Picture this: I was living on a remote hotel on a far-off Greek island for a month. This sounds like *Mamma Mia*, but it’s not fiction. This island wasn’t Mykonos or Santorini, not one of the ones you’ll see in post-cards. It was visited mostly by Greeks–and the other Americans on the program that I, too, had signed up for.
This was the last week of the program. By then, everyone who was going to hook up with someone else already had, and I had *not*. Plus, I had a roommate, so was feeling very, uh, *unsatisfied,* in that I had no privacy.
I think all of those factors combined in me feeling much braver than usual. Braver to decide what I wanted, and then actually go after it. Usually, I waited for guys to approach me. Not that night.
It was a Friday, which meant the hotel’s restaurant was crowded enough that they had to hire some other locals to help out. One of them was this man, Giannis (which means John in Greek). He worked as a waiter, and later joined the band as a guitarist.