Aghia Pelagia

As the ferry moved effortlessly between the Maleas peninsular, the most westerly of the Peloponnese, and the island of Kythera we searched for something magical. So many of our friends had told us how beautiful the island was. One friend whose mother originated from one of the villages along the northern spine of the island had told me one day 'every philhellene should see Kythera before they die'. Looking down the coast from the lighthouse to the few rather higgledy-piggledy gatherings of white houses, in the gathering dusk they appeared rather scruffy and not at all inspiring.

Waldo and I just burst out laughing as we approached the small harbour at Diakofti. A small offshore island had been connected to the waterfront village by a causeway thus cutting the bay in two. On the one side was the ferry morrings and a small beach. The wonderful jewel colours of the water ranged from pale turquoise through to navy blue making a very attractive forefront to the pretty little village nestled under huge sweeping mountainside. But the focus of our mirth came from the other side where a tumbled rock formation poked out of the shallow waters. Resting against it, as if asleep, was the front half of a fairly large ship. It's colours were just visible but rust was taking over; the back half lay beneath the water. Had there been a freak storm that carried the ship to its final resting place? Had the captain been drunk and misread his charts? Whatever the reason, it did not fill anyone arriving by boat with much confidence.

Many years ago we had been in Corfu when an aeroplane had skidded off the runway and into the lagoon. Fortunately nobody was hurt and all people involved were taken to safety. But almost before the operation to make everyone safe had concluded men were sent with pots of paint to blank out the logos and any evidence as to which company's pilot had literally landed in hot - well warm - water! Now Kythera amused us and raised our interest. Did the authorities not understand what impression they might be giving to visitors to the island? Was the ship left as a warning to others; a beacon to remind people of the dangers of the waters surrounding the island? Or was it simply someone else's responsibility? We remembered that it was not far from here that Lord Elgin lost his marbles when his ship sank in a ferocious storm. He and other surivors were saved by fishermen of Kythera. Having just purchased the marbles from a ruling Ottoman Pasha in Athens Elgin was a bit short of cash, hence it took him some two years before he could gather enough together for a rescue operation. Then he returned and used Kytheran men to help him reclaim his marbles from the sea bed and place them on board a ship which would take them to London and the British museum. I have always noticed that when the issue of the marbles is the focus of British Hellenic discussions, Kytherans seem unnaturally quiet.

The road up from Diakofti had been recently asphalted and we quickly passed kilometres of scrubland broken only by a distant white village that looked a bit like a caravan park, a collection of sheds where some 100 goats were milked, an occasional monastery on a high peak and with enviable views and a statue in the middle of nowhere. The only map I had of the island was a small one in a guide book; it was a quarter of a page of A5 and thus detail was scant. It did however show that there were two asphalted roads on the island, the one we were on equivalent to the downpiece of a letter 'T' and the cross piece running from the north of the island to the south. We pondered at the T-junction; our intention was to spend probably one night in the north and two in the south where, we reasoned, the main town was located and hence there would be more to see and do. It was almost dark and the northerly village on the map that we were aiming for seemed about 2mm shorter than turning south and so we turned right.

