A Night on a Greek Bus not playing Footsie – Blogging Delayed.

Some folks seem to think that I am swanning around Greece in luxury, just relaxing. That is not my style. For me it is a back pack and buses and trains, boats only if needed. I have generally been a mainland sort of person and have in fact visited only three islands, Corfu, Crete and Euboea in my 44 and a half years on this planet. I hope that in a week or so I shall start adding to that list. I have never island hopped and now seems as good a time as any. I await advice from Despy as to where to head to… all is on hold until then. Despy, please note.

I am now in Corfu. The 8 hour bus journey from Athens was not comfortable. At least buses have air conditioning these days but I seemed to be surrounded by very tall men and there was nowhere to rest my legs without unintentionally playing footsie. The roads switch from new EU funded superhighways to windy 2 track roads from a long time ago. As such there were bumps pretty much all the way making reading or sleeping impossible.

And so, I arrived in Corfu at 6.05 AM feeling very tired and with a few hours to kill before I could check in to my new temporary home about 10 miles out of town by the sea. Greece being Greece, I had to wander with the rucksack straps biting into my shoulders for a good hour, gazing with awe at the old battlements here, before the most industrious of the locals (not stiff competition) opened up their shops for coffee and orange juice. The latter is, I fear, not so good for the figure but I felt that I merited a treat and convinced myself that walking around with a heavy rucksack must have burned off stacks of calories. I used the same excuse as I worked my way through three lattes when I eventually found a cafe that was open and had wi-fi.

As I wandered through the Old Town I noticed signs for “The Jewish area”. My guess is that this is an historic area and that the Jewish community here is small to non-existent. Olivia’s god-father, a wonderful man called Joe Levy was born here but in 1940 when Joe cannot have been more than a couple of years old his family made a swift exit, heading for Egypt. It is my great fortune that, after a spell in the Israeli army, Joe ended up in London where he has been a good friend for years. My suspicion is that those who did not flee like Joe’s family would not have survived long.

I thought of Joe as I saw the sign. If you are reading this Joe – pizza on me when I return in September and your place at the Chelsea game at Upton Park ( as long as you behave yourself) is also reserved.

Thus much of today has been semi-siesta time. My mind is still turning over with recent events, recent conversations, a couple of articles that are now in my brain but not yet on the web, a suggestion for producing sherry infused olive oil and with the burning issue – what words do I use to start that damned book on gold. Any suggestions more than welcome.

Meanwhile, the two articles are in train. Fear not, the content machine has not seized up completely.