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| | | | A Greek oddity by bike
From the Mail on Sunday
Although Greece is one of our most popular holiday destinations, it seems barely anyone - let alone on a bicycle at the age of 67 - has been to Thrace. Indeed, where is it? And why do so few people venture there? I wondered.
The only thing to do was to take my bike and investigate this north-eastern region of Greece, bordered by Bulgaria and Turkey. Flying to Thessaloniki, I rode to the railway station, where I bought a first-class ticket to travel overnight to Pithion, on the Turkish border. They seized my bicycle and promised to put it on the train.
The train jiggles along. People get on and off, talking loudly regardless of those trying to sleep. Then you suddenly wake, and you're nearly there. Shortly before Pithion a nice old couple sitting near me began pointing with some excitement at a bridge. The land on the other side was Turkey and they made it seem as if we were looking across the Iron Curtain.
By the time I reached the platform someone had taken my bike off the train - and I set off on the 300-mile journey back to Thessaloniki, in easy stages over a fortnight.
I then became aware of one of three excellent reasons for going to Thrace - the cycling is superb. The gently rolling, empty road followed the Evros river. To the left was Turkey, to the right the Rhodope mountain range. Beside the road were cornfields, sunflowers, melons and vines.
At Dhidhimotikon I found Byzantine remains and a church in which a priest was intoning before a congregation of two women. Then a man with very shiny shoes came in, lit a candle and went behind the screen to have a chat with the priest. Intriguingly, I saw the man outside later with a handful of lottery tickets.
Some 19 miles on I came to Soufli, where I toured wetlands through plantations of every kind of vegetable to the banks of the river Evros. The river is so beautiful that I photographed it, although photography is forbidden and should only be done by Turkish spies.
I also met a heron, which brings me to the second reason for visiting Thrace. I am not a twitcher, but Thrace is a twitcher's paradise. I discovered too late that at nearby Dadia there is a nature reserve with 26 of the 39 known species of birds of prey. Birdwatching comes further into its own at Porto Lagos, where Lake Vistonis is said to shelter 200,000 birds.
Travel Guide: Greece
Idyllic Symi
From the Daily Mail
Too noisy, sighed our British neighbour as we headed for the beach on the bus. The elderly Greek who had asked how she liked his island, Symi, looked taken aback. 'All that birdsong,' she complained, 'and donkeys, cats, roosters. I didn't get a wink of sleep.'
My friend Helena and I thought back to the sounds that had made waking up that morning - in one of the prettiest towns of the Dodecanese - such a soothing experience. Doves, church bells, footsteps on worn medieval steps, voices calling out in greeting. They added up to the sort of peace and quiet I had come to the Aegean to find.
There had been gasps from every newcomer on board as the ferry from Rhodes rounded a steep headland into the bay. Symi looked all set to stage an opera. Tiers of dignified, pastel-coloured houses circled the harbour, lapping up the sides of a pine-clad hill. Their classical proportions reflected a 19th-century heyday when Symi queened it over the sponge-diving industry.
In return for supplying sponges to the Ottoman court, Symi enjoyed trading privileges that brought the island serious wealth. Long since sponged out - though souvenir shops peddle imposters from all over the Mediterranean and Far East - Symi has gained a new lease of life thanks to tourism. Three cheers for the strict local planning regulations which have kept numbers down, preserving the exquisite townscape.
I would have confidently challenged the woman on the bus to find a single fault with our villa, a converted three-storey house, its various split levels furnished with chic simplicity. Sitting outside enjoying local yoghurt and honey for breakfast, the day stretched ahead, filled, enticingly, with the possibility of doing very little. Should we walk over the thyme-scented headland and flop into the sea at Nimporios? Or pick up a water taxi and head for a more secluded beach? On an island refreshingly short of mechanical noises, there were always ways of getting around.
Travel Guide: Greece
The view from the ramparts
in the shade of a mulberry tree, ripe red berries dropping into our breakfast of Greek yogurt and honey, we gazed out across a sparkling Aegean to the island of Alonissos, its rocky peaks dominating the horizon.
Closer to hand, verdant mountains dropped sheer to the sea and waves crashed against dazzling white cliffs far below.
This was the stunning view from our holiday home, Pyrgos, a small castle on a remote headland on the isle of Skopelos.
The stone watchtower, with its crenellated ramparts and stained glass windows, looks timeless, standing in isolation on the tip of a promontory at the end of a rutted track snaking round the hillside.
In fact, it's just 10 years old, built by local artists Spiros and Vassiliki Kosmas who let it out until they are ready to retire there.
Vassiliki has decorated the main ceiling with figures from Greek mythology and created cave-style paintings on the walls of our bedroom, hewn out of the hillside.
She had just finished painting dolphins on the bottom of the beautiful pool near the cliff edge while around the grounds Spiros had created strange sculptures from rock, metal and brick.
A scramble down the cliff path brought us to our own private swimming area where we could dive off the rocks and sunbathe on the huge flat boulders. It was difficult to drag ourselves away to explore the island but it was worth the effort.
With no airport, Skopelos is largely untouched by tourism. Its mountainous interior is covered in pine forests and olive groves.
Along the coast are sheltered bays, deep gorges and sleepy fishing villages.
There are a few asphalt roads and dirt tracks which zigzag across the island. We could drive miles without seeing another car, the only hold-ups caused by herds of goats.
Travel Guide: Greece
Orchid Odyssey
From the Daily Mail
We were walking above the picturesque town of Lindos, enjoying the heavenly scent of thyme crushed underfoot and the sight of pretty pink cistus bathing in the springtime sun, when we encountered our first specimen of orchid hunter.
They are often to be found singularly, with a camera slung around their neck, wandering around in circles. With a schoolmasterly air and a shock of grey hair, this one was expressing some disillusion.
'I should have gone to Crete,' said Richard, pointing out not an orchid but a red dragonarum, an insect-eating plant that smells disconcertingly of old meat. 'I've seen a few uninspiring specimens so far, but nothing striking,' he added, before scrambling over the rocks towards the narrow, cobbled streets below.
Doubtless the heavy spring rain had much to do with his temporary lack of enthusiasm, but I was intrigued by the idea of searching for wild orchids. In Rhodes, these wonderful, varied plants thrive on the baking summer heat, which ripens the tubers, and the spring rain that encourages flowering. Consequently, the blooms are large and spectacular.
My wife Kari-Ann and I were staying for two weeks at a friend's house, tucked into the hill beside an ancient amphitheatre. On our first night, I had stood on the roof and watched in wonder as the moon, drifting between fluffy clouds, shone over St Paul's Bay and covered the whitewashed town in a milky film. There was no distant drone of cars; only the breeze and the occasional heehaw of donkeys on the hill broke the silence.
Next day I watched the tourists wandering aimlessly through the town's alleyways picking at trinkets and gaudy pottery like so many hens, and began planning an escape into the hills.
Travel Guide: Greece
In the footsteps of the Knights
Walking round Rhodes Old Town is like being on a film set - except it's real.
There's so much history here. The castle (officially Palace of the Grand Masters) is really impressive - the children were overawed. In medieval times the Knights of St John lived here in the walled part of town and you can visit their quarters and see where they cared for the sick.
The only thing that spoils the town is the pressure from shop owners to buy, buy, buy - they practically dragged us in and we got a bit fed up with it at times. Away from the main streets, though, are some pretty squares with lovely old buildings where you can just sit and watch the world go by.
We'd heard Lindos was very picturesque and we weren't disappointed, although we were exhausted after climbing up the hot, narrow winding streets to the top of the town and the temple to Athena. You can take a donkey ride up, but the poor animals looked more worn out than we did, so we walked.
All the way up to the top are pretty, white-painted houses, many very old, with lots of interesting alleyways to explore. Back down at the bottom we flopped on the beach and enjoyed the view of the bay, looking up at the rock we'd just climbed - a very good day out.
Travel Guide: Greece
A Greek magical Mystra tour
As you approach from the north, the ruins are almost invisible. In the half-light of dawn, they blend like crumbling cliffs into the mountain backdrop.
'You still can't see them?' asks Georgia, my guide. 'There...and there...and there...'
I look to left and right, and suddenly a startling sight emerges. On the steep, shrub-covered hillside the broken ruins of an entire city slowly appear. A castle; a palace; a huge, domed monastery.
This, then, is the fabled Mystra - once the jewel in the crown of Greece's Peloponnese. It's one of the great, lost cities of the medieval world - a thriving metropolis that died suddenly and unexpectedly.
Like Pompeii, it was snuffed out by an outside force. Like Pompeii, its evocative ruins allow a fascinating glimpse into another world. Now, it's being restored.
I'm here to take a trip back through time. Georgia, chief architect of the restoration programme, has promised to guide me back through half a millennium, to the days when Mystra was one of the most fabulous cities of the Byzantine empire.
As the imperial capital, Constantinople (now Istanbul), was besieged - and the once-great empire collapsed into ruins - her philosophers, artists and poets flocked to the safety of Mystra.
It was to this distant city that the descendants of Plato and Sophocles carted their boxes of manuscripts. They read them, they discussed them and, after receiving an invitation to stay with the Medici family, transported them to Italy.
There are many who argue that Mystra's scholars provided the spark that started the Renaissance.
Compared to most Greek cities, Mystra is an upstart. Nearby Sparta was already a ruin when Mystra's myrtlecovered slopes were first cleared of their wild goats. It was not until the 13th Century that the first foundation stones of this great city were laid.
Travel Guide: Greece
Escape from Planet Neon
The Costa Brava and the Magaluf clones have ruined parts of mainland Spain and Majorca. In Greece, Skiathos is a horror, as is much of Eastern Crete.
The rot is sweeping up the lovely island of Zakynthos. The Fior di Levante is now draped with flashing neon across a good part of the South. And in the North, the builders are at work.
It's time to start compiling places which have kept their own identity. My wife and I recently experienced a region of Greece which might well top the list.
The Pelion peninsula, which is also Mount Pelion and the Forest of Pelion, runs off the eastern mainland of Greece like a crooked finger.
Its little harbour villages face either the Aegean or the Pagasitic Gulf. It is staggeringly beautiful, properly Greek, and, usefully, quite difficult to get to.
A forest on a mountain on a peninsula was a good place, under Turkish rule, for the Greeks to get away from the Turks. Shirley Valentine would be able, in its pleasing little coves, to keep the egg and chips element at a similar distance.
The mountain towers above all the Aegean harbours and runs rather more gently down to the western Pagasitic coast.
In England in 1400, it was possible to walk from Cornwall to Essex under shade. On the rather smaller Pelion, such a shaded journey is still possible.
This is a medieval forest which has renewed itself over centuries. Thanks to the snow and heavy rains of winter, it is a native pre-Forestry Commission English forest, with not a filthy Douglas fir in sight.
A few pines and olives hold the lower slopes, otherwise there is a host of oaks, chestnut and beech.
And, wonderfully, there are apple trees, and random orchards, offering apple blossom at 4,000 feet. The forests have villages, real settlements perched on ledges or nestling in clearances - Makrinitsa, Portaria and Chania.
Travel Guide: Greece
Is this the best-kept secret in Greece?
From the Mail on Sunday
Pelion had quite a reputation to live up to. 'It is one of the most beautiful places in Greece,' the director of the Greek Tourist Office in London told me. It also has to be one of its best-kept secrets, as no one I knew had heard of it.
It is, in fact, a mountainous peninsula jutting out from the mainland into the Aegean Sea. It is just 30 miles long and a few miles wide and, until last year, when direct flights to a military airfield at Volos were introduced, it was virtually inaccessible to British holidaymakers.
It became apparent just how remote it was as soon as we landed. The plane came to a stop surrounded by hayfields and we were bussed to a terminal little bigger than a shed. And, because of the winding mountain roads, transfers to resorts can take hours.
To see as much as possible we stayed in a central location. Argalasti was a typical village high in the hills where tourism was almost unknown. There was only one little hotel, the Agamemnon, named after the owner, a jolly 32-year-old who had created it from his 120-year-old family home. It was still very much a family concern. His mother, Niki, did the cooking and his younger brother, Lefteris, ran the bar. The large stone house had just five simple rooms.
Agamemnon was the perfect host. Every morning, over a breakfast of Greek yogurt with honey and homemade cake, we would pick his brains for places to visit.
Many of the most beautiful beaches were accessible only by four-wheel drive over unmade roads, but this didn't deter us in our hire car. Setting off to Paou, a couple of miles away, we found ourselves bumping down a steep track, dust swirling everywhere.
It was worth the effort. The little cove was deserted, with pebbles of every imaginable colour glistening beneath the clear water.
Other attempts weren't so successful. The road to Paltsi, a pretty sandy bay on the east coast, was still under construction. The nearby beach at Potistika was a better bet, a long swathe of sand surrounded by massive sandstone rocks, with only a dozen sunbathers.
But the really stunning scenery is further north. Hair-raising drives take you up to dizzying heights where picturesque-villages nestle among pine trees and old men sit smoking in leafy squares.
Travel Guide: Greece
Take more money
In general my views are very positive but there are some things you should be aware of.
Although the area is supposed to be a World Heritage Site, on the top of nearly every building is a restaurant which kind of spoils things at night.
We had been told that eating out was going to be very cheap but it turned out quite expensive in relation to Newcastle.
The Greek people are very friendly and in general things are cheap even the 'designer' labels.
Rhodes oozes history but avoid Falaraki as it is more for the 18-30's than older people. Lindos itself has very steep slopes with smooth footpaths throughout the village and may not be suitable for the disabled.
Having said all of that I would be happy to return but I would take more money if I was eating out every night.
Travel Guide: Greece
Slow road to a perfect beach
From the Daily Mail
We'd hardly had time to settle onto the transfer bus from Kefalonia airport to the small resort of Scala where we were staying when the tour company rep jumped up. Handing me a welcome party invitation, she said: 'There's a music bar opposite where you're staying, I'm sure you'll want to get in there straight away.' Peaceful, pretty Kefalonia expects families, thirtysomethings and couples as its visiting guests. And largely, that's what it gets.
They don't expect three slightly hysterical, twentysomething girlies. Wouldn't we rather be on Zante - our livelier, neighbouring island - the locals wondered? No, no and no again. We wanted a quiet week somewhere beautiful, and Kefalonia fitted the bill. The biggest of the Ionian Islands, it is also the most unspoilt.
The island is a collection of coastal villages circumnavigating the huge Mount Enos that dominates the island, a patchwork of olive groves and fields saturated with poppies and dandelions - disturbed only by tiny, winding roads linking the villages. The main street of our village, Scala, was lined with simple tavernas, pretty garden bars and a few souvenir shops and supermarkets. No throbbing clubs, pubs or other horrors. Lovely.
Unfortunately, what Scala didn't have a lot of was atmosphere and, to an extent, that's true of most of Kefalonia. Levelled by an earthquake in the Fifties, the island has many new buildings that bear little relation to the traditional Greek architecture and fishing village charm common to most islands. Only the village of Fiskardo, on the island's northern tip, retains any original architecture.
But the beaches are where Kefalonia scores. Staying somewhere as small as Scala means a change of scenery - and a hire car is essential if you want to get out and about. But as roads are narrow and speed limits restricted to 40mph, it can take a while to get around. So we started off nearer home - the small village of Lourdas, with golden sand and rolling waves, and the tiny, almost Caribbean beaches of Kourkomelata and Avithos.
On the last day we ventured further to the port of Sami and the neighbouring beach of Anti-sami. Although a three-hour drive, Anti-sami proved worth it - a long strip of sand shaped like a crescent moon, backed by lush green mountains that encircled the sea. Beaches like this no longer officially exist - no sign of tourism, no cafe or toilets, just the clearest azure water and the blissful feeling that comes from being surrounded by unspoilt natural beauty.
Travel Guide: Greece
Nothing is too much trouble
We had a lovely relaxing holiday. Nothing is too much trouble for the people on this island. Meals were excellent - we ate Greek food, of course.
The most amazing thing was that there is no crime on Kefalonia. It seemed strange not to carry everything with us (including our cash). Bars are also plentiful and very, very good. Beaches also are something else. We would recommend Kefalonia to anybody.
Travel Guide: Greece
Lovely and laid-back
We stayed at Scala, a quiet, pretty resort with a backdrop of green hills on the southern tip of the island. The sand and shingle beach is clean, with parasols and sunshades costing about £5 for two all day.
The water is lovely and clear, although there was a fair bit of seaweed at one end and the shingle shelves quite steeply at some points, so it's not suitable for very small children.
Scala has lots of good tavernas and a few shops plus the bonus of the remains of a Roman villa in an old olive grove - lovely. There are a few hotels, but it's mainly self-catering here.
We hired a car and drove round the island in a day. We loved the pretty harbour front at Sami and visited the nearby Melissani Lake (a bit touristy, but fun) and the Drogarati Cave (lots of steps and people).
Fiskardo, at the northern end, has some lovely restaurants and you can watch the posh yachts come in as you eat - fantastic ice cream parlour here, too! Myrtos Beach was dramatic (as is all the coastline on this side of the island) but is a long drive down and lots of flies at dusk made the idea of staying for sunset rather unappealing.
Had a meal on the harbour front at Argostoli on the way back. Unremarkable, but this is more of a working town than a resort.
Took the ferry from Sami to Ithaca - a beautiful, unspoilt island. Especially loved the little port of Kioni and the spectacular harbour at Vathy, but a car is vital to get around.
Food on Kefalonia was great - plenty of traditional Greek dishes and quite a few vegetarian options. Best local wine is the dry white Robola. A lovely, laid-back island!
Travel Guide: Greece
Captain Corelli's Kefalonia
From the Mail on Sunday
The elderly Greeks rub their eyes in disbelief. They left the island of Kephallonia in 1953, when a devastating earthquake flattened towns and villages. They saw their homes destroyed and Argostoli, the capital, levelled.
