Settling into the Rhythm of Othonoi and a Visit to Faros and Chorio

I was looking forward to my meal at Antoni’s especially as I hadn’t had anything to eat since my arrival on Othonoi earlier that morning. Vasiliki had reluctantly agreed to provide me with something simple as it wasn’t worth firing up the cooker for just one person. I was happy to take anything she could offer. At 7pm prompt, I walked into the empty restaurant, a very stylish and modern affair with an open kitchen at the back. Once I’d caught Vasiliki’s attention she looked at me blankly as if she’d completely forgotten our arrangement. I attempted to ask if I could have something to eat but it came out half in Italian and half in Greek – “Posso mangiare kati ligo per favore?” Well, I was under pressure and the expression on her face was one of annoyance. Nonetheless, I hoped that she would take pity on me and I put on my “Please feed me I’m hungry face”.

She exhaled and shrugged her shoulders. “Insalata Greca, tzatziki?” “Si” I replied.”E un bicchiere di vino bianco per favore, grazie”. Hmmm, I knew that nightschool Italian would come in useful one day – a much easier language to pick up than Greek!

I took a table under the empty pergola by the beach and I didn’t have to wait too long before she brought out the food. It was simple but I was very appreciative. As I thanked her she touched me on the shoulder as if to apologise for her abruptness. Anyway, it was enough to ward off the hunger pangs and I enjoyed it with just the cats and a couple of off-duty soldiers enjoying a beer for company. It really does have that out-of-season feeling here. A state of semi-abandonment as hotel and taverna owners retreat back to their winter abodes. Yes, there are eating challenges to overcome but there is nothing like being in Greece on the cusp of the season – or to be fair beyond the cusp as it is now. It adds to the sense of adventure and the relative solitude is priceless. No people clutter to change the dynamic, it’s just the landscape and the remaining small population of the island.

After the meal, I went inside the restaurant to settle my bill. She ran it through the till and when I took out my phone to pay she said “No carta”. This simple meal had come to nearly 30€ which was very expensive for what was basically two starters and a glass of wine. I duly paid in cash. OK, so here is another challenge. With no way of getting any additional cash here, the several hundred euros I’d arrived on the Diapontians with would soon disappear. Let’s see what tomorrow brings. I tell her “Domani alle sette” by way of booking a meal for tomorrow.

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The following morning I slept until around 0830 which is unusually late for me. What luxury not to have to get up for an excursion or an early boat or a bus or a plane!

When I eventually made it downstairs Tonia was at the reception desk. It seems that I’m one of only a few guests staying at the hotel but she and her family live on the premises so it doesn’t feel isolated. I mentioned that I’d noticed most of the properties in Ammos were modern and asked if there were any traditional properties on the island. I’d assumed that the villages had been established on high vantage points for protection against invaders but wondered how many of the traditional buildings remained.

She told me that the mountain villages more or less remained traditional in style, particularly in Chorio which I would see during my trip with Mr Pericles. She told me that there were settlements all over the island named after the families that lived there. Her surname is Kasimi and her village is Kasimatika. The family Mastoris live in the village of Mastoratika but there are exceptions such as Chorio and Dafni. The lower lands had been to grow produce. The land that the hotel was built on used to be their small holding for growing vegetables. Tonia’s family were one of those that went to the USA but after several years they decided to return home.

Tonia told me that if I looked closely I would see a rare traditional building in Ammos identified by bars at the windows. I did go out later and found it blending seamlessly amongst the modern buildings. As much as the new houses are neat and attractive, they don’t have the charisma of the old stone houses. I love an old wooden door with layers of peeling paint revealing a different colour for every generation that has lived there. Maybe the cookie-cutter style houses have to do with the American influence where ‘new’ is better or seen as a status symbol of having found wealth in the new world.

I honestly could have spent hours speaking with Tonia. I was thirsty to learn more about the island from a person whose familial ties were rooted in the place, but I left her in peace. Before I headed out, she told me that she would be able to confirm the visit to Faros and Chorio with Mr Pericles later today and the cost would be 35€.

