As You Set Out for Ithaka, Hope Your Road is a Long One…

This morning we leave Kefalonia for Ithaca (or Ithaka if you prefer!). With freshly baked bougatsas in hand, we take the side street next to Fatto a Mano bakery, which brings us directly to the harbour front. Waiting is the ferry Ionio Pelagos, engines thrumming and the faintest whiff of smoke from the funnel.

Habitually early, we’re one of the first people in the queue waiting for the nod to board. I use the word ‘queue’ loosely. It’s an illusory concept everywhere in the world except for us from the UK. Said nod was given, and we made our way up the ramp where our QR-coded tickets were scanned. Several vehicles were hot on our heels, revving their engines impatiently whilst we dumped our luggage to one side.

Up on the deck, we found seats in the warm morning sun, licked by a faint sea breeze. We tucked into our still-warm pastries, thick, vanilla-flavoured filling oozing between the sheets of filo, doused with powdered sugar and aromatic cinnamon. There’s nothing more heart-warming than a generous slice of bougatsa.

With minutes to go before departure, the ship’s deck became more populated. You’ve got to love the Greeks’ laissez-faire attitude towards time. I’d be in a state of deep anxiety if I didn’t arrive at the port with ample time to spare! A sports team in matching tracksuits sat in a group by the cafe whilst bantering amongst themselves. We tried to guess the sport. The logos and the writing on their sportswear didn’t provide us with any clues. Peter suggested football. I countered with beach volleyball. We’ll never know. Soon, we are on our way to Ithaca, which is so close that it feels almost in touching distance. From Sami, it could be mistaken for an extension of Kefalonia. The crossing will take just 30 minutes.

Ithaca. This small but mountainous island is steeped in mystery and intrigue. Said to be the home of Odysseus, the main protagonist in Homer’s epic poem, the mere mention of the name conjures up images of his perilous fight to return home. Fight is the operative word. After winning the Trojan War, Odysseus set out to return home to his wife, Penelope. It was a long and treacherous journey that took him 10 years. Along the way, he faced all manner of challenges from man-eating giants and Cyclopses to seductive sirens and, not least of all, Calypso, who held him captive in her cave for seven of those years.

Whenever I hear the name Ithaca, Kavafy’s poem of the same name comes to mind. Though it speaks of Odysseus and his long journey home, it is really about all of us — about life’s unexpected paths and the strength and knowledge we gather along the way. The older I get, the more this poem resonates with me. Like many travellers, I’ve never been in a rush to arrive. The most memorable journeys lie in the encounters, the delays and the detours. Lord knows that travel in Greece can sometimes throw us a curveball, whether it’s the adverse weather, cancelled ferries, or even a change of mind – another direction on a whim. These are the moments that should be embraced because they often lead to adventures.

Ithaka

By C. P. Cavafy
As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

Copyright Credit: C. P. Cavafy, "The City" from C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Translation Copyright © 1975, 1992 by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Reproduced with permission of Princeton University Press.
Source: C.P. Cavafy: Collected Poems (Princeton University Press, 1975)
Courtesy of the Poetry Foundation

It seemed that no sooner had we boarded than it was time to disembark. We arrived at the port of Piso Aetos, a lonesome-looking harbour seemingly in the middle of nowhere, nestled at the bottom of rolling hills covered in olive and Italian cypress.

Not many people were disembarking here, nor were there the hoards waiting to board. Piso Aetos is a deep-water harbour so the anchor didn’t get dropped. I was also told later during my stay that a power supply runs along the seabed from Kefalonia to Piso Aetos.

We knew that the port was quite isolated and 8km away from our accommodation in Vathy. Our host-to-be at Stavros Maroudas Apartments had recommended one particular taxi driver for the transfer, but at the time, she was on Kefalonia. She gave us the number for another who was available and was now waiting for us at the port. There were only a couple of cars waiting, so I was able to spot the one we needed right away – it had a sign with ‘Stephanie’ in the window. A portly gentleman, who was chatting with another, greeted us with a beaming smile, and off we set along the coastal road, passing through a lush, green landscape.

We reached a junction where the road split left to the north towards the village of Stavros and right to the east of the island. Our driver began to indicate left. I immediately realised there had been a miscommunication. He’d only picked up on the word ‘Stavros’ and not the rest of the accommodation details. I managed to yell “Vathy parakalo!” to the startled driver before he accelerated over the junction. He didn’t know the accommodation, so out came Google Maps and I guided him around the deep harbour of Vathy to our new abode.