Now, half a century later, they emerge on to the decks of the arriving ferry and discover that their home town has spectacularly resurrected itself from the rubble. The column-fronted courtroom and the Venetian-style villas that crumbled to dust - all have reappeared after an absence of nearly 50 years.
It's only when the passengers have disembarked that they discover the cause of this wonder. This fine old town is a masterful illusion, a conjuring trick of the eye, that is held together with nothing more than scaffolding, bolts and epoxy resin.
'Camera . . . and ACTION.' Actor Nicolas Cage struts across the set clutching a bulbous stringed instrument and the British film crew spring to work. I watched all this happening last May, when Captain Corelli's Mandolin - the film version of Louis de Bernieres' best-selling novel - was being filmed on the Ionian island of Kefalonia.
The movie has been produced by Working Title - the company that made Notting Hill, Elizabeth and Four Weddings And A Funeral - and when it opens next month looks certain to be the year's biggest hit. Cage is playing Corelli, Penelope Cruz is his lover, while John Hurt plays the irascible but caring father in this epic tale of love and brutality, set amid the Italian occupation of Greece during the Second World War.
The story is beautifully told. The irrepressible Corelli - an eccentric Italian soldier with a passion for the mandolin - at first infuriates the village doctor, Iannis, whose home he is occupying. But as the doctor starts to appreciate his exuberant personality, so Corelli falls head-over-heels in love with his daughter, Pelagia.
The fighting draws ever closer; storm clouds gather. When Italy switches allegiance the Nazis land on Kefalonia and vow to slaughter every Italian on the island.
Those terrible war years were one of the darkest periods of Kefalonia's troubled history and were - until recently - as unknown to the outside world as the island itself. Tourists flocked in their thousands to nearby Corfu, but Kefalonia remained unspoiled and largely unvisited, a quiet backwater in the Ionian sea.
But this scretive and spectacularly beautiful island may not be able to hide its charms for much longer. Tourism is on the increase, and a large influx is expected after the release of the film.
Travel Guide: Greece
Captain Corelli: Loved the book, like the island
From the Mail on Sunday
Kefalonia, a small, rocky island in the Ionian Sea, has never loomed large in the British consciousness. Until, that is, the publication of Louis de Bernieres' novel, Captain Corelli's Mandolin.
The book describes the romance between Pelagia, a local doctor's daughter, and Captain Corelli, a captain in the Italian army, and is mainly set during the Italian occupation of Kefalonia during the Second World War. The book remains on the bestseller lists four years after publication, and is even featured in the screen romance between Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts in the film Notting Hill.
The physical world which de Bernieres describes has been almost completely destroyed, as a cataclysmic earthquake razed the island to rubble in 1953. But has the spirit of true romance and courage remained on the island? Or have the islanders been corrupted by their newfound fame? I went to Greece to find out.
On the charter flight out of Gatwick, I began to suspect that my fellow holidaymakers might not be committed Corelli fans. The lads sitting behind me, who had clearly taken advantage of their local tanning facilities before they came out, were complaining loudly about the selection of duty-free cigarettes.
At the tiny airport terminal, the conveyor belt was jammed with crown green bowling bags. I assume most of the flight's passengers were bound for Lassi, Kefalonia's mass-market tourist resort. I was heading for the small town of Fiskardo, on the other side of the island.
Fiskardo is little more than a village, a cluster of pink-shuttered, whitewashed houses built around a small harbour. It looks much as it would have done 50 years ago, because it was the only village left standing after the earthquake.
All the buildings here are founded on solid rock, which protected them from the worst of the tremors. The smallness and simplicity of Fiskardo belie its sophistication. The yachts moored in the harbour must cost £1 million a year to run. It's just as well that the food is so good in Fiskardo, as there is little to do in the village but eat and gaze across the harbour at nearby Ithaca.
Early in the season, most of Fiskardo's visitors are British, but later in the summer the main tourist traffic comes from neighbouring Italy. The local businesses earn enough from rich Italians during August to stay empty for the rest of the year.
The restaurants along the harbour, although inexpensive by British standards, are light years better than the Greek average. Particularly enjoyable is the eccentric atmosphere of Nicholas's Fish Restaurant overlooking the harbour. The walls of the restaurant are covered in newspaper reviews, most of which focus upon the 'colourful' character of Nicholas rather than the food.
The meal, however, was probably the best Greek cuisine I've experienced outside Athens, and even the Hellenic staples such as tzatziki were subtly better than the norm.
Travel Guide: Greece
I'll be back
It's a beautiful place with a great beach. The people are so friendly and there is a great atmosphere! I will be returning next year!
Travel Guide: Greece
Wall-to-wall Karpathos
The ferry had stopped, I realised, when I awoke with a start. A small blue and red Greek caique was bobbing next to us in the ultramarine water.
On the deck below a group of muscular Greek women clad in boots and colourful costumes were wrestling black, hairy goats into slings and lowering them to the caique.
Goats? These were more like Shetland ponies with curly horns - very noisy Shetland ponies. The Greek women were in a jovial mood, and much shouting and laughter accompanied the whole operation.
In the stern of the caique were two blond, bearded backpackers with mountainous rucksacks, both trying to look unfazed at the number of goats around them.
Behind the caique lay a tiny Greek island port, a dirt track leading up into the mountains.
'Where are we? What's going on?' I asked the Greek-Australian next to me.
'This is the island of Karpathos, and those are the women of Olymbos village high in the mountains,' he replied.
'The ferry is too big to come into their port of Diafani, so they have to unload everything like this, sacks of cement, bottles of beer - or goats.
'Olymbos is 2,000ft high and one of the most traditional places left in Greece. Property and names descend through the female line, not the male.
'They grind their flour in windmills and bake it in communal ovens, and still wear costume every day.
Travel Guide: Greece
Odyssey to an isle of peace
From the Daily Mail
Harry stared into the distance as the boat shuddered and rolled under us. Ahead was the long lobster tail of Meganissi, an island he hadn't visited since 1942. Then he had journeyed there in a small fishing boat under the cover of darkness as he and other young men of the Greek Resistance distributed scarce food between the islands.
His brother Costas had told us Harry had fallen into the hands of the occupying Italians, who repeatedly threw him downstairs to get information from him. All Harry would admit was that he had fallen, possibly twice; anyway, they were good chaps really and he had ended up singing with them.
Now he sat silent with his memories at the prow of a boat taking a party of holidaymakers to the island. Behind us, an hour away, was our starting point, Ithaca - the Ionian island from which Odysseus set sail on a journey that was to last 21 years.
Meganissi is green and pretty despite a chronic shortage of water, with the island of Lefkas a mountainous mass looming out of the heat across a narrow channel. We anchored in tired Porto Spilio before taking a long winding road uphill to wander the labyrinthine streets of enchanting Spartohori.
We had met Harry in Ithaca, where a group of us were enjoying bed and breakfast at Hamilton House, run by his brother Costas. Harry was making his annual pilgrimage from Johannesburg to the place of his birth. Learning of his links with Meganissi, we had persuaded him to join us for the trip.
Hamilton House is a handsome stone building that dominates the quayside of the pretty port of Kioni and is one of the few buildings to have survived the earthquake that devastated the island in 1953. Locals claim it was built for Lady Elizabeth Hamilton, a niece of Nelson's mistress.
Its terrace and balconies command an excellent view of the endless comings and goings of boats and fishermen in the bay. At Kioni, tourism and Greek life go on side-by-side the village's best beach is right in front of a graveyard. If Harry proved reticent about his years with the Resistance, he was voluble on the delights of Ithaca, a habit he shared with other Greeks we encountered.
The taxi drivers who take you on tours of the island for a few pounds always suggest that you sample the waters of Kalamos: according to legend, anyone who drinks from this spring will return to Ithaca. One driver, a Greek-Australian called Con, swore that the legend must be true. After all, hadn't he drunk of the waters and then returned seven years later to live on the island? Not that it had anything to do with his wife being from Ithaca . . .
Travel Guide: Greece
Paddle power across the Ionian Sea
From the Daily Mail
You'll be singing Kumbayah round the camp fire, the bugs'll bite and there's bound to be an argument about who steers the canoe, prophesied my companion of 14 years when the subject of a sea-kayaking holiday around the Ionian Isles was first broached.
'You go. I'll book into a small hotel and see you when you get back.' And, of course, she was right. Within hours of setting off from the beach south of Nidri on the island of Levkas, my old friend Mike, who'd agreed to join me on the trip, was complaining about pains in muscles he never knew he had.
Cooped up in the front cockpit of our double-kayak, knees chafing, feet scrabbling for the rudder pedals, he kept up a running commentary on his discomfort. And as he did so, the prow of our bright red plastic kayak swung like a drunken compass needle. 'Right, that's it,' I snapped. 'As soon as we reach camp, I steer, or it's separate kayaks from now on.'
But that evening, as the flames licked heavenwards and the blue Ionian slipped into darkness, all animosity was forgotten. In the distance, the lights of the island of Meganisi twinkled.
Later, the first prophecy came true: we did indeed sing Kumbayah - but only to say we had. No one had a guitar (let alone a harmonica) by Adrian Morgan and none of us knew the words.
Sea-kayaking, provided you keep up a steady rhythm and avoid overexertion, can be very relaxing, although it's worth remembering that your accommodation is a tent each night, so you can get fairly grubby along the way. Although the kayaks are slender, there's still room for little watertight compartments fore and aft to store provisions and keep your sleeping gear.
And if you go in an organised group, like ours, a sailing boat with outboard motor follows behind to provide support and encouragement. Not that we needed it. The Ionian in May was glassy calm, and it was hard to envy the charter yachts motoring idly through those oily swells, even if they did carry iceboxes and cool drinks. The drum of an engine was no match for the swish of our paddles, which attracted an unexpected bonus.
Travel Guide: Greece
Look our for your heart
For several years I have been visiting the Greek Islands and feel there's nowhere quite like them. You would be hard pushed to find somewhere which could match the friendliness of the locals; the beautifully rugged yet, pretty scenery; the crystal waters; delicious fresh food - the list goes on.
I love their charm so much I am not only planning to marry there but also to live there one day!
The smaller Islands are well worth a visit as they are untouched by tourism and are very accessible as many boats from the bigger islands have trips there. But even on the larger islands, true, untouched Greece can be found.
Out of the larger islands, I would have to say Kos and Zakynthos are my absolute favourites so far. Both have a charm that stays in your memories and the friendliness of the locals is astounding.
A boat trip around the islands is a good idea as you get to see the awesome landscape from a different perspective.
If you do visit Kos, a trip to neighbouring Kalymnos (island of the sponge divers) is worth a visit - with its Venetian architecture and welcoming harbour, it makes for an enjoyable trip. Turkey is also not far away and there are many scheduled boat trips from Kos.
If you visit Zante, then popping over to Kefalonia is a must. It isn't very far away at all and the stunning scenery is worth it - if only for a glimpse of the famous Myrtos beach.
I could go on and on about the Greek islands as I have so many wonderful memories from several of them but the best way for anyone to discover the amazing charm of them is to experience it for themselves - go and visit them all in their sublime glory - you won't be disappointed but you had better be prepared for them to seep into your heart.
Travel Guide: Greece
With the gods on Mount Olympus
From the Mail on Sunday
The encouraging thing about the ancient Greek gods is that they were all so badly behaved.
Lustful, jealous, petulant and mischievous, they reflected all too accurately the failings of their mortal worshippers.
And, if Robert Graves's classical scholarship is to be believed, all that ambrosia was not mere honey wine but amanita muscaria: Zeus and his fellow immortals spent half their time on Mount Olympus stoned on hallucinogenic mushrooms.
Magic mushrooms notwithstanding, I was tempted by the idea of a quick jaunt in the throne room of Greece's flawed gods, to ponder my own human frailty.
My fellow climber Mark Jenkins had just smashed his shoulder in a 40mph mountain bike accident at home in Wyoming.
Keen to combine therapy with a trip to Europe, he suggested that Mount Olympus, virtually climbable without the use of arms, would be good for convalescence.
I was enrolled on the strength of various fractures from past climbing accidents.
A pair of old crocks, cursed with delusions of immortality, we would hobble to the highest, holiest summit in Greece.
On the flight north from Athens remnants of winter snow were clearly visible in an aerial preview of Olympus, before I descended to meet Mark at Thessaloniki.
From there we drove through the coastal plain of Thessaly to the Olympic Wings outdoor centre at Panteleimonas, run by Stelios, Sakis and Claudia.
All sorts of activities were on offer.
Travel Guide: Greece
Sailing into the sunset
From the Daily Mail
A skittish wind filled the sails and sent us scudding forward on a navy blue sea; the air, hot and fresh, was scented with pine from the mountains shrouded in a gauze-like heat on either side of us.
Then, right on cue, a school of dolphins appeared to keep pace with our boat. A life-enhancing moment without a doubt, and everything you could possibly want from a sailing holiday.
So why, then, was I hunched in misery over the tiller, thinking longingly about the two episodes of ER I was missing while in Greece?
When you sign up for an activity holiday, you assume you'll like the activity. But what if you don't? What if this new activity uncovers things about yourself that you'd rather not know?
Learning to sail transformed me from a calm and competent person - or so I like to think - into a foulmouthed bully with a shocking vocabulary of swear words.
A foul-mouthed bully, that is, when I wasn't a gibbering wreck, panicking at the mere sight of a rope for fear of having to tie it to something.
Twice I had to be restrained from jumping ship, intending to catch the hydrofoil back to Athens and a flight home. In the end, I settled for increasingly stiff gin and tonics to get me through.
And yet it had all started so promisingly, when the idea of a sailing holiday was first raised.
The 'villa-flotilla' concept sounded perfect: a week learning to sail followed by a week at sea, free to sail wherever you fancied, before rejoining the flotilla each evening in a different port.
And so we arrived in Porto Heli, a former fishing hamlet in the Pelopennese, in a positive mood.
Travel Guide: Greece
Island hopping for beginners
More than two thousand islands belong to Greece, of which more than 100 are inhabited.
Those that do not have people on them range from little more than large rocks with a few trees teetering on top to great expanses of uncultivated land. So, where should you start?
There are seven distinct groupings of islands: the Ionian, Cyclades, Sporades, North Aegean, Argo-Saronic, East Aegean and Dodecanese.
Before you book anything - flights, ferries, hotels - you should decide what kind of holiday you want.
The Ionian sea to the west of the mainland has six main inhabited islands including Corfu, Cephalonia and Zakynthos and some of the best beaches in Greece.
Together they are, perhaps more than most groups, package holiday territory. Cephalonia in particular has suffered from a huge rise in visitor numbers since Louis de Bernieres's book Captain Corelli's Mandolin and the subsequent film.
The Dodecanese has some of the biggest party islands, Rhodes and Kos being the most raucous. Rhodes town, however, is well preserved and well worth a look.
In the Cyclades there are dozens of inhabited islands, and transfer times between them are short.
These islands vary enormously in style, from smart Mykonos with its flashy yachts to Ios with its loud and lively nightlife and Santorini, frequented by cruise ships and beautifully embellished by its gigantic volcanic crater and black sand beaches.
The Cyclades and Dodecanese in the southern Aegean perhaps offer the easiest options as they have plenty of islands, most with short transfer times between them.
Travel Guide: Greece
Family holidays in Greece
From the Daily Mail
When it comes to holidays, Greece offers the best of finds and - if you are not careful - the worst, too.
What it does well, it does brilliantly: small, attractive seaside villages which have slowly developed into charming resorts with simple accommodation and cheap, reliable tavernas. The people are hospitable, generous and friendly, the atmosphere relaxed, safe and perfect for escaping the stresses of life back home.
What it does less well are the bigger, brasher family resorts. Too often they are scruffy and tired-looking, with bumpy roads, narrow, crowded beaches and ageing hotels. In short, they are desperately lacking in the kind of investment that countries such as Spain have poured into tourism. There are some great exceptions, however, and to help you plan the perfect family holiday this summer, here is our guide to finding them.
So where should you go to find the best of Greece in 2001? According to many tour operators, the 'in' destination for 2001 will be Kefalonia - still riding a wave of popularity stemming from the novel Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which was set on the island. There is no doubt that this stunning Ionian island merits the interest - it has great beaches, attractive villages and towns (though many in the south of the island had to be re-built after earthquake damage).
Luckily it is big and mountainous enough to absorb the influx of curious holidaymakers. Even so, if you want to visit, you might consider avoiding the August peak and choosing a quieter time of year. June or September should be perfect.
Other newly emerging destinations are the islands of Ikaria and Patmos in the eastern Aegean. Both are probably a little too quiet for all but the most escapist of families, though there are some good beaches - especially on the north coast of Ikaria. If you prefer to stick to the more tried and tested destinations, here's my selection for summer:
For fun in the sun, my pick would be not a specific resort but a type of holiday, in this case - a sailing club holiday, of which there are several in Greece, offering an excellent mix of children's clubs, sailing and watersports. As a way of occupying (and exhausting) the children while you either relax or try some sailing yourself, they are the epitome of a well-organised, well-thought out package holiday.
If you don't like the thought of organised activities, the north-east coast of Corfu is another excellent option - especially if you prefer somewhere relatively quiet but have teenage children who want to be near some nightlife.
At several points along this stretch of the coast there are small clutches of villas dotted around the hillsides above the sea. Most are just a short drive from Kassiopi, the biggest and most attractive resort on this part of the island and great fun in the evenings.Among the string of small resorts just south of Kassiopi, those that stand out are Kaminaki, which is tiny but very attractive, and Agios Stephanos (sometimes called San Stephano), one of the prettiest, although it has a very small beach.
