SEPTEMBER 29 - DAY 36
The overnight Bari-Patras boat was slightly busier than the Patras-Brindisi one – but not much. This time I saw the brief stopover in Igoumenitsa – I must have slept through it on the way out. On this journey I slept episodically.
Greece – even out of the window of a ferry – feels more like home somehow than Italy does. My thoughts turned to Mr and Mrs Kapos and the fact that I still had a bottle of Italian wine in my case. I hadn't found Gino... but it might be nice to give the wine to them...
Eventually we docked. There were just three pedestrians, including me. We had to show our QR codes – which had arrived overnight by email – but no one bothered to scan them. A security guy just looked at them and said OK. So, no really stringent checks. I walked out – so happy to see Patras, when a couple of weeks or so before, I had seldom been so pleased to leave a place.
The sun was hot and bright – such a contrast to the rainstorms of Italy – and I walked straight to the flat of Andreas Kapos and his wife and surprised them with tales of the odyssey around Italy – and a bottle of Italian wine. Inevitably, Andreas wanted me to come in and eat. Or stay in their son's flat again ("It's empty!") for the night. Or leave my case there. I explained that I had to keep going, as I was bound for Ithaca. So Andreas offered to give me a lift to the port – he overflows with the desire to be generous. His wife produced pains au chocolat and biscuits. I explained that I couldn't take any more biscuits after Italy. But I did accept the pains au chocolat.
"Have them for the journey," said Andreas. "And if you need anything, any time, phone us or come here." His wife just smiled and smiled.
They really are such a lovely couple. I regretted that it had initially taken me a while to realise how so genuinely kind they were. I loved them and I will miss them.
I walked down to the port and got my tickets for Ithaca.
It all seems so unreal now. I spent so much time dreading that I would never make it this far that it seems somehow as if I haven't really made it – sometimes I still think that Mr Nasty the border cop did stop me at Brindisi and that my time in Italy didn't really happen. But no... I am here in Patras, I am on the brink of tomorrow and of taking the boat to Ithaca – and of the end of things as far as this odyssey is concerned.
30 SEPTEMBER - DAY 37
I slept not too badly but was up at 5am as usual. I faffed about, sorted out my stuff and then went out to try to find a healthy breakfast – which proved impossible. Pastry and cakes everywhere, and every sandwich includes meat. It's like being in Italy! I sat in the sun at Georgios Square and had green tea and nice fresh tiropita – cheese pie is always a good fallback in Greece.
I got some cash from a machine to see me through the remaining days of the trip, checked out of the hotel early and walked down to the port. There was plenty of time before the ferry went, so I walked out of town to the east and sat by the sea, watching children playing, old men walking or sitting, and couples flirting.
There was still more time to kill when I got back to the port. The salad at the restaurant next to where the boat was due in looked good, so I ordered one and took a seat from where I could look out over the sea.
Then I had a sudden panic. I hadn't double-checked what time it was. Greece was still an hour ahead of Italy, wasn't it? If it wasn't, was I actually missing the boat? Had I missed the boat? Was I in the right place? It was all quite stupid anxiety. But in the end I had to check with a passerby who had a watch – and yes, I had the time right. Maybe my panic was just a manifestation of how long I had spent agonising over planning the odyssey... and then having to deal with the day-to-day concentration needed to carry it out.
But now I could see the bright yellow Levante ferry coming into view. This was the connection that I had spent literally hours on – I had been told there wasn't one; that it was only possible by boat and bus; that there were no timetables; etc... But in fact, this ferry seems to run daily whatever. So, I had my temperature checked one more time, and off we went to Ithaca.
I love travelling on Greek ferries – but for one thing, the now ever-present blaring of large TV screens. Perhaps they are a sort of today's equivalent of the Sirens, since they make you want to stop up your ears and shut off the unending cacophony of soaps, quizzes and gameshows.
I went to the front of the boat and watched out for the first sign of Ithaca. I imagined that no one else onboard could be looking forward to being there more than I was... but then I realised that it was something that mattered to all of us in different ways, otherwise we wouldn't be on this boat.
