Pippa and I are enjoying ourselves immensely. It’s no bed of roses. We have had a lot of rain during December, and more than our fair share of strong southerly winds. Blowing from the Ionian Sea, these cause an uncomfortable surge in the marina. The occasional goffer finds its way over the harbour wall and can drench any unwary matelot.
We have some very friendly neighbours. There are French, German, Dutch, Catalonian as well as a few other British sailors over wintering here. Obviously there are many Greek boats, but we see little of their crews. The Marina staff are friendly and efficient in a Greek sort of way. I’m reminded of the saying, “Pembrokeshire has no equivalent of the Spanish ‘manana’. Nothing in Pembrokeshire is so important, that it needs to be done tomorrow.”
Sunday lunch is an excuse for an international Barbeque, and they are great fun. Though if it rains they are cancelled, and if it is fine, we are more often than not to be found in the mountains.
Kalamata is more undistinguished than unattractive. It has been ravaged by wars and earthquakes over the years, and has been patched up rather than re built. As we start to learn our way about, we are becoming rather fond of it.
The following photograph shows one of its many surprises. Taking a shortcut through the park, on the way into town, one comes across the old railway station. Now a static museum, with several such locomotives.
Kalamata railway museum
Pippa, AKA teachers pet, or swat, is learning Greek, while I try, but struggle with all but the simplest words. We go for an hour each week to see Linda Vourna, an American lady living in Kalamata. She usually teaches English to adults, but offered to help us.
She has a lovely house with an orange orchard, on the edge of town. We are encouraged to help our selves, and of course we do. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures, to eat an orange that you have picked yourself.
After a lot of searching I have managed to track down the rather grand sounding, Hellenic Alpine Club of Kalamata. In fact they are a very friendly local climbing / walking club.
They have their headquarters on the far side of town, about fifteen minutes cycling time from the marina.
We were immediately invited to join them on their weekend forays into the hills. And join them we have. Though it sometimes feels rather like being a dog! With my almost non existent Greek. I sit and metaphorically wag my tail, in expectation of being taken for a walk. I wait and wait, knowing not why. Then in a rush we set off, and I follow. (I’m too well behaved to run off in front). I have little idea where we are going or how long it will take. We may be going just round the block, or up a large mountain, who knows? They probably told me, but they may as well be speaking spaniel for all I understand.
The Local Garden Centre?
Pippa and I also do our own thing. We often hire a car, or if it’s not too far, use the bikes to get to the hills. This photo shows an ancient cobbled path on one of our favourite local walks. These paths demonstrate remarkable workmanship. They were once the only roads between villages and they sometimes go on for miles on end. Unlike Roman roads, they twist and turn, climb steeply and cunningly, and cleverly find their way across the most unlikely terrain.
A Taygetos mountain church
On Christmas day we drove to the start of one of our favourite walks (though we usually cycle) and ascended for almost three thousand feet to find a tiny church on the summit. Miles from anywhere, it was deserted but unlocked. We peeked in and couldn’t resist lighting a candle. We added our one Euro to the small pile of coins on a tray amongst a collection of pop bottles, containing what was presumably lamp oil.
Taygetos in her winter garb.
The big mountains in the area, at over 2400 metres, are now snow capped until the spring. We joined the local club on an attempt on Prophet Eliah, the highest peak of the range.
The forecast was dire and we were surprised they went ahead.
Having spent the night in a mountain hut belonging to the Sparti club, we set off in the morning into torrential rain. As we got higher the rain turned to snow and the wind increased. It was impossible to get into a walking rhythm. We were part of a huge party of more than twenty. If the leader stopped, and he did quite often, while breaking the trail in the soft snow, everyone else bunched up and also stopped. After a couple of hours of this, Pippa and I turned back, assuring our leader that yes, we would follow the tracks and yes, we would be sure to dig our heels well in.
Before too much longer the rest of the party also gave up. Nonetheless it had been a worthwhile experience, and a pleasure to be in the mountains with such a fine bunch of people.
Last of the great navigators?
After arriving in Kalamata (?), finding my feet, and climbing a few hills. I have started on the road to celestial navigation. Armed with an excellent sextant, (a real pleasure to use), and a couple of books. I have made some startling discoveries.
First of all, it’s not as difficult as I had been led to believe. Though in truth, I’ve only mastered Latitude so far. Longitude may take a little longer. After all it took the greatest minds or the Royal Navy, and the Astronomer Royals of Greenwich, several hundred years to learn how it’s done.
The greatest surprise for me was just how inaccurate is my GPS system. For the last couple of months I have been content that I had navigated successfully across the Mediterranean to Kalamata. But no! I now realise I’m in a large oasis, twenty miles inland of the Libyan coast. My arrival must have coincided with an exceptionally large tidal anomaly. Not to worry, it’s a lovely place. And do you know, the Arabs in these parts speak Greek!
