Did you know that a new and improved version of this post can be found here? I’ve upgraded this blog to make it more interesting and user-friendly.
It has a new name – Down Unknown Roads – and a new address (www.downunknownroads.com).
You’ll find all the old posts (although a small few have different names), and our continuing adventures are now featured there for you to enjoy.
Thank you for coming to this site, and I hope to see you Down Unknown Roads. Ciao XX Bev.
I spend my life shouting at the telly, which I find it quite therapeutic. I am particularly vocal during films where medieval castles are getting bombarded (I have sons – I’ve had to watch a lot of these) and all the equipment the invaders needed were a selection of big ladders. I mean, for God’s sake, stick some spikes out of the wall why don’t you, or cover the gaps in the battlements with a sodding wrought-iron fence. If all the baddies have to do is climb up and climb in – well just do something, ok? (I’d personally favour a trench full of alligators.)
But the Palamidi Fortress in Nafplio (our local town where we over-wintered in Greece) has actually nailed it, in my opinion. Big strong walls – tick, plenty of bastions surrounding the heart of the fortress – tick, high on a hilltop where you can see the invaders at least a week before they reach you – tick. In fact so high up it has 999 steps that trudge up to it. I’ll say that again: 999 steps.
In Vienna we’d climbed to the top of the tower in St. Stephan’s cathedral, but that was a mere 343 steps. I remember how my thighs complained (as my muscle tone is on a par with my gran’s old knicker elastic), and so before attempting the Palamidi, I did some training. By which I mean I used the stairs whenever I could (but probably no more than 20 at a time) and walked a bit more than usual. So, not that trained, really.
I also waited until Joe came to visit, so he could climb the steps with me. Steve’s medical history includes a quad bypass, two stents and a stroke, so he was getting sent up the long way around, by car, no arguments. But my son Joe is a bit of a mountain goat anyway. As a child he used to shimmy up the walls of the hallway and wait, arms crossed, until you walked below him. Then he’d drop to the ground behind you, giggling hysterically, while you double-checked to see if you’d actually peed yourself.
So, the pair of us set off and, to be frank, my legs were aching on the short walk up the hill just to reach the steps. At about halfway I made Joe stop and come back down a step, so that when we got to the top, we’d actually have done a thousand steps (this is what passes for fun in my head). I had to sit down a lot on the way up, but I could see the walls of the castle getting nearer and nearer and it felt do-able.
And this is where I think the Palamidi architects were so clever, because I reached those walls (having paced myself accordingly) and then found it was merely a bastion – and only two thirds of the way up. Still, literally, hundreds more to do. But I pushed on, got to the gate, paid our entrance fees, and turned a corner only to find … lots more steps. The Palamidi is not flat, it seems.
But it was a stunning view, once blood had returned to my brain. From the top we could see the Bourtzi (which is another fortress, built on a rocky outcrop in the bay, and reachable only by boat). Honestly, these Nafplions knew what they were doing.
Nafplio itself is rather lovely. It was a major stronghold of the Ottoman Empire until the Greek War of Independence, and then it became the capital of Greece (until King Otto decided Athens was everything, and moved there instead). We sat at a café and watched sea bream swimming around by the quayside, and then walked through the narrow streets of the Old Town.
In the main square is a stone lion, which is worth a look, because over the years, children have happily filled the holes that delineate his whiskers with BB gun pellets. And there is another lion carved into a rock face just behind the local Lidl. He’s the Lion of Bavaria and commemorates the sad death of Bavarian soldiers in a typhoid epidemic. However, the locals believed it was death by cucumber (the Bavarians are said to have eaten too many) and consequently call the statue Agouroon (which means cucumber in Ancient Greek).
We visited the Archaeological Museum and I found some more nipple-tweakers and a shocked-looking lady saying, ‘talk to the hand’. Feeling you, sister.
But my favourite was the Folklore Museum, which is a gem of a place – full of wonderful costumes, fabulous painted furniture, and traditional dolls.
I would have killed for this blouse, it had so much detail on it.
And there was this pair of twin dolls in their natty knitted gear. I like to think of them as representing my grandkids, Kit and Sky, if Satan was their dad instead of Laurence.
And that was it for our time in Greece, as we needed to make our way back to the UK to MOT our vehicles, and catch up with family. This meant driving through Albania again and – now that I’d got over the shock of that – I was prepared to review my opinion of the place. Next time I’ll let you know whether or not I did.
P.S. I found so many things about Greece to be brilliantly bonkers that I posted them on Facebook, under the title Greek Moments. If you haven’t seen them, I’ve reproduced a few of them here. I hope they make you smile the way they did me. Ciao xxxx
When you ask, ‘I wonder what’s on at the big screen?’ but this is the size of the cinema…
When even the furniture makes you feel fat…
When the Virgin Mary has had all she can take…
In case you’re not sure which bit of a house the roof goes on…
When the local DIY store caters for all your goat-herding needs…
And the local hardware shop also sells …. yes, it’s wine…
Bit harsh – what’s wrong with the naughty step?
the chap with the impressive arse is painting his own yellow lines on the road.
Cos, why not?