Mykonos, Greece — I thought I knew myself. At least, I thought I knew what kind of vacation I like — a topic that occupies an enormous chunk of my waking hours.
Point me toward the Uffizi or some other vast museum and I'll be happy for days. Hand me a ticket to a London West End theater or some tragic Italian opera and I'll think I'm in heaven.
My vacation philosophy until now? Give me a lively city and let me cram in as much culture as possible. I'm happy to let others soak up the scenery and show me their pictures later.
So why am I utterly content to be stretched out on Super Paradise Beach doing absolutely nothing?
