Another excerpt from the long story about a bridge holiday. This one I also went to with Pat as my bridge partner and roommate.

Monday the rep was giving a drink and welcome for the groups that had arrived the day before, but we decided to miss it and walk into the nearby town. Our little area was called Lassie, and the main town was Agnostoli. We had been told it was about a 20 minute walk, which was nothing for us. Pat mentioned that she had had bad back problems a few weeks earlier, but the doctor had said that she was fit to go on the trip as long as she took it easy. We thought a 20 minute walk could hardly be considered strenuous.

The road to Agnostoli had no sidewalk and was narrow and rather rutted and dirty. Cars tended to drive fast and with lots of beeping for very little or no reason, so we soon found that walking along the main road was not very attractive.

However, we hadn't gone 5 minutes before we found an alternative route. We had no maps  with us, but since it said "Agnostoli via someplace else" we decided to take it. It was a lovely road - hardly any traffic. There was a couple walking in front of us, but nobody else around at all. We could look down over the quite beautiful coves along the waterfront.

We walked and walked and walked, and suddenly it seemed a very long 20 minutes. After about an hour, the couple in front had stopped and were conferring. There was a choice of roads, and we opted for the high road - thinking it was bound to be closer - and after awhile they joined in behind us this time. We walked and walked and walked some more but there was no evidence of a town anywhere.

Finally we found a sort of track down to the beach again, and decided that we would be better on the main road, as our road was obviously going nowhere but to holiday homes. But in crossing our path we picked up several pounds of heavy wet clay soil on our shoes, which took us ages to scrape off. The other couple opted for washing their shoes and feet in the sea. But we plodded on - thinking that to turn back at this stage would be a sure sign of defeat.

We encountered a little Italian man after awhile who asked if we'd seen the war memorial. We thought he was looking for it, and told him we certainly hadn't come across anything like that. But we explained we had no idea where we were or how far it was to where we were going. We obviously weren't lost because the road was well kept and there were lots of houses, so it was just a matter of getting to the end.

Eventually, we found Agostoli, but by that time we were too tired to care if it was pretty or busy or interesting or anything else. We had a very expensive cup of coffee and got a cab home.

 The cab was relatively cheap - 500 drachmas. We later found out that the bus was 100 each way, but at that stage we were just grateful for the long queue of every waiting and willing cab drivers. I was worried that he wouldn't understand where we were going and that he would overcharge us. Neurotic, paranoid, yes I know. But he turned out to be honest and quick.
 
I suppose it was about lunchtime when we got back. We packed up a few crackers and cheese bits and some fruit and headed down to the beach. That was our intention for the whole week - to explore in the morning, sunbathe all afternoon, and play bridge all night. The path to the sandy beach just by our hotel went from the swimming pool area. The sunbeds by the pool were all taken - Germans no doubt. Everything wrong is blamed on the Germans when you are on a holiday with English people. Perhaps they were more likely Italians but we blamed the Germans anyway. There was a steep rough but concrete path down to the beach, and then a narrow beach of maybe 25 feet along an area of perhaps 300 feet or so.

The area was marked off for swimming, and there were water sport things available, but nobody seemed to be waterbiking or going on a banana or anything like that. We sat down on the edge of the concrete bit separating the cafe and the beach and suddenly the loudspeaker started in very loud Greek pop music. We thought it had been sent to get rid of us, and we took the hint.

Instead of going towards the area where most people were laid out on towels or sunbeds, we went the opposite direction, past the boats, in a little completely empty area covered in moss and seaweed. It was very soft and we settled down quite comfortably for our sun soak. That was until Pat got bit. I think it was a wasp, and it bit her toe, which swelled like anything. She had to put on her anti insect cream - and tried to get out the stinger, but it was quite awhile before she was able to lie back and relax again.

One day we walked up the hill behind our car park and hotel. We were looking for a cave where St. Gerasamus had lived - and we think we found it with a church built over it. There were lovely views from the hills, and we walked back via the view over the town of Agnostolis. Another day we took a ferry to the neighbouring town of Lixouri. It was only a 20 minute ride, but we had mistimed getting there, and ended up wasting two hours in the town before hand - looking at the fruit market and the various shops on the water front. When we reached Lixouri we walked about a mile from the town and after several disappointingly dirty beaches found a relatively pleasant and clean one and settled down for an hours rest. We caught the 2.30 ferry back by the skin of our teeth, and again took a taxi from the town to the hotel.

On Thursday, I opted for a day long tour of the neighbouring island of Ithaca - home of Odysseus. (I have heard recently that they have a new theory about that.) Pat wasn't fond of long coach trips, especially ones that snaked up narrow and steep mountainsides, which this one certainly did, so she stayed back and did some shopping on her own. Most of our group was on the bus - and many of them had done an island tour on the Tuesday as well. The tour guide was a young English girl from Yorkshire, soon to be married to a Greek. The bus trip was about an hour - then the ferry boat which skirted around the lower half of Ithaca took 1 1/2 hours.

When we got there we shopped for an hour, then took the bus up the mountain side to the home of Odysseus and had a half hour there, before going on up to the top of the island, where' we had a short stop for pictures and to turn the bus around. When we arrived back at  the little town, we had a meal at a taverna - which was full of wasps and not terribly good food. Pauline complained to the tour guide who said nobody had ever complained before, and anyway there were only two tavernas - and two busses - so you had no choice.

Ithaca is a small island - only about 3000 people, and totally non-touristy. We went, we saw, we left. It was interesting to say I had been to the supposed home of Odysseus  but it wasn’t really an outstanding part of our holiday.

I wish I had read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin before I did my trip to Cephanlonia, as I am sure I would have seen it with very different eyes.