland. Lance was on a gap year and washed up at that bus station with little plan, just a desire to get back to good ol’ Amsterdam and lots of “relaxation” – we both were travelling alone. The rusty old bus was a cheap backpacker staple, nicknamed the “Magic Bus”- magic I think ‘cos it actually made the four day trip without breaking down. I don’t recall any toilet  (although there must have been one- maybe I have repressed the memory!). There were no on board refreshments, we all had our bags of bread and warm cheese.  No air con, or t.v, just blaring greek music on two cassette tapes, that were  played over and over for four days. Suspicious crates of booze were loaded on at the very last minute with a lot of frantic gesturing and urgent voices. Little smuggling on the side… well you gotta make a living. But the most alarming part of the journey were  the two drivers who took it in turns to drive. The back seat was reserved for their slumber and the change over happened when the driver nodded-off and a passenger at the front hollered wake up you f****ing maniac – not for the faint hearted. 

Ignorant to the climate of trouble, bubbling north of us, we boarded the bus in Athens and set off for London. without the internet and minute by minute news we had no idea that tensions were rising in Yugoslavia. We got to the border at 1am the  Magic Bus was boarded by soldiers armed with machine guns. They marched down the aisle demanding passports and money and out of the window I remember seeing  tanks lined up as far as the eye could see. It was at this time Lance got up and came to sit next to me and asked if I was ok. After some time and some money (and the off loading of the booze), our passports were returned and the bus was permitted to leave. The furious bus drivers changed the route, we veered off into Bulgaria. It was only later we learned of the terrible atrocities occurring what is now Bosnia at that moment – terrible times. We were lucky I think.

Hard to believe that was all so long ago. Now we are back to the beginning. Starting in Athens where it all began. Retracing those first holidays on the Greek islands. Rediscovering our sense of adventure and finding our feet in the next chapter of our lives as travelling nomads.