A Particularly Good Friday

Spiros was empahtic. He even drew a line on the map.”Don’t go south. I like North East, plenty of places here you go. South – you go south, and you have no day.” If he had a floor to spit on, I’m sure he’d have done it.

Of course, we don’t need much more of an invitation than that. Across Spiros’s line we went. On reflection, his may actually have been sage advice, rather than that inbuilt antipathy all northerners seem to have for anyone born or living south of their lofty station. Think of Italians’ opinion of Puglians, or the American view which even formalized it in a line with a name. Wonder which way round New Zealand works – are the residents of South Island hardy and industrious, regarding their Northern neighbours as idle and indulgent? Anyway, we were going to find out.

In many ways, today’s drive sums up of many of the surprises, contradictions and delights of this compact island. Spiros’s view that a day traveling south was a day wasted is perhaps shaped by living here, because in reality total journey time north coast to southern tip is probably less than 4 hours on the main roads. Perhaps what he meant was the time spent in endless, snaking traffic jams trapped behind a tourist bus is time wasted, and he would be emphatically right. These roads were not designed for such behemoths, despite what their indisputably talented drivers may seek to achieve. In actual fact, we went quite far south relatively quickly, and it was only our perverse vacationers’ preference for the squiggly bits that stretched our round trip out to around that same 4 hours actual driving.

So, first destination, the main road down the spine of the island, and the hill town of Pelekas, from where we would cross to the east coast and visit some of the more traditional local villages. The road itself was a real treat, relatively flat and straight, and allowed me to try the ever-willing Fiat in fifth. Fairly thrums along, though at higher speeds there’s not a lot of traction, and it understeers determinedly through fast bends. Think go-cart with a roof.

However, our chosen road was a delight for other reasons. This is working Corfu, far away from the tourist traps. We passed a pharmacy, a bakery, a building supplies merchant, a tractor showroom, a plumbers yard, the garden center, several truck/farm workers vehicle garages, a stone cutter, a ceramics factory, and a short runway where several boys were flying their radio controlled helicopters. In short, everything you need to actually live and work on this island, as opposed to the bachanallian fortnight experienced by most.

Anyway, managed to navigate to Pelekas, and through Pelekas, though it turned out we didn’t need to. Our intended road was at the foot of the hill, in the other direction, at one of the weirdest junctions I have ever encountered. Four major roads approach this intersection, but there is no direction, sign, or control. It seems as if the road planners couldn’t agree, and so left the actual road blank. Who has right of way? The bravest. Got through, and then almost immediately took a detour, to the villages of Kamara (devastatingly pretty, tiny, and with a town square the size of your back garden), and Alepochori. Our ever-reliable map showed a through road looping back to the main route, so we pressed on, along one of these sinuous mountain ridgebacks through olives and mist. Having crossed through territory that may as well have been marked ‘here be dragons’, we came to Agii Deka. No road gets to there, but we did. Down a squiggly bit which is marked on the map, and rejoin the main road. Civilisation at last. Other cars. People. Traffic. Buses. Traffic jams…

We have reached Achilleon, apparently the summer residence of Kaiser Willhelm. Can’t tell you any more than that, because it was full of tourists and buses and nowhere to park. Today is the Friday before Easter, an official holiday in Greece, and so a day on which many local people do have time off to go and relax. It is also at least three weeks ahead of the generally acknowledged ‘start’ of the season, on May 1st. So if the chaos we encountered on the first holiday ahead of the official rush is anything to go by, Spiros’s advice was well intended indeed. What this place would be like in high summer, I shudder to think.