And then, there it was... a distant dark outline ahead... and we were gradually getting closer.
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| Approaching Ithaca Photo©Nigel Summerley |
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| Ithaca at last Photo©Nigel Summerley |
For the third time on this trip, I promised myself I'd take a taxi when I landed – and for the third time, when we arrived, there were no taxis. So I set off walking up the long steep hills to get to the main town of Vathi.
I hadn't gone too far before a well-to-do English woman in a 4x4 stopped and very politely – and kindly – offered me a lift. She was going to Stavros, in the north of the island, but she could drop me at the turn-off for Vathi and save me quite a bit of walking.
For some reason, I said no thanks. And as she sped on her way and I trundled on, I began to regret my decision. Not only could I have got a lift, but I could have probably got lots of useful information from her about Stavros and the nearby archaeological site of Odysseus's Palace. Why did I turn her down?
It wasn't long before I found out why... Five minutes later, another woman – Greek, leopard-print coat, blonde, full make-up – stopped and offered me a lift, motioning for me to put my suitcase in the back of her small car. She's going to Vathi. So I do as she says and get in. She reminds me that I need to put on a mask because we are close together in the car. I do that too.
She drives fast and seems to prefer the centre of the road rather than the right or the left. I unfold my map and do my best to follow where we are going. I ask her to stop near where I think my apartment might be – near Deksia Bay, the very spot where Odysseus is said to have come ashore when he finally made it back to Ithaca.
I tumble out of the car, parked near the beach, and thank her profusely. As an afterthought, I ask her: "What is your name? What do they call you?"
She says: "My name is Pinelopi."
"Pinelopi?"
"Yes."
"Penelope!" I almost shout.
"Yes," she smiles and drives off towards the town.
What a moment! Her name was Penelope – the name of the woman who waited 20 years on Ithaca for her husband, Odysseus, to come home from the war. What an amazing moment!
Still finding what had happened difficult to believe – and of course thinking that this was all predestined, since why else would I have turned down the English woman in the 4x4? – I walked to the edge of Vathi, doing my best to locate my apartment from the map provided. And it turns out to be another difficult one...
I've been told someone would meet me there at 7pm. It's getting close to that, so I'm just about to phone the number I have when I get a call from a Greek (who seems to have difficulty stopping talking) asking me if I'm there and telling me where it is. I explain to him where I am and what I can see. He doesn't listen. I end the call and try following his instructions – which lead me to a series of private houses but no apartments. The Greek and I end up speaking on the phone three or four times.
"Look for two roofs!" he keeps saying.
"I can see about 20 roofs!" I tell him.
Finally I find it – right next to where I tried to tell him I was on our first conversation. It not only isn't where the map indicated – it also has a different name outside.
"I have to pay you," I remind him.
"You will have to come into our office in town to pay – later or tomorrow."
There are in fact 12 apartments here plus a private swimming pool. They are all empty, so I have the place and the pool to myself.
It is now not long after 7pm and I get another phone call – from what sounds like the same Greek again, but in fact turns out to be his partner. He asks if I'm there because he is coming to meet me, as promised, at 7pm. Utter confusion! When I realise that I am speaking to a different person, I explain what has happened – ie, the left hand doesn't appear to know what the right hand is doing.
Despite this chaotic arrival, the apartment is perfect. As the evening gets dark, I walk down to the pool, strip off my clothes and swim in the cooling water...
I had forgotten at this point that 28 nights ago when I was staying on the island of Syros, I had been unable to sleep and ended up walking around the flat rooftop outside my apartment by the light of the full moon. I had realised then that in 28 days' time – if I was lucky – I would be in Ithaca and see the moon full again...
Now, as I swam in the dark and turned back after the first length of the pool, I saw the full moon literally rising above the hills across the bay... Amid everything that had been happening, I had completely forgotten that I had kind of made a date to see it again... So it was a really magical and emotional moment... Like my encounter with Penelope, it was one more thing confirming that I had made it... It couldn't get any better than this, could it?
