Mahinda’s Little World

I awoke, without a clue where I was or how I’d got there. I wasn’t even sure who I was.

I staggered out of the boat, almost falling off as I walked down the mooring rope, and joined the others at the briefing. In the taverna. But you should already know that by now.

Apparently, Tom had been rather ill, and had spent most of the night throwing up off the back of the boat. Amy, playing the good wifey, had stayed up most of the night with him.

Definitely the fault of that punch!

Puke rate 33.3%. Not good.

Nancy was also looking rather green. Halfway through the briefing, she had to run off and throw up off the jetty.

Puke rate 50%. Even worse.

The poor girl was feeling really ill, and hadn’t even had all that much to drink. We didn’t think it was the food, either, as other people had eaten the same dishes (moussaka for the main course) with no ill effects. So to speak.

Generally, the merry crew wasn’t so merry. Dave, being a right b*stard, was pretty chipper, as were the unholy triumvirate of Holly, James and Paul. Not sure whether you can have women in a triumvirate, but never mind.

Fortunately, the day’s plan was pretty simple - head to Spartohori, which was all of two (maybe three) bays along the Meganisi coast, back towards Lefkada. By the way, Meganisi means, quite simply, “large island”. Pretty good going for what was actually only the 4th largest island that we visited. We only actually visited four islands.

My plan for the day, however, was to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Nancy was in a really bad way. Holly ended up, with the aid of George (the taverna owner) and a taxi, taking her to the doctor, who gave her an antiemetic jab and some pills. Apparently, it was gastroenteritis - NOT nice stuff!

Our favoured theory* was that it was due to Nancy just finishing a course of antibiotics - once they were no longer swimming in nasty stuff, her gut bacteria decided to have one hell of an orgiastic gastric party. Wouldn’t you?

* Well, my favourite theory, until anyone comments otherwise.

Again, top marks to the lead crew for sorting this out quickly and happily.

The Way to Spartohori

Eventually, Nancy and Ian were returned to the Knight Oddity. I think Tom, Amy and Dave went into Vathi for some scran.

We set off mid-afternoon(ish), with our extremely demanding aim being to get to Spartohori (also spelt ‘Spartahori’, ‘Spartochori’, etc.), under motor, before dark.

We made it! Okay, so it only took about half an hour, but we made it! I think I might have spent almost the entire time in my cabin.

I was feeling really really rough, but possibly a bit better than Cap’n Nancy. Amy was made acting skipper for the day, and Nancy promoted to Admiral. I’m still not convinced that she can sort me out with cheaper car insurance, though.

So, we got there and moored up. Again, it was a taverna on the shore, where the head man had built a small empire of jetties and moorings to serve the holiday folk.

Eventually, I pronounced myself ready to walk, donned my holiday hat* and camera, and headed off up the hill.

* I very rarely wear hats. When I do, it’s usually for fancy dress or when I’m on holiday, when I’m usually to be seen under a floppy cricket hat…which my holiday mates usually spend half the trip trying to get me to stop wearing. This trip, I got a shiny new dark blue Gray-Nicholls sunhat, which is far superior to my usual cheapo white/cream ones.

I went up, and up, and up some more. Don’t think the hangover liked it much. I finally got to the town itself, and found Tom and Amy on their way down.

At this point, grey clouds were starting to build overhead.

Thanks to Daniela Travel for the two photos of the town. I’ll hopefully replace them with some of my own at some point.

I continued into the town, which was absolutely lovely. There wasn’t a flat area there, and it was full of windy-windey passages leading between gardens full of vines, citrus trees and olives. Many of the choicest bunches of grapes were tied up in muslin bags, presumably to protect them from frost, hail, etc.

The largest streets were just large enough to get a car down. And not a big car, either.

Soon enough, I found John, Sheena and one of the other couples (possibly James and Anne) sitting on a terrace drinking. It’s testament to my hung over state that I didn’t even contemplate joining them, despite the offer.

I continued, getting some lovely shots with the camera. I really hope they turn out nicely. Of course, sod’s law decreed that I didn’t have any filters on me, which would have made the already dramatic sky even more menacing.

Yes, menacing. The wind was picking up, too.

Regardless, I continued, and found a kiddies’ adventure playground perched opposite the town hall and police station, right at the top of the hill. Looked like a pretty good one, too.

I think it was about then that it started spitting with rain.

So, I walked in the direction of the darkest cloud, out towards the other end of the village. In true stereotypical style, I saw some of the largest chickens I’ve ever seen, and then a handful of scraggly goats, bells a-jangling. One of the goats decided to chase me a bit - what is it with me and animals? Sometimes I think that I’m a sort of reverse Dr. Doolittle.

Anyway, I got to a stretch of incongruously new tarmac, very much the highway past town, and decided to turn back.
The rain was, by this point, starting to pick up. I could see lightning over the next hill.

I went back down the hill, thankful that my hat was keeping me pretty dry, and got back to the boat just before the heavens opened properly - another lucky escape!

By this time, the harbour was rammed, and I was still hung over. Looking out to see, you could see a steady stream of yachts coming in, having had enough of the storm.

It’s about now that the rainbow appeared. One of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen - a classic single bow, with both ends clearly visible! Couldn’t spot any leprechauns, but they are very small, and the rainbow was quite far away!

We ended up heading to the taverna for dinner, as usual, and had another very tasty meal - this time, the waiter insisted on taking us to see the sights of the kitchen before we ordered. A definite winner.

I even managed a pint - there hasn’t been a hangover yet that’s prevented me from drinking the next day.

It was seriously busy, but fortunately it was also seriously large, and pretty efficient too. The owner, at the end, sat down with us to work out the bill - clearly a man on to a good thing, but not without a lot of effort on his part.

Scary Crusties

At the end of our jetty was a flooded pit in the concrete, covered with an iron grating, containing a couple of crayfish. Now these were BIG brutes, presumably kept in to keep them, well, fresh and tasty. Well over a foot in length, plus feelers.

As we were heading back for the night, someone had obviously ordered one of them, as one of the taverna staff was poking around with the grating open. Better him than me, as these things looked as though they could take yer arm off…and the one being fished out almost did!

It seems that, when picked up, a crayfish’s prime method of attack is to violently thrash about, curling it’s tail into a ball before whipping it back out. It caught the hapless bloke once on the arm, which looked pretty painful.

Anyway, after all that it was time for bed. I was still pretty hung over. In fact, I later decided that it was my fifth worst hangover, ever. Now that’s saying something!