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To Kefalonia and back
There is a serious side to holidaying and a trip to the nearby island of Kefalonia, the largest in the Ionion group, was just one of those sides. We were awake and up to meet the bus before 8.30am and journeyed over steep, treacherous terrain to a little port town to await the arrival of a ferry, the Angelo. These ferries are part of the Greek shipping line which transports people, cars, livestock and even, in our case, two Hell’s Angel motorcyclists between the islands.
The terrain getting to the port is typical of this part of the world, the Ionian islands having been hit by a huge earthquake in 1953 which destroyed virtually all buildings and killed several thousand people. The resulting coastline is similar to that in Croatia, high-cliffed and rocky fault line plunging deep into the sea, but un like Croatia there are plenty of pebbled beaches and sandy bays. Everywhere the water is crystal clear and of the most stunning but ever-changing shades of aqua-marine imaginable.
The ferry journey to Kefalonia takes one hour and a half, at the other end a concrete slab acts as a dock among the rocks at Pessada and a single road intersecting the olive groves provides access to the few nearby towns. We learn that Kefalonia is something of a cultural oasis, with more university professors, poets and scholars emanating from these shores than from any other part of Greece, but first for us is a visit to the Drogarati caves near the town of Sami. We learned only afterwards that it takes 176 steps to descend the 95 metres down into these caves which are a magical floodlit paradise of stalagmites and stalactites. The main cave chamber is 65 metres by 45 and about 20 metres in height, and maintains a constant temperature of 18 degrees, something of a relief from the more than 30 degree outside. Apparently the acoustics are so good that occasional concerts and recordings are done in the cave (M, Farantouri and the soprano Irene Karayianni, whoever they may be), but with six tour buses all descending at once, we were not afforded the opportunity for an audio test. Time was of the essence. So while cave karaoke was not for us, the return 176 steps back up to civilization were unavoidable.
From these caves, it was on to the nearby attraction of Melissani, or the cave of the nymphs. This is a spring fed lake and cave 160 metres long and 40 metres wide formed deep in the centre of a hill at the base of what looks like a volcano crater. Entry is gained through a passage through the middle of the hill and we were intrigued at one tourist filming and voicing a running commentary of his descent into the lake itself. If he was enamoured enough to film a thirty metre, dark, featureless passageway, he would have been ecstatic by the sight of the lake and cave with its collection of 20,000 year old stalactites. Early excavation of the cave resulted in the discovery of the existence of a cult of the god Pan back in the 3rd and 4th centuries BC, giving rise to the nymph reference in the name.
With six tour buses on the road the day we were there, we were exhorted by the guide to sprint our way through these attractions to be first in and avoid any potential queuing, and like dutiful souls or sheep we did so. What this meant was that we had a one hour and a half lunch stop at the small town of Agia Efimia, at the tour company’s restaurant of choice, and then another one hour and a half at Argostoli, the capital city for a further refreshment break at another of the tour company’s restaurants of choice. Along the way we completely bypassed the town of Sami itself where the movie Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was produced and, instead of visiting the beautiful sands of Myrto where some of the spectacular beach scenes were filmed, we had what was described as a (long distance) photo opportunity from the road, high above the beach itself. Leisure time in Argostoli may have been alright in theory, but for the fact that the town was closed, completely, aside from one or two tourist shops. Because of the earthquake reconstruction, there is very little to look at in the way of architecture or historical buildings, and we saw no museums, so most of the time was spent at an internet café seeking respire from the hot sun. The breaks though did give the tour guides plenty of time to catch up with each other, smoke cigarettes and drink their complimentary coffees and coke, a sort of work-time siesta perhaps.