We've had twenty days of unrelenting heat, day-time temperatures in the mid-thirties or more, even in the small hours only dropping by seven degrees or so. Our van is 'semi-winterised' in other words part double floor, with a high level of insulation in the walls, so it doesn't cool much at all and in hot weather the fridge doesn't work properly. It's great for winter travel in the south but terrible in a heat wave. The only activity that hasn't prompted an instant head to foot sweat has been going for a swim, nights have been humid and uncomfortable. A couple of broken night's sleep is manageable, a week or more is problematic.
Yesterday we moved, but only six kilometres from Camping to Kalami to the camperstop at Palataria. We needed to shop and the change of view was refreshing.
Whereas in Kalami you faced the mountains across the bay, here you are at the end of the bay looking west towards the open sea, the misty blue mountains of southern Corfu on the horizon.
Plataria itself is a pleasant small resort popular with the yachting fraternity. Most visitors are German.
We were relaxing after lunch when suddenly a blustery wind started to blow. To be expected usually, but today it felt wonderful after weeks of sultry breathless weather. The temperature did not drop much but the fresher feel made all the difference. It cleared the air, the evening light had a pleasing clarity. For the first time in weeks I got a good night's sleep.
Next morning another British van arrived. They had travelled through the Balkans, what we had planned to do originally before our insurers refused to cover us in Albania. They purchased temporary cover at the Albanian border but failed to do so in Montenegro. They simply risked it. Given their account of the crazy driving it's not something I would want to do, but then I do realise I am cautious by nature.
We headed towards Lefkada next. I'd forgotten how beautiful inland Greece is, the main road towards Parga followed an empty valley with rounded hills on each side, fruit farms on the valley floor, the slopes above a swathe of dark green forest.
We climbed over a small pass then snaked down the far side skirting the edge of Lake Kalidiki. Soon after we glimpsed the sea again, the road following the contours of the low hills behind the coast. The shore around Ammoudia is very swampy, a patchwork of small salt ponds. There is a campsite nearby, one to be avoided I think. The mossies must be intolerable, hellish even, these wetlands are formed by the estuary of the river Acheron, in Classical myth the area was regarded as one of the entry points into Hades.
The main road south brushed the outskirts of Preveza, then crossed the narrow entrance of the Ambracian Gulf via a road tunnel, or as the sign said an 'underwater crossing'. There is a small toll, in our case we counted as a large car rather than a small truck. The toll booth cashier hopped out of her kiosk and swung a hinged measuring stick over the van, then demanded €3.00. Next came Preveza airport, a rickety looking wire fence separates road from runway. Luckily there was no air traffic to add an extra dimension to the usual level of stress you suffer simply driving down a road in Greece. The town of Actium is next to the airport, an ordinary looking place which shares with Hastings and Waterloo accidental fame by being the geographical spot of an epoch changing battle.
Our thoughts were more mundane. Gill typed in the coordinates for Lefkada Lidl. In the absence of a Greek owned supermarket chain, like most people travelling by motorhome through Greece we rely on Lidl. Even so, they are not that common so whenever we near one we tend to find some pressing need to head there; usually we are not the only moho in the carpark.
In ancient times Lefkada was an isthmus, however the Corinthians excavated a narrow channel to speed up shipping. It's been an island ever since. A short swing bridge now connects it to the mainland. We went around the outskirts of Lefkada town, luckily Lidl was on the south side on the road to Nydri where we were heading anyway.
We bought enough groceries to keep us going for a week or so, then headed towards Camping Desemmi Beach, a few kilometres beyond the small port of Nydri. I was somewhat fraught by the time we arrived. Like a lot of places by the Mediterranean, what looks like a pristine coast on the map in reality can be a bit of a sprawl of seaside tat and holiday accommodation.
This was certainly the case between Lefkada and Nydri. The road was narrow with lots of side entrances, parked vehicles and people feeling relaxed in the hot afternoon sun. This prompted an outbreak of driving, scootering, cycling and walking about without any care and attention whatsoever. Hazards came flying towards me; it was like doing the driving test simulation on triple speed. All but one I spotted immediately, the exception was probably the closest I have ever been to being involved in a fatal accident.
Three things happened almost simultaneously, Gill squeaked, two guys racing each other on mountain bikes bombed out of the side street on the other side of the road straight into my path, I slammed on the brakes. The leading rider swerved to a halt and half fell off his bike just to my left. This was lucky because I would not have been able to stop nor have had time to take evasive action. It seemed a suicidal thing to do to ride straight into a major road in front of an oncoming vehicle. Maybe he thought he had caught Gill's attention and as the driver she would slow up, but it's a right-hand drive van, she was the passenger. The whole thing shook me up for an hour or two.
All this meant I was ill-prepared to deal with the next challenge even through it was not entirely unexpected. A few kilometres south of Nydri the satnav directed us down a side road to the left towards Desimi Beach. The road immediately became exactly the sort I had vowed I would never drive down again in Greece, a sunken lane with sharp bends, steep hills and overhanging olive trees with twigs, the problem is once you are committed there is nowhere to turn around. We met a couple of oncoming vehicles, both small cars, they squeezed past somehow.
This was not the challenge I had been anticipating. Desimi Beach lies at the end of a narrow inlet about 400m across. There are two campsites, one at each end of the beach with a couple of tavernas and a boat hire place in between. Desimi Beach Camping gets better reviews on-line than Beach Camping Santa Maura. This clearly infuriates the owner of the latter who positions himself on a moped halfway down the road to the beach. He zooms up, stopping arrivals by gesticulating wildly and shouting, "You want camping, come I take you best camping!" Our ploy worked, we smiled agreeably and nodded, then turned down the track to the rival site. The entire performance is well documented by previous victims on the Google Map reviews for the sites. However being forwarned does not make the low level aggro any less irritating.
Pulling into Desimi Beach we wondered if we had made the right choice, it looked a tad gloomy and ramshackle at first sight. The premium pitches with a sea view were all taken, it took three guys to help us manoeuvre into one of the few vacant places near reception. We only just squeezed in between the red metal poles supporting the bamboo sheets that shade each pitch.
We took a walk along the 3m wide pebbly strip of that formed the "beach', picking our way past scores of citizens from the Bundersrepublic working on their tans. Beyond them, turquoise blue sea, forested mountains, and on the horizon the smoke grey outline of one of the smaller Ionian islands. "It's a nice view," we agreed.
Momentarily I felt slightly awkward and self conscious, pale-skinned and English-looking in my prescription sunglasses and battered Panama hat. The road south has not been difficult, but not a breeze either. News from home is one high decibel blast concerning the Queen's funeral and Charles's accession. Here it is utterly unimportant, maybe that dissonance is spooking me slightly. Earlier in Lidl the muzac briefly channelled 'First Aid Kit' - Nashville via Stockholm, we loved their Glastonbury set. After weeks of Euro-pop or more recently jangling bouzoukis, First Aid Kit's neo-folksy close harmonies prompted a rare pang of homesickness. It seems I was not alone, a little later Gill confessed she had been thinking about Hurdlow car-park. That's a place on a local bike trail near Buxton. So far as dissonance is concerned - looking at this...
while thinking about this...
reveals what complicated creatures we are. Truly living in the present moment is a rare thing, more often than not we exist here there and everywhere, our minds a unique, unpredictable miscellany.
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