Now to see if breakfast is possible. Just a little further along from Antoni’s restaurant and next door to the closed-up New York restaurant is Susy Minimarket run by a gentleman called Massimo and his lovely wife Susy. I’d spotted a blackboard on the street with a sandwich menu aimed at Yachties. Outside are several tables and chairs occupied by a couple of elderly gents drinking coffee, so it is also a bit of a cafe. When I went inside to see if they could provide me with something for breakfast, Massimo reeled off a list of options including yoghurt with honey and fruit and also anything that I could see in the shop. This was perfect. I ordered yoghurt and fruit, a pot of tea and also added a chocolate croissant from the shelves of the minimarket. It was all very reasonably priced and I was able to pay by card. I went on to have breakfast there almost every day and I enjoyed listening to the old chaps chatting with each other.

I’d noticed that they had an unusual dialect and at times I wasn’t sure whether they were speaking Greek or Italian. Massimo and Susy were Italian but they spoke Greek to their customers. I did ask Tonia later about this and she told me that Corfu and the Diapontians had a very specific dialect influenced by the 400 years of Venetian rule but the old men would be speaking Greek even though I heard them bid each other farewell with a “Ciao”. Over the several days that I had breakfast there, I became more convinced that they were actually speaking Italian. One moustachioed chap who used to wave as he passed on his moped spoke fluent Italian as he translated something to Susy for me. It seemed that both languages were interchangeable which in my case was an asset.

After that much-needed bit of sustenance, I walked over to the sandy Molos Beach to take in the view of the turquoise-green waters. It was breathtaking. At that point, I decided to have my first beach day of the trip more than two weeks after arriving in Greece. I placed my towel as close to the water’s edge as possible, and there I stayed for several hours.

The temperature was perfect hovering around the 26-degree mark but with a gentle breeze keeping the heat manageable. Considering that beyond the harbour arm there was nothing but open sea for 43 nautical miles until Italy, the water was warm. The beach shelved gently into the sea with small pebbles along the shoreline. I had to walk out quite far until the water reached above my knees. My eyes were constantly drawn up to Mount Imerovigli with its lush vegetation and Cyprus-covered landscape. At the end of the bay, and beyond the headland jutting out into the sea is the hidden Aspri Ammos and Calypso’s Cave accessible only by boat. You can almost imagine Odysseus sitting on the promontory, weeping for the loss of Penelope and his beloved Ithaca. There is a magic and a mystery about this place and think that I’ve already fallen under some kind of enchanted spell.

As I sat on the deserted beach, staring out to sea I had a couple of revelatory moments – an epiphany if you like. Just before I’d left for Greece my daughter who is a reluctant traveller due to her fear of flying, was about to set off on a rail trip to France and Northern Spain. She and her partner were in much need of a holiday and even more so in my daughter’s case, who had been working full-time whilst studying for a degree in environmental science. My one bit of advice to her was to shake off the stress of work at the doorstep and to get into relaxation mode as soon as possible. It seemed that I should have taken a bit of my own advice. I realised that after two and half weeks of being in Greece, not only was I still working but I’d been running around like a lunatic. During my stay in Gouvia, three out of my seven days were taken up with back-to-back 10-hour excursions and the other days were spent doing anything but relaxing. I’d felt myself become irritated at things that I’d normally let go and this would only be detrimental to me. I’d arrived in Greece exhausted and instead of trying to adjust to its slower pace of life, I tried to fight it. When faced with these little challenges, I’d forgotten to stop, grab some lemons and make lemonade.

I wallowed in the solitude of Molos Beach and let the calming waters soothe my stresses away. The salt of the sea also brought great relief to my mosquito-ravaged legs. A magic elixir with great healing powers for mind, body and soul. At that point, I realised that this little spoonful of medicine wasn’t enough. And just like that, I decided to stay longer. I turned my two day stay into five. Just one of the benefits of making my itinerary up as I go along. I just can’t bear the idea of a fully planned out itinerary.

I spent several hours beach combing, swimming, thinking, reflecting and listening to music. I picked a random playlist which Youtube Music had pulled together from my library. It selected tracks that I wouldn’t usually pick in isolation, but instead of skipping or rewinding, I let it play occasionally being surprised by what came next. Well if that isn’t a metaphor for the way I like to travel!

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyLeKqUFDXOWFIXhCtMxvT7UVtjKwTxIX&si=GBghtDIQKXuLnzz9

I also started listening to Stephen Fry’s audiobook Odyssey. It seemed fitting considering I was sitting so close to the place where Odysseus had been kept captive for seven years.

