The first of the season’s walks with the intrepid Hilary Paipeti, author of the Corfu Trail, kicked off today along the Ropa Valley, starting from the Dizi Bar where we met for coffee.
We wound our way in to the back of the Theotoky Estate, admiring the vines and olive trees, so beautifully tended. At this time of year, the olives are not yet ripe, but the grape harvest is in full swing.
At every step is a flower you never noticed before, wild mint or aniseed flavouring the air or a lizard disappearing into the undergrowth. The Walnut and Quince trees are laden this year, with Persimmon still too green to pick.
It was a warm day with a balmy breeze, the ground dry and easy to traverse. Conversations flowed as old aquaintances were rekindled and new ones made. About half the group repaired to Nafsika restaurant for a lazy lunch on the verandah, watching the waves roll on to the beach as a strong breeze started up. The sun shone with a brilliance on the undulating green/blue of the sea and the waves thundered in. Everyone left looking forward to next week’s walk from Sinarades. 10.30 meetup at the square, for an 11am start.
Visiting my friend in the country before all this quarantine began, I took myself off to a midland Forest for an extended walk -( extended because I couldn’t find my way back to my car). My mind was searching for nature and fresh air. What used to be called a walk in the woods is now known as ‘Forest bathing’ becasue of the infusion of fresh air from the oxygen released from the trees.
It made me remember that swimming in the sea is now called ‘Nature Bathing’ or ‘Wild Swimming’ or something. While my mother made sure I learned to swim in a pool, she refused all her life to immerse herself in water that had chlorine in it. Taking the plunge in the sea was a regular thing for us and the best way to ‘get down ‘ in the icy water was debated hotly (forgive the pun) within the family.
Halfway through my walk, I felt the ‘call of nature’ – what would we do without euphemisms? , and it made me think how strange it was that noone had given the obeying of that call ‘en plein air’ a gritty, hipster title. ‘Wild Peeing’ comes to mind. Surely the freeing experience of hunkering down among the vegetation and making sure the flow does not go downhill and wet your feet deserves some lofty title., some daredevil, living on the edge descriptive catchphrase?
The phrase ‘ Keep Nicks’ was a well worn in our house among the females. The person with that job had to warn the person peeing that someone was coming and to hurry up. Why is it that such jolly traditions and activities have not been romanticised into a desirable, coming of age experience?
In days gone by, the back field outside a pub was the Lavatory or ‘Wild Peeiing’ location and as a gesture to the rare female who was allowed a glass of lemonade, the location was ‘Where the nettles were cut down’ as a gallant and gentlemanly gesture to the needs of female anatomies.
I digress. I want to share with you what I saw as well as what I thought about on my lengthy perambulation that day. For the moment, think Fallen Branches, Beech seeds with lofty ambitions and three separate encounters with dogs, each encounter as diverse as the dogs themselves. These adventures, as well as the chat I had with a horse or ‘Equine Interaction’ in modern speak will be developed and laid out in my next blog.
Until then, we all will be no more than 2km from a lavatory so I expect no immediate break through in the eulogising of ‘ Wild Peeing’.
Its that few days between Christmas and the New Year when life slows down and you slip into a nether world of not knowing what day it is. I’ve been to Long Island before, about a mile long, only 5 people living there now but once it had three hundred and a school and that before engines and cars and phones. John, our charming neighbour has a twenty foot punt with a seagull engine at the back. He’ll take us over. Not today as the tide is low and the boat is way up the strand. Tomorrow – yes fine – 11 is good – see you at the pier.
Don’t Pay the Ferryman!
We board after Zoe the labrador across a mirror like sound, John’s voice weaving stories above the drone of the engine. We are left at the Easternway pier, three hours to kill. We make it to the milk bottle point through mud and over walls. Its New Years Day and we can’t quite believe that its 12 degrees and there are heron rising and cormorants launching into the surf off the black black rocks.
Fishing takes patience and stillness
We make our way back to the pier and strike west for the other end. We stop outside a house to photograph a fish crafted out of stone. The dog of the house inspects us and finding we are okay, he leads off ahead of us. The deserted, lonesome, winding road is flanked by low walls full of the colour of lichen and white stones and grey shades and shapes etched by the changing weather, the dog’s rear end trotting gleefully ahead of us . He leads us straight down to a beach where he waits for a stick to be thrown, communicating this to us so quickly and effectively that we are in his thrall immediately. He has a tendency to growl in the midst of his play and he is highly protective and alert to dogs that attempt to come down on the beach at the same time as us. This is no domesticated mutt that needs his poo picked up by his owner. He is all dog and nature and instinct unleashed on the world.
The sun comes out and the odd neighbour – they are all odd here- remarks how remarkable it is for a new years day and its a good thing we didn’t try to come out tomorrow as its to rain. We rendevous at the pier and have a wait for our ferryman. I sit on the ground relishing the last moments of our island escape. The dog – Kerry – nuzzles my hand, hungry for affection and leans against me. The wild nature craves the loving touch same as the rest of us.
John arrives at the pier in an ancient renault 5 with Billy, one of the 5 residents. He will get his daily dozen by walking back to the western end.
As we round the pier Kerry frantically runs down the steps, looking like he will jump in after us. Then he stands and barks until we are out of hearing.
AH SURE AZURE 