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| Full moon over Ithaca Photo©Nigel Summerley |
I got dry and dressed and walked into town. Vathi harbour seemed to be full of yachting types and this was the first time that I had seen and heard the English speaking English since the odyssey had begun. It seemed bizarre.
I saw a woman working in a travel office and called in. The place wasn't open – she was just using her husband's office to get some work done. Her name was Anastasia and she spoke perfect American English. I asked her about buses to Stavros and she told me that there were no buses going that way at the moment due to the cyclone damage to the road that had taken place the previous week. It seemed difficult to believe but it was true. What had come to be known as a "Medicane" – a Mediterranean hurricane – had hit the area and the resulting mini-tsunami had gouged out great chunks of the highway.
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| Cyclone-damaged road Photos©Nigel Summerley |
Taxis, said Anastasia, could still get through, however, and she said the best time to get one from here would be first thing in the morning.
I asked her if there was any possibility that the Odysseus's Palace archaeological site might be closed.
"It's always open," she said. "There is nothing really to close."
1 OCTOBER - DAY 38
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| Dawn over Ithaca Photo©Nigel Summerley |
A big day. I was up early as usual, walked down into Vathi and got a taxi with Spiros Grivas to take me up to Stavros. As Spiros speeded around the bends and along the road north it seemed a long way – it was 10 miles, after all, and I had already decided that I was going to walk back. On the way, we sneaked past the road damage that Anastasia had warned me about and which had reduced it to an unstable-looking single lane.
Stavros proved to be a lovely large Greek village, unspoilt and somehow much more real than Vathi. The place was alive and kids were going to school. An old man shopping in the grocery store lets me go first because I'm just getting a bottle of water. Only Greek is spoken here.
So, I walk up beyond the village, following my map and then signs to the site previously known as "Homer's School" but now more commonly referred to as Odysseus's Palace.
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| Road to the Palace of Odysseus Photo©Nigel Summerley |
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| The clear-up volunteers Photo©Nigel Summerley |
And now – as I arrive – the unthinkable happens. I see a group of workmen in hi-vis jackets and a sign on the gate to the site saying: "No Entry." This can't be happening, can it?
I stand by the sign in disbelief and watch the workmen having some sort of get-together in the middle of the site and the ruins. If they weren't here, I would do what I did at Cicero's Mausoleum in Formia and just climb over.
A tall man in hi-vis and helmet turns and notices me at the gate and comes over.
"Is the site closed?" I ask him.
He speaks excellent English.
"Yes," he says.
"I can't believe it. Why is it closed?"
"These are volunteers and we are tidying up the site before more work can be done here. Do you have a special interest in the site?"
Do I have a special interest?
"Yes, I do," I tell him. "I've travelled 4,000 miles following in the wake of Odysseus to get here and I'll be writing an account of my journey for a magazine in the UK."
"Hold on," he says. "I will have a word and come back to you."
He goes and speaks to the others for a while and then returns.
"You can come in," he says. "But you have to be careful as you walk around the site."
I assure him that I'll be careful and thank him profusely. He is Andronikos Sakkatos, he is from Ithaca, and he is an archaeologist but he normally works as a tourist guide in Athens. Because there is no work due to the plague and the lack of tourists, and because volunteers were needed to help clear up the site prior to more investigations being carried out, he has come to lend a hand. It turns out that he is also a huge fan of Odysseus and the Odyssey. I ask him if I could talk to him after I've had a look round and he says he is happy to do so.
So I am finally here, in the palace of Odysseus, the place where the odyssey ends. I had expected to shed a tear, but somehow I don't feel like that at all. I think the encounter with Penelope the previous day was probably the point at which I came closest to breaking up with emotion. Instead, it is just wonderful to be here and I feel grateful to the gods, the fates, the winds... or whatever has brought me to this place, this dream destination. Of course, it is just stones and scant remains of ancient structures, but there is certainly a magic here and the feeling that this is a place where remarkable things must have happened. I had expected to have the place to myself for solitary reflection but, like so many things, it hasn't worked out as anticipated. I'm sharing the place with eight or nine workmen busy clearing the debris of fallen branches etc.