Waiting for us was our host, Stavros. We’d arrived too early for check-in, but he took our luggage for safekeeping until our room was ready. Rather than hang around, we headed straight out onto the road surrounding the water. Instead of going in the direction of the main village, we went towards the mouth of the deep bay. We couldn’t see the open sea as it comes into Vathy at an angle. The bay is so deep that you have to walk a fair distance to get to it. The road took us past the Ithaca Sailing Club, where children of around 8 years of age had been dropped off for sailing lessons. They exude such confidence out on the water as if they were born to it.

Tall plane trees stood to attention on either side of the road like a guard of honour, providing some much-needed shade. At a bend in the road, the smell of wet varnish in the air led us to a small boatyard, a place where all manner of sailing vessels come to be repaired and beautified. Old boats with their many layers of peeling paint are like a magnet to me. Each colour is the result of a thought and an intention wrapped around a myriad of reasons why a particular colour was chosen in that moment.

After the boatyard was a small marina, where brightly coloured caiques bob and rock on the gentle waves. The road continued to twist and wind until a small islet sitting in the middle of the bay came into view. Lazaretto Island is also known as the Islet of the Saviour. This unassuming islet, no longer than 60 metres long, has an interesting past. A lazaretto, the name whose origin stems from Lazarus, the patron saint of lepers, is a quarantine station. The Venetians used this particular one from the mid-16th century. Sailors were quarantined here for 40 days before moving onto Vathy. In 1668, a small chapel, The Transfiguration of the Saviour, was built.

In 1817, during the British rule of the Ionians, the British built a prison on the island said to have held Greek revolutionaries. The Ionian earthquake of 1953 destroyed all but the chapel, which was left intact enough to be restored. It is now a much sought-after venue for weddings. Just 100 metres from the shore, it is possible to swim to – though probably not if it’s your wedding!

Continuing along, we reached Loutsa Beach, the closest beach to our apartment. Here, the pine-clad hills roll gently down to the shore, where the beach is predominantly sand with a wee bit of pebble. Tamarisk trees along the back of the beach provide a bit of shade. During the main season, this beach is organised with sunbeds and parasols – not now though.

Looking further out towards the mouth of the bay is yet another small islet called Skartsoumbonisi – this islet is prettier than interesting – nothing notable to report. The view from here is beautiful. Again, that sense of being encompassed by land is so comforting.

Something on Google Maps caught Peter’s eye. Not too far away, somewhere up the hill, were some Venetian cannons. Peter went off to explore whilst I made my way back to the marina, where I watched the children sailing their boats in the bay. Here my thoughts drifted to my own childhood.

I know I’ve probably rambled on about this before, but here goes anyway. I was born and lived in Dover during my formative years. Living within walking distance of the sea meant that sailing was an integral part of our childhood. My father had always built his own boats. Being a skilled engineer with a love of the sea, it was inevitable. My mum and her sisters had also had very strong connections to the sea, having master mariners in the bloodline. When my parents met, sailing and even competing and winning in the Folkestone Regatta were among their achievements. When we moved ‘up north,’ my father also brought his beloved catamaran crafted by his own hands. Nobody was more surprised than our new neighbours to see the ‘southerners’ had parked a boat in their front garden. Landlocked Cheshire restricted my father’s sailing passion, which became reserved for holidays in Abersoch.

Getting children out on the water at an early age builds on life skills. It warms my heart to see my youngest granddaughters out on the paddleboards and canoes during the summer months. We also head to Wales for such activities. Anyway, these moments of reflection are an opportunity to show gratitude for what we have, no matter how humble.

As Peter appeared around the corner, I received a text from Stavros that the room was ready. The apartment was set behind the small (and pink) St George’s Church. Stavros showed us around and told us that he lived in the apartment across the way. If we needed anything, we just needed to knock. This is great budget accommodation. Everything is immaculately clean with a kitchen that wants for nothing. An L-shaped balcony wraps around the 2 sides of the apartment – one providing views across the bay and the other to the rolling hills behind us. The mattresses were fairly comfortable, but when we’re lucky enough to get a memory foam mattress as we did on Kefalonia, it sets the bar for everything else to come.

So this is our humble abode for 5 nights. Ithaca is the place we plan to rest and relax and shake off the stresses and strains of life. We’ll see how that pans out!