Corfu has some other good, lively alternatives, especially on the west coast at Agios Gordios, which has a big sandy beach, and Glyfada, a little quieter but also with a good beach. Other islands with a successful mix of nightlife and good beaches are Naxos, Skiathos and Paros.
Travel Guide: Greece
The mythical beast really exists
From the Daily Mail
Had I believed the guidebooks, I would never have gone near Aghios Nikolaos. 'The town is becoming something of a monument to package tourism,' warned one guide.
Stern words. I adopted the brace position and prepared for bog-standard hotels, cheap souvenir shops, eardrum-bursting discos, Essex girls on the pull and garish tavernas serving steak and kidney pie.
Ten minutes after arriving, I threw the guidebook in the bin.
My hotel was comfortable and stylish, with superb views across the bay. Shops selling cheap souvenirs were outnumbered by those selling funky jewellery, elegant paintings and offbeat artefacts.
The only disco in town could not have burst the eardrum of a gnat. Even at 2am, it was drowned by the strains of Zorba the Greek from one of the harbourside cafes.
Half the people leaving the disco looked as if they had been in church singing All Things Bright And Beautiful.
Essex girls? The closest they had been to Essex was Bourton-on-the-Water.
As for the steak and kidney pie, it was a mirage, a figment of my cynical imagination. I kicked off my holiday with a bowl of fish soup, as good as I have had anywhere, and never looked back.
If this was a monument to package tourism, I thought, as I slurped my soup and admired the brilliant blue of the sea, sparkling in the sun, then let's have more monuments. But tourism is tourism. There is no point in pretending that somewhere such as Aghios Nikolaos, with its huge influx of foreign visitors, represents 'the real Greece'.
To discover that mythical beast, as elusive as the Minotaur who roamed the labyrinth at Knossos, you will have to travel deep into the interior of the island. I thought I had found it one afternoon, in the wrinkled, weather-beaten face of an old man riding a donkey side-saddle up the mountain to Tzermiado.
Travel Guide: Greece
An island of alternatives
From the Daily Mail
The smell of pizza wafting in through the coach's open windows came as a bit of a shock. I'd signed up for an excursion to Crete's interior, up into the wild mountains above the north-east coast and on to the Lasithi Plain, and encounters with fast food were definitely not on the agenda.
Luckily, when I stepped off the bus a few moments later, I found plenty of 'toppings' still firmly rooted in the ground; the hillsides were thick with aromatic thyme, stretching away to the horizon.
It was my first inkling that Crete is more than just a series of busy resorts. Locals call it Megalonissos, 'the Big Island', and at 155 miles long, it's certainly large enough to satisfy all sorts of holidaymakers.
A good thing, too, for both the best and worst of the Greek islands are here: superb, sandy beaches, dramatic mountain scenery, unspoilt villages, ancient culture - as well as takeaways and disco-bars crowding overdeveloped resorts.
Luckily, huge chunks of Crete remain untouched by mass tourism, so tacky bars and wet T-shirt contests can be avoided.
A drive east along the main coastal road reveals the island's spine of giant mountains, bony as a hungry street dog, plunging down to the deep Aegean blue. Head west and you'll find they give way to fertile plains. Dotted all over are sleepy villages, basking in the sun and tiny churches, glowing with Byzantine frescos.
Yet it is Crete's strong sense of identity that sets it apart from other Greek islands. This was one of the last parts of the country to fall into Turkish hands, and proved their most troublesome territory (it is only a century since Ottoman rule ended, after a reign of some 200 years.) Then, during World War II, with the rest of Greece already occupied, the Nazis launched an all-out campaign to take the island.
Hard times followed, which are still mulled over in bars and cafes; the old man in the corner in the knee-length boots, wetting his huge moustache in a tiny cup of Greek coffee, may have hair-raising tales to tell of months spent hiding in mountain caves in an effort to outwit the enemy.
I made my base in Chania in north-western Crete, one of the prettiest old seaside towns in Greece. The scales may have tipped from graceful Venetian fishing-port to tourist resort, but it still has bags of atmosphere, offering a mix of history (a ruined castle on a hill, the occasional Turkish minaret) and cosmopolitan nightlife.
Travel Guide: Greece
Sleepy isle where life can be so wild
From the Daily Mail
Finding the Strawberry Pink Villa took for ever, but it was worth it. Leaving the busy coast road near Corfu Town, I headed inland, climbing through olive groves into the elegant suburb of Perama.
The house was hidden behind an overgrown garden. In five minutes I'd swopped noise and pollution for leafy green peace - and entered a world unchanged since the Durrell family lived here in the Thirties.
This is the Corfu immortalised by Gerald Durrell in his book My Family And Other Animals.The Durrells lived on the island from 1935 to 1939: the villa was their first home. There are still people on Corfu who remember Britain's best-known family of expats, who led a comically adventurous, lotus-eating life in what was then an unknown Mediterranean backwater.
Following in the Durrells' footsteps is less a matter of tracking down particular sights than entering into the spirit of Corfu. Walking is a better idea than driving. An appreciation of nature and a sense of humour are musts, as is the ability to swim. Optional extras include a huge appetite and the ability to knock back several glasses of retsina without falling over.
Corfu is different from the rest of Greece. This sickle-shaped island has been colonised by a succession of rulers. The Venetians built fortresses above Corfu Town and planted the olive trees. The French added grand public buildings and an esplanade modelled on the Rue de Rivoli.
The British chipped in with a cricket pitch, still in use. The Greeks, in turn, have brought volatility and a love of life (plus a seemingly equal love of chaos) to an already loopy mishmash of cultures. It was Durrell who noted that life on Corfu was occasionally similar to a comic opera. But he also described the island as a garden, and - despite some overbuilding along the coast - so it remains.
Walking in the interior takes you through scenes that haven't changed for centuries. In the hills north of Barbati, one of Durrell's favourite haunts, an ancient donkey trail winds its way upwards into a landscape of deep green hills, crisscrossed by valleys lined with cypresses. The mountain village of Episkepsis might never have seen a foreign visitor.
Travel Guide: Greece
Making a getaway
My husband David and I weren't too sure about the late deal our travel agent turned up. Wasn't Corfu full of lager louts and hotels overrun by kids? Thankfully, the answer is no.
Yes, there are areas to avoid if you want a quiet life (like Benitses) and yes, the idyllic island described by Gerald Durrell has become over-commercialised, but it still has some lovely spots - Paleokastritsa is one of them.
Corfu Town is an interesting place, with its esplanade where we watched cricket and had coffee in the elegant Parisian-style arcade, which is lit up with lovely old lanterns by night. An easy place to spend a day.
We went in September when the season's winding down and is more pleasant. Hiring a car, we explored the north and west coasts. Every now and again we hit a pocket of mass tourism, but simply jumped back in the car. Heading away from the coast is also a good plan - in the island's interior Mt Pantokrator can be found among some more traditional mountain villages.
Travel Guide: Greece
Land of coves and cricket
From the Daily Mail
Corfu is still among Greece's most popular destinations. Here's my island guide . . .
THE NORTH
The three main resorts on the north coast look great in brochures - both are lined with miles of golden sand. But they aren't the most beautiful places to stay, being little more than strips of modern development along the beaches.
Of the three, Akaravi is less attractive than Roda, which at least has some relatively smart apartment blocks. For preference, though, I'd pick Sidari - one of Corfu's biggest resorts with a huge beach and a busy nightlife.
THE NORTH-EAST
This is by far my favourite part of Corfu. The wooded mountains of the northeast coast slip into the sea forming dozens of tiny pebble coves and beaches - hidden from the road and invariably supplied with at least one delightful little taverna.
The water is clear, the swimming wonderful and the accommodation - mostly hillside villas - the best on Corfu.
This is not, however, an ideal area for small children - there are too many steep hills and shelving beaches to contend with.
But if you enjoy wonderful landscapes, sea views and quiet days in a beach taverna, you won't find anywhere better.
Travel Guide: Greece
Classy times with Contiki
Forget stereotypical 18-30s holidays and welcome Contiki's new, upmarket all-inclusive holiday instead, said the brochure advertising my trip to Mykonos.
As I reached shakily for a glass of water, painkillers and a pair of sunglasses, I thought back to the night before and tried to forget weaving around the dancefloor, flapping my luminous-coloured glow sticks (green, yellow and red depending on whether you fancied pulling or not) in time to Wham! favourite Club Tropicana.
I knew it was time to leave the hotel's nightclub, Blue, when people started spelling out words on the dance floor like 'lust', 'love', 'sexy'. Was it how they were feeling? Or the only words they could manage after the wine, beer and ouzo chasers that we'd all been drinking since lunchtime? I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.
Okay, so the trip hadn't been the epitome of classy so far, but it was only day two - there was plenty of time to get upmarket.
The next day looked promising. We were going to the nearby island of Delos, a Unesco world heritage site and mythical birthplace of Apollo and Artemis. It wasn't included in the all-inclusive price but it was definitely the sort of thing you'd expect that would appeal to the sophisticated urbanites Contiki was hoping to attract.
Don't get me wrong. It was interesting how archaeologists had rebuilt parts of this third-century BC town by hand. But clearly no-one was half as enthusiastic as they'd been the previous night while raging drunkenly around the dancefloor, bopping to cheesy disco hits.
And since a freak force-10 gale had suddenly blown in from Siberia, everyone was quite happy to retire to a toasty harbourside restaurant in Mykonos town to alleviate last night's hangovers with a jug or two of wine.
Which got me thinking. Do single British people aged 18 to 35 really want a mature, upmarket holiday in a posh hotel on a classy Greek island. Or do they want a lively, drunken, pulling holiday which just pretends to be more upmarket than Club 18-30?
In which case, Contiki's idea was quite clever. Mykonos is a suitably stylish island with plenty of cool bars, designer shops and lively clubs. The resort has simply furnished rooms, but with nice extras like air-conditioning, bathrobes and balconies. And the all-inclusive idea gives it a bit more kudos than your average package trip.
Travel Guide: Greece
Chrani: A stress-free, Greek getaway
Last June, my wife and I visited Chrani on the Greek mainland after reading a brochure which stated "This is as far away from it all as it gets".
How right they were. Chrani consists of four small apartment blocks, three restaurants, two bars, two mini-markets and a beach.
For good local food you dream about, we can recommend the Garden restaurant.
Next door was a bar and a mini-market so you can eat, drink and do your shopping in one go.
The bar was well frequented and by the end of two weeks we were part of the locals' extended family from all parts of the world.
Chrani is very low-key and it's about what you make of it. It's not for young families or the 18-30s.
If you want a holiday that is value for money, with good food and which removes all stress, Chrani is the place.
Within 12 hours of arriving home, we had booked again for this year.
Travel Guide: Greece
Not too many home comforts
I have just returned from Kalamaki, Zante. I had a very quiet and relaxing holiday. The Greek people were very friendly and helpful.
The island is famous for the Loggerhead turtles. Unfortunately, I never saw a real one, only replicas in the shops.
The weather was very hot and the food was great. I would recommend the resort only to people who don't care too much for home comforts and are easily pleased with very little facilities in their apartment. I was assured that all Greece was the same.
Travel Guide: Greece
Italy and back in minutes
From the Daily Mail
On the waterfront, relishing a breakfast of spinach pie and black coffee in the shade of a heavily-laden pomegranate tree, I felt triumphant. I had just staked my claim to a world record. Smiling, snowy-headed locals who had witnessed the feat confirmed it had never been done before. It would look good in the Guinness Book Of Records, I mused: The first person to swim, non-stop, from Greece to Italy - and back.
'Oh dear, you forgot to time yourself,' my wife chuckled. 'Ah well, I'll have to do it again before lunch,' I grinned. 'Nothing like getting the rehearsal right.'
The rocky, 600-yard, turtle-shaped islet of St Nicholas is a mere 200 yards off the northern tip of the seductive Greek island of Zante. But - more than 200 miles from Italy - it remains Italian, an outpost from the 300-year Venetian occupation of Zante.
Incredibly, uninhabited St Nicholas, passed on to Vatican ownership, was overlooked in the island's unification with Greece in 1864. So the international swimming record could legitimately be claimed, but I decided not to pursue the idea. I hadn't packed a stopwatch, anyway.
Idyllic, verdant Zante (population 37,000) is a small island, 23 miles by ten, roughly the size of the Isle of Wight. It captivated us. We explored the gem in the oh-so-blue Ionian Sea first by boat, taking a leisurely day-long cruise from Zante Town aboard the 145ft Delfini, which never reached its top speed of 17 knots.
There are 25 beautiful, top-rated beaches - and countless deserted coves accessed only by boat - on the island, including the longest in Greece, the six miles of golden sands at Laganas Bay, the breeding ground of the loggerhead turtle.
From the Delfini, we spied all of the beaches, stopping for a dip at three of them. The absolute must-stop is Smugglers' Cove in St George's Bay. Here, half-buried in the sand, lies the rusting wreck of a cigarette-smuggling cargo ship which ran aground in the late Eighties. It is one of the most famous sights of Greece, though suspicion surrounds the shipwreck story. Perhaps, so perfectly placed, bang in the middle of the cove, it was beached deliberately. What a coup by the island's tourism spin doctors.
At Cape Skinari, we were astonished as the sleek, white Delfini nosed into the Blue Caves. The refraction of the light turns everything in the water blue, even the boats.
Travel Guide: Greece
So discreet in Crete
From the Daily Mail
There was a time when Crete, to me, was loud clothes, clubs and loadsa ouzo and lemonade to wash down the pizza. But that was then. Today I'm two decades too old for the club scene and I've reached that stage where I no longer need the sun to sizzle. Just warm enough to sit outside eating yoghurt and fruits for breakfast will do nicely, thank you.
Nowadays I own walking boots and a book on wild flowers. So hello middle age; holidays in April and May and, hello Western Crete. Arriving was good. Hot afternoon sunshine and a little girly hire car to get my partner and I over the White Mountains to the south coast for the first part of a two-week holiday.
You know those charity boxes where you place a penny at the top and watch it zigzag to the bottom? Well that's what the fenceless mountain road to the tiny hamlet of Kapsodassos is like, with roadside shrines to those who didn't make it every mile or so just to make it a little more unnerving. But we made it to Nikita's House and the tension and stress dripped away.
The house is surprisingly un-Greek, with large rooms and a plain plaster exterior. Behind us a tiny white church and mountains with snow on top. In front, nothing but goats and olive trees on a plain that slopes down to the sea which extends to Libya. We are on the extreme southern edge of Europe and there's definitely a brushstroke of Africa about this coastline.
I am bowled over by the wild flowers. There are so many, everywhere. Yellows, whites, reds and blues. All frilly and dancing alongside the lanes and up the hills. I have always loved the silvery romance of olive groves. But these wild Cretan spring flowers transform the groves into a heaven I wouldn't have believed possible.
We would regularly picnic in the fields, or on our terrace where the only noises are the purr of the fridge and the goat bells. Twice a day, the herd nibbles its way up from the coastal plain, through our garden, along our lane and back down into the olive groves.
On Easter night, we can hear the priest's voice from a distant church across the hills and at midnight we can see candles in the distance and fishermen's flares substituting for fireworks along the coast.
Travel Guide: Greece
Go in February
I went to Athens in February to visit a friend working as a nanny and was surprised at how warm it was. It felt like a late English spring, just what I needed to break up the February blues.
Crowds were practically non-existent. We climbed up to the Acropolis, which has a terrible reputation for crowds, but found only a small group of touring businessmen and a couple of families. I only wish that we'd thought to bring a good guidebook, because we didn't really know what we were looking at and it was the perfect opportunity to explore.
I was really surprised at how much of Ancient Greece remains, and how much of it is incorporated into modern Greek life. There are souvenir shops where there used to be a Turkish bazaar, just round the corner from the ruins of old Agora, near where you head up to the Acropolis.
And loads of restaurants and bars and little stalls selling spinach pie and baklava. It's almost like going to Stonehenge and finding chip shops set up in the outer circle.
The English laugh at the Americans when they come over and go on about how old everything is in Britain, but when I was in Athens I felt exactly the same way.
Travel Guide: Greece
Athens - revival of an ancient city
It's amazing what a bit of cash can do to change a city. Take Athens, for example.
The oldest among the world's oldest, and famed simply for being ancient, Athens is slowly emerging as one of Europe's most modern capital cities.
It's all been made possible by a huge chunk of money that's being spent racing towards the 2004 Olympic Games in less than year's time.
Anyone who's been to Athens may recall a hot, dusty, smoggy, car-choked, fume-polluted city. Now it's very different.
You'll still find the local people just as affable and welcoming, but now there's a new sense of urgency in the run-up to next year's Olympic Games.
The Greeks are spending a whopping 4.64 billion euros on new construction and renovations alone to bring Athens kicking and screaming into the 21st century.
Athens now has a new international airport, a new super-slick Metro system and this time next year should have an extra 210km of new road.
Men in yellow hard hats and bulldozers seem to appear around every corner.
Even the local hoteliers have been given 3,000 euros per room to spend on renovations, thus ensuring the thousands of spectators arriving for the Games will be suitably impressed.
For the tourist, the new Athens underground stations are especially worth visiting, if only to peruse the museum-like displays of ancient artefacts unearthed by workmen excavating the miles of tube train tunnels underneath the ancient city.
The 2,500-year-old Parthenon, sitting magestically on the Acropolis high above the city, is, of course, still the main reason people come to Athens, and even that's having a facelift.
Travel Guide: Greece
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The ancient Greek sites in Thrace are generally dull, but they spoke well of one at Maroneia, down a track so rough that I walked. Then the only other tourists of the trip turned up, a German couple in a hire car. We had a discussion about how far it was, which none of us knew, and they drove on without offering me a lift.
