Wandering Corfu, the Final Day

Oct 17

We didn't have much of an agenda for today other than to wander around -- the best kind of day! After breakfast, we went to the public market, thinking it would be a bustling Saturday, but things were pretty quiet. We saw fish and fruit, the usual. I bought some pastitsada spice, which was the only thing on my list to buy this trip. And I picked up some prickly pears, because the others had never tried them.

 

Quiet streets in the morning

Arrival at the public market

Kumquats, which Corfu is known for

Pomegranates

 

Olive wood products, for sale all over town

 

Market kitties. The cut ear means she's been spayed. Post kittens, I presume.

The market backs onto the outside of the town walls, built in stages over the Byzantine and Venetian periods

Wandering through town, we passed a sculpture commemorating the 2000 Jews of Corfu who perished in concentration camps in 1944. It seems there were no corners left untouched, anywhere.

 

We walked out to the Mykonos-style windmill we’d seen from the bus yesterday. People were swimming off the pier, and several old men were doing wall push ups and the like, as they probably do every day the weather is fine. 

Swimming off the pier

 

 

 

The Anemomylous Windmill, used to grind grain in the Venetian period.

For lunch we went to Naok Azur, another water-side restaurant recommended by a fellow boat-bike traveller, where we had Buddha Bowls and the like, such a refreshing change from most of our meals in this country. Below us, there were more swimmers, and a beach volleyball court.

Naok Azur for lunch

Tofu! Avocado! Greens! Quinoa! To say nothing of ambience....

We had our last gelato at the famous Papagiorgis gelateria. We watched a wedding party from our apartment window. We celebrated another happy hour with wine Carol had bought and the prickly pears from the market.

Mango!

 

  

Wedding Party behind, all dressed up. Tourists, not so much. The kids were pelting rice at the happy couple.

 

 

 

Happy Hour: wine, chocolate, prickly pears. little bottles of complimentary ouzo for later

 

Friends

We ate dinner at a cut-above restaurant (The Olive Tree) on Dimarchiou Square. White table cloths, fine wine list (we got the house white), complimentary appetizers. There were newly-weds with a huge duffel saying “Bride”  being carried by the groom. There was another group of women, six of them, young and ready to party. I had my last sea bass of the trip.

Surprise appetizers

Sea bass, roasted veg. These are the best Greek meals. The Greek food we get at home is kind of like Tex-Mex is to Mexican. 

The way home showed us the party city of Corfu. People fly here (often from the UK) for the weekend, and they fill the streets at little bar tables, sometimes eating, but mostly drinking. 

 

Back home, the square was emptied of the café crowd, but filling up with children playing. We saw this in Nafplio too -- the kids come out at night to play in the plazas. 

There are few to zero playgrounds, that we could see, anywhere

Scheduled to leave by cab at 6 am, Carol and I had our bags ready to go. The cab would pick us up right outside our door. This would not be possible later in the day with the street full of pedestrians, but I checked it out this morning and was happy to see the square full of delivery trucks.

No problem driving here in the morning

I am ready. This trip has been exactly long enough, four weeks from door-to-door. Tomorrow would mean an hour flight to Athens, a 2-hour layover, a 10-hour flight Athens-Toronto, another 2 and a half hour layover, then 5 hours to Vancouver. It will be too late to get home either by flight or by ferry, so we’ll spend another night in the Abercorn Hotel and catch the bus then the ferry to Pender in the morning. We’ll get home about noon, 36 hours after leaving the Corfu apartment.

While I’ve loved this trip, I find myself wondering if I ever want to travel again. I know that feeling will probably change, but for now I’m worn out, I think. Maybe it was the boat that pushed me over the edge. The thought of those flights certainly will put on the finishing touches. The comfort of home, and staying there without plans, is awfully appealing.

Will I travel again? Probably. I have so much travel gear, I have to use it, right? And I kept some cash in euros, because that’s so handy on arrival. But for now, home. Comfort. Family, friends. Making music. These are the things that matter. 


Next up will be info about costs, accommodations, and other details.

Back in Corfu Town

Friday Oct 16 

Having mostly packed up last night, we were off the boat at 9. There were the usual rounds of hugs, and my only disappointment was that I didn’t get to know the Seattle crew better, mainly because the ten of them stuck together. It’s okay, the folks from north Michigan became our buddies, Anne and Rob, and Marcie and Mike. I know there’ll be no further contact, and that’s okay too. It’s the nature of these trips to enjoy people’s company for a week and then move on. 

We four, the Canadians and the Scots, checked our bags into storage lockers for the day. It’s easy to find these (plentiful) places, thanks to Google, and this one was about half way between the boat and our apartment. It was fully automated: a sign gave an indication what size you’d need (in this case, one large locker held two people’s baggage), you punch in some codes and a deposit, and away you go. 

