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| Korfu Fauna |
Time has passed, and I have been waylaid by the perils of attempting to publish the newest novel. Apologies all around. It is a case of life on life's terms. But regardless, i cannot leave us stranded in Korfu, as much as that is a pleasant thought. So, through the miracle of blog time travel, we find ourselves still on the Greek island of Korfu.
We boarded the bus for Kavos, with the intent of hiking on the southern tip of Korfu. Kavos is the last stop on the Green Line, the bus that serves most of the island. Kavos is also party-central for the mainly young, mostly British folks who holiday here.
Stepping off the bus was like stepping onto one of the party streets on Koh Lanta, or Phuket, in Thailand, except the signs were in English. Open-air bars lined the streets, shuttered and quiet against the late morning. Rental scooters and quads motored about, bearing dread-locked folks looking worse for the wear. There was no doubt, this was party town.
After a quick coffee, we turned our backs to the strip and walked out of town under the heat of a brilliant sun. We were heading for the trails on the southern tip of the island, a few kilometers past Kavos.
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| Fierce Flyer |
At the start, the hiking proved to be more of a game of dodge-the-quad. We were walking a narrow, rocky road, climbing the hills outside of town. Every few minutes, a rental quad sped past, heading for the secret beach. We knew the beach was secret because a very large sign, complete with arrow, proclaimed it to be so. I suppose the word has gotten out. We found a quieter trail an turned away. Once again, stepping off the beaten (and dusty) path brought the reward of a return to the quiet Greek countryside. We climbed through olive groves, glad for the shade and peace.
Korfu is a strange place. At first glance, it is a tourist enclave, an island overrun with folks seeking beach time and sunshine, sunsets and late-night cocktails. But wander up onto the rugged spine of the island, or the quieter west side, and Korfu is an island of rugged scenery and quiet villages. The southern town of Lefkimi, the ferry port for point south, offers a refuge from the bustle of Korfu town. To venture off the beaten path in Korfu requires only a small effort, and offers profound rewards.
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| Shining Eyes |
Reaping the rewards of the path less traveled, we climbed about on the hills that make up the southern tip of the island. The trail dipped down into a large open bowl of land. Nestled between the hills was a lovely little lake. Alarmed at our approach, frogs shot from the grassy banks, plopping into the water. Fish meandered through the shallows, and turtles surfaced and dove. A bright magenta damselfly decided to ham it up for me, striking a brilliant pose.
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| Korfu Idyll |
Sweating through our clothes, we whiled away the afternoon until it was time to catch the bus back up the coast. There was grilled octopus for dinner, and cigars on our perfect balcony. We watched the planes descending to the Corfu Town airport, bringing in the next loads of tourists. On the morrow we would be taking the ferry back to the Greek Mainland.
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| Ferry and the Albanian Hills |
It was another hot day in Corfu Town. The piles of rubbish were still stacked around every dumpster. We retraced our steps from San Marcos square to the New Port, there to await our ferry to Igoumenitsa. The sun was shining on the water as the fortifications of the old city slid away. The brown hills of the Albanian coast stood sentinel against the blue sky and the still bluer sea. I think I could ride the ferry back and forth, back and forth, and be happy. I do so love to travel by boat; the slow, stately progress, the thrumming of the engines, the sea birds diving across the wake.
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| Igoumenitsa at the Gloaming |
Uncertainty about the possibility of ongoing buses left us in Igoumenitsa for the night, with hopes of a journey into the mountains the following day. We would travel back to Ioannina and attempt to catch the mysterious bus up into the small villages of Zagori. All that I could learn of the bus schedule to these remote villages was culled from reports on the internet. At the bus station, the man behind the glass sold us tickets to Ioannina, but could tell us nothing of any way to get north from there. It was the usual shrug-shrug, lift-of-the-hands: "A bus, yes, we have heard of such an invention. Possibly one goes to Zagori, but, shrug-shrug, I have no knowledge of such a thing."
Such is the way of it, venturing off the main routes. I don't believe the man-behind-the-glass meant to be unhelpful, though it certainly felt that way. The local folks we met were, as a rule, extremely friendly and helpful. It was not unlike India, where the the folks least likely to be friendly or helpful were, for the most part, wearing uniforms, and sitting at a counter behind a glass partition. So it goes.
So it was a hot and sweaty walk to find digs for the night, a cool shower to wash the day away, and a sunset evening in which to explore this small port town. But that is the stuff of the next post.
From the west coast of Greece, be kind, travel well, travel often, and Ciao for Now!
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| Marco |
Marco Etheridge is the author of two published novels, The Best Dark Rain, and Blood Rust Chains.
His third novel, a romantic thriller set in Vienna and other exotic locales, is pending publication. For more on Marco's work, go to his website at:
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