Paradise and lunch
George duly arrived, and off we went. Our destination turns out to be a sort of general store attached to the local petrol station, but the cheerful young man behind the counter is polite and friendly. We stocked up on essentials, sampled local olives and feta, bought expensive gin and cheap wine, some basic veg and essential tea bags, and suitably provisioned, headed for home. About halfway back, George stopped the car to talk to a driver going in the other direction. “This is Spiros, he give you car”. Spiros, it transpired, had come to the villa to deliver the very car he was driving, and found us out. So, it was arranged he would return in another half hour or so, and we would sort out the paperwork then. Several hours later, suitably breakfasted, we hear the sound of approaching wheels. Spiros returns.
He explained that the intervening time had been entirely spent on cleaning the car, which his son had been driving through the winter. On later, closer inspection, one has to wonder what the ‘before’ state was…
However, I went back down with Spiros to his office and car rental shop (roughly half way back to the petrol station supermarket), to do the bureaucratic bit and sign the paperwork. Handed over enough money to secure the use of something comfortable, entertaining and impressive. In return was given the keys to a Fiat Seicento, a car which redefines basic. And small. Though on later reflection, it is actually a very sound choice of car for the roads and terrain around which we will be driving, can’t help feeling that its diminutive stature wasn’t matched by a diminutive rental…
Still, it seems willing, and is certainly capable of climbing the vertiginous roads commonplace in Paleo and surroundings. Our first afternoon’s meanderings took us up to several of the local villages. Doukades is a pretty little inland village, home of Elizabeth’s Taverna (which George the Taxi Driver describes as ‘very dodgy now, was good, but now…’ Instead, he recommends Thuka (directly opposite), apparently only a taverna for the past two seasons. Will sample it later. We continued in a rough figure of eight, came almost back to Paleo but instead turned uphill to Lakones. This clings by its toenails to the edge of the bluff above Paleo, and is reached by the sort of road movie directors dream of. It writhes up the hill in a series of switchback hairpins, highly entertaining to look at but a tough task in our little buzzbox. Who needs power steering anyway…
To the top, through Lakones, and on to Makrades, described in our guides as a great place to buy local olive oil and wine. If only it was open…
However, we did get to the ruined Venetian fortress of Angelokastro, and mighty impressive it is too. Perched high on a promontory, it stares out to Italy in the distance, and would be terrifyingly difficult to attack. The sides drop clear away to the sea a thousand feet below, and the only access is a narrow, fortified path to the single entrance gate. We would have explored further, but due to some boring bit of EU bureaucracy concerning health and safety and the possibility of some careless tourist damaging themselves in the process of visiting a fragile, chaotic ruin that pre-dates health and safety legislation by, oh, at least several millennia, this, too, was closed.
By way of recompense, Makrades was now open instead. On opposing sides of the road stand an olive wood craft shop, and an olive oil and honey tourist trap. The woodcarvings were really rather good, with intricate, well-executed detail and sinuous forms carved into some truly sensuous wood – trees that have stood for three or more centuries offer a gloriously rich patina and depth of colour to their grain. The wood itself feels warm, silky, smooth. And though the animals represented are fairly predictable, I strongly suspect there is an olive-weed souvenir in my future…
Across the road is the oil stall. Here you can taste the fruits of these venerable trees, in extra-virgin oils typically Greek in their colour of deep amber gold. Helping to further loosen the tourists’ dollar were a series of local wines, to be sampled free of charge, and a liqueur distilled from kumquats called, imaginatively, Kum Quat. Kum Quat may be popular among the coach parties and thirsty backpackers, but to me it tasted disturbingly like the sorts of medicine more often administered to cure colds. Each to their own. The stallholder very graciously gave us a bottle of local ‘muskat’ wine to accompany our small purchase of oil, saying that we were her first of the season, so we left Makrades with fond memories and promises to return. Which we will honour, I’m sure.
He explained that the intervening time had been entirely spent on cleaning the car, which his son had been driving through the winter. On later, closer inspection, one has to wonder what the ‘before’ state was…
However, I went back down with Spiros to his office and car rental shop (roughly half way back to the petrol station supermarket), to do the bureaucratic bit and sign the paperwork. Handed over enough money to secure the use of something comfortable, entertaining and impressive. In return was given the keys to a Fiat Seicento, a car which redefines basic. And small. Though on later reflection, it is actually a very sound choice of car for the roads and terrain around which we will be driving, can’t help feeling that its diminutive stature wasn’t matched by a diminutive rental…
Still, it seems willing, and is certainly capable of climbing the vertiginous roads commonplace in Paleo and surroundings. Our first afternoon’s meanderings took us up to several of the local villages. Doukades is a pretty little inland village, home of Elizabeth’s Taverna (which George the Taxi Driver describes as ‘very dodgy now, was good, but now…’ Instead, he recommends Thuka (directly opposite), apparently only a taverna for the past two seasons. Will sample it later. We continued in a rough figure of eight, came almost back to Paleo but instead turned uphill to Lakones. This clings by its toenails to the edge of the bluff above Paleo, and is reached by the sort of road movie directors dream of. It writhes up the hill in a series of switchback hairpins, highly entertaining to look at but a tough task in our little buzzbox. Who needs power steering anyway…
To the top, through Lakones, and on to Makrades, described in our guides as a great place to buy local olive oil and wine. If only it was open…
However, we did get to the ruined Venetian fortress of Angelokastro, and mighty impressive it is too. Perched high on a promontory, it stares out to Italy in the distance, and would be terrifyingly difficult to attack. The sides drop clear away to the sea a thousand feet below, and the only access is a narrow, fortified path to the single entrance gate. We would have explored further, but due to some boring bit of EU bureaucracy concerning health and safety and the possibility of some careless tourist damaging themselves in the process of visiting a fragile, chaotic ruin that pre-dates health and safety legislation by, oh, at least several millennia, this, too, was closed.
By way of recompense, Makrades was now open instead. On opposing sides of the road stand an olive wood craft shop, and an olive oil and honey tourist trap. The woodcarvings were really rather good, with intricate, well-executed detail and sinuous forms carved into some truly sensuous wood – trees that have stood for three or more centuries offer a gloriously rich patina and depth of colour to their grain. The wood itself feels warm, silky, smooth. And though the animals represented are fairly predictable, I strongly suspect there is an olive-weed souvenir in my future…
Across the road is the oil stall. Here you can taste the fruits of these venerable trees, in extra-virgin oils typically Greek in their colour of deep amber gold. Helping to further loosen the tourists’ dollar were a series of local wines, to be sampled free of charge, and a liqueur distilled from kumquats called, imaginatively, Kum Quat. Kum Quat may be popular among the coach parties and thirsty backpackers, but to me it tasted disturbingly like the sorts of medicine more often administered to cure colds. Each to their own. The stallholder very graciously gave us a bottle of local ‘muskat’ wine to accompany our small purchase of oil, saying that we were her first of the season, so we left Makrades with fond memories and promises to return. Which we will honour, I’m sure.
posted by EyeOnDubai at 12:27 am
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