Four hundred yards on, I came upon them and the ruins of a theatre behind a chain-link fence. I left them and found a spot where the fence crossed a ditch so I could crawl underneath. Then I appeared inside and shouted to them to come round. They crawled through with cries of delight, while I nobly forbore to point out that this was an example of the British dash and initiative which explained why we had won the war.
This brings me to the third reason for going to Thrace - there are virtually no tourists. An elderly Englishman on a bicycle is quite a curiosity, and I had many pleasant encounters as a result.
Outside Porto Lagos there are two lovely churches built out at sea and reached by a long wooden bridge. The builder in charge of restorations said he liked the English as they and the Greeks stood shoulder to shoulder in the war. This idea he illustrated by holding an imaginary gun and going 'pow pow' like a small boy. He was so carried away that he said he felt we were friends.
'Well, my friend,' said I, 'you can take my photograph for my wife.' So he did.
I enjoyed the rest of the journey, but for a cyclist who wants to visit Thrace I have found a simpler method. Fly to the island of Thasos, cross to the mainland, follow the river Nestos and turn right.
Lounging with the lizard ladies
A day's boat trip provided an all-round view of the island and a golden time swimming, sunbathing and snoozing. The Triton was a cheery boat. Her bell, inscribed 'In memory of happy ouzo times with Sotiris', hung encouragingly over the heads of three women, skins tanned to the consistency of old lizard. Judging by the trio's frequent visits to the free bottles in the stern, the ship's fine tradition was in no danger of lapsing.
While my friend Helena surfaced to report that snorkelling had revealed only a pair of jeans and a can of beans, those who stayed on board had better luck. Dropping baited lines over the rail, we hauled in little grey fish which the crew barbecued for a beach picnic.
We stopped at the pilgrim monastery of St Michael Panormitis, where painted saints looked down from the vaulted ceiling and haloes gleamed through two centuries' worth of grime. The saint was famous for his miracles, said the lay brother in charge of the museum. Ornate lamps, embroideries and icons hung from its walls, the gifts of rescued shipwrecked sailors and petitioners who had successfully enlisted St Michael's help.
Back on board, we found the lizard ladies temporarily deprived of their tumblers while a bearded Orthodox priest completed a short service. Sprinkling holy water from a bunch of fresh herbs, he blessed the Triton for the summer season ahead.
We later climbed the cobbled stairway that does duty for a street up to the Chorio, Symi's original village, high above the harbour. There, in the shadow of its crusader castle, Symi retreats into an older past through narrow alleys where the elders dozed at pavement cafe tables. Much of the Chorio has yet to recover from the bombs that fell during the German retreat in 1945. Fig trees invade ruined walls where chickens murmur and music seeps from behind sagging shutters.
A popular daily excursion from crowded Rhodes, Symi town can get busy. But in the spring, only a small proportion of the day's visitors venture beyond here, leaving most of the island's pebbled beaches and dazzlingly clear water relatively untenanted.
A short bus and taxi boat ride took us to Santa Marina, where a leisurely swim landed us on a tiny island. We had it to ourselves, apart from the lizards - real ones, this time - sunning themselves on the chapel steps.
By night, Symi town was itself again. Lights winked from waterside shops and tavernas, and from the chartered yachts bobbing against the quayside.
Should we splash out on Manos's expensive taverna fish tank, try again to learn to love retsina, buy a sponge or dawdle over dinner in that little place beyond the boatyard? Decisions, decisions. It's hard work being on holiday. Thank goodness for a decent night's sleep.
Surrounded by lemon trees
The rocky coves of the northern tip of the island, reached by tortuous tracks, are entirely deserted and even in June the more popular beaches dotted along the west coast were never crowded. My favourite was Kastani, a sandy bay surrounded by wooded hillsides.
Further down the coast, the village of Agnontas is renowned for its seafood restaurants.
At one waterside taverna Pavlos invited us into his kitchen to choose from a huge selection of fish caught that morning.
For local specialities, head for Perivoli, a short walk from the main square in Skopelos Town.
Here, in Reginos' orchard surrounded by lemon trees, we tucked into mussels in basil and tomato, beef with smoked aubergine puree and a delicious pork dish with apples and prunes in a wine sauce.
The town itself is archetypal Greece - a cluster of pretty white-washed houses cascade down the hillside around the bay, their wooden balconies smothered in geraniums and bougainvillea.
Heather Parsons, an English woman who runs walking tours of the island, led us past the tavernas and craft shops along the harbour and up through a maze of stone-paved alleyways.
'There are more than 100 churches here,' she told us as we paused for breath in front of the tiny chapel of Agios Michaelis, 'but this one is really special.'
She pointed to massive slabs of pink rock which formed the cornerstones.
'These are sarcophagi from the Minoan or Neolithic age,' she said. 'How they came to be incorporated into a 17th-century church nobody knows.'
With few archeological remains on the island, this is likely to remain a mystery.
Coffee with the Moni Thari monks
On the edge of a pine forest, the hills were interspersed with tiny olive groves and broken ground, which orchids seem to like, especially the papilionacca, the butterfly orchid. We left Richard to his photography. He met Manfred the next day and they visited a remote site Kari-Ann and I had discovered in the south near Kottavia; a marshy area mottled with rare flowers and swarming with tadpoles.
By that time we had become little weary of staring intently at the ground, so Kari-Ann and I wandered off into the forest and headed to a river swollen by the spring rains. We paddled in secluded pool where tiny fish darted between our legs.
Tracing the course of the river upstream, we set off for the monastery of Moni Thari, but progress was slow as we zigzagged across the river with the sun drifting between clouds. The valley widened and tamarisk, myrtle and the most delicious thyme filled the breeze with their bee-appealing scents.
We didn't meet a soul until, quite exhausted, we came to Moni Thari, nestling by a mountain ridge, its tiny church covered with frescos. Young monks in black robes offered us strong, sweet coffee. We managed to cadge a ride back with some German tourists and took the opportunity to display some of my newly acquired orchid expertise, which petered out when it came to remembering the Latin names.
There are many books on the subject of orchids - Richard showed me his library book with 25 'return by . . .' stamps in it, all of them his - and you soon develop an instinct for the right sites. Alternatively, just take a walk near the Med in the spring and you may find an orchid hunter Britannica, like we did, and quiz him.
The flowers are truly amazing and can easily cast a spell not only over insects, but humans, too. And remember orchids are quite easily missed and trodden on, so go softly - and good hunting.
A sweeping panorama
'A Frankish knight called William of Villehardouin built the castle atop the hill,' explains Georgia. 'He was a descendent of crusaders who had colonised the Peloponnese. He was so troubled by warlike tribes that he vowed to build an impregnable castle.'
I ask Georgia if we can climb to the top. 'You go,' she says, pointing guiltily to a packet of cigarettes. 'I can't get up there any more.'
I clamber up the steep scree path. The higher I climb, the more spectacular the view. I have a sweeping panorama across the southern Peloponnese.
The villages of Sparta, Gerakion and Chrisafa lie below. In the distance, a line of purple mountains are enveloped in purple haze. Beyond them lies the picturesque port of Monemvasia.
This lush green landscape is dotted with vineyards, perfumed orange groves and tidy vegetable plots.
Crusader William certainly knew how to build a castle. The sheer hilltop is enclosed with monumental walls.
On the side facing the wilds of Mount Taygetos -home to William's enemies - there's a vertigo-inducing drop into the valley below.
The tribes must have shaken their heads in despair as they watched these foreign knights at work.
William's good fortune was not to last. Captured by the mighty Byzantine army, he tried to flee in disguise. But his goofy front teeth betrayed him.
Although his life was spared, he was forced to hand over his beloved Mystra castle.
I climbed back down to Georgia, who was waiting -cigarette in hand - by the Palace of the Despots.
Uncrowded beaches
They have a history: resistance to the Turks and the Nazis, caves where Greek legends and culture were taught secretly, keeping them alive down the generations.
Some, like Zagora, served the silk industry. Others have turned to the happy business of raising flowers.
Many buildings are three-storey from the days when animals lived on the ground floor. With commonly two levels of stone and a top storey of wood, they are handsome affairs.
These villages, their squares, churches and arcs of green branches, are a new and graceful experience.
Most visitors will stay on the coast and visit the forest. We chose the largest and best equipped village on either side of the peninsula, Aghios Ioannis, known locally as Ay Yannis (St John popularised as St Jack!).
It has a front of about half a mile and all the hotels, tavernas, and mini-markets you need, but they are plain and Greek, not a neon strip in sight.
Our hotel, the Eleanna - run by sisters-in-law Elena and Anna, grandfather Yannis, a family friend and three female employees - sits in a garden of roses and lemon trees and is simple, friendly and good.
There are three long, uncrowded beaches, of which Papa Nero is the best. The resort was refreshingly quiet. You could swim in the Aegean, walk in the shade, and dine on a meze and local fish for about £9 a head.
There are caveats. The local tour agency, Les Hirondelles, does trips through the forest and to the stunning Meteora monasteries well.
But a slow start delayed their promising sea cruise along both sides of the peninsula. And Kosmar, our travel company, should not talk lightly about 'walking between the forest villages'.
You do so on the kalderimia, mule tracks with ridges of stone and loose rocks, often at steep gradients. Our descent from Tsangarada, a fine village, edged into the near vertical. Fell-walkers and strongminded parties with scorn for vertigo can walk between the villages.
Otherwise, there are few taxis and the bus is at 7am - the downside of staying civilised.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Call Kosmar on 0870 7000 747 or visit http://www.kosmar.co.uk. Call Tapestry Holidays on 0208 235 7800 or visit http://www.tapestryholidays.com.
Forest-covered crags
One of the prettiest was Makrynitsa, in the mountains above Volos, with panoramic views over the city and the Pagasitic Gulf to the blue mountains beyond.
This was one of the few places geared to tourism and the cobbled pathway was lined with souvenir shops selling wooden carvings, ceramic pots and worry beads.
The road up the north-east coast zigzags round the cliff edge where forest-covered crags plunge.
A tortuous lane descends to Damouchari, a tiny natural harbour in the rocks. There are just a couple of shops and tavernas here and we stopped to browse round Victoria's boutique. She was better than a personal shopper. A friend was tempted to buy a sundress and she immediately volunteered to alter it for her, while we waited, for no extra charge.
It was a good excuse to stay for lunch as her mother ran the restaurant next door. No one spoke English, but we were invited to choose from a range of pots of squid, chicken, lentils and beans bubbling on the stove. This was the norm in many restaurants.
High on the cliffs above, the village of Tsagarada boasts the oldest plane tree in Greece, supposedly 1,000 years old.
Just off the square we came across a wonderfully eccentric hotel run by an English woman, Jan Bussoff. The Lost Unicorn was just like an old-fashioned English country house, crammed with antiques, where we drank tea from bone china cups.
After four days of white-knuckle driving, I was in need of a rest and decided to take some of the organised excursions. The tour of the mountain villages of Milies and Vizitsa includes a trip on Pelion's only railway. The little train with its wooden and brass carriages departs from the coastal resort of Ana Laconia and chugs up the steep hillside past orange groves.
The 90-minute journey was spectacular, taking us through narrow cuttings in the rock and across stone bridges spanning deep, green gorges. But the rest of the excursion was disappointing, with no time to visit the beautifully restored houses.
Resurrecting Argostoli
Kefalonia is the biggest of the Ionian islands, a chain of mountainous jewels strung out along Greece's western coastline. It takes two hours to drive from the north to the south of the island, across rugged terrain dotted with olives and wild thyme. The highest peak, Mount Enos, is 1,000ft higher than Ben Nevis; its northernmost port, Fiskardo, is perhaps the most picturesque fishing village in Greece.
Strangely, the island was last on the list of possible locations when film producer Kevin Loader began his search for the ideal place to shoot Captain Corelli's Mandolin. 'We had numerous requirements and searched throughout Greece to find the perfect location,' he says. 'But there were always major drawbacks.'
The neighbouring island of Ithaca was considered but rejected. 'There were simply not enough hotel rooms for the crew.' The port of Khania in Crete seemed ideal, except for the town's prominent mosque. Next to be rejected was a handful of locations on the Peloponnese, while Corfu - the favoured choice - was too overrun with tourists.
'And then,' says Loader, 'I was sailing towards the Kefalonian port of Sami and I thought "this is it". 'Although all of the old buildings had been destroyed by the 1953 earthquake, there was a harbour deep enough to anchor large warships - an important factor - and a stunning mountainous backdrop.'
The more the film crew explored, the more they realised that Sami was the perfect place to recreate the pre-war capital of Argostoli. The main building on the waterfront was a hotel, the Kastro, which they were able to block-book for the duration of filming. The other buildings were either derelict or their owners were willing to lend them for filming. Within months, the waterfront was receiving the biggest makeover of its life.
The older islanders were amazed to see their one-time capital being resurrected on the other side of the island by a team of British set designers, craftsmen and engineers. 'They brought their grandchildren to show them around,' says Loader. 'They told them, "this is what it used to be like".'
They were even more surprised to see warships anchored in the harbour and German tanks being unloaded on to the quayside.
Many locals still have painful memories of the wartime atrocities that happened on Kefalonia. The barbarous massacre of the Italians by the Nazis, recounted in chilling detail in the novel, was not invented by Louis de Bernieres. 'One old man told me he was witness to the horror,' said Loader. 'The butchered Italians were not buried for five or six days. He could still smell the stench.'
Filming continued for much of last summer, allowing visitors a fascinating insight into the makings of a blockbuster movie with destroyers in the bay, troops drilling in the streets and battered armoured cars being driven to various locations. 'The Greek navy has lent us warships and landing craft,' said Loader. 'We've also borrowed real troops as extras.'
Mystifying Melissani
Still searching for the romance that is Greece, I took a trip on the boat Romantika to the town of Assos. A cold sea-sprayed hour away, Assos is even smaller than Fiskardo. Here, however, the food is similarly divine (in the harbour I ate the best homemade baklava imaginable), and the town boasts a medieval fortress on top of the hill. The winding, dusty walk up to the top of the hill is more rewarding, in a way, than the fortress itself, which lies in ruins.
A Jeep ride around the island took me to the mystic caves of Drogarati and Melissani. The Drogarati cave is a vast, musky, underground cavern, which, because of its superb acoustics, is used for mandolin concerts during the summer.
The Melissani lake is even more mystifying. The place is a rare natural phenomenon - an inland, underground salt water lake with no tide. I descended a steep concrete ramp to the edge of the water that fills the bottom of the cave. A raddled Charon-like boatman picked me up from the edge of the lake, then propelled his wooden craft around the water with a long thin oar.
The lake, although 100ft deep in places, is bright blue and totally clear. Eels swim in the water below the boat, and around the sides of the lake hang strange salt water stalactites. As part of his patter, the boatman pointed out the ones which might look familiar. 'Look - Dumbo!' he said, pointing to a formation in the shape of an elephant's head. As he rowed on, the only sounds in the cave were the splash of the oar and the dripping of water down from the stalactite.
I was amazed as I travelled around the island that even in the more touristy areas like the town of Argostoli, there is no attempt to cash in on the Corelli phenomenon. Tourism began to boom quietly on Cephalonia several years before the novel's publication, and any recent increase in tourism seems largely incidental, not consequential.
On my final night in Kefalonia, I left Fiskardo and made my way to a brand-new hotel to the south of Argostoli. Owners Nikos and Sofia have built a very luxurious hotel, by Greek standards, on top of a high hill overlooking Trapezaki Bay. Nikos spent 20 years working as a jewellery maker in New York, and returned to his native Cephalonia to build his dream. On this opening night, Nikos and Sofia were not in the high spirits one might have expected.
They were thin, drawn and pale. According to their two friends from Aberystwyth, they have both gone down two sizes in clothes in the past few months, and haven't slept for weeks because of the sheer worry of their enterprise.
During the long, drunken evening that followed, Nikos confided that in building his hotel he had made only one mistake - he'd never worked in the hotel business before. Such was the intimacy of this despair in the face of success, that I found myself guiltily longing to laugh.
Here, in this deserted palace at the crown of a hill, I finally found some of the charm of Captain Corelli's Mandolin. The proud and pessimistic spirit which pervades the book is alive and well in the Cephalonia of today.
Invisible, mysterious village
'Homer mentions a type of ancient wooden door lock - they still use them there.'
He indicated with his chin towards the mountains and the invisible, mysterious village.
I was bound from Rhodes to Crete. 'Karpathos, Olymbos, v traditional. Must come back here,' I noted in my travel journal. That was in 1994. This year, I finally made it.
Not so long ago, eastern Crete, too, had been undiscovered, untamed and very traditional - not any more. Mass tourism had ruined a whole coast. The Militant Lager Tendency has taken over.
In Agios Nikalaos, once a lovely fishing village (now known as 'Ag Nik' to the MLT), you can get a tattoo while slurping down pints and watching Becks on widescreen.
A ferry leaves Agios Nikalaos for Karpathos three times a week. I bought a deck-class ticket for £11. There were 12 passengers, none with tattoos. Perhaps Karpathos was still undiscovered.
Seven hours later, we steamed into the port of Pigadia, the island's capital. No high-rises, few cars, no rows of anchored yachts - instead a lovely crescent bay, caiques and moored fishing boats, a whitewashed village with waterside tavernas.
This was more like it. It's a happy Greek island where locals outnumber tourists.
'Is there a bus from Pigadia up to Olymbos?' I'd asked the man who sold me the ferry ticket in Crete. 'Sure,' he replied, with confidence.
Slight correction at the bus station in Pigadia: 'Well, there was a bus, but it fell off the mountain, unfortunately. It's better to take the boat. They go every day at 8.30am and return at 4.30pm.'
There were two boats, actually, moored next to each other. Both had big signs in English boasting 'Cheapest Fare to Diafani Every Day!' In a way, they were both telling the truth as they charged the same -£11 a head.
