It started with a cocktail in the tranquil setting of Domes Miramare, in the heart of South Corfu, where the date palms tower above the bamboos that lead to the sand and the blue sea stretches away allowing us to imagine and dream.
‘A three week tour from Cape Town to Victoria Falls, passing through the Okavango Delta – sounds marvellous’ my friend Jan said
‘ it does ‘ I replied ‘ I’ve only been to Africa once – Kenya- 1985…’
(at that stage I had never heard of the Okavango Delta)
‘Would you be interested – really?’
‘Of course. Lets look more closely at the itinerary’
And that was it. Plans were made, Deposits sent, vaccinations booked. Then disaster. Jan had a fall, leaving everything undecided while she had physiotherapy As the weeks went passed, Jan made steady progress, but not enough to allow her to travel.
So I’m going on my own. In a group of twelve. I’ve packed already. I’m using things directly from my washbag. A real sign of excitement. The only way not to forget things.
It’s a 21 day trip, on a lorry. The safari vehicles used by the company look a lot like lorries. They are custom built to withstand the roads of Africa and have air con, fridges and cooking stove. Large windows to allow you to get a good view. I wonder how they decide who gets to sit by the window. Maybe it’s rotated.
My first leg of the journey is to get to Athens. From there I take a four hour plane ride to Doha, thence to Cape town on a nine hour forty five minute minute leg. Basically, we fly the whole length of Africa. What an enormous continent to say it takes almost half a day to fly over. That’s overnight tonight so I’ll be wearing my eye mask and hoping to get some sleep. It’s fun to think I won’t be driving a car for three weeks.
Our vehicle for the next three weeks.Weaver Bird’s nest
So follow along with me, and let me share my discoveries along the way. I’ll be finding out more about the bird who makes this nest and why and how if it’s not perfect, the female refuses to use it and the male must start again.
Me at 2am in Doha en route to Cape TownView from my room V and A City Lodge at Waterfront Cape Town
Caught up in the hurly burly storm of everyday life, people wonder what’s it like to step into a different reality – where the sun shines and you’re surrounded by water, magnificent greenery and in short Greece. Every year, friends come to visit to recharge their batteries and rekindle friendships.
This blog is dedicated to Dara and Roisin
The two Musketeers, Roisin and Dara, in Paxos
They arrived in August late at night while we ate pizza in Ipsos. Pale and overdressed, they soon relaxed over wine and pizza, as the Dutch waiter also relaxed and took off his shirt behind the counter. It added to the abandonment of the occasion – arrival in the middle of a holiday island, the season in full swing.
By the next day, they had acclimatised and we made plans to take Karolina, my 29 foot sailboat to Paxos for a few days.
We had a wild passage between Corfu and Paxos and we were too tired to get off the boat that night, preferring to stay on board and cook some pasta. Next morning saw us up and about, on the SUP board, swimming and moving the boat into prime party position, at the pier wall. We now had our stern or back of the boat leading directly onto the quay allowing us to get on and off easily. This didn’t prevent our most experienced crew member, Dara, from slipping off the SUP board we had put in between the boat and the quay wall. She was out in a jiffy , unhurt.
Dara’s idea of a fun day is cleaning and fixing things on a boat, so Roisin and I let her at it and did some serious clothes shopping. Roisin’s keen eye revealed to me how I could wear some clothes that had a truly Greek flavour. The town of Lakka was full of model like Italians, who walked around in glamourous whites and light blues, complimenting their tanned skin and incredible features. and that was only the men. Women and children were catwalk level. We just gaped as we ate dinner in the evening warmth.
Back to the boat for a more relaxing sleep. My comrades had spotted that I had a lot of stuff in my cabin at the rear of the boat. They had vowed to clear it out before they alowed me sleep. I was banished to the cockpit as they pulled out the incredible array of stuff – dinghy cover, SUP bag, old solar panels, seat for the dinghy, the list went couldn’t sleep – how did you even get into the cabin with all this around you?
When I eventually regained my cabin, I just laid back and fell into a deep sleep, but not before I had foraged a couple of cushions to make up for the lost stuff and soften the edges of my dreams.
Next morning, we were first at the fournos or bakery for Bougatsa – like mille feuille with loads of creme vanille and spinach pie with Ellinikos coffee.
