A Hellenic Adventure

The clap of the thunderclouds is an ominous warning as I climb up the 1000 well worn steps of the Fortress Palamidi, leaving the small Peloponnese town of Napflio behind. Barely have I reached the entrance when the downpour starts, creating little streams among the rough cobblestones. The air is electric as bright sparks fill the sky, illuminating the contrast between the old town and the invasion of fluorescent signs belonging to the Carrefour supermarket chain.
Despite the warm air, the chill of the rain inevitably brings shivers and I race as fast as my flip flops allow down the slippery slope towards the centre of Napflio. Here the throng of ice cream eating tourists has been reduced to the bare few who dare enter the deluge. I dart into a little bakery where the golden bougatsa is waiting to be devoured. By now the floor is flooded with the rain I have brought inside but the hostess is cheerful as she mounds icing sugar and cinnamon into the creamy pastry. The slightly addictive nature of the bougatsa means I stand and savour the moment, my body heat fogging up the small windows as the nightfall brings with it more rain.
As I wake the next morning I realise that I have not been alone in the night. The sheets resemble a bloody battleground, with the red smears of bed bugs dotting the creamy linen. As the itching begins to set in, I hurry towards the train, ready to experience another side of Greece.
As the train rumbles through the hills covered with the silver green of olive trees and eucalyptus, the distant sight of the indigo Mediterranean sparkles in the midday heat. At the dusty train station, after much pantomime, and frantic gestures, I feel like the winner of the lottery, clutching my ticket to the mystical hills of Meteora.
In Kalambaka, a town nestled in-between imposing sandstone pillars, the sight of the monasteries is obscured by thick clouds. The streets are quiet, only the sight of men, playing the ancient board game of Tavli shows evidence of any life. My room, hidden above a small shop, has air thick with the scent of candles and leather. Shelves are stacked with little trinkets and despite the lack of business the owner is happy, chatting with his grandson about winning the earlier game of Tavli.
As the clouds recede, the clang of the church bells summons the faithful to the divine services. Widows in black walk arm in arm, while little children skip up the narrow street to the church which is as much a home to them as anywhere else. The hypnotic rhythm of the priests prayers allow a myriad of images to fill my mind, the sunburnt hills, flawless oceans and the warm happiness of the bougatsa all of which remain forever imprinted as my small piece of Greece.