Slow ambles round Aitoliko’s crumbling houses and painted murals, quiet walks beside the mandraki, and accidentally interrupting a taverna lock-in, before a storm rolls in over the lagoon and the best spanakopita of the whole trip.
Aitoliko is just 14 kilometres from Messolonghi and a KTEL Aitoloakarnanias had a direct bus to get me there all at the cost of 2.20€. The coastal road from Messolonghi to Aitoliko took me past the Hellenic Saltworks and huge mountains of the stuff – far more industrialised than what I’d seen on Tourlida. Although…
Messolonghi carries an official title no other Greek city holds, Holy City, granted after the Exodus of 1826. Two days walking its streets turned up a flag ceremony with real weight behind it, the Garden of Heroes, an old hospital funded by a dead man’s bequest, and a railway that never quite made it back.
Arranging a boat trip on the Kleisova lagoon meant a morning of unanswered phone calls before it finally came together. Once on the water with Andreas and Giorgios, flamingos at dawn, ancient fish traps, an island tied to the Greek War of Independence, and a small coincidence involving a packet of salt.
Getting to Tourlida means three buses and a taxi, but once there it’s salt flats, traditional stilt houses, and a lagoon quiet enough to hear the birds before you see them. A look at Greece’s only Salt Museum, where to stay, eat and swim, and an early morning walk in search of flamingos.
Six nights in Nafpaktos meant time to properly test the restaurants, from a stand-out meal at Captain Cook to a disappointing one at Kouzina Loi, plus a room with a view at Pepo’s Guesthouse and the two very different beaches either side of the harbour.
Nafpaktos has answered to several names over the centuries, and its kastro shows why. A walk from Botsaris Tower to the Sideroporta and beyond uncovers Byzantine walls, Venetian bastions and Ottoman fountains, all stacked on top of each other.
Getting to Trizonia means a bus, a water taxi, and a fair bit of faith in Greek public transport connecting up. Once there, this tiny car-free island in the Corinthian Gulf turns out to be less about sightseeing and more about learning to stop.
A ferry sprint, an unexpected bus connection, and a return to Patras nine years after volunteering there with a refugee charity. Zakynthos to Patras isn’t glamorous, but it comes with forts, a windy crossing to Antirrio, and a sunset at Mare Mare worth chasing down.