Our journey home was easier – no big seas like on the journey down – we got to grips with the auto pilot and by the time we were approaching Ipsos, I was settled back on the prime seat at the back of the boat, watching the miles slip by and listening to hits from the 90s and feeling – so this is what its all about. It takes time to get really comfortable with a boat and having Dara with me gave me that extra insight into what my lovely Karolina could do. I have to admit to being challenged by the ownership of a boat and being tempted to sell it. Equally, I believe a boat is meant to challenge you and teach you something. Maybe perseverence and patience is my lesson. Things change and it takes time to learn . I’m so happy I stayed with it.
Our next excitement was an architectural one. Dara’s web of sailing friends had introduced us to a family in Paleokatrisa, who were related to the architect of the Municipal theatre in Corfu which is renowned for its ugliness, being a brutalist concrete heap, replacing an elegant charming edifice that was bombed by the Germans in WW11. Musketeer Roisin is an architect. As we sat in the enchanting Lucciola Gardens, a bottle of red open and delicious mezzes on the table, Dara attempted to subtly warn her not to get into any argy bargy over the Theatre when we visited the family next day. What followed was a stream of intellectualism that left me grabbing the side of the table with laughter. Apparently the architects after the second world war believed they were going to change the world with their vision. The buildings would be bare, but adorned with plants, so we would feel connected with nature. That wasn’t the funny part. It was how she went into raptures about the theatre which apparently, she appreciated as it reflected the walls of the fortress of Corfu, and if we hadn’t dragged her away, she could have explained this to us and that it was as if Corbusier went to South America and came back again and we need to take more notice of what’s around us and not always rush her away.
Still she was on her best behaviour next day and never once mentioned Corbusier or the theatre.
The week flew past, full of conversations and laughter. Three people you would never have put together found common interests and held out opinions and took care of feelings and gently advised for the best in a setting that would scarcely have been possibe had I not moved away from Ireland.
I struggled with my tears as I dropped them at the airport. Nothing compares to dear friends.
A day of touring out of season on the exquisite Island of Corfu.
The Island is one full of ex pats. Dutch, American, German, English and even a few Irish. The winter is the secret time when all year rounders come out to play. When the roads are clear of hire cars, when the beaches have no more sunbeds and the olive trees are laden with fruit, peace invades the land.
Where to Madam?
The mountains are still spectacular, the trees still mostly green and one in fifty tavernas are still open. We can put our noses out, like Moley in the Wind in the Willows after a winter of hibernation, and breathe clear, cool air once more.
In between the parties, christenings and the get togethers, my neighbour offers her car for a trip around the island. A Fiat Barchetta, no less, one of the few hand made cars, before robots took their place in the assembly line. A nhttp://fiat.barchettaeat roadster convertible.
My Greek boyfriend nearly faints at the thought, thinking back to the days when he drove one himself. I get a message early in the morning to say it has started, a minor miracle as it’s not taken out much and the battery gets run down.
We dash up and get hold of the key. My other half is struggling to get into it with the roof in place.
-How could I do this when I was forty? he groans.
We wrap up with woolly hats and jackets, figure out the roof procedure and the engine roars.
On our faces are plastered large smiles, as the air rushes past and the low slung car hugs the road. We feel like tourists.Once or twice the car refuses to start first time, but it always obliges in the end.
We chose the coast road, with the sea to our right, still and azure as ever it was on a calm summer’s day. We explore a couple of deserted resorts – picture perfect villages with their jetties empty, the tavenas deserted. When we drive all the way to the end of the pier and then slightly off it, on to more uneven ground, it is explained to me that Barchetta is the Italian word for a small boat, so it’s only normal to bring it as close to the water as possible. My panicked face breaks into a smile again and we retrace our steps up out of the village.
At Kanoni, Church of Vlacherna with Pontikonissi – Mouse Island in the background
Then along the north coast, stopping for a grill lunch of souvlaki and beer, then on again this time down the island through the mountain range where we see over to the west side and then slide down, down to the central plain and home. Hugging our neighbour in thanks for an exquisite day driving a true touring car that hugged the bends from sea level to 75 metres above in this concertina of an island.
Still high on the fresh air, we add a new phrase to our vocabulary – a Barchetta Day.
AH SURE AZURE 