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'Bella
Vista', says the taxi driver as he proudly indicates
the view of the bays nestling below the towering cliff
where the beach is busy with ant size figures.
We were on the tourist trail, trying to gather a taste
of the beautiful island of Corfu in one afternoon,
a taste to tempt me to spend more time exploring the
island another time. |
| Now,
five years on, my time is my own to stand and stare
at the fish darting below the surface of the turquoise
sea or to search for new places to eat that must have:
a sea view, not be crowded though with sufficient
people to indicate the food is good and where a leisurely
lunch of fresh salads or fish can be enjoyed with
a glass of wine |
| My
home for a week is the Akrotiri Hotel at Paleokastritsa.
A spacious traditional hotel perched on the rocks
with fabulous views across the bay. I wake in
the morning to the sound of the sea tumbling against
the rocks and watch the sun creep into view above
the mountains the other side of the bay. Apart
from a minor misunderstanding with the plumbing system
I was happy with my temporary home. |
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The
joy of just sitting on the beach or by the pool
for a week is short-lived, I feel duty bound to
explore the villages or walk in the hills.
The village of Lakones is perched high in the hills
above Paleokastritsa and at night the tiny string
of lights indicate the location of cottages and
tavernas. Each night I promise to explore
Lakones and on a warm summer's day equipped with
hat, water and a mobile phone I set out. (The
phone was for emergency use only, but I am not sure
who I thought would rescue me, anyway everyone else
seems happier if I carry a phone 'Just in case'
… of what I wonder!)
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| Turning
left outside the hotel I walk along the edge of the
busy winding coast road until I find a tiny sign beside
the Odysseus hotel indicating a path to Lakones.
The path takes me past tiny holiday cottages, as one
who finds travelling light virtually impossible I
wonder how the guests manage to manhandle their luggage
up the steep and narrow path to their front door.
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Pausing
on the steep path to look back towards the coast,
I can just see the monastery emerging from the
trees at the far end of Paleokastritsa.
Yesterday I visited the monastery where the cats
indulged the visitors as they (cats and tourists)
sheltered from the mid morning sun.
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The
path is wider now and runs beside trees laden with
green olives; these gnarled and knotted trees provide
welcome shelter from the sun for birds and beasts.
Essex walking legs are not accustomed to hiking
up goat tracks and hills so any excuse to pause
and appreciate the view is welcome.
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| Ahead
is a high cliff, it looks as though part of the hillside
has broken away and there is a steep hidden path between
the rock faces that I hope will lead to the village
and 'Bella Vista'. I am trying not to feel claustrophobic,
this is mind over matter, but I now understand how
some people (and I may be one of them) can feel as
if the two walls of rock are closing in on them.
I walk carefully concentrating on the next few moves
over the smooth rocky path. I decide to find
an alternative route down, as one trek through this
section is an experience I need not repeat.
Of
course, I soon emerge from the rocky walk onto a rough
cart track beside an olive grove. To go left
or right? this is supposed to be a week of relaxation,
away from decision-making. I turn left and stride
along the track thankful to be able to walk on an
easy flat surface, but I think I still need to climb
up to reach the village of Lakones and eventually
ask directions from two men in a field who eye me
with great suspicion - I wonder why! Having
walked with great enthusiasm my guides indicate that
I should retrace my steps and then head up a tiny
path to the village. Thankfully I find my way
through the olive grove, past tiny vegetable patches
of beans and tomatoes, behind some cottages and out
into brilliant sunshine and the village of Lakones.
Seated
on a hard chair outside a tiny café a cheerful
weather beaten local with sparkling eyes beckons me
forward; we exchange a few nods and smiles before
I decline his offer and turn right to explore the
village. Set high in the hills, this should be one
of the most tranquil streets on Corfu but the peace
is soon shattered by rattling coaches that are desperate
to keep to their schedules as they bring the next
group of holiday makers to see the magnificent views.
Peace returns and I head along the back streets where
a mobile shop displays a range of rugs and pots for
the scrutiny of the local ladies. The narrow
streets provide welcome shade as I find cottages with
white painted steps and pots of straggly geraniums
brilliant in the midday sun. |
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Having
rejected the first dark café I still need a
bite and a drink. Almost by accident I find
Tavern 'O Boulis' on the edge of the village close
to the small supermarket. The shaded entrance may
not look inspiring in my photo but do not be fooled;
inside, Spyros and Elena Michala are busy preparing
food. Beyond the bar is a very very narrow balcony
and magnificent views down the hillside to the sea.
I
am so lucky, there is a table free and the English
lady on the next table tells me she is a frequent
visitor and recommends most dishes. It may sound
safe and boring but I settle for a perfect Greek salad
(tasty ripe tomatoes, crumbling feta cheese and local
olives with lots of fresh bread. The food is
delicious, the atmosphere warm and friendly and I
leave determined to return, despite the unwelcome
attention of a gang of Greek wasps who wish to share
my fizzy drink (next time stick to wine and water).
The camera cannot truly reflect the panoramic view
across the hillside to the beautiful turquoise shimmery
sea.
What
goes up must come down and I am delighted to find
an alternative route down the slope, hopefully avoiding
the trek between the claustrophobic rocks.
Replenished,
I head down the track that runs behind the village houses
where a lone donkey is partly hidden behind a wall of
prickly pears - the cactus that seems to thrive on rocky
sites and produces tempting fruit that must be difficult
to gather. |
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Below
the village school the track stops beside the winding
road, not wishing to risk life and limb by jumping
into the bushes every time two coaches try to pass
I search for a donkey track. The track to the
right leads me past barking dogs with wagging tails
and along an even path reminiscent to the one I had
walked before. After a few minutes I had reached
the original path back down between the rock faces.
The shiny well-worn stones have seen many feet, tourists
and villagers, although I meet no more than half a
dozen walkers.
The
return route looks so different; I notice the nets
under the olive trees, the tiny herbs that survive
the last of the baking summer sun.
As
I emerge from the olive groves a mass of purple bougainvillea
smothers the entrance to a group of tiny houses.
The vivid colour is typical of Mediterranean flowers
that sometimes look out of place when grown in our
own temperate climate amongst flowers of a subtle
softer colour. At the foot of the hill the street
traders of Paleokastritsa offer a range of brilliant
coloured dresses and towels to tourists heading for
the peaceful harbour. |
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Between
the trees I get a glimpse of the hotel that sits
on some rocks overlooking two bays so that most
rooms have a spectacular sea view. A
short cut across the beach past the bar and the
cafes leads me back to the sun bed beside the pool
and a chance to stretch the toes.
After
dinner on the terrace I will watch the string of
lights on the hill top village and look forward
to a return visit next year.
Sally
Carpenter - from Walking with an Essex Girl
N.B.
Please be aware of your own safety; if walking alone
it is wise to leave a note or tell someone where you
are going. |
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