Later that afternoon, Tonia sent me a Whatsapp message to say that Mr Pericles would pick me up at the hotel at 6pm. I returned to the hotel to wash the sea and sand from my body and then sat on the balcony to let my hair dry ‘au naturel’ in the late afternoon sun.

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At 6pm I met Mr Pericles outside the Calypso and we headed off together in his silver utility truck. He took one of the roads leading up into the hills above the flatlands of Ammos. The first part of the journey took us past several modern villas with flower-filled gardens and substantial driveways. The road began to narrow and soon we were zigzagging up sharp hairpin bends. As we reached the far Northeast tip of the island, the asphalt road gave way to a gravel track with precipitous drops on one side. My vertigo began to kick in, and I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead. My disobedient and curious peepers took several side-eye glances partly for the captivating view and mostly because I can’t resist torturing myself with thoughts of plummeting off a cliff edge. Although I had a tingling in my coccyx preparing me for danger, Mr Pericles drove his truck with confidence and a seemingly good knowledge of every twist and turn along the way. It was with some relief that I saw the Faros come into view.

Tonia had told me later that Mr Pericles was the first person on the island to have a car. Most of the villages produced small amounts of olive oil and to be able to transport the olives to and from the few presses that existed was a big asset for the island.

Despite our language barriers Mr Pericles and I were able to communicate through odds words in a variety of different languages and lots of gesticulation. Mr Pericles pointed to the lighthouse, said “Paleo” then the word “German” followed by the hand movement and sound of a plane and then a representation of an explosion. Tonia told me later that the original faros dated back to Byzantine times and after it was bombed by the Germans, it was rebuilt as the lighthouse that stands today. I asked Mr Pericles if anyone stayed in the lighthouse and he responded by raising one finger – no not that finger – the index finger! A flapping hand movement over his shoulder followed by 3 raised fingers and a mixture of other words suggested that in the past there had been three men living in the lighthouse because it had to be operated manually or that in the past it entailed hard work. (or something like that).

The views over to Corfu and the Albanian mountains were quite spectacular. As the sun began to make its descent, it illuminated the sandstone escarpments along Corfu’s Northern coastline rendering them almost iridescent.

There was a low round structure which looked like a well. Mr Pericles said that it wasn’t and took me to the back of the lighthouse to show me the water collection system. “Rain” he said and pointed to a drain pipe which led down to a water collection tank underground.

As we admired the view again, I could see that this just wasn’t a tourist job for Mr Pericles. He too looked out at the landscape in awe, a sight he must have witnessed thousands of times during his long life. That in itself bears testimony to how special this island is.

Back in the truck we now head West over to Chorio. The 8km drive took about 20 minutes and we passed through the small village of Mastoratika – blink and you’d miss it. We passed a man covered in white overalls and some kind of protection on his face. At first, I thought he was a beekeeper but whatever he was doing he stopped to greet us. “Hey Perry” he called. Mr Pericles must have explained to the man that I was a visitor to the island because he welcomed me to Othonoi in very good English with a slight American twang.

We arrived at the entrance to Chorio and the car was parked under a cluster of trees. From here we walked up into the village along a narrow concrete path flanked by a stone wall and gnarled and spindly-looking olive trees. Now THIS is what I’m talking about! I feel like I’ve been transported back to another era. The Greece of old.

As soon as we enter the village, we are greeted by a gentleman who introduces himself as Cosmas. Mr Cosmas runs the taverna called To Steki Tou Mourouna. With incredible views like this, you can imagine why the villagers of the past (and present) preferred to live up in the hills. It wasn’t just about the views but a vantage point from where to spot potential attackers.

Mr Cosmas spoke perfect English with an American drawl. I commented on how peaceful it was up in Chorio. “Yes, and it would be even better if we threw away our mobile phones” as he glanced at mine in my hand. “Mmmm” I responded whilst having minor tremors are the thought of that. We chatted for a while but were conscious of the time dictated by the imminent setting of the sun. Mr Pericles and I continue walking up through Chorio.

Along the way, we passed what remained of an old olive press from back in the days when they were driven by mules. In fact, dotted throughout Chorio there are examples of discarded bits of old machinery which now serve as a living museum showing olive presses through the ages.