You could also get boats to the island's beaches of Kyra Panagia and Apella for £6.50, both of which offer great skin diving.
Fjord-like Vathi harbour
Close to the spring is a decaying building, once a hotel. Reputedly Maria Callas and Winston Churchill were among those who soaked up the stunning, azure views towards Lefkas and mainland Greece. When the owner died, his two sons decided not to carry on. Some say they were too rich to be bothered, others that they could not agree on how it should be run. So now it slowly slides towards ruin. But the hotel lives on in memory.
An old lady walking with a donkey at the roadside was pointed out as having served tea to Churchill. The bay below is where the Royal Yacht Britannia anchored on the Prince and Princess of Wales's honeymoon so that Charles and Diana could enjoy a beach barbecue. They should have drunk the waters, mutter the locals, then all would have been well.
One of the highlights of a tour is at the pinched waist of the figure-of-eight island. As you go from the north to the less populated south, a riveting view of Cephalonia just two miles away across the sea is blocked out to be replaced in a trice by a beautiful view of the capital, Vathi.
From this distance the nondescript town is made attractive by a setting as spectacular as any Norwegian fjord. From Vathi, which offers regular ferries to Cephalonia, you can seek out the Homeric sites of the Arethousia springs and the Grotto of the Nymphs.
But always the north remains more entertaining. In busy Stavros one taverna advertises itself as the best on the island; another one says: 'You've tried the best, now try the worst.' High in the hills is Exoghi, a delightful rambling village where the island's ubiquitous stone terracing reaches gravity-defying heights except a closer look shows that gravity is winning.
The terracing is falling away, reflecting a decline in population from 1,700 in its winemaking heyday to 16 inhabitants, all over 70. Exoghi wine is still prized on the island but so scarce that the locals keep it to themselves, unless you are very lucky.
Ithaca is not for those pursuing watersports and the high life. Slowing down is what it's all about. And the way you get around reflects this. There are few buses and, though you can hire cars or mopeds, most people walk, take taxis - or hire a small boat.
The outboard motor is the perfect way to find a secluded cove or hunt down the ideal spot for snorkelling. So did I drink the waters of Kalamos? And will I be going back? Yes, and yes.
Dolphins in tow
Ionian dolphins, it seems, keep away from motor boats, but are curious about little red plastic canoes. One evening, camped on the shores of Kalamo, we saw a flotilla of bottlenoses cruising the channel between us and Mytika.
Launching our craft down the pebbly beach, like whalers in pursuit of Moby Dick, we got to within 100 yards before the creatures began showing off, leaping into striking poses so beloved of wood carvers. Two days later we also saw a rare and curious monk seal off Kalamo town.
Our fellow kayakers - we were nine in all - were a hardy bunch. Three had trekked in Kathmandu, over the Atlas mountains and to the foothills of Everest. The leader of our modest expedition, Steve, had been an Alpine mountaineer and whitewater canoeist.
When you have bivouacked on the North Face of the Eiger, clipped to the sheer rock by three hooks, a gentle paddle around the Ionian is no great hardship. Thus, with such excellent company round the evening barbecue fire, the lack of a guitar and knowledge of the words of Kumbayah were no loss.
The first campsite at Dessimo Bay was about an hour's paddle from Nidri, but full of Germans in fully equipped camper vans. We were not sorry to leave next day for Vathi, the main town on Meganisi. Three hours was enough to see us over this glassy stretch of blue, skirting Skorpios, that separates the island from Levkas.
Lunch of Greek salad and fish in a typical harbourside taverna set us up nicely for the short leg of our paddle to the next campsite.
Daniel, just 11, had no trouble keeping up, while his sister Ellie, nine, hitched a ride in the back of Steve's double kayak. By early afternoon we were unpacking the tents from our mother ship and building a fire on the beach.
The support vessel keeps a wary eye on stragglers, and those who crave a change from paddling can always jump on board. The lugger could tow the whole fleet, if it came to it, which it didn't. In the afternoons, while some of our group swam, others read or explored the hinterland. A few would set sail down the coast.
One welcome beer
Mark understandably refused to go mountain biking. I declined the paragliding, scared of doing an Icarus.
No - we would stick to good old-fashioned foot-slogging, starting with a gentle swim in the Mediterranean for a real sea-to-summit ascent.
Afternoon cloud massed on the highest peaks 10,000ft above and Stelios spoke darkly of 'overdeveloping' weather, so we postponed our departure until the morning, leaving on a clear dawn from the coastal village of Litochoro.
Ambitious plans for bushwhacking off the beaten track were banished by the temptation of a beautifully engineered path up the gorge of Mavrolongos, which means black on account of the dark forest of holly oak, walnut, chestnut, beech, fig and spindle.
You can bypass this five-hour section by driving up an alternative gravel track to the first wayside restaurant, but we preferred to walk.
And what a walk! No sign of mushrooms but gorgeous flowers everywhere, shady glades and ice-cold pools in the river if you really needed to cool off.
Half way up the gorge, Byzantine icons, candles and oil lamps decorate a whitewashed chapel nestling under a huge overhang - a precursor of the full-scale monastery further up the valley.
The latter was destroyed during-the German occupation but is being rebuilt.
Dedicated to Agios Dionysius, it seems a bizarre adoption by Orthodox Christianity of the pagan god of boozing.
Our own boozing was limited for the time being to one welcome beer at the roadhead restaurant.
Then the serious work started - a steady three-hour climb up a now steeper switchback trail.
Deciduous trees gave way to Balkan pines.
A blissful moment
Hotel La Cite was pleasant and workmanlike rather than luxurious; the staff friendly and efficient.
Our four-day 'Introduction to Yachting Course' was comprehensive and fun. There were four trainees in our group and ample opportunity for each of us to 'have a go' at the myriad tasks necessary to sail a yacht.
My ambivalence, I suppose, was evident from the start. Given that the yacht had an engine, why bother with main sails and jibs, reefing and trimming anyway?
However, after four days I was almost convinced. There is a blissful moment when the sails are up and the engine off and there is just the slap of water against the hull.
Having completed the course, we were deemed competent enough to join the flotilla of 12 boats for the second week.
We were assured that two people - albeit two people with only four days' sailing experience between them - could easily cope with the 28ft Margarita.
And it was true, we did cope. We made it to every port on our week-long odyssey in the Argolic Gulf, and by the necessary deadline. We sailed most of the time rather than relying on the engine (although I protested frequently about this).
Safety vastly improved
Islands within the seven main groups each tend to be linked by one shipping line, so it is simple to jump from one to the next, and more difficult to hop between the groups.
For this reason, it is probably best to take one, or part of one, group of islands at a time.
The main mode of transport between the islands is, of course, ferry. Between some islands in the Sporades, the Cyclades and Dodecanese, the larger car and passenger ferries are supplemented with the much smaller, and nippier, hydrofoils and catamarans, which have cut journey times between islands dramatically since their introduction in the 1980s and 90s.
The Greek passenger shipping industry has come a long way since the Express Samina disaster in September 2000, when 82 people died after the 35-year-old ferry crashed into rocks off the coast of Paros.
Older boats have been taken out of service and safety has vastly improved.
Unfortunately, ferries still have a tendency to either turn up late or sometimes even not at all.
The key is to be flexible and not to get too worried if your plans are pushed back a few days. You may have to leave out islands, so visit the most important ones to you first.
The Sporades in the western Aegean are a good choice for the first-timer, with one of the shortest journey times from the UK at just over three hours, only three main islands to see, and quick and easy hydrofoil and ferry connections.
Skiathos has the only airport, but those in search of a slower pace tend to head for its neighbours, Alonissos and Skopelos.
The largest island in the Sporades, Alonissos is also quietest.
Our accommodation on Alonissos, near a quaint port, had a rocky beach just a few steps from our front door, two supermarkets and a few tavernas selling fresh fish priced by the kilo and Greek salads the size of Mount Athos.
Ideal for families
For a family break with younger children where all you are looking for is peace and quiet, good local food and a beach, Paxos, just to the south of Corfu, is an excellent choice.
It's a small island (just seven miles long) of olive groves and pine woods with a handful of little ports and villages to enjoy and explore.
If even that sounds too busy, its tiny neighbour Antipaxos has a population of about 30 people, a few holiday houses and some lovely beaches.
Other good islands for quiet family holidays include Lemnos, Skopelos and Alonissos.Rural Greece is much neglected by holidaymakers - as a result they are missing out on some wonderful scenery and sights.
One of the best holidays of my life was a tour of the Peleponnese where we found some excellent empty beaches, glorious mountain landscapes and fascinating ancient sites.
It's true that this is not the sort of holiday for families who like nothing but sun, sea and sand. But if you like to get out and about, and enjoy being flexible - perhaps stopping for a few days by a beach, before spending a couple of days in the hills - then it's hard to beat.
As well as the Peleponnese, I recommend Crete. Last year I had a week in a quiet hill village but we were only 20 minutes from the beach. We felt part of the village, and had great fun exploring the vineyards, olive groves and local sights. Almost anywhere in the interior of the island is worth considering - though do check how far you will have to drive to get to the coast.
Mountain-hugging coast road
Then a tour bus came careering around the corner. The reality evaporated in a cloud of dust. It usually does.
As a holiday venue, as a civilised, sun-kissed, gently-paced town, as a base for exploring a fascinating island, Aghios Nikolaos would be hard to beat.
For one thing, the town is so beautifully constructed, like a Russian doll. It is folded into the curves of the seashore as if it has been there thousands of years.
A small lake, charmingly tranquil, opens out into a larger harbour, protected by an island, which then opens out into the mountain-fringed Gulf of Mirabelle, one of the most spectacular landscapes in the Mediterranean.
I could have spent hours admiring the changing colours on the far-away mountains: from a dappled amber in the morning to the most delicate shade of pink at sundown. The view was so tantalising that, like a man looking for the pot of gold at the end of rainbow, I had to get closer to it.
So I hired a car and spent a day driving along the mountain-hugging coast road to the east of Aghios Nikolaos.
It was rugged terrain. In places, you wondered why the road-builders had not given it up as a bad job and retired to the taverna for a bottle of retsina.
But the ruggedness was offset by the sheer beauty of the setting. Oleanders, pink and white, grew wild beside the road, mile after mile of them. Goats with bells around their necks zig-zagged up the mountainside, weaving their way through the stumpy olive trees.
Reminders of ancient civilisation
It's certainly a far cry from the Cretan Costa, a strip of modern restaurants, bars and hotels on the coast from the island's dusty capital, Heraklion, to busy Aghios Nikolaos. The peak months see wall-to-wall roasting on the beaches at thriving resorts such as Hersonissos and Malia - best avoided unless you're 18.
Less well-known is the island's south-western coast. Pausing at Loutro one day for lunch, we found picture-postcard Greece: a tiny medieval keep, white-cube houses, the smell of oregano and grilling fish rising from waterside bars. And coves with indigo depths and aquamarine shallows offering some of the best swimming on the island.
Wherever you make your base, you will find plenty of excursions and plenty of people eager to sell them to you. But have a good look at the map before you succumb, unless you want to spend most of the day in a tour-bus: this is the 'Big Island', after all.
Take the beach at Vai, for example: although much touted by the brochures for its forest of tropical palm trees, I found it a letdown.
For one thing, the palms are not picturesque coconut but stumpy date, and they're hemmed in by an ugly chainlink fence. More rewarding is a trip to Lasithi, the so-called 'plain of windmills' - a lush, green patch among barren mountains where wind-pumps lazily turn thousands of windmills. The views alone are striking, but the main attraction is the giant Diktean Cave, a shadowy complex of limestone spires and stalactites where, supposedly the god Zeus was born. The atmosphere is eerie rather than majestic.
Just two miles outside Heraklion, Knossos was once the sophisticated capital of the 4,000-year old Minoan empire, which spanned much of the Aegean sea. The site's excavator, Sir Arthur Evans, drew freely on his imagination to restore the ruins, lending a distinctly Disneyesque touch to many of the frescos. Yet it's still impressive, and worth the detour.
But perhaps the most popular excursion of all is following the spectacular Samaria Gorge trail through what is, at 11 miles, the longest ravine in Europe, and a national park.
Little Omalos, high in the White Mountains, is the starting-point for this six-hour hike past dramatically narrow canyons and wildflower-sprinkled woods. The walk requires a full day's commitment.
After dropping me and my fellow walkers at Omalos, our coach went to the coastal resort of Chora Sfakion where it waited to pick us up in the late afternoon. In order to meet it, though, we weary hikers still had a short boat-ride ahead of us eastwards from Aghia Roumeli. But not before I'd downed that ice-cold beer - and slice of pizza - I'd been fantasising about for the last hour of the hot, thyme-scented trail.
A warm welcome
Not a souvenir shop or tourist menu in sight. I arrived in the plateia, watched by a few curious locals, one of whom filled a bottle with water from a spring and passed it to me.
I fielded a few typically Greek questions - how much did I earn, was I married, how many children did I have - before setting off again, refreshed.
And just as Durrell encountered many colourful characters on his rambles so, on a high ridge, I ran into the local beekeeper. He seemed pleased to see me, waving me on with a gap-toothed salute.
Time was when visitors to Corfu insisted on being by the sea. Wise ones, like the locals before them, have forsaken the high temperatures and overcrowding of the coast for the cool, quiet interior.
My base was a rented villa near Kalami, tucked away in the olive groves with a terrace looking over the bay to the mainland. Kyria Eleni, the owner's black-clad granny, arrived on my first morning bearing a litre of olive oil and some cheese. This gesture of welcome was a reminder that the Greek word for 'foreigner' is the same as 'guest'.
She chattered in lopsided English, while I tried even more lopsided Greek. Goodwill is more important than grammar in this situation. We shared a cup of coffee in contented silence.
Off in the distance, fishing boats trailing delicate wakes crisscrossed the pale blue bay. Kyria Eleni pointed a bony finger out at the view and smiled. 'Poli orea,' she said. Yes, indeed. Very beautiful.
To see Corfu at its best, you need to get out on the water. Skimming over the waves in a rented boat, I headed towards tiny bays that reached out towards seaborne arrivals like an encircling arm.
The top five coves
There are about a dozen coves and small resorts to choose from, including my top five: Kaminaki: Perhaps the prettiest of the smaller coves, with little more than a cluster of traditional-style houses gathered around the beach.
Agni: Famous for its three top-quality but good-value tavernas, it has few places to stay, but a wonderful, sheltered pebble beach ideal for a day trip or lunch stop.
Agios Stephanos: This is my pick of all the northeastern bays. Sometimes called San Stephano, it has only a tiny corner of a beach, so it isn't ideal for young families.
However, the harbour front, with a handful of tavernas and small apartment blocks, is surely one of Greece's prettiest - perfect for quiet couples or honeymooners.
Amvlaki: A long, curving bay with an often empty pebble beach and hardly any development. Very scenic, very peaceful.
Kassiopi: Much bigger than all the other bays and resorts on this coast put together, Kassiopi is based around an old fishing port. It has managed to keep its character, despite lots of holiday development.
The beach is all right - pebbly and a bit scruffy - but many people hire a car to drive to the sandier options on the nearby north coast. Great for a lively but civilised holiday.
Sloshed in style
So you can choose - pretend you're on a glamorous luxury break as you relax in the wellness centre, watch a DVD in the chill-out lounge or play a set or two of tennis on the hotel's court.
Or join the resort's happy-clappy reps - the Contiki Action Planners - belting out a tune at the karaoke special, hit the pool for Perfect Match where you can play the game of luurve, or be a judge in the Man O Man competition where there's an hour of half-price drinks to get you fired up.
As the holiday progressed it became obvious which road we were taking. The veneer of sophistication had completely worn off as we struggled to get up for the last few minutes of brunch (last orders 11am), looked forward to the Cocktail Mixology class (so we could slosh in as much restorative vodka in our Sex On The Beach drink as possible) and all developed juvenile, teenage crushes on each other.
Yes, we had a dressed-up evening in town, watching the sun set over picturesque Mykonos Town and harbour from the plush, hillside Oniro Bar and had a traditional Greek meal in a friendly taverna in town. But it was all window dressing for the main action - dancing all night in Space nightclub (entry 15 Euros), pulling in Scandi Bar and skinny dipping on the beach at 3am.
So if you are looking for a fun, lively holiday in the sun but don't want to embarrass yourself be saying you're going on a Club 18-30 trip, Contiki has created the perfect alternative, with all the fun, in an 'upmarket' package.
An all-inclusive seven-night package to Contiki Resort, Mykonos (020 8290 6422; website: www.contikiresorts.com ) including flights, transfers, accommodation, brunch and buffet dinner at Ocean Restaurant, free entry to Blue nightclub, tennis, volleyball and organised activities costs from £349 per person in June.
Alcoholic drinks cost extra, with beer at £2, a glass of wine £1.35 and a gin and tonic £4.40. A four-course meal in a seafront taverna costs around £8pp excluding wine.
Feeling inspired? Book a holiday.
Exploring an enchanted island
The rugged west coast of the island is awesome - sheer 1,000ft cinder-toffee cliffs plunging into the sea, alongside towering limestone arches and shadowy tunnels fashioned by erosion.
On land, we didn't leave a stone unturned, discovering the island in a hired car. Comfortably, over three days, we clocked up 250 miles of stunning sights from our base, a spotlessly clean studio in a complex of 21 on the outskirts of Alikes, a quiet resort.
As first-time visitors, we immediately noticed the distinctive churches of Zante. All over the Ionian Islands, they have the stamp of Venice - separate bell towers. Even the smallest villages boast impressive detached campaniles.
Zante Town was effectively destroyed by an earthquake in 1953. It was carefully rebuilt, modelled on the original, but, the townsfolk told us, it has lost a lot of its quaintness. Yet we thought it was an enchanting place. Its claim to fame lingers: on a hill overlooking the bustling, shimmering harbour, the poet Dionysios Solomos penned Greece's national anthem.
