My boyfriend and I began playing tennis a couple of years back. After enduring 18 months of group lessons in our local park—many of which were cancelled or called off due to rain—we started dreaming of practicing in sunnier locales. A luxurious hotel with a swimming pool, yoga sessions, and delectable meals seemed ideal…
A brief search for tennis vacations quickly dashed that fantasy. Most options were at extravagant resorts and came with hefty price tags. Undeterred, I opted to organize a budget-friendly tennis getaway. I discovered an affordable aparthotel in Corfu. Although it appeared basic, it seemed perfectly adequate—spacious rooms, a swimming pool, lovely gardens, and, crucially, a tennis court. Plus, it was incredibly cheap for a March trip.
We soon understood the reason for the low price. The entire establishment was essentially a construction site. Upon our arrival, around 20 workers were operating diggers, demolishing walls, painting, and landscaping. The enticing pool featured in the photos was notably empty, filled instead with rubble. Furthermore, there were no other guests present.
After a challenging discussion with the reception staff and a resigned glance for alternative accommodations in the vicinity, we resolved to make the most of our situation. The first apartment they showed us was right in the middle of the construction chaos and had twin beds. A glance at my furious expression led to our relocation to a double room at the far end, complete with a terrace that overlooked a pond. The noise was manageable from this vantage point once we adjusted.
Moreover, our tennis coach was due to arrive for our inaugural lesson. He was exceptional, and we left feeling elated. With a lesson planned each day for four days, plus additional practice, we anticipated returning home as much improved players. We enjoyed dinner in town, caught some live music, and went to bed content.
The following morning, an awful odor greeted us. The builders had started a bonfire, and acrid smoke enveloped the area. To make matters worse, our coach—who had seemed perfectly healthy just 12 hours earlier—had cancelled due to a “fever.” He promised to return the next day, but we never heard from him again.
Determined to continue despite the smoke and the absence of our coach, we decided to practice on our own. Lacking his equipment, we resorted to borrowing the hotel’s: rackets with broken strings and balls that barely bounced. When the rain began, we called it quits.
After the weather improved slightly, we embarked on a day trip. I had researched thoroughly and was eager for a boat ride to a small forested island, ideal for walking, swimming, and picnicking. Unfortunately, in March, that was not an option. The jetty stood empty, and the booking office was boarded up. I paced along the dock in disbelief, scanning the horizon for boats that weren’t there, until my boyfriend urged me to be reasonable.
Next, I considered treating ourselves to a fancy lunch. I had read about a wonderful family-run establishment where the grandmother takes your preferences and serves a personalized meze feast. Naturally, it was closed in March. We found ourselves at a souvlaki shop instead.
My last remaining hope rested on yoga. I had located a nearby studio offering two classes during our stay. Fortunately, this turned out to be the one aspect of our trip that went smoothly. The owner was a fantastic and welcoming instructor, and we managed to follow along quite well, even though the lesson was conducted in Greek.
Another highlight was discovering a new beverage. It turns out Corfu is quite fond of kumquats. While sitting in a sunlit square, sipping our vibrant orange kumquat spritzes, it finally felt like a holiday. Admittedly, it wasn’t a tennis holiday, but it was still a holiday nonetheless.