The paved road gradually takes us up through the village towards the Church of Agios Giorgios. Chorio evokes so many thoughts and emotions that don’t translate into words. It has the atmosphere of an ancient place and is a place that I would love to have lingered a little longer.

Once back at the car, Mr Pericles pointed to a path edged by a stone wall sprouting with fuchsia pink cyclamen and lime green ferns. We are now going to walk up to the sunset viewing point, a short climb that opens out onto a vertigo-inducing yet stunning sight. We are right at the top of the island with the birds of prey circling on the early evening thermals. A low wall and a rickety fence held together with a few nails are all that separates us and the precipitous drop below. I cautiously inch towards the edge desperately wanting to take in the view but that twitchy-bum sensation, a hyper-sensitive coccyx alerts me to the danger.

Down below is a small boat floating in the bay on a sea that is as flat as glass. Mr Pericles pointed to the silhouette of a low mountain range on the horizon. “Otranto. Italia.” he tells me. Sure enough, there it is seemingly close enough to touch.

Mr Pericles then becomes still and silent as the sun dipped below the horizon creating an image that looked very much like a Rothko. There was a niggling thought at the back of my head about whether Vasiliki would still be around to cook me something that evening. I kept glancing over at Mr Pericles to see if he would give any indication that he was ready to go but he continued watching the sky in front of us.

It took several minutes after the sun had dropped down below the horizon before the sunset performed its encore. Just like a living painting the colours in the sky deepened showing every colour in the rainbow from red through to indigo. I was transfixed and I kicked myself for putting thoughts of food before enjoying this magnificent show. For God’s sake, I’ve read the book The Present. Learning to live in the moment is a valuable lesson and one that I’d almost forgotten. Be more patient Stephanie. Be more Mr Pericles.

As dusk began to fall, Mr Pericles indicated that it was time to leave. He plucked at the sleeve of his shirt and said a word that I didn’t understand. He got out his phone and brought up a weather app and pointed to 87%. I knew then that he was talking about the humidity. I too could feel the dampness on my clothes.

We traced the narrow path back down through the darkness of the shadowy trees. There was a strong aroma of pine in the air. I inhaled the air and asked Mr Pericles “Pefki?” “No Pefki. Cypro”. “Only two Pefki Othonoi”. When we arrived back at the car he pointed out the only two pine trees. I wasn’t sure if these were the only two in Chorio or on the island but it’s clear that the landscape is predominantly covered with Cyprus.

After the drive back down to Ammos, Mr Pericles dropped me outside Antoni’s. I thanked him for his time the opportunity to see other parts of the island. Deep down I also wanted to thank him for reminding me of another of life’s lesson that I’d forgotten. Now to bear the wrath of Vasiliki.

I was surprised to see several other people eating in the taverna. A table of 4 has just finished a meal of fish and another couple were enjoying a drink. Vasiliki was at the back of the kitchen. I approached and wished her a Kalispera. No response. I say it again thinking that she hadn’t heard me. Again no response. She eventually turned around and before I had a chance to apply my Greco/Italian vocabulary, she spilled out a sentence in very fast Italian. The only word I was able to pick up is retardo. She is telling me that I am late. “Mi dispiace” I say. “Signor Pericles. Faros. Chorio. Sunset”. I say vaguely pointing at some random place in the ceiling. Vasiliki sighed impatiently and told me to sit down. As I made for the table she told me “Chicken Souvlaki solo”. “Si – e una insalata Greco e ouzo per pavore” I replied pushing my luck as far as I could.

I tell you what the souvlaki was very good. She’d also put a couple of zucchini fritters on the plate too. I was expecting a shot of ouzo but she brought over a small carafe from the barrel which I’d never be able to finish.

By now I was the last man standing and Vasiliki looked as though she was ready to close. I asked her to put the remaining Greek salad in a container to take with me. I lifted the bottle of ouzo to ask what I could do with it and she told me “Domani”. The bill came to 35€, the ouzo costing 15 of that. Again I felt that this was expensive. It wasn’t even Plomari! Anyway, I shelled out more of my remaining cash and at that point decided that tomorrow I’d need to make alternative arrangements to eat. Domani’s ouzo or not.