The olive grove cure.

For the past few days we have been parked in an olive grove. Camping Dionysus is about ten kilometres north of Corfu town on the road to Dassia, a small patch of green in a sprawl of over-development. Some of the trees are 400 years old, not truly ancient but certainly venerably gnarly.

Beyond this green oasis Corfu is manically busy, or at least the part of it accessible to us by motorhome. Given every other beach bar or tat stall seems to offer scooters and quad bikes to hire, then I don't think any spot on the island will be peaceful in the summer.

So we haven't got out and about much but simply relaxed in the shade of the awning , cooked outside on the Cadac and induction hob and lived like beach bums in want of a beach.

A few Christmases ago my daughter Sarah bought me Emily Wilson's then recently published translation of the Odyssey. I promised myself that I would keep it to read on our next trip to Greece never thinking that it would be almost four years before we were able to return. But here we are, the translation is a work of genius, written in a sassy iambic pentameter, using a language which is shockingly unscholarly and ashamedly contemporary, yet still manages captured the deeply strange, pre-classical world of petulant deities and misbehaving humans. I love it.

I am also loving our small patch of olive grove, I feel better than I have for months.

It's difficult to know why. As per doctor's instructions, now two weeks into the trip I have monitored my blood pressure over the past three days. The average - 137/84, more or less exactly the target he was after. It could be entirely down to biochemistry - the pills worked. I do feel a lot perkier though, having dialled down my alcohol consumption, adopted a more plant based diet, kept up the exercise regime the physiotherapist gave me, all these things must have contributed me feeling better. However, I do think the surroundings have played a part too, not just sitting under the trees, but the fact I've had the swimming pool to myself most afternoons, ten languid lengths each day under a deep blue sky, sinuous cypresses reflected in the wavy water, beautiful.

So, I am proposing a new approach to 'wellness' to join all the other weird and wonderful health fads we have. Find an olive grove, take a book, relax - the olive grove cure - it worked for me!

Otherwise circumstances have conspired to raise my blood pressure rather than lower it. Just stepping out of the site to explore the locality is hazardous, exiting the site a death defying business; the entrance is on a double bend, traffic screams around them, a constant stream on vans, trucks, buses, and most dangerous of all, scooters driven by tourists who have never been on one before but seem determined to demonstrate their fearless incompetence by driving towards you along the pot-holed strip of gravel purporting to be a pavement.

 

We took one walk to a nearby beach and had a coffee, but decided that strolling counted as an extreme sport hereabouts, it's the only place we've been where pedestrians are regarded as adrenaline junkies.

However, we needed a few groceries, the veg stall up the road is very traditional. We got the whole Greek hospitality cosplay when we went yesterday to buy some fruit and the herbs we needed for a carbonara. However the produce was expensive and the quality of the veg we bought in Lidl on our way here was actually better than the in the cute looking roadside stall. We did learn one thing though, using our ebikes is less dangerous than walking. Drivers acknowledged our existence in a way they didn't when walking. Maybe they simply regarded us as very slow scooters. One thing is certain no-one seems to cycle in Corfu, no sleek lycra weaving through the traffic here like you get in Italy.

Emboldened by the veg stall expedition we decided to ride a bit further to Dassia, all of three kilometres distant. It appeared to have a supermarket that actually sold ingredients rather than the ones nearby that dubbed themselves as such, but actually specialised in sunhats, micro-bikinis and gin.

It was well stocked, we got what we needed, but at a price. When we toured the Peloponnese back in the autumn of 2015 you could live on a shoestring budget and eat well. Not so now, basics like butter and milk are more expensive than in the UK. The 'Fage' brand Greek Yogurt was more expensive here than in our local Morrison's!

Our original plan was to stay a week or ten days on Corfu before catching the ferry to the mainland. Now we weren't so sure. Yesterday I booked the boat for next Monday giving us eight days on the island, at the time it seemed like a good compromise.

Anyway, despite the olive grove's allure we must venture beyond it; we caught the bus into Corfu town. It was packed, the driver was friendly enough, not so his colleague, who bellowed at us to hurry up as we picked our way across the rough ground beside the bus stop. I was furious, Gill needs to be wary when walking on uneven ground, time will tell if she needs a knee replacement, but in the meantime the priority is to avoid further injury.

It was a hot, crowded and uncomfortable ride, slow going too, Corfu town was one big traffic jam. We alighted on a main street opposite Marks and Spencers, 'one corner of a foreign field that is forever England,' I joked. The streets were even busier than the roads, the place was heaving.

Eventually we made our way to the old town. In the winter it is probably lovely, a typical Mediterranean garrison town, its Venetian heritage apparent in the graceful Italianate buildings that line the narrow streets. 

Today it was simply hellish, upper thirties with a real feel five degrees higher, blistering sun, streets, shops, restaurants, packed, queues at every ATM. 

We wandered about for half an hour then found a small bakery down a side street with a table outside. 

The chalk board outside the place made big claims about the authenticity of the products, they did look inviting. We had a spanakopita and chilled orange juice each. 

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The pie was very good. However as at the vegetable stall the other day, the whole venerable Greek welcome bit, complete with older woman dressed in black doing the 'hello lovely lady' speech came over more as a well rehearsed sales pitch than some profound expression of traditional hospitality. We had a couple of pastries afterwards, the squidgy cinnamon flavoured bun tasted very Levantine, the chocolate concoction resembled a cannoli, but with a chocolate not a ricotta filling. "Tastes like Nutella to me," I remarked. The bill, €27... not exactly a rip-off, but more than we intended to spend.

We decided the heat and the crowds were too much and we headed for the bus. Back at the van I worked out how to change our tickets using the Kekyra Ferries app. Tomorrow we will travel to the mainland. I don't think it will be any cooler but I am hoping it's less crowded.