Inevitably, there are coastal villages which have become highly commercialised. Laganas is the worst. It has its own Golden Mile, a neon strip of fast food joints, karaoke bars, satellite TV pubs and tattoo parlours. But most villages, especially inland, on the plain and in the mountains, are virtually unspoilt. Life there, hinged on farming, the top earner, goes on unchanged.
The women of charming, hilltop Volimes are renowned for their handwoven woollen carpets and rugs. These make wonderful gifts, costing from £5.
We were amazed by Zante's highest - and tiniest - village, 1,787ft up in the Vrachionas mountains. Medieval, lime-stone-built Yiri (population 86) is a carbon-copy of Derbyshire Dales hamlets. At Porto Koula, we drove through a vast, remarkable grove of olive trees, 500 years old, with enormous, gnarled, surrealistic trunks.
At Keriou Limmi, my curiosity got the better of me, so I paid the price. With a cane, I poked into a disused pitch well, called the Herodotus Spring after the ancient Greek historian. Beneath its shallow, crystal-clear surface water, sticky cold tar oozes. For centuries it was used to caulk the caiques. It was a messy job cleaning up after my probing experiment.
Locals had urged us not to miss the spectacular sunsets at Kampi. From a cliff-top taverna, we were treated to a silent, unforgettable show of nature as the deep pink sun sank beneath the sapphire sea. Five hundred years after the Venetians called Zante the Flower Of The East, it still lives up to that enviable name.
I miss being woken every morning by the competitive chorus from cocks and turkeys - or the tolling bells from the nearby pretty pink and gold church of St Mary's. And I especially miss my early morning swim.
A tailor's shop of torch bulbs
For the second week we opted to go north. The landscapes are just as dramatic but softer, leafier and lusher. There are even more spring flowers and we meet a party of botanists who have seen wild tulips on the Omalos Plateau. They, too, appear to be in heaven.
Midweek, we potter to the coast, to seaside towns like Kalives with its organic vegetable shop and a tailor's with a glass counter displaying only torch bulbs, and shelves of buttons and straw hats. There are lilies and ducks by a stream that flows into the sea.
For metropolitan life, we drive to Crete's second city, Chania, and find stylish charm. We loaf around the harbour and watch the tour groups waddle past the mellow Venetian and Turkish buildings. In the 1960s, the place was too poor for anyone to build modern hotels. Happily, it is now a conservation area and it is delightful.
We fantasise about upping sticks and living here. Then we meet Tony Fennymore, a Brit who did just that and turned his knowledge and passion for Crete into a oneman business guiding small groups round Crete. His walking tours of Chania show just how many different cultures have ruled the town over the last 6,000 years. Witness the remains of the Byzantine city wall, the Venetian city walls, and the Venetian lighthouse rebuilt as a minaret by Egyptians and now lopsided after being bombed in World War II.
We dine in the cool of a converted Turkish bath house. The whole of Crete, of course, is dripping with evidence of its varied history. Everyone has heard of Knossos. Our wanderings around the west have us fetching up at other ancient sites that would put many a lesser island on the tourist map.
We revel in the emptiness of Armeni, with its fields of underground Minoan tombs. There are 220 tombs hacked out of the limestone. We have the uncommercialised ruins of Aptera almost to ourselves. Just us, temple ruins, vast Roman cisterns and sweeping views across the valleys to the snowy mountain peaks.
No hurry in Greece
The original stones that litter the ground around the Parthenon are being put back one by one. Judging by the progress so far, however, it could be another couple of millennia before the scaffolding comes off again.
Another 1.92 billion euros is also being spent on new Olympic venues in Athens amid huge controversy over whether the work will be finished on time.
Take heart, because apparently it's the way they do things in Greece.
The International Olympic Committee, having already issued stern warnings to the Greek Government, says it isn't worried about the spectre of missing the deadline. Yet.
Still, there's a lot to be done, as a helicopter flight over some of the 32 venues demonstrated all too clearly. From the air, it's fair to sat that many still resemble bombsites.
"In Greece, things are always left to the last minute," said Peter Van der Vliet, general manager and vice president of the Hilton Athens, the official Olympic hotel. "It'll be tight, but they will manage it."
His sumptuous five-star hotel overlooking the Acropolis has recently reopened after itself undergoing a 100m euro refit that shut it for 15 months and stripped it to a concrete skeleton.
Now, apart from a few finishing touches, the Hilton Athens is complete - and on time.
Time will only tell if the same can be said of the 2004 Olympic Games.
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The main site at Sendoukia was an hour's drive to the central highlands where a graveyard dating back thousands of years was uncovered last century.
A trail of red paint daubed on the stony path marked our way through the pine trees. Bright green lizards scuttled past us as we emerged on to a high plateau and looked down on the coast curling round two sides of the island.
Three tombs had been chiselled out of the rock. With such a spectacular setting it must have been a burial site for kings.
You'll need a head for heights to visit the monastry at Agios Ioannis. Perched on a pinnacle of rock just offshore, the only way up to it is by more than 100 steps cut into the sheer rock face.
I can't imagine how they built it, using only nets and pulleys.
The medieval monasteries near Skopelos Town nestle amid the cypress trees on the hillsides.
If you ring the doorbell the monks will invite you inside to show you their ornate chapels, the gold altar screens adorned with icons.
By contrast we found the little whitewashed monastery of Taxiarchon deserted. It is tucked away in a deep valley, a 40-minute hike along a rough cliff path.
A cloud of blue butterflies settled on the wild flowers as we unlatched the gate leading into an overgrown garden.
The air was hot and still, the only sound the whirr of cicadas. The building looked abandoned but oil lamps and candles were stacked in one of the earth-walled rooms and a fresh garland of flowers hung in the little chapel.
It seemed an ideal hideaway and was, in fact, used as a refuge for British soldiers during the Second World War.
Vangelis, a sprightly 90-year-old former mayor of Skopelos, told me how he had helped them escape.
'We smuggled them from the mainland and hid them there until we could get them on a ship to neutral Turkey,' he explained.
Finding the regis-ferdinandii
On our fourth day, as we walked among flowering alpines glowing in the delicate light from the late afternoon sun, a lone figure came into view, moving slowly and deliberately about the hillside as if he'd lost something.
It was not our friend Richard from Wimbledon but Manfred, an orchid enthusiast from Germany, an altogether quieter specimen, thoughtful and studious but with an equal amount of photographic gear.
Manfred showed us a delightful bee orchid, the bloom just half an inch across and a perfect imitation of the insect it needs for pollination. 'These are the yuppies of the plant world,' said Manfred. 'They've been around for only 30 million years; many species developed 60 million years back.'
Though I know next to nothing about botany, Manfred was unfazed by my ignorance, stressing that the most important factor was my interest. We agreed to meet the next day and, as buses were few and far between, he said we could hitch a ride in his hire car.
Taking the rocky road which snakes up the broken hillside to the village of Messanagros, we travelled at a stately 10mph, peering out for roadside blooms. In the garden of a tiny whitewashed church we found more curve-lipped bee orchids.
As we approached the top of the hill, we spotted a man crouching on a bank. Totally absorbed, he ignored us until we called out his name. Then, jamming his glasses up against his forehead, Richard strode triumphantly towards us, declaring: 'I've found it. I said I would and my holiday is complete. Look, the regis-ferdinandii.'
We all admired the fine specimen; no more than three-quarters of an inch-long, blue and with a narrow lip. By way of friendly competition, Manfred announced he had seen four or five the previous day. I was thus able to bring together two specimens of the orchid hunter. Soon they were discussing the merits of their macro lenses and what exactly constituted a hybrid.
Richard had spent six hours travelling two miles, so with German offhand friendliness, Manfred invited him to join us in his tiny car and we were off - at least for a hundred yards or so before stopping again. Kari-Ann had become a star spotter - beneath a lone pine were some beautiful horseshoe orchids (Orphis serum equinum, no less) and out came the lenses, black backdrops, reflectors, light diffusers, etc. Then the delicate beauties were ready for their close-ups.
As the light faded, we retired to a tiny tavern in Messanagros to take tea and sample delicious honey. We admired the beautiful frescos in a 13th-century Byzantine chapel before returning to Lindos.
The palace feels Gothic
This rambling ruin is one of the city's glories -an immense series of empty salons and chambers that sit atop a towering bluff of rock.
'We're in the middle of restoring the place,' says Georgia. 'We hope to give some impression of how splendid it once looked.'
This labyrinthine building would have been dripping with opulence. Marbles, mosaics, frescoes and gold - the Byzantines delighted in exotic colours and bold designs.
Even their chapels were a riot of colour.
Georgia leads me up scaffolding and we duck and dive through partially restored chambers and draughty throne rooms. The palace feels Gothic; it could almost belong in rural France.
There's good reason for this. Mystra's rulers married Frankish courtly ladies, who added pointed Gothic windows to their bedrooms, and decorated their walls with fleurs-de-lis.
Georgia says the renovation of Mystra is an arduous job. 'The greatest dangers come from nature,' she says. 'Plants, trees and shrubs run riot if they're not continually hacked down.'
She points to the far end of the city, which has yet to be cleared. The plants are of jungle-sized proportions, quite dwarfing the houses they conceal.
'Their roots invade the foundations, arches crack and masonry is dislodged,' says Georgia. 'It doesn't take much to destroy an old building.'
She leads me down cobbled streets and through long-abandoned markets to the lovely Monastery of the Pantanassa - a six-domed church bedecked with a marble colonnade.
A path from the sleepy harbour
A day's cruising round the southern tip of the peninsula turned out to be a much better option. With just 25 of us aboard a Turkish gulet, we sailed to isolated beaches and remote islands.
'I am taking you to one of my favourite places,' Dimitrios, our captain, told me as we dropped anchor near the isle of Prasanda.
This tiny outcrop of rock once housed a monastery but now the only inhabitants were seagulls which squawked indignantly as we swam ashore. Dripping wet, Dimitrios led us past the ruins of the monks' cells to a simple whitewashed church, where we stood shivering in our swimsuits while he lit a candle.
The monastery on Trikeri was far more imposing. Perched on a hilltop in the centre of the island, the austere stone building dominates the skyline. There were no roads, but a sandy path led up to it from the sleepy harbour.
So the verdict on Pelion? Well, the director of the tourist office was spot-on. Next time, I shall ask for his other recommendations.
TRAVEL FACTS:
Details from Tapestry Holidays on 020 8235 7788 or website: http://www.tapestryholidays.com or Sunvil on 020 8568 4499 which offers holidays to the Lost Unicorn.
Panorama of the Peloponnese
Most of the filming took place in and around Sami. I found it wasn't hard to flee the bustle and escape the film crews. Hire a car, drive inland, and you'll soon find yourself high in the mountains with only the goats and their clanging bells for company.
The lofty heights of Mount Enos - accessible by dirt track - is the place to get your bearings. On the ascent, you'll pass Agios Giorgios, or St George's Castle, a monumental stone bastion occupied, at various stages in its bloody history, by Byzantines, the French, Turks and Venetians.
The road climbs higher and higher, winding a breathtaking route over the peaks as it leads upwards towards Megalos Soros, the highest point of all. Open the car door and smell the air: it's cool and refreshing and scented with pine. The view is truly spectacular. Mount Enos commands a fabulous panorama of the Peloponnese; nearer, and more distinct, are the islands of Zakinthos, Ithaki, Lefkas, and Corfu.
This is not a place for those with vertigo. I look directly down a sharply descending slope of scree and see - thousands of feet below - the tiny village of Trapezaki, where I'm staying in a delightful, family-run hotel.
In de Bernieres' novel this grandiose mountain, clad in Kefalonia's unique black pine, is home to the simple shepherd, Alekos. He watches an English parachutist land from the heavens, and thinks he's seeing an angel. It's actually Lieutenant 'Bunny' Warren who has come to spy on the Nazis and relay information back to Britain. His spying was to prove in vain, for the British betrayed the islanders by ignoring their pleas for help.
Deep beneath this tortuous landscape lie vast caverns and waterholes. Don't miss the dank Dhrogarati Cave - bedecked with stalactites - or the Melissani Cave, filled with icy water and best explored by boat.
The centre of Kefalonia is, strangely, pancake flat. The fertile meadows, dotted with rambling vines and sweetly scented lemon groves, are home to the church and monastery of Agios Gerasimos. This is the resting place of St Gerasimos, a high-born holy man who forsook his riches and lived out his days in a Kefalonian cave.
His dusty bones are revered and worshipped, for, it is claimed, they have healing powers so strong that the mad and the sick have been spectacularly cured after attending the all-night vigil. A nun ushers me into the church - charcoal black after the blinding sunlight outside. Slowly, as my eyes adjust, a vast silver sarcophagus emerges glittering from the gloom.
Best beach in the Dodecanese
The best beach in the Dodecanese group is said to be on Karpathos - at Amoopi, five miles south of Pigadia, serviced by four buses daily. It has good hotels and rooms.
Because Karpathos does not have an airport big enough for jets, most of its tourists are of the independent variety. The result is that much accommodation is studio/self-catering.
I stayed at Maria's Rooms, off the central square in Pigadia, one block inland.
The back-of-the-door official price for a double room was £14 a night, but when I said I'd stay for three it descended to £7.
More upmarket accommodation is available at the Odyssey Hotel (2245 023 240) at £28 a night for a studio with kitchenette, fridge, TV and room safe.
The Hotel Titania, a C-class establishment (2245 022 144) has light airy rooms with balconies for £32, and is open all year.
Pigadia has plenty of rooms and studios - at any time, apart from August, you will have no problem finding a place to stay.
Everywhere is within easy walking distance of the port, though if you arrive by plane the airport is 11 miles outside town.
There are flights twice a day (except on Tuesday) from Rhodes (40 minutes) and once a day from Athens (one hour 20 minutes). These get booked up well in advance.
The ferry from Rhodes takes four hours and goes three times a week. For a budget option to Karpathos, get a cheap charter flight to either Rhodes or Crete and then catch the ferry.
I got a very good deal with Olympic Airways - £206 including taxes Heathrow-Crete-Heathrow, maximum stay two months.
This compared favourably with charter fares - but the downside was a change in Athens and a two-hour wait.
The boat trip to Diafani is worthwhile with its wild, rocky, mountainous coastline. A bus takes you to Olymbos, which although discovered is still very traditional.
You can stay there, too, for about £11 to £14 a night per room, as you can in Diafani. There are plenty of tavernas and watering holes.
Hire cars and scooters are available in Pigadia. There's an inland villages circuit of Aperi-Volada-Piles-Othos, all unaffected by tourism.
English is widely spoken with so many returned emigres from Australia, Canada and the U.S. There's local wine and an excellent fish restaurant, Dimitrios Fisherman's Tavern, at the peaceful fishing village of Finiki, ten miles from Pigadia.
En route it's worth stopping at the village of Menetes, which has attractive neoclassical houses. The beginnings of mass tourism can be seen at Arkasa, just beyond Finiki, but it's in its infancy.
Lawrence Durrell once described Karpathos as 'a remote hideaway': it certainly isn't that any more, but it is still a genuine Greek island, rather than an overseas version of Blackpool.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Robert Carver booked his Olympic Airways flight with Imperial Travel (0208 881 3036). Grecofiles (01422 375 999) can book a holiday on Karpathos with Greek Sun Holidays.
Memorable meal
Our own esprit de camp was boosted by the discovery that our Kathmandu-hiking companions came from the same tiny Dorset village where we had grown up. Mike and Dave soon discovered this was the first of many things they had in common and became inseparable. My, didn't the long evenings under those starry Ionian skies just fly.
Not that all seven evenings were like this. One glorious, balmy night we trekked from a campsite on Meganisi, through the olive groves and over the hill to Vathi. Turning left we followed the main road up to the village of Katomeri.
Vathi was quiet, but this was the Greece of Captain Corelli, though no sound of mandolin filled the scented air. Halfway down the main street you'll find a taverna that is almost too much like everyone's idea of a Greek taverna to be true - run by Stavros. That evening he laid on a meal that will linger in the memory: fried aubergines; 'leetle feeshes' (white-bait); Greek salad; crusty bread; pork chops; chicken; olives and white wine. As we ate, the bar filled with men from the village.
By the fifth day, camping had almost become fun, mainly because the proliferation of bugs had proved more fascinating than fierce. Our tent sported a makeshift path, marked by white stones, with a flag on the gable end. Washing hung out to dry. While every word and nocturnal noise was audible through the tent, the veneer of British civilisation stood.
Mornings were relaxed. By ten, the breakfast things put away, it was into our lifejackets and spray-decks - a kind of skirt which clips round the cockpit to stop water dripping off your paddle into your lap - and off to the next beach.
By the end of the week, ten miles of paddling was quite painless, if a little tedious. Skirting the coast, seeing the rocky features slip past, peering into the clear waters, is both absorbing and mesmerising. Progress seems swifter when you're passing close to the shore.
Not so the long passages across the wide waters separating the islands. With the lugger watching and herding us, dispensing encouragement and Coca-Cola to the needy, we headed for Spartakhori, on Meganisi for lunch, and made it back to the camp of the Germans on Levkas by mid-afternoon.
By late June neither mad dogs nor Englishman would be wise to go paddling canoes under the midday sun, but in late May the climate was perfect. T-shirts and shorts by day, and a pleasant nip in the night air. With the kayaks drawn up neatly on the beach, washing on the line and white wine flowing, it was a grand way to spend a week. We had sung Kumbayah, encountered an entomologist's paradise and nearly come to blows, but it hadn't spoilt things one iota.
Only a stiff walk
Huge mulleins gleamed silver and yellow beneath an increasingly black sky.
