Farewell to the Argolic Gulf and bypassing Nafplion , on a traffic free Saturday morning, en route to Igoumenitsa. The gulf is part of the Aegean and a very picturesque area, whether you are a sailor, or a camper.
The road went northwards, passing Argos and very soon, Mycenae – an area with much to interest any amateur historian.
The motorway was joined and in no time the approach to Corinth was made, this time bypassing the ancient site of the city.
The motorway now flanked the Corinthian Gulf, for over 70 miles, heading West towards Patras, where, once again a crossing would be made over the breathtaking Rio Bridge.
The recently completed Motorway was a boon – relatively traffic free – but lacking any “services”; whether the money was not available , yet, was unclear. There were a number of well maintained WC stops, however, not much use if you ran out of fuel!
There was no lack of grand vistas on this route, by passing the Messolongi Lagoon and later the Ambracian Gulf.
Shortly before Ioannina and its lake, the road went Westwards, on the A2, through a series of tunnels and as ever, wherever in Greece, the mountains.
Eventually, and conveniently for the Midnight SuperFast Ferry , from Igoumenitsa, Camping Elena’s Beach was easily found and proved to be a pleasant location for the final day and a half in Greece, restful, too, after a 500 km drive. Family run, with very good services and a bar/restaurant on a terrace, the Campsite typified all the sites chosen this holiday – not too large, plenty of shade and in an eye-catching setting. The Taramasalata,Aubergine Salad, Lamb Stew and Veal steaks, were good, too!
Daphne du Maurier
“I left them to it, the pointing of fingers on maps, the tracing of mountain villages, the tracks and contours on maps of larger scale, and basked for the one evening allowed to me in the casual, happy atmosphere of the taverna where we dined. I enjoyed poking my finger in a pan and choosing my own piece of lamb. I liked the chatter and the laughter from neighbouring tables. The gay intensity of talk – none of which I could understand, naturally – reminded me of left-bank Paris. A man from one table would suddenly rise to his feet and stroll over to another, discussion would follow, argument at heat perhaps swiftly dissolving into laughter. This, I thought to myself, has been happening through the centuries under this same sky, in the warm air with a bite to it, the sap drink pungent as the sap running through the veins of these Greeks, witty and cynical as Aristophanes himself, in the shadow, unmoved, inviolate, of Athene’s Parthenon. (“The Chamois”)”
― Daphne du Maurier, Echoes from the Macabre: Selected Stories
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