Wednesday
13 June Got
up very early to catch the 6.00 bus. Orange sun, yellow sun, through the clouds
over the mainland. The road, of course, skirts around the mountain sides and
goes over the isthmus. Ithaca is a mountainous island, with views of Kephalonia,
which is very close on the west, and the mainland in the east, and Lefkada
Island
[where Lafcadio Hearn was born] in the north. Apparently, on a clear day
from the highest point, you can see Patras (or the Gulf of).
The bus passed through several villages and stopped at Frikes, because
the road to Kioni is too bad for the bus. So I walked the 5km to the village,
and then, going down the hill, I saw a plaque on a gateway saying “Greek
Islands Club”. This is what I thought I was looking for, so I sat outside the
house writing and breaking chairs. When the occupants of the house stirred,
they told me to go down to the harbor because their house was only one of the
club’s houses.
So
I went down to the harbor and asked someone where Warren MacMillan was. Warren
runs the club on this island. The club is based in Walton-on-Thames and rents
out houses and boats to people. I had an “invite” to come and stay from
Bernadette Heenan, whom I met at the Colonial Club clubhouse in London. She left for
Ithaca soon after I left London. [The Greek Island Club, such that it was, was started in
the late 1960s. Now they’re GIC The Villa Collection, f you feel like Googling it.]
 |
| Contemporary postcard of Kioni, Ithaca. You can see the three towers. |
I
waited outside in a café for Warren to appear. Eventually he did and I went
round to the office and chatted with Bernadette and had some hot fresh bread.
They went off to do some things in Frikes and I went up the road to obtain
accommodation - 500ΔΡX for two nights, in a fairly basic room overlooking the
bay. I got changed and went further up the road in search of a swim, but I took
a turn up a stony path into Goat-farming Country, where groweth rockéd walls,
small (big in area) leg scratching shrubs, and trees; and lives there a barking
dog behind a fence and a big snake.
But over I climbed down to the sea side where the rocky face of the
island’s east coast dips in. It was easier to go along the sharp rocks below
the tree line. Along and over to the head where stands three towers, roofless
and easily taken for Martello-type towers; but apparently they were old
windmills, which makes more sense. Then round the bay to a small beach, stony,
of course. There were two over middle-aged couples from Margate (one fellow has
always wanted to do the TSR). So I had my first swim in the sea for years. I
sat reading for a while and the Margate couples gave me a lift back to the harbor
in their little hired motorboat.
I
had souvlaki for lunch and went back to my room for a siesta. At about 3.30
Bernadette woke me up and said they were going for a swim, so three quarters of
an hour later I went down to the deserted beach but it was too windy for a swim
so I sat in the sun for a while.
I
went back, had a cold shower and went down to the village and sat for a while.
Bought food, came back up, wrote diary.
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