I never used to like Easter. The mercilessly slow, repetitive tolling of the church bells, the seemingly interminable gray, rainy days, the pungent aroma of incense incongruously mixed with the first scents of spring, all gave me a feeling of nausea and weighed down on my mood. Until… I experienced my first Easter on the island of Mykonos.
At 42 years young, Shirley Valentine had already taken a back-seat to life, watching the days drone by in the same, meaningless way. She would find herself talking to the kitchen wall, where the only semblance of a “life” seemed to resonate from a small poster hidden away on the inside of a cupboard; a simple Greek tourist office brochure tantalized Shirley. The background photograph of a whitewashed chapel topped by a humble cross glowing in the rays of the setting sun, surrounded by the vast turquoise sea, an image so typical of the islands of the Aegean Sea, seemed to call out to her.