Crete, Ibiza & A Mildly Dramatic Career Plot Twist

Oct 5, 2016
4 min read

Updated: 4 days ago

I know it’s been five months. I also know that’s… not ideal. But in my defence, a lot has been happening.

And by a lot, I mean a steady stream of very fun, slightly chaotic, and occasionally questionable life choices.

So — catch-up time.

Crete: Heat, Road Trips & Questionable Air Con Decisions.

First up: Crete.

Josh and I had been talking about going for ages — it’s relatively cheap, reliably sunny in August (read: aggressively hot), and within a four-hour flight. I still haven’t made it to mainland Greece, but I did Corfu on Contiki back in 2013 and loved it, so this felt long overdue.

After a brief but important debate about renting a car versus a scooter, we very sensibly chose a budget car — largely because neither of us had ever ridden a scooter and we both quite like being alive.

We stayed in a lovely little hotel in Rethimno — fairly central on the island and full old-fort-town energy. Lots of wandering around the old town, exploring battlements, and stopping at seaside restaurants where I, naturally, tried to befriend every dog within a 10-metre radius.

We did a few roadies, including Elafonissi and Balos.

Now — Elafonissi. I will not be recommending this. Overcrowded, weirdly concrete-like sand, and extremely commercial. A no from me.

Balos, however? I will scream about Balos from the rooftops.

You park up on this huge plateau covered in orange bush and then hike down to the beach — very Cathedral Cove vibes in both distance and effort. You can also take a donkey, which is a decision I fully respect.

The beach itself is this massive shallow sandspit, so the water is basically bath temperature. Possibly too warm given it was 39 degrees, but at that point I was past caring.

If you’re driving around the island, there is some stunning scenery, and also loads of little taverns along the way doing local honey and olive tastings, which feels very wholesome and cultured — even if you’ve just been melting in a car with questionable air conditioning.

Speaking of air con — we absolutely abused ours. Several nights of blasting it on full just to cope with the heat, followed by waking up feeling like we’d slept inside a freezer.

Lesson learned: next August, maybe we aim for somewhere slightly less volcanic.

Ibiza: Financially Irresponsible but Spiritually Enlightening

September, on the other hand, was… something else.

BEEEEEETHA.

I’d been to Ibiza back in 2014 with a small group of girlfriends, but that trip leaned heavily into the “wellness” side of the island. This time? Eight days of clubbing, hangovers, and truly shocking financial decisions.

Highlights include:

€48 on two Red Bull vodkas (yes, really),
no free water anywhere unless it was boiling hot or salty,
€7 for a 250ml bottle of water (daylight robbery),
and a general disregard for my future bank balance.

I will be paying this trip off emotionally and financially for some time.

On the plus side, we stayed in a gorgeous villa in San Carocca and saw:

Craig David (Ibiza Rocks),
Chase & Status (Amnesia),
Tinie Tempah (Ushuaïa).

So, swings and roundabouts.

It’s also worth preparing yourself for Ibiza airport on the way home. The departure terminal looks like a disaster zone — people asleep on the floor, leaning against walls, barely conscious. And then there are the ones who’ve overindulged slightly too hard… falling asleep and then suddenly jolting awake like their nervous system has short-circuited.

Unsettling at first. Then you realise it’s happening everywhere. Including on your flight.

And just to really round things off — one of my friends tried to go for a wholesome recovery walk on Tooting Common after we got back, only to burst into tears at the sight of two beagles playing.

Completely broken dopamine system. We’ve all been there.

Ibiza — we’ll call it a truce for now. But I will be back.

Career Plot Twist: Leaving the Boiler Room.

On a slightly more serious note — I have a career update.

For anyone new here: I studied Real Estate, trained as a Project Manager, and then — after a few fairly tough early years in London working for some deeply uninspiring employers — decided to pivot into recruitment in May last year.

The idea? Lovely.

Meet candidates, understand what they want, match them with the right roles, guide them through the process. Thoughtful. Human. Slightly idealistic.

The reality?

Less “carefully curated matchmaking,” more “throw it at the wall and see what sticks.”

The expectation is to take a CV and send it out to as many companies as possible — no nuance, no real curation, just numbers.

So after about 18 months of what can only be described as a corporate boiler room (great film, by the way — Giovanni Ribisi, iconic), I decided it was time to get out.

Plot twist: I’d actually been recruiting for a company I really liked.

Great projects, strong culture, proper female representation, high D&I scores, and — crucially — an open bar on Thursdays.

After three solid days of dramatic internal back-and-forth (very “will she, won’t she”), I finally sent in my own CV.

A few interviews later… I got the job.

I start next week.

Now, leaving my recruitment role? Not smooth.

When I told my manager I was going — and asked (very reasonably) if I could leave early given I was largely commission-based (as others had done before me) — she refused. Until I told her exactly where I was going, because she was convinced it might be a competitor.

This is not a conversation you want to be having while coming down from Ibiza.

After a fair amount of back-and-forth (and her physically not letting me leave the room at one point until I explained myself), she eventually relented.

So I walked back into the bullpen, slightly sweaty, mildly frazzled, grabbed my things, and left.

That was two days ago.

And honestly? I feel incredible.

Possibly the Ibiza comedown wearing off. Possibly the relief of escaping.

Probably both.