Waiting for Jonno - A Single Girl in Rhodes

I had met John in a night club in Ayia Napa. He was a gorgeous River Phoenix lookalike with a fabulous barnet of wild spiky blonde hair. Technically I shouldn't have been meeting anyone out there. Technically I was already there with a boyfriend. Except technically he wasn't a boyfriend. He was a psychopathically jealous obsessive cleaner with a wind problem who I had met in London, had a whirlwind romance with and decided to visit in Cyprus.

As Julia would say “Big mistake. Huge.” After three days of staying with the wind machine I decided enough was enough and left. I moved into the appartment opposite the River Phoenix lookalike and that was that. For the next five days I had the holiday I had wanted when I came out. We went to the beach, cooked together, sang off key karaoke in run down bars and generally had a fabulous time.

Back home I received lovely letters affirming me of his devotion and we talked on the phone constantly about meeting up in Rhodes. I bought my ticket and waited for John's next phone call confirming my hotel. I knew he was travelling through Jordan and the desert so I wasn't too worried when after five days I still hadn't heard from him.

After seven I was starting to feel a little apprehensive. After nine I was worried. Worried enough to call his mother and innocently enquire if she knew his travel agenda. She said that she hadn't heard from him either and when I spoke to him please could I tell him to ring her. On the one hand I was pleased he hadn't phoned her either, on the other I was worried he had been swept away by a sand storm and was lying in the middle of the Wadi Rum Desert or worse had met a dusky maiden and was keeing the other Bedouins awake with night-time antics.

In fact I still hadn't heard from John when I boarded my flight to Rhodes. He knew what day I was flying in so I figured he'd get my hotel contact details of his mother and meet me there. I trusted him. He had assured me of his devotion. I had no reason not to believe. Apart from the fact I'd really only known him for five days. But I glossed over that minor detail. I mean I'd spoken to his mother for goodness sake he had to be a decent bloke.

I can't remember anything about the flight over as I drank too many brandy and cokes to calm my nerves but I do remember re-applying lipgloss on landing as I secretly thought he'd surprise me at the airport. Except he didn't. No-one did. Apart from a flasher who I think safe to say surprised everyone. Nor were there any messages at my hotel reception.

Ok so I was feeling a little panicky by now but I remembered my mantra “out with suspicion, in with trust” and took deep breaths until the feeling grew worse and I had to go down to the bar for a gin and tonic. Being alone in a strange hotel in a strange town in a strange country is a strange thing. I had inadvertently managed to book myself into a family and couples resort instead of a more suitable backpacking hostel so was surrounded everywhere by flirty couples and frolicking children hyped to the max on Coca Cola. I ordered my drink and sat at the bar trying to look enigmatic and mysterious when that didn't work I tried nonchalant and cool.

After an hour I was down to wall and flower. Dinner was even worse. Everybody stared at me. Some even gaped. Why was I dining alone? I could see them trying to work it out. Had I been stood up? Was I a travel agent sussing out hotels? Was I a hussy on the prowl for a rich husband? Even worse their husband? I realise this might sound overly dramatic and paranoid. In London I wouldn't think twice about having a drink in a bar on my own or popping out on my tod for a bite but this was not a hotel for singletons as their continuous glances affirmed to me.

That night the receptionist asked when my guest would be joining me. I explained he was unavoidably detained in Jordan but please could she be sure to put his call through to me at whatever time of the night it was. She smiled sympathetically. I didn't want sympathy. I wanted another drink. Or three. But most of all I wanted John to turn up and banish all the nagging doubts that were plaguing me. He still hadn't arrived by the next morning. What to do?

I didn't want to stay in the hotel all day when there was a beach so tantalising close. So I casually informed the receptionist that I was going to the beach for the day and to kindly inform a Mr John Williams of my whereabouts on his arrival. So sure was I of his arrival that I even wore lipgloss and mascara (sadly not waterproof) to the beach so I could impress him with beach babe loveliness. One trashy novel later John still hadn't arrived. This was not good.

“He still not come” the receptionist informed me. I know I know. John still not come. I brushed off the comment with a dismissive wave of my hand that unfortunately seemed to turn into more of a royal wave through nerves. Faced with the prospect of dining alone again in the family restaurant I threw my toys out the pram and took myself off to the taverna over the road.

I would get to know this place well but for now it offered hassle free dining. One Moussaka and three glasses of wine later John still hadn't arrived. It was time to take action. It was time to phone John's Mum. Fortunately she had heard from him. Unfortunately he seemed to be temporarily detained in Tel Aviv waiting for a flight to Rhodes. “Never mind” she comforted me “He's got your details now so he'll give you a call any moment”. I tried and failed to sound comforted. Was John deliberately avoiding coming to see me in Greece?

Why hadn't he called me instead of his Mum? After Cyprus he had begged me to meet up with him in Greece. Surely he really wanted to still see me? Three hours later and no telephone call later I doubted it.

By the next morning hope was thin on the ground. I growled at the receptionist when she asked me re John's movements. All pretence was gone. I was being stood up. To make it doubly humiliating I was being stood up on a whole holiday as opposed to a trip to the Odeon. Survival reflexes kicked in. I was alone in a foreign country. Sod this for a game of cards I was going out but first of all I was getting a tan. A morning's tanning worth later I headed into Rhodes Old Town.

Rhodes is a peculiar tourist island. It seems to be divided into three main resorts. Main town Rhodes caters for the Scandinavians confirmed by the amount of Swedish and Danish restaurants, further down the coast Ixia is a primarily German resort, and Faliraki is predominantly English football fans. I wandered around the pretty vastly over-priced shops in the Old Town and got my portrait drawn by a ridiculously handsome Greek man.

Then I hit the bars. Luckily for me I love blonde men and as luck would have it the Swedish 2008 Olympic team were doing their training in Rhodes. And they were staying in my hotel (how had I missed such a plethora of Nordic loveliness?). I bonded. I had friends again. Hurrah. Life was good. I took a shine to one of the sprinters who in turn took a shine to me and helped me get over the humiliation that was John Williams. Only this time when the lovely sprinter asked me to come and visit him in Sweden I thought long and hard and then graciously declined.

P.S. – John did eventually turn up five days later. He had found love in a Bedouin tent in the desert. .But he was very sorry so that was Ok then. Last I heard the girl in question was in France awaiting his promised arrival. Apparently there was some sort of a delay in Italy.

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