We ran into fellow Panagiotians in the streets, We went to the old fort and ran into more. We got some welcome restaurant recommendations from them, a good thing in a town teeming with touristy all-the-same eateries.

The fort was modestly interesting, mostly good for getting the blood flowing on the climb to see the view from the top. We passed a guide half way up telling her group this was as far as she would go. There’s a music academy in the fort, but I didn’t hear any music.

Arriving shortly after it opened, we had spaces of the fort to ourselves. Later, there would be long line-ups to get in.

In addition to being an historical site, there are administrative offices, a public library, and a music school. Looks like someone got new furniture.

View from part way up to the top of the fort. That cream-coloured building on the point is En Plo, where we will have lunch.

Note old stairs cut into the rock. This is not the route currently used.

Long shadows, 10 am. The season's growing old.

Look closely: cruise ship behind, ferries in the middle, and in front, between the two ferries, is our Panagiota. That's how tiny our ship is. (Click on the photo to get full resolution.)

Finally, a horse of a different colour! This was labelled a mortar. 

En Plo again, seen through the fort's moat.

Outside the fort, the Scots and Carol planned to take a hop-on-hop-off bus, to get the lay of the land. I dithered, not being much for this kind of thing, but in the end decided to go with them because I hadn’t seen much else to do in this little shopping town. For €20 ($36), we didn’t do any hopping off and didn’t see a lot more than pretty roads. We were given earbuds and listened mostly to “Land of Hope and Glory,” along with minimal info when we rode by a spot of interest. I wonder if “La Marseillaise” would have been playing had I chosen the French narration. I have to admit, though, that two things we saw -- a Mykonos-style windmill and a public market -- helped to shape our plans for the next day. And we cruised by the gardens of the palace where Prince Philip was born, does that count as interesting? Maybe.

Right, the Durrells lived here!

We had lunch at En Plo, right on the water, as recommended by my friend Heather, and it didn’t disappoint, except that they were out of pastitsada, a traditional Corfu dish consisting of rooster and pasta and a specially-spiced sauce.

I don't know why I took so many photos of this place. But note swimmers in front.

Finally, it was time to check into our apartment, the one above the acclaimed gelateria. We had a door code and a lock-box code. It seems hosts never meet their guests in these places. Inside the outer door there were cleaning supplies and a very worn spiral staircase which might have given us pause, but up one floor and into the apartment, we entered a fresh and well-appointed  space with three bedrooms and four beds, a sitting room, a big kitchen and a beautiful bathroom. After living in a cupboard for a week, this felt like a palace. We spent a good ten minutes wandering around in marvel. 

It's a palace!

My room!

Happy campers

The view from my window: Spiridona Square

Then we all took a looong rest. 

We had happy hour around our own table with a bottle of wine left for us by our host, then went for dinner at AgioLi, recommended by our Panagiota companions and a cut above most Corfiot restaurants. It was very special, but their pastitsada was made with beef, not my preference, so I had a kleftiko, another iconic dish, made of lamb shank slow cooked with vegetables, yum.

Amazing dinner place. Note t-shirts given to us by our guide. (Shh.)

Once home, we retreated into the luxury of our spacious rooms and our big, comfortable beds. Well, Carol and I did, but Frances and Gill, not being ones to pass up the chance to have fun, went out to party in this party of a town.

 

 

Parga to Arillas to Corfu

 Oct 15

We woke to a cool but sunny day. Our guides kindly delayed departure so that a group of us could walk up to Parga Castle. Besides ourselves, the only people in the streets were residents washing their balconies and stairs and the streets below their homes, even scrubbing their walls. I passed a working woman sweeping up the few bits of litter that had gathered in the night. Greece is really clean, and now I see why. 

The gang heading to the castle

When the road's not cobbled, it's painted to look cobbled

Parga climbs the natural amphitheatre of the harbour to the castle, and seems to spill down the hill on the other side to a long beach below. Up and up we walked. Funny how climbing hills feels so different on foot than on a bike. Being in shape for one doesn’t mean being in shape for the other. 

The Panagiota at the end of the pier, and the Captain Cook, an excursion boat, beside

Parga castle is similar to all the other castles we’ve visited this trip. It’s like local warlords of some seven hundred years ago would see a hill and think, “Oh, that hill needs a castle!” Then some invading hoard (like the Ottomans) would come along and wreck it, then another invading hoard (like the Venetians) would come along and rebuild it. Apparently the Venetians, ever the good merchants, sold this one back to the Ottomans, whereupon Ali Pasha made improvements like adding a hammam and quarters for his harem.

None of these improvements were apparent to my uneducated eye. There are broken down walls and tunnels that I hoped wouldn’t collapse at the moment I was walking through. There are canons lying around. There are always canons lying around. You’d think the iron would have been worth pilfering. 

. We all took the same photos through chinks in the walls.

