829 years too late: Jubal in Greece

[Jubal]

Glaurung; I'd happily point you to other stuff, but I've never tried travel writing before so I can't!

Penultimate entry; this was the day that the Olympians made themselves known, in as dramatic a fashion as possible...

Our third and final walk was south from Porto Karras, down a coastal path that led to a series of notably beautiful coves and beaches. The guide, and indeed most things, neglected to mention that Porto Karras is not a village but is in fact a giant private resort complex that stretches from a busy marina and three vast hotels back into privately owned vineyards and farmland. It was use for a major international summit a few years ago, and the legacy of security wire still remains; it cost us three euros each for entry for the day, paid at a toll booth that looked more suited to a major motorway than a side road in rural Sithonia.

The walk started at the southern end of the main resort and headed south to escape the beach cafés and whining pleasure boats, winding along a road long since closed to vehicles. The scented pine woods were a major biome in Sithonia that we had not yet encountered, but they were very worth the wait, strong smelling and basking in the sun. A lizard, bright green against the sandy path, scuttled across in front of us (we have seen surprisingly few lizards given the apparently optimal habitat, making the sight all the nicer). Butterflies occasionally flitted between the plants, and the cones on the floor showed evidence of squirrels, though they were too shy to present themselves.

The beaches were lovely. Their seclusion was sold almost aggressively, and large signs were erected to forbid swimming or inform people that this or that beach was invitation only. Anarchist symbols were graffitied over the signage in places, along with curses mostly written in English (again, showing all the more how pervasive the language is). Despite them being almost shrink-wrapped in this way, the strand lines were excellent for beachcombing and produced a good variety of shells, and many of the views were nonetheless idyllic.

We were four coves down when Zeus and Poseidon finally lost their temper with us weary travellers. The cloud rolled in, the sky opened; the anger of Zeus roads in thunder rolls and flashes of white rage across the sky, whilst the sea shuddered and moaned in response. We sheltered in a corrugated iron shelter and had a grim lunch, with an hour and a half spend glumly sitting and watching vicious gods duel whilst we shivered, cold and wet, below. At its worst, we could not see clearly across the cove for the rain, and only the seabirds still braved the weather,  even a grasshopper following us in under our iron refuge. Yet the storm ended as fast as it began; drenched and footsore, we trudged back, though the sun soon began to dry us off and the heady scent of the lines enveloped us once more.

This evening I wrote many postcards far too fast - I shall be shocked if I've managed to get through it without any misplaced addresses - and then we had our third and last meal at the taverna up in Porto Koufo. The care for customers was exceptionally impressive - they had learned our wine preferences already, and a final large spread of excellent Greek food unfolded, with gorgeous ginger kittens mewling for their share and even trying to butt onto the table on occasion. We were given a free bottle of house wine as a parting gift, shook hands with the waiters as we left , and returned to pack for the long journey home.

[Jubal]

Last short one!



We rose early, had breakfast, and then hit the road in a fortunately non-literal fashion. Car fully laden, we left the early sun to rise over the deep harbour of Porto Koufo, as an eagle owl called from the far side of the bay. We wound back up Sithonia, first through the rugged southern tip of the peninsula overlooking the fort at Toroni, and then through the pine woods of Porto Karras, and then on down into the rolling agricultural hills of Chalkidike. Back, too, past the eclectic developments along the motorway, and into a heavy belt of rain that enveloped Thessaloniki, splashing our way through deep puddles to reach the airport.

Trundling through check-ins soon commenced, and we were in the air not long afterwards, swooping up over the bay and past Thessaloniki's coast, able to appreciate how small the central part of the city we had stayed in was compared to the vast urban sprawl that has ballooned out along the coast. Cloudscapes obscured the view occasionally, ethereal sky-castles and mountains forming far above the real ones below, but still themselves far beneath us, alone in a blue sky. We passed the Adriatic coast to see small towns and villages curled up in their bays, contented cats in distant sunshine, and then on over Europe, over Hastings, over the Weald, to Gatwick.

England had changed whilst we were away; it was only nine days, but as we stopped at the vast seventeenth century manor of Audley End for tea, it was noticeable that the leaves were a little yellow at the edges, the raspberries were ripening, and overhead, flying in wide V formations, skeins of geese were beginning to fly overhead. We had returned to the start of Autumn, hot as it still was; and summer was far behind, somewhere in a bay by the Great Sea - and perhaps even there beginning to think of curling up for a rest.

[comrade_general]

hot

You don't know what hot is.

[Tom]

Very well written Jubal, it makes me want to visit Greece this summer.