SWIMMING WITH THE RICH AND FAMOUS
by
W. Ruth Kozak
The Ionian Islands, Greece.
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The Ionian Islands of
Greece’s west coast, have inspired poets like Homer, Sappho, Cavafy and Lord
Byron. The sea here is so transparent you can see straight into the depths. The
wind has eroded the shoreline to form sheer cliffs and extraordinary caves where
once pirates lurked and often hid their treasures.
The pale, platinum clear
water, still as enamel one moment, can turn into a raging tempest when the wind
shifts.
Kefalonia is the
largest and most mountainous of the islands. Its coast forms steep cliffs and
small bays with magnificent, wind-protected beaches. Pretty villages of pastel
stone houses cluster around the curves of sandy bays. Little coves that used to
shelter pirate galleons and Venetian merchant ships are harbours for yachts from
all over the world. Resort hotels dot the shoreline, especially near the gold
sand beaches of Platis Gialos and Poros.
Flocks of British
tourists arrive on the island in search of the rich and famous. British author
Louis de Bernieres, has made the island of Kefalonia famous with his best
selling novel “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”, about a young Italian officer
posted to the island as one of the occupying forces during W.W.II.
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Boat Caves
Platis Gialos |
When I arrived on
Kefalonia, the island was a hubbub of excitement as the star-gazers and wanna-be
extras toured around the island in search of movie stars. I heard one elderly
couple at the hotel inquiring about Nicholas Cage as if he were a personal
friend.
The young lads of the
Greek army had been bused in to be ‘extras’, playing the role of the Italian
soldiers and at Sami, a mock German camp had been set up with extras loitering
about in Nazi uniforms. I didn’t know until I read de Bernieres’ novel that
these occupying troops met a tragic fate at the hands of the Germans.
Intrigued by the story,
I decided to take a walk up the hill behind my campsite to the monument
honouring these soldiers. It stands on a rise overlooking Argostoli Bay. 10,000
Italian soldiers of the Aqui Regiment were machine-gunned down after they
refused to join the Germans when Italy surrendered to the Allies.
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Later, as I watched the
glorious sunset from the Venetian-style lighthouse, Fenari, I listened to
Andreas Bocelli’s lovely aria “Time to Say Goodbye” and I contemplated the
many tragedies that have befallen this beautiful island. In 1953 Kefalonia was
devastated by an earthquake, which ruined most of its villages. Almost all the
architecture on the island is post-earthquake. The elegant opera house and
Venetian-style mansions of Argostoli and Lixouri no longer exist. Here and there
on the island lie ruins of destroyed houses, a reminder of the disaster.
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The Fenari lighthouse, Kefalonia |
Everywhere I went on
Kefalonia that summer, people were pursuing movie stars. Kefalonia has often
been visited by famous people, most notably the poet Lord Byron, who often came
here to enjoy the scenery. In the village of Metaxata, there’s a plaque on the
house where he stayed just before he went off to Missolonghi to fight the Turks,
and later died of pneumonia.
From Kefalonia, it’s
only a short cruise by ferry over to Ithaka, the small island featured in
Homer’s “Odyssey”, the kingdom of the extreme adventurer Odysseus.
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A brisk breeze ruffled
the water as I watched the dark mountains of Ithaka draw near across the
narrows. The boat pulled into one of Ithaka’s secret coves. The port is shaped
like a horseshoe. In the centre is a tiny island where a charming seaman’s
chapel is surrounded by cypresses. They say Lord Byron, who often visited Ithaka,
used to row out to it each morning to swim.
The harbour of Vathi is
surrounded by houses with red-tiled roofs. Cafes animate the waterfront. The
summer evening is scented with the smoke of grilling kebabs and fresh-caught
fish grilling over charcoal coals.
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Ithaka |
Ithaka is most
certainly an island that ‘happens’ to you. There is a curious atmosphere
here. Its hillsides are scented with wild sage and oregano, dotted with vibrant
wild-flowers and silvery olive groves. Surrounding the tranquil orchards and
vineyards are the high menacing mountains. Ithaka corresponds to Homer’s
description, “An island of goat pastures -- rising rock-like from the sea.”
To most of the island’s 2500 inhabitants, Homer’s legend is in itself enough
to sustain the imagination. Who needs to prove anything?
At the Cave of the
Nymphs where a team of American archaeologists and students, under the
supervision of Greek Archaeologist Sarantis Symeonoglou, are busy sifting and
sorting through rubble brought up from a ten-meter pit. This cave is believed to
be the one where Odysseus hid the gifts given to him by the Phaecians when he
returned home after his long, arduous voyage. The site, four kilometers from
Vathi, is closed to the public. I had been invited to visit the site by
Telemachos Karavias, the mayor of Vathi.
