“Vine leaves! We just want vine leaves!!”

Why do some tourists act differently in restaurants on holiday?

The other day I was at a beach cafe with my wife Life-Boss, when in the middle of a meal I popped to the loo. When I came back a man was sitting at my seat talking to Life-Boss who was clearly quite uncomfortable. The man, a tourist, asked me if I was sitting there and then obliged by sitting at the next seat along. It was kind of awkward at the table as Life-Boss and I just wanted to have a meal together and now had to make small talk with a drunk guy. Anyway, we managed to find a plausible exit, by moving to a table where there was less of a fan breeze. No problem, everyone was happy.

But it got me thinking: why do some people act differently in restaurants on holiday, adopting certain behaviours they wouldn’t do back home? Why is the standard lowered? There is at times a discernable lack of savoir vivre.

This took me back to a memory when I backpacked solo around the island of Crete in 2003. It’s what I call the Vine Leaves episode.

I’d landed in Xania at the end of the tourist season and had joined a cheap packaged deal which provided a flight and hotel for 7 days for £200. While the revellers smashed plates and drank ouzo, I packed a rucksack and got on to a bus to tour the island over the next week.

I hiked the spectacular Samaria Gorge, which is 16km long and at one point just 4 metres wide and 300 metres high. At the end of the gorge I rested on a beach by the Libyan Sea and took a boat to a seaside village called Loutro, only accessible by walking or by sea.

I checked in at a simple guesthouse and went to the restaurant which was empty, except for the owner, Stelios, who sat at a table smoking a cigarette. We got chatting and smoking over calamari and he said he loved his job and working in hospitality, but sometimes the tourists didn’t behave properly. “Would you back home come in to a restaurant without a shirt? Or drunk and loud? For some reason people think the rules are different when they come here.”

A few minutes later two hikers, a man and woman, both lean and bespectacled, ascended the steps to the restaurant wearing hiking boots and carrying poles.

“V-ayyyeeene leaves!” said the man.

“Pardon,” said Stelios.

“Vine leaves. We just want to eat vine leaves. How much for just vine leaves?

“Six euros.”

“No, we don’t want to sit at a table, we don’t want cutlery, or a tablecloth, we can just sit at these steps and eat vine leaves. How much for just vine leaves?”

Stelios said he didn’t offer that type of a service. The hikers looked at each other bamboozled and left as Stelios looked at them sternly.

I looked at Stelios. He exhaled a puff of smoke and raised his eyebrows briefly even more bamboozled and winked as if to say, I told you so.

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