The beach on the other side of the hill from the town

Back towards town, the tiny church on a tiny island, from above

Then we wandered back down through the freshly-scrubbed town to pick up our bikes for the last ride of this tour.

Women scrubbing

Last look at Parga

 

Lined up and ready to go

But first, a dance from Dimitris

As we rolled out of the bay, people were having breakfast in the many waterside restaurants. One man applauded us as we passed by, like we were La Tour de France Ancienne — old farts on e-bikes. Ludicrous as it might have been, it felt good anyhow.

Once again, we climbed and climbed and climbed. Not far from Parga, Gill’s battery quit functioning and she had to turn around to pick up a new bike from the boat (accompanied by Dimitris, who would never leave anyone on their own), which had already set sail and had to back up all the way to the dock. The really amazing part was that Gill caught up with us when we got to the next, you guessed it, castle. She’s a warrior! Dimitris caught up too, but he’s only twenty, a child, so of course he ought to have. 

Yes, another castle. We left the main hill to climb further  to see it, and I’m thinking, if we’re coming back the same way, maybe I should just wait here? But no, I’m out to prove something to myself I guess. So I chugged up with the rest of them, around hairpin turns on a narrow road, mostly thinking about the descent, how tricky it would be. 

This was the Castle of Anthousa, and despite my lack of anthousiasm in getting there (oh gawd, I’m so sorry for that!) it was a nice stop, and who should arrive there but the man who applauded us on the way out of Parga! He had ridden one of those tourist mini-trains, and how that thing got up the mountain is beyond me, but there it was, along with a handful of passengers. Knowing that such a vehicle was winding up a narrow mountain highway alleviated a lot of my concern about the likes of us cyclists holding up traffic. Drivers are very patient here. Anyhow, the gentleman couldn’t believe we’d ridden up here. Probably didn’t notice our bike batteries.

Anthousa Castle was built in 1814, therefore is much newer than Parga Castle, and in better shape. Still, I kept my fingers crossed going through the stone tunnels leading into the centre. Ali Pasha built this fortress to threaten Parga, which apparently was a final hold-out from the conquering Ottoman/Bulgarian.

After negotiating the predicted treachery of the narrow road down to the highway, the long slide downhill to our final destination was most welcome. This is the big advantage of making the climbs — as long as the road and the weather are good. This felt like a final reward for our week of intermittent torture. (I kid! I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything!)

We left the highway and slid into a green valley. We stopped at a shrine where a small miracle had once taken place, we were told. An icon of St. Athanasios allegedly disappeared from its church location and reappeared by an old olive tree. Twice. So a small church was built on the spot, and people come to the tree and place offerings in the hollow trunk in hopes of a cure for whatever ails them.

Frances does not need a cure

Offerings in the hollow trunk

 

The church at the shrine. I saw many small Orthodox churches looking just like this.

From the shrine, it was a 2-km ride to the shore, beautiful, empty, sandy Karavostasi Beach. There was a resort there, and we had refreshments poolside, waiting for the time the Panagiota would arrive in Arillas to pick us. Then we rode the last couple of kilometres to Arillas, the very last ride of the tour.

It was a perfect day for swimming, but no one was there.

The Seattle gang, a mix of doctors, nurses, and Microsoft techies

This is what I had envisioned for this trip: hanging out on a sunny deck. Today was the only day it happened.

We sailed a calm sea (!) back to Corfu, experienced a bit of culture shock as a handful of cruise ships came into view, and docked right at the old port in the centre of town, in sight of our ratty first-night hotel. 

Corfu's Old Fort

Cruise ships

The white building is our awful hotel from last week. The little building at sea level is En Plo, where we plan to have lunch in the next couple of days. Behind is the Old Fort.

Dimitris, a student of history, led us on a short walking tour of the town, but was abruptly stopped by a woman who stepped out of a church yard. We didn’t need to understand the language to know what was going on. Her lanyard indicated that she was an official guide, and she told Dimitris he was not allowed to deliver information to a group of people without a licence. There was nothing friendly about her demeanour. We walked away. 

The New Fort, Venetian. Note the winged lion of St. Mark

Priests

He took us to a gelateria and treated us all to gelato. That gelateria, which proclaims itself one of the best 100 in the world, is directly below the apartment we’ve rented for the next days in Corfu. We didn’t know that when we rented the place. Wahoo!!

Our last dinner was shipboard, another tired meal, I’m afraid, but followed by a rambunctious party and karaoke. “Sweet Caroline” was enough to start me shutting down. (This was the one tune our Moroccan guide played in the van on the Morocco tour, and sorry, I just don’t get it. Never could stand the tune, but people go crazy for it.) When my Apple watch told me for the third time that noise levels had exceeded 90 decibels, I sneaked out of there and settled into my gently rocking bed, but not until I bumped my head on the upper bunk for the 78th time.