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| And did those feet...? Photo©Nigel Summerley |
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| Journey's end Photo©Nigel Summerley |
Andronikos tells me that this is the first day of a ten-day clear-up operation. And he says, "If you want to find Odysseus, this is the place. This is a place of memory. You get a feeling here that you will get nowhere else in the world. From up here, you control the island, you control the sea, and you are at the centre of Greece. You control everything...
"Whether or not there was a real person called Odysseus, there were people like that here. And later Odysseus became the local hero, his face appeared on coins, people made offerings to him before embarking on a journey."
I tell him that when my odyssey article appears I will send him a copy, but it may be a while.
"Then there will be a day," he says, "when I read about this and I will smile and be very happy."
I wish him well and say that I hope his work in Athens returns.
"Life will not end in 2020," he says, beaming.
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| Clearing debris Photo©Nigel Summerley |
Andronikos was just one more person whose kindness and decency helped this journey happen. I felt fortunate and privileged to have arrived at odyssey's end on this beautiful sun-filled day and to have been given a personal insight into the Odysseus story by a man who lived and breathed it.
And now comes the long walk back to Vathi...
Ithaca is such a beautiful island. For once, I have to strongly disagree with Frewin Poffley, the Greek island hopping guru who has been one of my most reliable travel guides for many years. He couldn't figure out why Odysseus wanted to come back here. To me, it's obvious... in the hills, the ubiquitous greenery, the mountains, the views across to Kefalonia, the sea, and, above all, the peace...
One driver stops and offers me a lift but I thank him and say no. This is all too enjoyable a walk to spoil it by getting into a car. At the halfway point, I stop for a break and a snack by the roadside – and then press on. By the end of the ten miles, my dodgy foot is hurting quite a bit. But what a day!
After a swim back at the apartment, I walked gingerly into town and ate at the Kokhilo restaurant – which Anastasia assured me was the best in Vathi. And it certainly was pretty good.
A family party of 14 arrived and noisily occupied a large table near me. I have seldom heard such a fuss made over the ordering of a meal – all in relentless English. Like the English yachties, they made no attempt to speak one iota of Greek. I was amazed by the patience of the waiter at Kokhilo – and by the people of Vathi in general.
I finished my meal and smoked my second cigar of the trip – to celebrate having completed the mission. As I was leaving, one of the men in the family party was complaining loudly to the waiter that his fava beans had not been cooked properly and were, in fact, according to him, burnt. He seemed a bit of an arsehole but, then, I had to remind myself that I have also been known to complain in restaurants. I slipped away, while the waiter apologised at length...
I was tempted to go for another drink but instead went home and watched The Kominsky Method on Netflix. I heard noise outside, which turned out to be two young women arriving to take up residence in the apartment next door. I no longer had the place to myself...
2 OCTOBER - DAY 39
In the morning I chatted with one of the women who had moved in next door. They'd flown from the UK to Kefalonia on a crowded plane – something they didn't expect or like. They had then come too Ithaca and next they would go to Lefkada and then to another island. It was good to hear that island hopping – of which I've done my share – was continuing.
With the aid of my large-scale map of Ithaca – which my friends Gary and Carmen had pointed out looked almost as big as the island itself – I found the start of the path to the Cave of the Nymphs (said to be the place where Odysseus had stashed the valuables given him by the Phaeacians who helped him return to Ithaca). After the previous day's 10-mile hike, this started out as a gentler expedition, but still an often steep climb up into the hills above Vathi and Deksia Bay.
The approach to the cave and the cave itself were both reminiscent of my visit to the Sybil's Cave at Lake Avernus. There was that same feeling of an ancient path trod by myriad feet, with a slightly spooky and mysterious destination. Like the Sybil's Cave, this one too was barred and locked and there was no way to sneak inside for a better look.