We were in for some serious overdevelopment and made a mad dash to the mountain hut at Spilios Agapitos.
'Hut' is a misnomer derived from the Alps.
Like similar grand structures in Switzerland or Austria, this refuge boasts several large dormitories, washrooms and a restaurant.
Thunder crashed all around as we enjoyed a huge meal beside a roaring fire with aspiring summiteers from all over the world - not quite bacchanalian but decidedly convivial.
The walls were decorated with framed photos of earlier Olympus pioneers, such as Christos Cacalos from Litochoro, who made the first ascent of the highest summit Mytica with Swiss mountaineers Fred Boissonnas and Daniel Baud-Bovy in 1913.
Up to that date, pilgrims to Olympus had contented themselves with the lower summits, leaving Mytica and the other highpoint, Stefani, to the gods.
No such humility for us.
At 6.30 the next morning we set off, bound hopefully for the highest sanctum.
The rain had stopped but the bare, striated limestone of the upper peaks still gleamed dully under an overcast sky.
After about an hour's climb the path divided.
Would I do it again?
And there were lovely afternoons in deserted bays (once we'd mastered dropping the anchor), and sociable evenings spent in tiny picturesque ports (once the horror of 'parking' the damn boat had subsided).
But the stress involved in the whole business of sailing was something I had not anticipated. Possibly the manner of our leaving Porto Heli on the first day was a factor.
We managed to run aground before we'd even slipped our moorings - a small matter of the tide making an exit before we did. What little confidence I had in my nascent sailing abilities vanished.
The next time I ran aground was even more spectacular, in the largest port we visited, Naplion. Again, we had to be rescued by the endlessly patient lead crew. I tried to console myself with the fact they'd probably seen it all before - but I doubt they had.
I suspect that learning to sail is like childbirth. Immediately after the event, you swear 'never again'. Then the horror recedes and you begin to think 'well, maybe'.
So would I do it again? Without a doubt. Acquiring a new skill confers a sense of achievement that is rare in day-to-day life. It is true that if there's no pain, there's no gain - and I have no intention of letting so much pain go to waste!
Travel facts: Flotilla holidays with Neilson in Porto Heli, details on 0870 9099 099 or visit http://www.neilson.com
Notoriously bad roads
We found some lovely beaches, mostly stony but all clean, calm, safe, and great for swimming and snorkelling due to Alonissos's status as a nature reserve.
Evening entertainment is centred on the restaurants and bars of the two main towns, old Alonissos town and the new harbour town at Patitiri.
The old town has some spectacular views, and if you climb to the very top, there is a charming street with a choice of restaurants.
On the day of our intended departure to our second island, Skopelos, we were stranded due to a five-day shipping strike. Strikes are common in Greece, and there is little you can do to avoid them.
To venture outside Skopelos town, you'll need to hire a car. But the roads are notoriously bad.
After braving the only main road to the end of the island one afternoon, we tried to travel back to Skopelos town via the dirt road through the middle of the island.
This road, we were told, would take us to the highest point on the island, Delphi, at more than 2,000ft.
After climbing to the top, however, we were greeted by the ravenous barks of what sounded, to our heat-addled brains, like wild dogs or even wolves.
We hurried back to the car and moved swiftly on. I was glad to get back to civilisation as after an hour spent on the harmless sounding 'dirt track' my head felt as if it'd been through a spin cycle.
My feeling on returning to the airport for the flight home was that a week was simply not long enough for a hopping holiday.
However, the Sporades delighted us with lively towns and sleepy villages, secluded beaches and bustling ports. This was laid-back island hopping for the beginner.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
* If you're planning to travel independently, fly to Athens (eg easyJet on http://www.easyjet.co.uk) then take one of the many boats from Piraeus, Rafina and Lavrion to the islands.
* Services are greatly reduced in the low season (October to May). Timetables can be found on http://www.gtpnet.com although these are likely to change without warning.
* It is also possible to fly directly to Crete, Corfu and Rhodes on a charter flight without changing in Athens. Call Avro on 0870 036 0111. Contact The Greek National Tourism Organisation (http://www.gnto.gr tel: 020 7734 5997).
Rachel Galbraith travelled to the Sporades with Greek Islands Club (http://www.greekislandsclub.com tel: 020 8232 9780).
Extraordinary little beach
Waves crashed against the cliffs, hundreds of feet below.
From a driving point of view, it was a relief to get past the twisting mountain roads and cruise downhill towards the coast. A quick beer at Sitia, an unspoiled fishing town, and by lunchtime I was at Vai, an extraordinary little beach at the easternmost tip of the island.
It was not the beach itself that was extraordinary, although it was a very pretty one, looking out towards a tiny island in the middle of the bay. It was the palm forest on the shoreline, an eerily beautiful wilderness which seemed to belong to another planet.
After lunch, fed up with sunbathing next to a stick-thin man who could have fitted into my swimming trunks twice, and still left room for his snorkel, his mobile phone and his John Grisham novel, I scrambled across the cliffs and found a beach all to myself.
A couple of seagulls watched me doggypaddle across the bay. Fluffy white clouds glided overhead. There was a smell of seaweed as the breeze stiffened off the sea.
And again I thought, savouring my private patch of sun, sea and sand: 'If this is package tourism, give me more of it.'
That is the beautiful thing about Crete. It can feed the mass market but also satisfy the need for tranquillity and solitude.
I explored only the eastern third, but found fresh pleasures around every corner: from the pretty fishing village of Elounda to the gorgeously situated beach at Istro; from the Minoan ruins at Zakros to the seriously spectacular Lassithi Plateau, a lush expanse of farmland 900 metres above sea level.
When my plane back to England left a full 15 minutes early, disproving the whole mythology surrounding package holidays, I made a mental note never to buy a guidebook again.
TRAVEL FACTS:
Details from Libra Holidays telephone 0870 242 2525 or visit the website, http://www.LibraHolidays.net
The lotus eaters
At Kalami there was another Durrell connection. Here, just as it was 60 years ago, was the White House - once the home of Gerald's brother Larry and now a holiday villa available to rent through a British travel company. Nosing down the coast from bay to bay, I stumbled across the Shrine of St Arsenius.
From a platform of flat, slab-like rocks, I dived into a crystal-clear pool, with the tiny, white shrine standing guard above, and no sound but the lapping of water and the whirring of cicadas. Time for lunch at Agni. Three tavernas sit in a deserted cove, the oldest dating from 1879. You tie up your boat at the jetty and find a table at the water's edge.
At Toula's, the middle taverna, the house speciality is fresh prawn pilaff. But it's best in Corfu to order as the locals do and ask for ligo apoola - a bit of everything. This means little plates of mussels, marinated anchovies, peppers stuffed with feta cheese, grilled squid, salad . . . it takes copious amounts of chilled retsina to wash down.
Afterwards, feeling like a wine cask on legs, I staggered off into the shade, clutching one of Toula's free sunloungers for a siesta. Bliss.
It's easy to see why the Durrells fell in love with Corfu: with its crystal light, blue water and noisy, friendly people. The family left the island just before the outbreak of war.
What is best about Corfu has not changed. At sunset, in a cafe high above the peninsula of Kanoni, I looked across the sea to the Strawberry Pink Villa. Durrell's 'chessboard fields', marshlands rich with wildlife, glittered in the silvery evening light. It was easy to picture a young British boy there, rambling without a care in the world. 'If I could give a child a gift, I'd give him my childhood,' said Durrell before his death in 1995.
The rest of us might not be so lucky, but we can go to Corfu and sample the Durrells' lotus-eating life, if only for a while.
Best of the beaches
THE WEST
Here are the best sandy beaches in Corfu - unspoilt by too much development and with plenty of opportunities to escape the crowds. You could visit for a day trip, or take your pick from half a dozen small family resorts.
Marathias is one of the smallest and quietest, with a good, sheltered beach, but I don't recommend the nearby bigger, southwest resort of Agios Georgios, which has a half-finished, half-forgotten feel to it.
Much better is Agios Gordis which has a lovely beach overhung by spectacular cliffs and a busy atmosphere to it: great for a lively holiday with older children.
A quieter option, with another great sandy beach is Glyfada, one of the prettiest resorts on the island.
Further north, the scenic bays of Paleokastritsa, framed by steep-sided hills, looks lovely but attracts lots of coaches and day-trippers. You need to take a boat trip to one of the beaches away from the resort to get some peace and quiet from the visitors.
The northwest resort Agios Giorgios - also known as Pagi has a magnificent sand and shingle beach and attractive low-rise development. It is great for families with young children or couples wanting a quiet holiday.
THE EAST AND SOUTH
The resorts on Corfu's east coast are fairly mixed. Some, such as Benitses, which used to be one of the most popular resorts on Corfu, have become rather dated and virtually abandoned by British tour operators.
North of Corfu Town, Kontokali, Gouvia and Tsvaros don't look much from the road, but all have good pebble beaches and a lively nightlife.
Dassia, meanwhile, is huge, with a long narrow beach, a big choice of accommodation and even livelier at night. (Avoid nearby Ipsos which is cut off from its beach by a busy main road.) For sand, you'll need to head further south - either to Messongi, which is a large, but rather characterless resort, or to Kavos. This big, sprawling resort has a beautiful setting - a gorgeous, seemingly endless sandy beach with hotels and apartments set among olive and pine trees just behind.
However, it has been virtually taken over by the 18-30 crowd ideal if you want to dance the night away and sleep on the sand all day, otherwise, give it a wide berth.
The lavender-painted villa
Modern history has shaped the hill villages we drive through. Some are utilitarian 1950s in style. The original buildings were ruined in the war. At Stylos, the Anzacs made their last stand in to help the Allies escape.
Today it offers as timeless and as peaceful a scene as any in Greece. Old men sit around arguing about who knows what - football, politics, the price of oranges. Preening teenagers pose with their mobile phones, and the younger boys sit in the dust on the church wall swopping Pokemon cards.
Our little house in nearby Provarma is delightful: straight from the pages of a glossy magazine. There are lavender-painted shutters, a warm secluded terrace and a swish bathroom that works.
It's more than I ever expected in Greece. But then, Pure Crete is a small, thoughtful tour operator working hard to do its bit for responsible tourism. They work with Cretans helping them to restore locally-owned derelict village houses and farms.
Many are near the hamlet of Megala Chorafia, where the centre is the Taverna Aptera. The stars here are the owners Georgos and his British-born wife Elizabeth. Think Greek cooking is all kebabs and yoghurt? How about lamb and artichoke hearts in egg and lemon sauce, leek and feta pie (veggies are also well catered for) or chicken in wine and herb sauce?
And, mindful of how wonderful the terraces and gardens of the holiday homes are (and the folly of drinking and negotiating the crazy bends of the unlit, unmarked country roads), Elizabeth will cook takeaways from the menu, or sell some of her dishes frozen.
You know you've arrived in holiday heaven when you eat good local food on your own private terrace, the moon and stars are lights and the background music is a whooping Scops owl.
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| | | | Vine-covered trellis
Vangelis was arrested by the occupying Italian forces but was released after the local people marched on their headquarters.
'I fled to the island of Jura until things quietened down,' he recalled. The following day, we sailed to Jura ourselves.
Vassilis, a marine biologist as well as our skipper on the schooner Oceanis, told us how the barren spot was part of a marine park created 10 years ago to help protect the monk seal.
'We have the largest group in the Mediterranean,' he told us, 'but you are unlikely to see them as they are very shy and live in caves.'
The monk seals may have been elusive but Vassilis spotted dolphins only minutes into our cruise.
Standing on the bow he called to them with strange shrill cries while his little black mongrel, Odyssey, paced back and forth scanning the waves in expectation.
The dolphins seemed to respond to Vassilis's call and before long we were leaning over the prow watching them dart in front of the ship.
Most islands in the park are uninhabited but we dropped anchor in a horseshoe bay to climb up to the monastery on Kyra Panagia.
'It was used by the monks of Mount Athos,' Vassilis explained. 'Not even female animals were allowed there, so they raised animals on Kyra Panagia. The last monk stayed for 15 years before it closed in 1984.'
It was a quiet, peaceful spot. A vine-covered trellis shaded the courtyard and beside the chapel and library the monks had a storeroom for wine and their own olive press.
I could see why the last monk was reluctant to leave and after only a week on Skopelos I felt much the same.
As we sailed back to the nearby island of Skiathos for our flight home, I took a last look at Pyrgos and promised to come back, if only for the view.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Pyrgos can be booked through http://www.holiday-rentals.com.
Meet the nuns
The dark interior is heavy with the scent of incense, as though the ghost of some Byzantine holy man has just been swinging his censer.
'This is the only building in Mystra that's still inhabited,' says Georgia. 'Come, let's meet the nuns.'
Sister Magdalene welcomes me with a smile. Next thing I know, I'm sitting in her bedroom drinking eau de vie and eating Turkish - oops, Greek - Delight.
It all feels rather improper - I've never lounged on a nun's bed before. Her tiny cell is decorated with icons, lamps and religious pictures, much as it might have been 400 years ago.
Here on this lonely hillside, these few devout women keep alive the spirit of Byzantium. But the future is not looking too bright.
Several nuns have died in recent years and now there are just five left. In a few years, the city's only inhabited building may well be a ghostly shell.
You could spend an entire day at Mystra, clambering over ruins and poking your head into medieval dwellings. And you could spend a week or two in the Peloponnese, visiting classical temples and Byzantine villages.
Dozens of foreign armies passed through this corner of Greece, leaving long-abandoned monuments to mark their passing. But none can quite match the romanticism of Mystra's shattered ruins.
After a long day at the site, Georgia has a surprise in store. 'Professor Sinos is coming to dinner,' she says excitedly. 'It's your lucky day.'
It is indeed. This passionate professor is in charge of Mystra and knows every stone and broken tile. He wants to take me on an imaginary journey through the city of old.
As we munch through mouthwatering platters of grilled sausages and stuffed aubergine, he explains the weird lifestyle of Mystra's medieval folk.
Ruins of the past
As I tour the island, I stumble unexpectedly across the occasional evidence of filming. In one bay there's an Italian camp - a mass of barbed wire, observation posts and khaki tents. On a nearby hilltop, I find set designers busily building an Orthodox church out of plywood sheets.
Much of Corelli's Kefalonia survived the war, only to be destroyed on a single night in 1953. On August 13th the fault-line that runs through the Ionian islands gave a groan, rocking the island with such fury that most of the buildings wobbled and turned to dust. Thousands were killed, many left for good, and those who survived were left homeless.
New villages sprung up next to old ones and today's visitors will find picturesque, abandoned and half-ruined settlements dotted all over the landscape. One of the most beautiful is to be found high above the modern village of Karavomilos. Follow any one of the overgrown tracks up into the hills and - after 15 minutes of wheel-churning climb -you find yourself among the ghosts and phantoms of Fifties Greece.
Facades stand guard over empty ruins: push the front door and you'll find a riot of lemon and fig trees. The church has folded in on itself like a long-neglected tomb; a farmhouse is heaped with the rubble of decades; crickets and beetles have made safe havens in the old cobbled road.
Abandoned villages are everywhere in Kefalonia. Farsa, Anti-Pata, Foki. I find a villa with shutters still closed for the afternoon siesta. Another clings to its delicate wrought-iron balcony. In one old farmhouse, a coffee cup still stands on the shelf - left there by its owner almost half a century ago.
Mountains are sacred
Unable to decipher the vague contours of our map, we looked instead to the rusty pictorial version on a large signpost and decided that we should take the right-hand route, below the ridge.
Traversing in the mist, cut off from the rest of the world, Mark and I reminisced about past climbs including the infamous North Wall of the Eiger.
Olympus was only a stiff walk but suddenly the limestone walls, looming foggily above us, began to feel rather Eigerish.
Somewhere up there was the summit of Mytica and we just hoped that we would know how to find it.
Red paint flashes made up for the map's deficiencies, pointing the way left up a rocky gully.
After walking up 9,000ft from the sea, we now had a little 'scrambling' to entertain us on the final section - not difficult enough to be called a 'climb' but sufficiently steep to warrant the occasional steadying hand.
In winter, smothered in snow and ice, it would be very serious.
Even now, in the third week of June last summer, there was a smattering of snow from the previous night's storm and we had to move carefully, particularly Mark, with only one arm to hold on with if his feet slipped.
It was just tricky enough to rise above the tedium of mere walking.
Mountains are sacred in almost every culture.
Top day trips
Don't miss Corfu Town itself. The architecture of the squares and narrow streets is a pretty combination of Venetian, Greek and French-style architecture. There are even some British influences - we administered Corfu in the last century - including a cricket pitch.
Corfu is way behind Spain when it comes to fun parks, but at last the island has its own water park, Aqualand, on the road between Corfu Town and Glyfada .
While most of the coast is developed, many of the inland villages especially in the mountains of the northern part of the island - are unspoilt. Hire a car for the day, take a picnic and discover them for yourself.
Another way to see Corfu is to hire a little motor boat to explore the coves on the northeast coast. It is a great way to visit a waterside taverna for lunch, or anchor in a pebble cove - but don't go if it's windy, and make sure you are given proper lifejackets.
Trips to the little neighbouring island of Paxos are a good way of escaping the crowds for a day. This is one of the most charming Greek islands: a tiny paradise of sloping olive groves, pebble beaches and half-forgotten villages.
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| | | | The history of ideas
'Every aspect of life was totally dominated by the church,' he explains, 'and people spent much of their time in prayer. There were feasts, saints' days and an endless cycle of services.'
Mystra still has dozens of churches and scores of private chapels. Half the population must have been either a monk or a nun.
'Absolutely,' says Georgia. 'Many people became monks when they retired. Monasteries doubled as old people's homes.'
