Kefalonia

POSITION: 38°18’03.6″N 20°36’05.2″E

Coming out of the lee of southern tip of Ithaka proved a little more challenging than expected. The winds bore down on us at 25 knots, whipping spray off the waves. Reefed and ready, we tucked a couple more wraps into Aleta’s jib and she steadied up. Our objective was Effemia in the northwest corner of a bight about half way up Kefalonia. Heeling along at seven knots I began doubting the wisdom of our choice of anchorage.

As we got closer to shore, though, the winds came round to our bow and dropped to a steady 15 knots. Funneling through the hills from the broad Aegean, the temperature dropped, too. From beastly to downright pleasant. Anchoring proved simple enough, albeit a bit deeper than I’d like with a busted windlass.

Sym-ulacra

Strung out along the waterfront the little village of Effemia is a holidaymaker’s dream. Just big enough to support three supermarkets and a dozen restaurants, it’s still small enough that it retains a sense of personality. It closes completely in the winter.

Our first order of business was hiring a scooter for our whirlwind island tour planned for the next morning. Tony at Road Runners fitted us out with a standard issue 125cc Sym, identical to the one we hired on Sifnos. And for the first time our helmets fit well enough that we actually used them.

Argostoli

Scooting over the steep, green hills to the main town of Argostoli proved something of a hardship for our little bike. The highest point on the island is 1628m (5,341ft), so everything around the middle either goes straight up or straight down. You can, of course, go around, but it’s a long road.

Like the rest of the island, Argostoli was flattened by an earthquake in 1953, wiping out any charm the city might have had. The most interesting thing architecturally is a long low bridge built in the 1890s that crosses a shallow marsh just outside town. If you’re lucky enough you can see turtles as you stroll along.

Mandolin

Kefalonia’s big claim to pop culture is serving as the setting for Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. Charming as the novel is, it is also a reminder of the complicated history of the Ionian Islands over the last 200 years. More specifically the occupation by Italian and German soldiers during WWII.

When Mussolini was toppled by the Allies in 1943, the occupying armies became enemies overnight. The Italians fought bravely, but vastly outnumbered they fell to the Germans who gave them no quarter. The event is known as the massacre of the Acqui Division, and figures prominently in Louis de Bernieres’ book.

Gerasimos!

Our next stop was the crumbling castle of Agios Giorgios at Marakata. It was, like so many crumbling remains in this part of the world, rather crumbly.

That is definitely not true of the Monastery of Agios Gerasimos. Both the cloisters and the church are post-earthquake, but sport some fantastic neomodern Greek Orthodox iconography. The church with its soaring curved vaults are covered with holy figures surrounded by gilt. They shine back down on you with a golden aura. It is particularly wondrous, especially for such a recent rendering.

Rocky Ends

Puttering on, we set our sights on climbing up into the national park for a bit of hiking and nature. From the monastery it looked like the quickest way in was south, then a sharp left uphill along the eastern flank of the range.
From our tourist map it was impossible to tell what kinds of roads we’d find. Instinctively, I figured they might turn to rubble pretty quickly. Empirically it took five kilometres longer than I anticipated. Winding our way high above a quiet hillside village, the ribbed and patched concrete road ended presenting us with an endless screed of fist-sized rocks and sand. Without the ground clearance of a 21” front wheel we had no choice but to turn around.

It was getting hot. That’s the thing about motorcycling – you never lose touch with your environment. The sun beat down on my bare arms. Carol who had slid forward and pressed sexily against me as we headed downhill, now scooched back for more air. The road worked its way back and forth until at least it crested and we caught a breath of sea air from the east.

Kefalonia’s main roads form a figure eight, the nexus near our anchorage. We zipped through Sami, and carried on towards the purportedly picturesque village of Asos.

The northwestern road scrabbles to cling onto the mountains. Frequent washouts fall directly, 300m down to the verdant blue waters below. And keep the local highway department preoccupied. From her perch, Carol took in some of the finest coastal scenery Greece has to offer. I, on the other hand, was admonished to keep my eyes on the road.

Asos Aside

Off to the left and down several gritty hairpin turns we found Asos lurking with intent. Laden with holidaymakers the little fishing village straddles an isthmus in a pocket of intense sunshine and heat. We parked under a tree in an orchard that had been repurposed as a vehicular holding pen. A few, empty stone husks of houses along the road down to the harbour remind you why everything tumbled to the ground so completely 70 years ago. The stonework was, perhaps, painstaking, but a thin stucco skim coat nothing like enough to keep things held together.

A couple of brave sailors had moored along the swooping quay, but it looked too shallow and treacherous for our liking. Overheating sunbathers gamely swam in the stagnant harbour, but without much enthusiasm. With only a couple of restaurants, we hoped for better seafood than we got at the Molos Taverna. However good-looking the food might be, like people, appearances can be deceiving.

Our trip home first took us northwards to refuel, then it was a long slow descent via the high, narrow coastal road. Not as precipitous as the west side, the views over Ithaka and the strait were beautiful. The normal afternoon 25 knot winds had picked up cooling us off enough that Carol once again snuggled up behind me and put her arms around my waist. I doubled my concentration on the turns ahead. It wasn’t easy.

With the sun fading into the valley above Effemia, our elongated shadow stretched out towards the harbour and Aleta. A full, fun day. With the bike returned we took our deposit and headed to the Marabou Café for a cold beer and some self-satisfaction.