Spetses: the pine-clad one

Or Pitouissa, as the ancients called it, and I imagine the gentle, salutary charms of Spetses, the smell of the pines, the low hills and the welcoming bays, are much as they were then.  'Some find it appealing and some appalling,' Lawrence Durrell writes in his flavoursome, anecdote-rich The Greek Islands, a good book to dip into during a lazy holiday during which others remained unread, adding that 'the truth, of course, is not extreme'. Nor is the island, in marked contrast to louring, bald Idhra, which one has the benefit of surveying from the town and above it, a touch of more savage nature in contrast to the mild surroundings.

In our short November stay here I found none of the slightly forbidding mysteries of the only other Greek islands I know - Naxos, Samos, Kythera (about which Durrell is dismissive, presumably because he only had one negative wartime experience of it and didn't explore; it has huge variety around the south end). We stayed in perfect peace and harmony, and slept soundly, at the villa of Nikos and Lise; more assiduous, relaxed hosts it would be impossible to find. Continuing the mainland route from the end of the second Nafplio entry, our tortoise inspection made us late for the afternoon ferry over from near Porto Heli; we saw it just heading out as Nikos parked the car. The distance, however, is very small, and water taxis plentiful, so no problem.

And the sun was just setting, lighting up Idhra and its neighbours, Dokos and Trikeri, which because of its closeness seems disproportionately large.

At the harbour, Nikos hopped on his scooter to hunter-gather - there may be no cars, but these machines aren't a lot better, it has to be said - while we took a long route home via the big villas

and the old harbour

catching a heron on a yacht mast

and going inside one of the oh-so-many churches on the island.

This one's priest, a very kindly-looking and humorous gentleman, used to teach at the big Anaryiros Koryalenos College along with John Fowles, whom he knew. It's a long time since I read The Magus and I can't really imagine wanting to revisit it,  but it would certainly be illumined now by locations with which we're now familiar.

That evening we went out for an excellent meal in a local restaurant run by an entertaining but angry man who hated his mother for (as he saw it) forcing him to return to the island, take over the business and still have to wait for his share of the property. The following night we ate, in still-balmy weather, on Nikos and Lise's roof terrace. Fabulous views from here of Idhra and co across the rooftops. Even the concrete invaders among the houses now have to be roofed with traditional Byzantine canal-tiles. Workmen were doing just that as we looked down on the first morning.

Our choice on our only first full day was to take a leisurely walk by the coast and a proper swim, or do more vigorous exploring of the island, And the earlier bliss of our Nafplio beach experiences inclined us to the former.  Domestic animals on route had the perhaps wiser idea just to nap in the shade

or crouch and stare.

We got as far as Ligoneri where a tempting walk down past a chicken coop

and through a pinewood strewn with cyclamen and these very artistic-looking leaves (name of the plant, anyone? UPDATE: Louise, below, tells me they're cyclamen leaves, no flowers in this case. I should have realised)

led us to a perfect and empty beach (only a couple of girls appeared later to fish from the rocks).

I swear we were bobbing around in the water for at least an hour. And then we pottered around the rock pools for another hour, maybe, feeding the fish.

The plan had been to carry on, up and across, but with no provisions, and hunger/thirst gnawing, with little likelihood of seasonal tavernas still being open, we thought it best to head back into town, past a white horse in an olive grove

and more curious pets

before stopping, famished, for some delicious pre-proper-supper seafood at a restaurant with tables on a beach run by the Ukrainian wife (from Donetsk - what an escape) of a local and her absolutely delightful, Natasha/Tatyana like daughter who was so keen to practise her English.  Then on past the grand hotel and the statue of the redoubtable admiral-heroine Bouboulina, emblem of the Greek Revolution.

Church bells woke me at sunrise on Sunday, so the view from the terrace had to be seen. I'm glad I rose.

Nikos and Lise had gone off even earlier to Idhra to look at a house. Duty should have sent us to the local museum. But J just wanted to chill and I intended to walk up to the higher spots of the island. I got, at least, as far as the Monastery of Panagias Gorgoepikoou.

