I awoke to a gusty-but-sunny Kyparissi, clouds over Mount Parnonas, and a massive breakfast.
The manager, Stella, told me that I would be the only guest that weekend, as everyone else had cancelled due to the incoming storm Ianos (Janus). Not wanting to be a nuisance, I offered to forego breakfast for the next few days, and would be happy with just a nescafe and some of her delicious orange cake. She apologised for not having any left, and promised to bake me a new one, despite my half-arsed protestations.
Otherwise, I stocked up on snacks and wine in the tiny local shop in case the storm got so bad that the few the restaurants would stay closed.
Everyone seemed unconcerned by the incoming weather front, but I was shocked awake from an afternoon nap (yeah, what about it?) when a gust nearly blew my balcony door from its hinges.
I went out for an ultra-strong Greek coffee and began walking several km along the southern headland towards the tiny chapel of St. George (Aghios Georgios). Yes, that St. George, the patron of England, but also of Ethiopia, Georgia, and the Spanish regions of Catalonia and Aragon. He was of Greek descent and is widely venerated in all major Christian sects, including the Orthodox church, as well as in Sunni Islam.
Sitting at the tiny harbour there, I could see the waters beginning to churn and the unusual sight of waves being blown back out to sea. The brain couldn’t compute. The mountaintops were still visible, but dark clouds hovered over and spat their rain down. Everything would then go calm for a few minutes until the next series of swirling gusts would whip things up again. There was no one else around and I sat there quite peacefully for a good hour, watching hell break loose above.
On the return, another tiny path tempted me upwards and this felt more ancient. Stepping over craggy stones to avoid the lines of soldier ants, and surrounded by butterflies who might have been looking for shelter, I imagined this as a pleasant afternoon stroll for Odysseus and his Mum.
Beginning to wonder if it might lead nowhere, it suddenly opened up into a clearing surrounded by a circle of large stones, within which were seven ancient olive trees. It’s not marked or signposted, but something about it felt significant, as if it were a former meeting place for local dignitaries, or where sermons to the gods may have been held. I know that 7 is the sacred number of Apollo. It was certainly man-made, and there were stone terraces nearby. There was evidence of recent bonfires. I would need to enquire back in the village.
I also stumbled upon what appeared to be an abandoned well, though the stonework looked less ancient.
On the way home I stopped for a swim at a tiny cove. It was raining and the water was colder than usual, but I was happy to wallow there, in my own giant private bath, looking out on the bay. What a pleasant afternoon that was. Didn’t meet a single soul. All mine, mine I tells ya!
When I eventually arrived back at the hotel I could smell that Stella had been busy baking. She proudly presented me with a hot slice of her latest creation – apple pie – and a bottle of water. What a star! I sat on the steps of the hotel and made it disappear in seconds, while talking to her young daughter (who has surprisingly good english for her age!).
After a glass of wine it was next door to the Kamares grill for a slap-up of gyros, spuds and peppers, washed down with a half litre of an incredible rosé straight from the barrel. Yesss! Total price 6 euro. The English couple at the next table bickered incessantly. If you can’t be romantic in a place like this then it’s time to move-on, c’mon guys!
I walked around the village in the dark, exchanging pleasantries with the old ladies sitting outside; ‘kalinychta‘ (good night). Janus appears to be weakening and heading south. Still, no regrets whatsoever for staying-on in Kyparissi, probably the nicest place I’ve ever been. I’m hanging around until Monday at least.
I passed the English couple again, they were getting it on. That’s the spirit!
