Greece - a country of glittering jewels.
Away in the far distance we could see a pillow of white clouds nestling peacefully on the horizon. They did, it has to be said, look extremely snug, cosy, compact and, above all comfortable, perhaps settling in for the evening or just clinging tenaciously onto one of nature's most breathtaking mountain ranges. There is a great deal to recommend Greece as one of your potential holiday locations this summer.
We used to associate Greece with extensive plate smashing in lively restaurants, bottles of boozy retsina, harmonious dancers who look as they could quite possibly spend most of the evening strumming the balalaika and then demolishing another set of finest Greek crockery. But the national stereotypes seemed to have fallen by the wayside and in recent years the humble dinner plate is something to be cherished by our friendly Grecian hosts for whom the sheer expense of shelling out good money for new plates must have rankled with them over the years.
For the past week my wife and I have sampled the delights of Greece with little more in mind than a week of quiet relaxation, no ovens, no cooking, no sloshing dishwashers and none of that thunderous, rumbling noise that our dishwasher tends to make when it gets very excited. Then there's the washing machine that sounds as if, at any moment, it will simply take off to another planet.
Our destination was Kefalonia, a glorious little island surrounded by some of Greece's multitude of surrounding, twinkling islands. It is tucked neatly into a pocket of stunning terracotta brown roofed villas and fabulous looking houses that look remarkably like Oriental pagodas but without the rest of the building. For as far as the eye this is Kefalonia, an island of idyllic contentment, quiet seclusion and completely cut off from the madness and bedlam of the deeply historic capital city of Athens.
But here we were on the gorgeous and bejewelled isle of Kefalonia where very little seems to happen to disturb its sleepy tranquillity and the pace of life is equally as soporific. But then we were awoken to the kind of sound that should, by all rights, be confined to the early morning rather than the whole day. Now when was the last time a very throaty cockerel decided to make itself heard during the morning, lunchtime, afternoon and evening? Maybe it was pining for something or somebody and just felt like a hearty cry at the top of its voice. It was impossible to tell.
So this is the puzzle and the most curious of mysteries. Why on earth was what seemed like a confused cockerel allowed to announce its presence throughout the neighbourhood, cock- a doodling and bellowing out its message to the rest of Greece when, quite clearly, it should have been content with its daily, early morning stint rather than going to all that trouble of repeating itself over and over again?
But loud and proud the cockerel, now in its element, kept up its insistent chorus with perhaps occasional pauses for breath. The farmyard near us was in full resonant voice as the resident goats piped up with their very own bleating choirs. It was the most uplifting sound you could possibly have wished to hear on this most jaw droppingly beautiful corner of Greece.
Wherever you looked though there were the brooding mountains, commanding, almost symmetrically designed by Mother Nature, classically carved, a sight of mesmerising beauty, a sight that you could probably watch for ever because you simply can't take your eyes away from them. Now scattered delicately over the island from our hotel balcony, there were more tiled houses with balconies, more barking dogs that seem to make their presence felt at regular tea time spots and small families of ginger cats sitting casually outside mini supermarkets.
Meanwhile back at our hotel we were innocently polishing off our egg based breakfast with the appropriate slices of toast and jam when suddenly we spotted something that went completely against the grain of everything we'd come to expect from Greece. At first it seemed as if we might have been imagining it but it was true and very real.
On a patch of grass in the grounds of our hotel there was a tortoise. Yes a genuine tortoise. But this was no ordinary tortoise. This was the resident tortoise, a tortoise that must have paid the rent, paid its taxes and presumably all of the household bills. Slowly but surely it crept across the grass awkwardly and reluctantly as if wary that somebody might have noticed it taking a secretive crawl in a fruitless search of lettuce and carrots.
And then there was food, the traditional Greek fare that has decorated many of the huge concentration of restaurants and bars dotting the local, winding country lanes and steep hills that would have tested the endurance of many a fell or mountain walker. Of course there is the renowned Greek moussaka, the customary taramasalata, a rich Greek dish that can be dipped in and tasted at some leisure. But, and without any warning we were served chips, hundreds and thousands of chips on every plate of food unapologetically.
Now here was the moment when some of us thought we were part of some bizarre joke. For the next week - bar one night of blissful spaghetti bolognaise - we were given veritable mountains of chips and by the end of our holiday we were just grateful to see the back of the humble chip. There was a delectable dish of a mix grill consisting of succulent lamb, burgers and generous helpings of pita bread that almost seemed to fall off the plate in protest. Chips became not only the recurring theme of our holiday but some compulsory addition to our heaving plate of meat and chips.
Where does it say in the travel brochure or Expedia.com that every British holidaymaker should be confronted with cholesterol filled chips, chips that could barely be fitted on a plate, packed together tightly before spilling over helplessly onto the table napkin? Chips, although hugely appreciated back in England, were now turning into some unnecessary part of our evening meal. And yet the repetitive nature of this culinary supper treat had now become almost unbearable if strangely welcome. Still, you had to see the funny side of it all.
My wife and I completed two excellent and very invigorating tours including a day long tour of Kefalonia's capital city. This took in the fairy tale surroundings of the Drogarati caves where we taken on some impossibly perfect journey and the turquoise coloured lagoons sparkled endlessly in the mid- day sun. The Greek gentleman in charge of our boat promptly serenaded us with what sounded very much like some wonderfully romantic Greek love song.
Yesterday, on the final day of our Greek odyssey we set out for the Melissani lakes where the main attraction seemed to be the holiday rest home for turtles. Crossing a vast bridge we made a point of glancing into the crystalline waters for any sight of our friendly turtles. After what seemed like an eternity, we both spotted one solitary turtle just going about its business without a care in the world. A jolly spot of pedalling on some hugely enjoyable pedalo finished the day off with a carefree chuckle.
In these troubled times of Brexit and Britain's ambivalent relationship with her European neighbours it was still nice to see that our Greek friends, waiters, shopkeepers and the most hospitable of cafe society are still happy and willing to serve us with our coffees, lattes, cappuccinos, Greek salads and Mythos lagers with not a single murmur of complaint. Greece has once again captured our imagination and, from the country that brought us Homer, Aristotle and Apollo, you had to feel as though you were in the right time and the right place.
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