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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. |
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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 |
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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 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.
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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 then 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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