I took a circuitous route via footpaths to take me to Vathi. These paths were not well used – and one seemed to have disappeared altogether – and then there was what looked like the aftermath of the previous week's cyclone. In half a dozen places the path was blocked by fallen trees, most of which could be climbed over or circumnavigated. But the last one dictated either a complete U-turn or a tricky climb through hillside undergrowth. I wasn't for turning... There were nasty thorned branches that latched themselves into my bare legs and arms – a kind of natural barbed wire. Breaking the branches – the only way to get the thorns out – was a process that at times embedded some of the thorns even deeper.. This went on for some time, as the area that I had to skirt around was a large one. By the time I got back down to the path, my legs were scratched to bits and there was blood on my clothes. It could have been worse – but not much.
The path finally dropped me down into the main square at Vathi. I cleaned up my legs and some of the blood from my shorts, but the damage still looked a mess. I sat at a café and had some tea plus yoghurt with honey, listening to a quartet of old English yacht people discussing sailing routes around Kefalonia. It all sounded rather boring, the way they talked about it, but I guess that I envied them that freedom to take off in a boat and go wherever.
There is very much now a feeling that things are coming to an end. I stopped for a while by the heroic statue of Odysseus by the waterside and then said my goodbyes.
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| Ithaca's statue of Odysseus Photo©Nigel Summerley |
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A swim at Deksia Bay... where Odysseus
came ashore Photo©Nigel Summerley |
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| The man who started all this... Bust of Homer on Ithaca Photo©Nigel Summerley |
3 OCTOBER - DAY 40
Another big day, in theory. Today I am 70 years old. But it's just another day on the road... I feel melancholy at having to leave Ithaca. But I have to go...
I was up early so that I could walk across the island back to the port at Piso Aetos. Five different cars stopped to offer me a lift on the way. It was so kind of all of them, but I said no – I had planned it so that I would get there in time for the boat; there was no point in getting there early; and I was also kind of dragging out my time spent enjoying the island.
However, I was slightly freaked out by the last woman to offer me a lift, when she said that if I didn't take up her offer I would miss the boat. By this point I could see the port and a boat coming in.
"Don't worry. I'll make it," I told her. And then I began to wonder if she might have been right – and started walking a little more quickly.
It turned out that the boat we'd seen coming in wasn't mine. I double-checked this at the port office. Before too long the yellow Levante ferry comes into view... and it's here... and I'm leaving...
A few hours later, we arrived in Patras – which I continue to love seeing – and I walked along by the sea to the bus station. A bus was due to leave for Athens soon, so I get my ticket and get onboard.
The long uneventful bus journey returned me, bit by bit, to the urban sprawl and an ugliness that the sunshine does nothing to hide. And then I was getting off the bus in the bus station that I had been so glad to leave behind four weeks beforehand.
I did my best to follow another one of my hand-drawn maps to get me from here to the nearest Metro station, but, as the man from Sibari railway station might have said, it is a foolish man who believes the map rather than the streets... Anyway, despite the map and despite the streets, my sense of direction got me to the Metro... and then I really was suddenly back in a sort of civilisation. I got out at Syntagma and went straight to the address for my hotel...
When I got there, the building was closed, locked, not accessible. Was this the gods having a last laugh? The hotel couldn't have closed down since I booked it, could it? I rang the number I had for the hotel. Someone answered immediately.
"I'm outside but can't get in. You seem to be closed."
"Where are you?" the woman asked.
"At 26 – the address I was given for the hotel."
"It's now 28," she said. "The entrance is next door. Come in."
So I did. And for the last night of the odyssey, it was a fittingly great place. I wasn't interested in going out into Athens. I spent a quiet evening in my room, went to bed early and gave thanks for having made it.
4 OCTOBER - DAY 41
Breakfast. The bus from Syntagma to the airport. The plane to Heathrow. The tube into London. Like Odysseus, I had returned home...
