The quiet side of Corfu that’s got a lot to shout about
THE neighbours are kicking up an awful racket. My wife Deri and I are enjoying a quiet cocktail on the patio of Olivestone House on a balmy Greek evening but in the background the cacophony continues: crickets, cicadas, and bees buzzing heavily in the bird-of-paradise bushes.
The hum is a beautiful accompaniment to the warmth of an Aegean night and to our view across a lush valley.
But it isn’t all sensory treats. The arrival of Homer’s Ulysses in Corfu all those years ago was delayed by the fury of Poseidon stirring up a great tempest. It seems Poseidon is tetchy enough about our arrival too – a massive storm rages throughout our first night.
In fairness, guide books do stress Corfu’s abundant rainfall, hence the baroque extravagance of vegetation. The garden at Olivestone shows much evidence of that rainfall – walnut, avocado, oranges, bananas, almonds, pomegranates all grow in profusion.
One of the few things that might prise you away from the villa or its swimming pool is the Panorama Bar just up the road – or actually up a stone path that meanders on to the main street of Agios Markos.
This is a sedate village – the only thing speeding through here are swallows. It has a stripped-down list of amenities: a restaurant, a vineyard, two medieval churches and a food store.
The Panorama has an arresting view across the bay – sit by the window and it’s the perfect backdrop to baronial portions of souvlaki or moussaka, all served with chips, olives and a salad; dessert is watermelon or the local hooch, Metaxa brandy. The Panorama has an incorrigible informality – in short it’s wonderful. You can drink pretty good Greek wine, or gag on retsina. Funnily enough that retsina grows on you.
Eventually it was time to recce the island’s capital. Dodging potholes and goats we took the coast road to Corfu Town, passing the northeastern beaches. You can take your pick: secluded rocky coves or sandy strands with all amenities, such as nearby Barbati beach.
Corfu Town is at a strategic point on the coastline. All the usual suspects have engaged in handbags here: Romans, Goths, Byzantines and Normans. The Venetians eventually got their marching orders at the end of the 18th Century but it is their influence that remains – a tangle of narrow alleyways, shuttered facades, wide squares, two castles, sufficient churches to satisfy the most ardent sinner, ditto tavernas. This is Venice without the canals.
Back in Agios Markos, the olive groves rise steeply up the mountains. Paths thread through woods making good walking routes. The local routes join the Corfu Trail at the village of Spartilas less than 2km away. The eight-day trail passes through mountain villages where you’re assured of a warm Ionian welcome. Here, as in the Panorama Bar, life goes on pretty much as it always did. They probably haven’t even heard that the Venetians have left.