Karavias is a burly man
with reddish hair and a beard. He looks as if he could be one of Odysseus’
sailors. He says that he wants Ithaka to attract the sort of tourists who will
appreciate the history and the special things the island has to offer. On our
way to the town of Stavros, he drives past the rock-strewn remains of what is
believed to be the Bronze Age city. According to Homer’s description,
Odysseus’ palace was located at a spot overlooking three seas, and surrounded
by three mountains. This location, on the Pilikata Hill, fits the description.
Back in Vathis, a
luxury yacht cruised into the harbour. It was singer/actor Madonna. She and her
crew were coming ashore to dine at a seafood taverna. Too bad, I had no film
left in my camera.
It’s an Odyssey in
itself just getting off Ithaka. The taxi picked me up as scheduled in order to
make the 9.30 sailing to Lefkada. I enjoyed the scenic drive and arrive in
plenty of time, but fifteen minutes before the ferry is due to arrive, I
discovered that the ferry has broken down, and we must leave from a
different port. After a hair-raising wild race by taxi on a twisting road with
hairpin curves and precipices, I arrived at the port just minutes before the
ferry sailed.
A school of dolphins
frolicked in the surf alongside the ferry as we sailed toward the high sandstone
cliffs of Lefkada’s south coast. I disembarked at the pleasant little port of
Vassiliki, a popular centre for wind-surfers. Hundreds of brightly coloured
sails skimmed like butterflies over the surface of the Bay. Wind surfers come
here from all over Europe.
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The next day, I went on
a boat cruise around the Cape known as “Sappho’s Leap” where the poet
Sappho committed suicide back in 600 BC. As the boat rounds the jagged reefs off
Cape Doukas, the towering white cliffs rise from a sea that is as blue as a
robin’s egg. The Cape is like a gigantic wedge of cake with a lighthouse on
top for a candle.
The boat anchored at
idyllic Egremeni Beach and we scrambled down steep ladders to the shore. I
brought a picnic lunch and a book of Sappho’s love poems and lay on the beach
listening to the waves crackle on the pebble shore. As I looked up at those high
cliffs from where she plunged, a hopeless victim of her unrequited love for
Phaon, a young sailor I read her haunting words: “About the cool water, the
wind sounds through sprays...”
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Sappho's Leap |
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I extended my visit to
Lefkada when I saw an advertisement for another excursion. “Islands
Panorama” promised to include Onassis’ island, Skorpios, the island of
Madouri, home of Greek national poet Valaortes, and Meganissi, an island famous
for its sea caves.
Our first stop was the
Cave of Papanikolis. The boat navigated carefully around submerged rocks and
entered the mysterious blow cavern. I was surprised to see that there was
already another boat inside. I imagined the cave as a pirate’s hideaway.
On the way to the next
island stop, we chased a school of dolphins around in circles in the Bay.
Dolphins are a rare sight because the fishers, who claim they damage their nets,
are killing them. But here in the Ionian Sea there seems to be an abundance, and
they are a joy to watch as they splash and dive through the boat’s wake.
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Sea Caves |
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We circled the island
of Skorpios, a small island, densely wooded with cypress and pine trees. The
red-tiled roofs of the Onassis’ villas are half-hidden behind the trees. In
each little cover there are piers, each with a palm tree planted at the end.
Around the dock areas, the grounds are landscaped and showers of magenta
bougainvillea spill over the stone fences. One of these villas was a gift to
opera singer Maria Callas in the days before Onassis abandoned her in favor of
Jacqueline Kennedy.
We were allowed to
disembark to swim at a small pebble beach secluded by a thick stand of myrtle
bushes. Cicadas trill in the pine trees. As I paddled in the clear, turquoise
water, I thought of how not long ago, Jackie O and her children swam here. So
did Maria Callas. And more recently, Princess Diana and her lover Dodi Fayez
cruised and frolicked in these same waters. Skorpios is a symbol of the Rich and
Famous, Onassis’ private Garden of Eden. Yet it’s a strange, tragic
paradise, with nobody left to enjoy it but forlorn little Athena, Onassis’
granddaughter, said to be the richest girl in the world. Onassis’ only son was
killed in a plane crash, and his daughter Christina committed suicide when
Athena was only three years old.
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Skorpios |
We cruised away from
Skorpios and skirt around the smaller islands, coming into port at Meganissi, an
untidy little harbour with nothing much more than a row of tavernas all geared
up to hustle tourist’s appetites. Leaving Meganissi, we headed back to
Vassiliki, with a stop for a swim at Agiofili Beach. The whole day was a
delightful island experience. I even went swimming where the rich and famous
once swam.
THE END
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