The entry into Igoumenitsa harbour was even more peaceful than the previous 25 hours of the voyage; the now familiar thrum quietened as the ship slowed to a crawl, and we cut a waveless path across the glassy water into the harbour.
Our docking was touched with a little anxiety though; would our papers be in order or would we be randomly assigned an extra PCR test as threatened by the Greek authorities?
Our concerns had been heightened by our experience at Harwich. We swept into the docks confident that the NHS antigen tests taken that morning were negative, to see a large illuminated sign saying that NHS tests were not acceptable. There followed a terrible 15 minutes when I was convinced that the whole trip was going to go pear shaped but salvation was offered from the back of a white van parked in a corner of the vast disembarkation area. For the meagre sum of £130 we could get an express antigen test that the ferry company would accept. More outrageous exploitation of the hapless traveller.
But our fears unfounded, and not for the last time, the crazy guys in crazy cars were above or exempt from scrutiny. Our equipe was now complete, and I suspect we all felt that to be motoring on Greek soil was a welcome salve. Our destination the key northern city of Ioannina, capital of Epirus.
Ioannina (best pronounced Yenina) was a key Ottoman city, the seat of the infamous Ali Pasha who is buried in its fort. Extraordinary to realise that in spite of the Greek revolution of the 1820s, the city did not become part of the Greek Republic until 1913.
The old town is still dominated by the magnificent castle which sits on a promontory jutting into Lake Pamvotis, its bastions still intact, its perimeter shaded by magnificent plane trees. Our hotel was right in the heart of the cobbled castle with entry through the old city gates. Here we were to spend a couple of days to explore the Vikos gorge and visit the ancient oracle at Dodonia.
I have been to three canyons that all claim an entry in the Guinness book of canyons. The Colka Canyon in Peru claims to be longest, highest, deepest, somethingest – I can’t remember what.
Walking the cobbled path through the dense vegetation down to the viewing platform above the Vikos Gorge is a battered tin sign proclaiming a 1997 Guinness entry, but you don’t need a plaque, or for that matter a theodolite or a tape measure, to realise that this is rather special. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time or logistics to take the 6 hours walk through the gorge itself – that will have to wait for another day – but the scale of the towers of limestone guarding the tiny path is straight from the Louvre. You know the kind of thing; Elijah leading the Sodomites through the Pillars of Hercules by Gericault or another Frenchman you have never heard of, all tempestuous skies and threatening cliffs, with startled half-naked maidens looking anxious, all painted half life-size.
On the way home we stop to admire some of the many Ottoman bridges that span the many torrents in the area. No torrents in September mind, rather dried river beds but the perfection of the arch form doesn’t need water.
Returning to Ioannina, the city was buzzing with preparations for the 30km round the lake race to be held the following morning. The lake was polished pewter, the surface dotted with fishermen in small boats and the vintage ferry that takes visitors to an island monastery. It is an appealing setting, but more than that, later in the evening while walking back from dinner the spaces were thronged by youthful bodies out to enjoy
themselves.
We have seen before in Greece; the charm of the platia of a warm evening. Nobody is drunk, nobody is behaving badly, there is nothing threatening. Ioannina is university city, which explains the numbers but how different from Nottingham or Newcastle on warm term-time evening. There is a heartening honesty and simplicity to this pleasure seeking, as if friendship and chat on the lakeshore is enough. We can only envy the
innocence of these charming and friendly
people, who also happen to speak perfect English.
Kastoria our next stop, is 100 miles north, on wild winding roads that snake and rattle through the foothills of the Pindus mountains. The striking feature is the lack of villages or homesteads, just forest clad hills, distant peaks and dried riverbeds. We are close to Lake Ochrid and the Albanian border and the vistas hint of wilderness untamed. This is the terrain that Joseph, our Andriot gardener and general factotum, crossed in search of a life free from the terrors of Hoxa’s Albania. In fact, he like many, did it several times, being caught by Greek police and taken back to the border, to recover courage and strength and prepare to do it all again.
No sign of Albanians today. The road signs warn of bears and wolves, but all we see are feral dogs.
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