Mystra's finest hour came in the twilight of the Byzantine empire. As Constantinople was besieged on all fronts, the capital's scholars and philosophers poured into Mystra, bringing with them manuscripts of Sophocles, Socrates, Euripides and Plato.
'The most important scholar was a chap called Plethon,'explains Professor Sinos. 'He used to give philosophy lectures in the marketplace.'
As the townsfolk haggled over carrots and plums, they were given a quick introduction to the teachings of Plato.
'Mystra played a crucial role in the history of ideas,' explains the professor. 'For centuries people had obeyed religious strictures. But Plethon introduced the idea of debate.'
This long-forgotten philosopher saw the city at the height of its glory. But, unbeknown to its inhabitants, there was an ugly cloud on the horizon.
In 1453, the great city of Constantinople fell to the Turks. Just seven years later, Mystra, too, was lost.
To the surprise of Mystra's elite, the Turkish occupation didn't spell the end of the city. It became the seat of the local pasha and grew ever wealthier as the Turks developed its fledgling silk industry.
When the English traveller Bernard Randolph visited in 1671, he found a bourgeois city producing an exotic variety of goods.
For almost four centuries after the Turkish occupation, Mystra retained a provincial prosperity, although its most glorious days already belonged to history.
Finding peace in Fiskardo
A geological quirk saved the northern tip of the island from the worst effects of the earthquake. If you want to see the Kefalonia of Corelli's day, the magical island of Venetian villas and solid smallholdings, then you'll need to head to Fiskardo.
The lofty coast road that leads there clings to the edge of the mountains and is a work of audacious (British) engineering. Where the contours allow, tiny side tracks wind down to hidden jewels far below.
Myrtos is one of these gems: it boasts one of the most spectacular beaches on earth. The sea is milky blue, the result of limestone pebbles and pounding waves, while the bleach-white cliff towers into the sky like the facade of an awesome natural cathedral. Elsewhere you can swim in water so crystal clear that the fish swim round and round, perplexed to see themselves reflected on the white pebbles on the bottom.
Continue along the high road for a few more miles and another hairpin trail plunges down snakelike towards Assos, a toy-town cluster of cottages sheltering for protection beneath a stout Venetian castle. There's a small beach, some fine snorkelling and a handful of shaded tavernas in which to while away the lazy hours of mid-afternoon.
The cliff-top road ends at Fiskardo - a tiny but glitteringly chic port with Venetian villas, a cluster of restaurants and a little harbour. It's quiet by day and lively at night. The yachting brigade will tell you it resembles pre-war St Tropez.
The name of the place derives from Robert Guiscard, a terrifying mercenary crusader who sacked Rome before rampaging through Greece. Guiscard destroyed many of the places he visited, but Fiskardo's enchanting beauty worked its spell on him and he decided to spare the place, devoting his energies, instead, to building a monumental church whose broken ruins still crown the natural harbour.
As the sun sinks into the dark sea, the lights flicker on and Fiskardo's little quayside begins to sparkle. It's so unbelievably picturesque that it looks for all the world like a film set. Each night, before I go to bed, I tap the walls and windows. Just to remind myself they're real.
Starlight and storm
Their holy status can be explained through sheer scale and grandeur, their towering dominance in the landscape, their proximity to the sky and so on.
But what makes mountains special is the constant, dramatic interplay of light and shade, sun and cloud, starlight and storm - the atmospheric theatricality of it all.
Those are the moments you remember - those glorious, transformation scenes when, suddenly, all is revealed.
Olympus obliged with just such a scene as we emerged from the gully on to the final summit ridge.
The cloud parted and light broke through to glitter on feathers of frozen rime adorning rocky towers, bright on our eastern side, still dark on the western side which dropped away in a satisfying precipice.
At 9,500ft above the Mediterranean, Mytica felt like a proper Alpine summit.
It even had the statutory summit book, where we could sign our names, after soaking up the view west over endless forested hills merging into the distant Pindos Mountains.
To the south we could see other figures silhouetted on the lower, rounder summit of Skollio.
Somewhere over there was the mythical site of Leibethra, where Orpheus was buried.
To the northeast, 1,000ft below us, sunlight glowed on the Plateau of the Muses.
Immediately to the north, separated from us by a deep gash, was the second highest summit, Stefani.
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| | | | Byzantine churches lay in ruins
When the end came, it was savage and abrupt. In 1825, during the Greek War of Independence, an Egyptian mercenary named Ibrahim Pasha landed in the Peloponnese with the aim of capturing the city.
His arrival coincided with that of a travelling English vicar, the Reverend Charles Swan, who chanced upon Ibrahim near Mystra.
'A stout, broad, vulgar-looking man,' he wrote, 'marked through with the pox.'
When Swan asked him why he'd come to Mystra, the Egyptian was blunt. He said he intended to 'burn and destroy...so it should be profitable neither to the Greeks nor to anyone'.
He said he would not stop until the place was a ruin.
Ibrahim was true to his word. On September 14, 1825, he and his men descended on the city with a fury. Most of the population had long since fled in terror.
Ibrahim, whipped into a frenzy, destroyed what he could, burning, looting and demolishing.
When the Reverend Swan visited Mystra later that evening, he was horrified. 'Not a soul was visible,' he wrote.
'Nothing could equal the desolation.' Some of the greatest Byzantine churches lay in ruins.
The imperial palace was in flames, the once glorious mansions of the Byzantine nobility had been torched and their exquisite frescoes had shattered in the heat.
Modest rock climbing
The day was still young so we decided to have a look at Stefani. Hazy about the correct route, we ended up doing a spot of modest rock climbing.
By the time we reached the top of Stefani for our second summit signature of the day, the view had disappeared and thunder was growling in the background.
Despite our 60 combined years of mountaineering experience we managed to take at least one false turn on the descent, reminding ourselves yet again how easy it is to lose all sense of direction in the mist.
At one point I found myself staring down an awesome precipice and feeling acutely mortal.
But soon we were back in the easy Mytica gully, safely on route, and stopping to chat to a jolly, garrulous party of Czechs, aged 10 to 70 and all clad in jumble sale cast-offs.
They disappeared up into the mist and we continued down to resume the traversing path, which led us in half an hour to the Plateau of the Muses.
The idea had been to spend this night, the summer solstice, sleeping out in the open, with no man-made barrier between us and the immortals.
We had even debated whether it was worth bringing sleeping bags in June.
Now, with a damp, cold wind gathering strength, we began to waver.
Even Mark, who has bicycled from Vladivostok to St Petersburg, trespassed all over Tibet and canoed to Timbuktu - a man of impeccably rugged, granite-chewing pedigree - was looking decidedly soft.
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| | | | Wander through deserted streets
Swan found much of the town still smouldering,with smashed furniture blocking the streets. 'There were household utensils broken and scattered in every direction,' he wrote. 'A cat remained the only inhabitant.'
Swan was devastated by what he saw. Once this great city had kept alight the torch of Byzantium.
Here scholars and philosophers had rediscovered the learning of ancient Greece. Now, in the chaos of the Greek War of Independence, the population had fled for their lives, never to return.
It could have been the end of Mystra but there was to be a postscript.
For many years the ruins were left to crumble, but in the late 19th Century a curious French scholar named Gabriel Millet paid a visit to the site.
He was astonished by what he found - fragments of palaces, churches and the rambling mansions. His findings were published to wild acclaim and, within a matter of years, the lost city of Mystra was back on the map.
These days it's truly an eerie sensation to wander through deserted streets and abandoned bed-chambers. Is that a shadow in the doorway? Is that a footprint in the dust?
A door slams. A baby cries. As twilight descends on Mystra, the ghosts of Byzantium return.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
British Airways flies from Heathrow to Athens and reintroduces Gatwick flights on June 1, 2003. Call 0845 7733377 or visit http://www.britishairways.co.uk
Holiday Autos offers car hire from Athens Airport. Mystra is about four hours from Athens by road. Call Holiday Autos on 0870 400 0010 or visit http://www.holidayautos.co.uk
For more information, call the Greek Tourist Board on 0207 495 9300 or visit http://www.gnto.co.uk
The monastic retreat
Threatened by more over-development, we headed across the plateau to another hut.
The longest day seemed to peter out all too soon in dank, grey cloud and we retired to the warmth of the bunks.
But on our third morning we were rewarded. The Plateau of the Muses seemed to float above the earth.
We could see all the way down to the sea and beyond to the Halkidiki Peninsula, where the sun rose over another distant holy mountain - the monastic retreat of Athos.
After saying goodbye to the hut guardian we recrossed the plateau to a notch in the ridge then dropped down into a huge bowl on the west side of Olympus.
There was only the vaguest trail over rock slabs and scree slopes, set in a cirque of dizzy spires.
It was obvious that few people came this way yet this was the most spectacular corner of the mountain.
Gentians, campanula, saxifrages and columbines sprouted from every nook and cranny.
Further down we found the exquisite purple bells arching from clumps of silver-furred leaves, which I later discovered were Jankaea heldreichii, unique to Olympus.
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| | | | Special holy mountain
Then we were down, out of the Alpine zone and into the forest, heading north down a long, deserted valley.
For the first time the air was hot.
Mark's shoulder throbbed, my knees felt delicate and we began to thirst for the beer we would find when we reached our midday rendezvous at the village of Petra.
We were tired but that kind of weariness brings with it a deep contentment, especially if you are descending through gorgeous country from the throne of the gods.
I just hope that it is not all destroyed.
Aristotle Onassis once had a plan to turn the whole of Mount Olympus into a grand theme park, complete with cable cars and imitation classical temples on every summit.
The scheme never came to anything and now a part of this unique massif is protected as a national park.
Let us hope that the Greek government will soon extend the park boundaries to include every flank of this very special holy mountain.
TRAVEL DETAILS
Olympic Airways (http://www.olympicairways.co.uk tel: 0870 6060460) flies direct to Thessaloniki from Gatwick.
Olympic Wings (http://www.olympicwings.gr) organises mountain biking, walking tours, paragliding and other activities around Mount Olympus.
Exodus (http://www.exodus.co.uk tel: 020 8675 5550) offers treks in the region.
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| | Destination Guide : Greece |
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| | | A friendly welcome |  | Why go on holiday to Greece?
Greece has a long and colourful history, and its legacy is all around you. The people are famously welcoming and the islands a delightfully relaxing destination.
How much does it cost?
Depending where and when you go, self-catering or villa packages start at about £250 for seven nights and from £400 for seven nights half board in a good hotel. Flight-only deals to Athens start at about £150 and hotel rooms are cheap (from £10 per night), clean and easy to find when you arrive, particularly on the islands, though if you're travelling in high season, rooms (domatia) will be harder to find.
When should I go?
Summers are long and hot - average 32C (87F) - so it's best to go then. During the mild but wet winters (15C /59F), many tourist facilities shut, especially on the islands.
The Athens Festival runs from mid-June to the end of August and includes classical music concerts and dance performances by national and international dance companies and orchestras.
* Feeling inspired? Book a break to Greece.
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| | | Islands in the sun |  | What should I do while I'm there?
Visit the ancient historic capital Athens to see the stunning ancient Acropolis, the Parthenon and the enormous National Archaeological Museum. A handful of smaller museums are also worth a look, such as the National Art Gallery.
There are three main parks in Athens which provide a shady refuge during the summer: the National Gardens, Zappeio Gardens and Areos Park. See Greek folk dance by the Dora Stratou Dance Company on the western side of Filopappos.
What else is on the mainland?
The Peloponnese used to be part of the mainland until a canal was built separating it in the late 19th century. It is now joined by a bridge and is worth visiting for mountains, citrus groves, cypress trees and many fine beaches.
If you visit northern Greece, you could climb Mount Olympus and feel at one with the ancient Greek gods.
Most tourists neglect central Greece with its mountains, greenery and wetlands, but the spectacular rock pillar monastries of Meteora, the ancient oracle of Delphi and, the lush mountain villages of the Pelion Peninsula are well worth a look.
How about the islands?
Most holidaymakers go to one of the 1,400 or so islands. The most well-known include Crete, Corfu, Rhodes, Mykonos and Kos. These islands are big package tour destinations and in the summer months are brimming with British visitors.
Although they cater to these tourists - nightclubs, British food and wet T-shirt competitions abound - they have by no means lost their authenticity and it is usually possible to find a relatively quiet beach.
However, islands such as Hydra, Kefalonia and Sifnos are prettier, more tranquil and relatively unspoilt.
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| | | Delicious food | | Where's good for nightlife?
Nightclubs can be found in big cities and resort areas, especially on the bigger islands. Even the small islands have bars and small clubs.
Some clubs in Athens such as Plus Soda and Kingsize operate only in the winter months from October to April (in the summer the action moves to coastal suburbs such as Ellinikon and Glyfada).
The main rock venue in Athens is Rodon Club at Marni 24 Omonia which hosts bands most Friday and Saturday nights and jazz fans should head for Half Note Jazz at Trivonianou 17, Mets, to catch live jazz bands.
What's the food like?
Your visit to Greece will not be complete if you don't sample some of the local food, which relies on fresh ingredients.
Specialities include tzatziki - a cucumber and yoghurt dip, Greek salad - consisting of feta cheese, olives, peppers, onions and tomatoes with oregano and olive oil and dolmades - stuffed vine leaves.
Fresh fish dishes are also popular on the islands and vegetarians are often surprised at how easy it is to find food to their liking.
What should I buy?
The area west of the Plateia Monstirakiou in Athens is the main shopping area and consists of a few shops selling high quality goods, and a huge flea market on Sunday mornings. You will find everything here, new, second or third-hand goods.
If it's local produce you're after, then The National Welfare Organisation's Hellenic Folk Art Gallery on the corner of Apollonos and Ipatias is great for handicrafts such as knotted carpets, rugs, cushion covers, pottery, copper and woodwork.
Most of the islands have small shopping areas where you can buy groceries and souvenirs, including local handicrafts.
What is there for children to do?
In the resorts there will be no shortage of things for children to do, what with all the beaches and the hotel organised activities.
In Athens the Children's Museum in Plaka is a bit like a playgroup with its games rooms and exhibits for children to explore. In the Museum of Children's Art, also in Plaka, kids can let loose their creative energy with free crayons and paper.
Tourist office
Hellenic Tourism Organisation, 4 Conduit Street, London W1S 2DJ. Tel. 020 7495 9300.
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| | Fact File : Greece |
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| | | Greece | | Did you know?
Tuesday is an unlucky day in Greece.
Language
Greek
Visas
None required from EU residents for a stay up to three months.
Getting there
Greece has 16 international airports, but only Athens, Thessaloniki, Iraklio (Crete), Rhodes and Corfu take scheduled flights. Athens handles the vast majority of flights.
Flying time from London
3-4 hours, depending on destination.
Getting around
Greek drivers tend not to be too bothered by the rules of the road. The bus service is comfortable and reliable. The train network is limited. Taxis are easy to come by. Every Greek island has a ferry service. Hydrofoil is twice as quick but twice the price.
Currency
Euro
Costs
With such a range of destinations, it's hard to be precise but expect rough costs: litre of petrol 50p, moderately priced restaurant meal for two with wine £20, 24-exposure camera film £2.50, bottle of beer £1, four-mile taxi ride about £3.
Weather
Summers are long and hot, with average temperature 32C (87F). Winters are mild but wet, with average temperature 15C (59F).
Time difference
Three hours ahead of GMT in summer, two hours ahead in winter.
International dialling code from the UK
00 30
Voltage
220v. You will need an adaptor if you are using electrical equipment from the UK.
Opening hours
Banks open 8am-2pm Monday to Thursday, 8am-1.20pm Fridays. Some banks in large cities open 3.30pm-6.30pm plus Saturday mornings.
Health - Before you go
No jabs required. The UK has reciprocal health agreements with Greece - take an EHIC form (available from post offices) with you.
Health - When you are there
Tap water is generally safe to drink. Be wary of the sun and pack an insect repellent.
Warnings
Greeks are generally honest, but beware of pickpockets especially around the Omonia area of central Athens. Codeine is banned in Greece so make sure you don't unwittingly take any in the form of headache pills!
Emergency
Medical, national emergency 166. British Embassy, Ploutarhou 1, Athens 106 75. Tel: 723 6211
Customs
Don't offend locals by sunbathing topless or nude in an undesignated area.
Pets
Greece is taking part in the pilot Pet Travel Scheme with the UK so you can take your pet with the right documentation. This takes several months to arrange - see your vet for details.
Tipping
Service is included on restaurant bills but it is customary to leave a small tip, same for taxis. If you feel brave try haggling with drivers.
Tourist office
Hellenic Tourism Organisation, 4 Conduit Street, London W1R 0DJ. Tel: 020 7495 9300.
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| | Available rental properties in Greece |
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| |  | | Plaka Loft Apartment
Athens Acropolis Quaint Loft Flat in Historic Plaka By Metro
|  | | VILLA AGNANTI
GREEK LUXURY VILLA 4 STARS with private pool,11ensuite BEDROOMS,fully equiped, accommodating up to 26 adults.Breathtaking views in a picturesque location ideal for BEACH & FAMILY HOLIDAYS
|  | | Agios NIkitas Resort Villas
A luxury complex of 3 villas with Private Pools overlooking the ocean and the picturisque village of Agios NIkitas
|  | | Villa Estia Fotini Kokkino Horio Crete
Beautifull detached fully fitted two bedroom stone built Villa with a/c, Large private tiled pool,half acre of land views over sea and mountains.blue flag beach in Almyrida 10 minutes away.
|  | | Villa Challis, Kokkino Chorio, Crete
Three bedroom detached villa with air conditioning, private pool, half an acre of land and beautiful views of the Mediterranean and mountains. 10 minutes from the blue flag sandy beaches of Almyrida
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Holiday Rentals in Greece |
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Why Rent With Us
