Crossing the Country

 Another long trek, this time cross country  to the West coast and down to the Gulf of Korinth, just a few hours from home. 

Leaving Meteora and it's Monasteries we wound up into the mountains again. It was so green, small villages with unusual names (Cherry Village, Dark hole, Madonna) cascading down hillsides, memorials to Nazi atrocities, chestnut trees and Norfolk pines. Those 2 trees are a sure sign of high elevation. 

We stopped at a roadside Cafe for cappuccino and toasted sandwiches. 

At 700 metres the temperature was decidingly chilly.  We went inside and sat near the stove. There was a pot boiling on the top. Paul lifted the lid and was disappointed to find boiling water. No savoury rooster or rabbit, goat or wild boar simmering away for lunch. 

Up there we saw big quarries, gaping holes gouged out of the hillside and convoys of lorries carrying what looked like iron ore. 

We stopped at a roadside shrine and I jumped out to take a photo. Of course. 

The door was open so K and I lit a candle for safe roads. 

Quite an elaborate little shrine

There were roadside stalls selling fruit, honey and preserves. Paul bought red delicious apples. 

K decided to buy some tomatoes........ until he found out the price. They were from Crete of all places, at the other end of the country. And the old man was selling them for 3 euros a kilo, twice the price of tomatoes on Poros.  

K put them back and told him curtly what he thought of them. 

Later we joined the national road and scooted straight through to the coast. 

The roads up here are engineering feats. 

There were viaducts spanning deep gorges and tunnel after tunnel after tunnel. The longest was 5.5 Ks long

Once on the West Coast we diverted to a secondary road through ravines covered in greenery and rivers full of trout. 

There are trout farms for miles and roadside stalls now sold fresh trout displayed in large tanks or smoked and packaged.

My 3 brothers are avid trout fishermen from an early age, wandering for hours along the banks of the Waiari river or trolling from small boats on the Rotorua Lakes. Good memories for Paul

After  a 6 hour journey we finally arrived in the seaside town of Nafpaktos. 

It was packed with lines of cars.  The good weather, and Thursday holiday making for a long weekend, had obviously brought out hundreds of visitors. 

We found our hotel, up a narrow cobbled side street ending in a steep slope.  The driver was not amused. Especially when he saw how many steps he had to climb to reach the reception and more to reach his room. 

He phoned the owner and told him to come down and carry the bags up or he'd go somewhere else. 

And 'lo, it was done'.