Be damned if I had no idea it was built as recently as 1984 (quite a bit of websearching involved to track that down; I guess that's why it's not even on the map I had of Spetses). No matter; it's set in the kind of position all good monasteries should have.

Frustrating, though, that no paths could be accessed to lead up and over. Nothing more to do but admire the views south-westwards to Spetsopoulo

and north-west

as well as down to the town, harbour and mainland on the way back.

So I ended up retracing my steps, and an hour later we were down by the harbour waiting for our boat back to Piraeus, which gave us a fleeting chance to see Idhra, Leonard Cohen island (annoyingly you can't go out on deck while the vessel is speeding along, hence this view through a window),

and our friends waving from the jetty

as priests, families and holidaymakers climbed on to the previously near-deserted boat

and then there was a final stop at Poros

before sunset, Athens and the flight home.

Two paths to a Greek beach

We all need a breather from the 'real world' at the moment, whatever that actually means: retrench so that you can return refreshed to face the most important struggle people of my age and younger have ever known. Otherwise we'll all just crumble and be of no use to anyone. So before I overload on Greek culture ancient and modern, I'm going to start the Nafplio/Spetses travelogue stretch of the blog with two golden afternoons and evenings less than a month ago (hard as that is to believe).

My old university friend Louise lives in Nafplio (Nauplion), where she carries on running the Paralos Gallery, formerly of Athens, selling antique prints, maps and books, which she set up with her beloved husband Panagiotis (he died far too young last year). Nafplio is a place the beauty of which can't have struck me when I came here in 1983 as part of a picaresque adventure and road journey masquerading as an Edinburgh University research project (we in the Greek department each had to write a report on a visit to a place of historical or literary significance - I chose Pylos and Sphacteria, better known long since the days of Thucydides Book 4 as Navarino bay in the south-west of the Peloponnese). Apart from memories of two dogs stuck together in the headlights when we emerged from a restaurant, having argued over an item added to the bill we'd never ordered, the only thing I recall is swimming here and hearing another tourist howling with agony having trodden on a sea-urchin (which I'd done as soon as we drove into Greece and stopped for a dip).

I'd certainly forgotten how the beaches seem a million miles away from the modest bustle of the old town, in what amounts to a national park with the great Venetian fortress (more of that in future) overshadowing the cliff path.

On our first afternoon we walked from that end, past the tempting strand just below the lower fortifications to look back on them

and on past thoughtfully planted bougainvillea

and sandy-striated rockfaces

with the only sounds the sea - there weren't even any motorised boats - and surprisingly plentiful birdsong to a modest beach with a few folk on it that day (there was nobody else the following day, when we arrived a bit later).

Yes, the water was delicious in early November and amenable to long-term bobbing. This shot is actually from the next swim, as the light would suggest, but no harm in introducing it prematurely.

Louise and I apres-swim

and the other two at the distance J prefers.

The sun was setting as we began the walk back, now more populated by walkers and joggers from the town,

and the rocks took on an orange glow

while sound led us to the inhabitants of the holes in them. Anyone identify this little fella?

Just before we got back the car park,

the sunset was good for silhouettes of the plants and shrubs that have either self-seeded or been carefully selected by the municipality to enhance the delight of its citizens.

Second full day in Nafplio, and more elaborate examination of the sights plus a late leisurely lunch meant that Louise drove us to the beach at the other end of the walk rather later than we'd set off on the Wednesday.

This time we had the beach to ourselves (again, if you can identify this thrift-like plant, I'd be grateful),

and the bliss of observing the full sunset, including the colour-change of the atomic-looking cloud straight ahead, while resting after the swim.

A crescent moon appeared on poetic cue

and Venus beneath it, eventually (almost impossible to see at this distance).

I had the mystical sensation of floating rather than walking back, all the while looking at this. What does Newman's Gerontius say of his post-death experience? 'And gentle pressure tells me I am not/Self-moving, but borne forward on my way'.

Thus we reached the car on the beach in the last glimmers of light. Life stripped down to its most delicious essentials. Followed, of course, by elaborate meals chez Louise and at a fine fish restaurant on successive evenings.