Due to the late night pizza, breakfast was on the small side. Activities for the day were discussed and decided that exploration of the harbour area (by car) would be good followed by a trip down the hill to the nearest beach by car again obviously.
The village centre was picturesque containg the usual handful of bars and tavernas along the beach. A small working fishing harbour was at one end. Many of the tavernas owned a boat and proudly announced that fresh fish was on the menu. Something we must try.
Walking past the harbour to the headland we took the path upwards and to areas unknown. Views back to the village were worth it. The colour of the sea was something else.
Passing a couple more tavernas, one owned by an Irish lady, brought us to a ford - no not a car but a road crossing a river. At this point we need to engage the assistance of Mr G who is an authority on all things feathered. His reputation had been damaged on recent walking weekends by failing to spot the difference between a blue tit and a chaffinch, much to the amusement of the locals. Anyway, can you identify these two?
Naturally after all this walking, refreshment was called for. A stop at the Olympio Cafe for beers and water. this particular establishment was number 1 in the Trip Advisor listings. Well worth a visit. So onwards back to the car - no - the ladies had spotted an ice cream parlour. Purchases were made.
One thing we had to do on our way back was to restock provisions. Only on day 3 but we were running dangerously low. Mr R and I had nothing to do with the shopping list but just look what they came back with! The Party's Wine?
Okay, consumables now safely in the fridge for later on. Now to find the local (non hotel beach). "Turn right after 100m and you will find the beach at the bottom of the hill", so the instructions said. Hill! Bloody hell, a 1 in 4 track made from roughly poured concrete, 1 car wide, caused Mrs CT to enter "giving birth to kittens" mode. At the bottom of the hill sat a delighful handfull of ancient villas and a welcoming taverna. Not being dressed for beach/sea based activities, lunch was agreed upon. What a setting, what a find. A deserted beach and good food. Some pictures.
Whilst having lunch an older lady of german descent, came and spoke to the owners about something or other. It transpired she occupied one of the mentioned old villas that can be seen in the above picture. Her and her husband had just been swimming and were pre-ordering lunch to be consumed after they had changed for the occaision. How nice. This transpired to be the cause of horrifying images being burnt into our retinas only minutes later.
Again in the above picture, hidden by the tree from this angle was an outdoor shower. We had finished our lunch, Mr R had turned the car around and we were off back up the Hill of Death on our way home. As we came level with the villa, screams of horror came from the back seat. Helga the hairy was doing what she had said, having a shower before lunch - absolutely starkers and in front of the remaining diners. If this wasnt enough she bent down to pick up the soap as we passed. Mrs CT said it was something like one of those grey hairy boom microphones used in TV - The Valley of Horror (I was going to use a much stonger word for this part of the female anatomy but had to censor it due to some of my younger readers). Scarred for life we made it back home safely.
So bad was this incident, the only cure was Vodka and bitter lemon - okay consuming a whole bottle just hours after we had bought it was a little decadent but hey we are on holiday :)
Traditional Greek dinner later on. Mr R though he was becoming Greek due to the excess of Ouzo. The next day he was determined to find some pom poms for his shoes and some white tights. Whatever!
Laters
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