Updated: Apr 28, 2020
She blew in from Santorini, like any gorgeous Air France flight attendant would. I too had just crossed the caldera, but it was my second trip to Ios and Sandrine’s first. I had seen her in the dark struggling with a broken suitcase as we disembarked the ferry, so I offered a hand. She didn’t know how to find her hotel so I invited her to come to mine, where the owner is a friend and I knew could point her in the right direction. Before he did, Sandrine and I made plans to meet for breakfast.
But the next morning I overslept and Sandrine had already bolted for the distant and stunning beach of Manganari. Breakfast switched to dinner. We got on instantly, but then some of my best friends are flight attendants—sky nomads, as I like to think of them, or the most contemporary kind of fairy. Like me Sandrine was a wild child at heart, zooming around the clouds in a world full of rules and defying them one takeoff at a time. Within two days we were inseparable.
The next afternoon she texted me with instructions to meet her at a beach club called Erego. I have seen nothing else like it: call it spaceship chic, with theatrically DJ-curated sunsets over the Aegean and design exuberance on such a grand scale that it would take a complete absence of alcohol for me to truly convey the vibe. I wouldn’t have had the chutzpah, maybe, to go on my own. Sandrine is the kind of woman who will call in the middle of night to say ‘honey, I am en route to Singapore—are you going to meet me?” And when I realize resistance is futile I just lean back a little, and blame it on Ios...
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