The lady at the hotel Marou, seeing that I was using a walking stick, changed her mind on the room we were to be given. She can never know how much that decision changed our lives. We were given a magnificent top floor suit with massive balcony; we could drive up to the front door. It was then we realised how tired we were. We had a quick meal in the village without really taking much interest in the food or our surroundings. It was the next morning when the dawn sun rose, full and deep orange, over the sea's horizon. In that morning light we could see the village, Aghia Pelagia waking. Three tavernas, a souvlaki shop, a coffee shop, a few bars and hotels, two gift shops, a small supermarket, a vegetable shop, a church and houses were strung, like unmatched pearls, around the edge of a wide horseshoe bay. In the centre was a jetty reaching out as if trying to reach the tip of the peninsular opposite. Here was moored a small ferry boat. As we breakfasted on the balcony with our customary coffee for Waldo, tea for me, sliced fresh peaches, cereal and a shared orange, we watched the village come alive. We could see cars coming down the over the mountain road on the opposite side of the bay. Cars and lorries, a bus and a camper van started to form lines along the jetty. We watched the chaos orchestrated by men in bright white uniforms as the small ferry was loaded. Slowly the ferry pulled away. We could hear the anchor chain being pulled up. Then, as the little boat turned she 'toot-tooted' and at that moment we instinctively both reached out and held hands. Waldo and I looked deep into each other's eyes. We knew we had discovered our personal paradise. http://www.yolike.com/video/bollywood/NLv9tOaeonk/photos-from-kythira.html
Gone were the practical criteria we had laid down. Passion is much stronger than practicality. Love is the most powerful force in life. We set off with relish to explore the island of love. We know that the Greek Gods were partial to argument and violence and thus, according to Hesiod it was on Cythera, after such a spat that Cronus cut off Uranus' genitals and threw them in the sea. We know that for sure - the separate bits have formed islands off the south coast of the Cythera! When such sensitive and symbolic pieces of masculinity splashed into the water they created sea foam (aphros) from which the beautiful Aphrodite arose. Such a 'virgin' birth, albeit linked to such violence and blood letting, has meant the island is the home of pure, Platonic love and beauty. Aphrodite, also known as Cytherea or the Lady of Cythera for some reason then stood on a massive shell and it was on this that the dominant winds took her across the sea to Cyprus where she came ashore, was reborn as Cypris, that is Lady of Cyprus. Despite being married, by Zeus' command to Hephaestus, blacksmith to the Gods, she was not happy with this ugly old man. Perhaps it was this, or perhaps she returned to the bloodletting of her birth, but she spent a lot of her time with her lover Ares, known as the god of warefare, but more accurately determined as the god of bloodlust. Thus it was in Cyprus that Aphrodite added sexual love to her list of goddess responsibilities.
Cythera is the English translation of the ancient Greek name for the island, also at times called Porphyroussa after the purple dye found in a particular type of mollusc living around the island. Some 1000 molluscs were needed to gain enough dye to colour one metre of cloth and hence only the very rich could afford to wear purple. Needles to say these creatures were avidly sought after and hence are no longer available around the island. Overcollecting the earth's rich resources is not just a modern habit. Under Venetian rule the island became known as Cerigo. Later, under British rule it reverted to it's Greek name, with a modern twist as Kythera. Various spellings arise from the different phonetic appreciation of the Greek letters; so on most airline schedules it is known as Kithira but it is also possible to see other variations such as Kithera.
Whatever the name we set out to explore 'our' island. Just about 35 miles long and 12 miles wide we soon discovered our preferences. The south, we decided was great for visiting, but we were drawn to the north for its wildness and the views. I just loved looking across the straights to the mainland and then see the layers of mountains reaching right up to those on the Spartan plain. Aghia Pelagia showed signs of development and, attractive though it is, we decided not to look in ther village for we could not be certain that what surrounded what we found would remain that way. Potamos is a great 'big village' as a centre for shopping, eating, meeting and greeting, as well as conducting business with banks, Post Office, OTE (telephone company) and local authority representatives. Platea Amos, we decided was just a bit too sparse with not even a local shop, only a few tavernas and signs of developments of appartments for tourist rental. Despite only having one commercial shop, which seemed have less goods in it than my kitchen stock, we decided Karavas was the village for us. We identified a number of properties in various states of decay; photographed them and set them in priority order.


Kythera, although not quite in the Ioanian sea is classed as an Ionian island. Well it is in most guide books. But it is as near to the Agean sea as it is the Ioanian and furthest away from it's nearest Ionian neighbour Cephalonia, than any other pair of the seven islands. They are, by the way Corfu/Kerkyra, Paxos, Ithica, Lefcas/Lefcada, Cephalonia, Zante/Zakinthos and Kythera. Despite being just 20 miles from mainland Peloponnese, Kythera is attached to the municipality of Pireaus. But the telephone links are such that calling to Athens is a local call, whereas calls to the nearby mainland or any of the other Ionian island are not and hence cost more per minute. At various times Kythera has been controlled by the Phoenicians, Ioanians, Franks, Venetians, Turks and the British who finally gave the Ionian Islands to Prince George of Denmark as a wedding present. In the mixed politics of Greece, where Eastern Europe meets the West, there is no such thing as a free gift, particularly one so prized. Hence the gift behoved young George to become King of the Hellenes; the second King after Austrian Otto who was King for 17 years but had no heirs. The elite hellenic families could not agree among themselves who should be King. Hence politicans of other nations searched the European sovereign dynasties for a suitable icon to start a Greek line. The choice of George could be considered a success for his son and grandson both names Constantine rulled the nation for many years. But the Hellenes proved not to be royalists and after a short history they became a republic.

As the days passed we came to know Kyria Marou, our hotel owner, and her daughter Liana. 'Lucks shines on the brave' and it turned out that Liana was in fact a solicitor with her own business in Athens. Thus we discussed what we wanted to do. She cautioned us to ensure that we made sure that whatever we bought, we had full title of the property and all previous owners were recorded and noted. Fortunately part of the British heritage to the Ioanian islands was a land registry, making the job much easier. Liana could fill us with terror of tales of people who had thought they had bought a property, spent money doing uo the property and then some years later some distant cousin or long lost brother appears demanding his proportion of the value of the property - the current value, that is, not the original purchase price! Hence we left her with our photographs and engaged her to search out the ownership of the properties we had identified.
We had just one day before we had to catch the ferry to Pireaus. It was time for some last minute shopping and so we called in at a nice looking gift shop under the Hotel Kytherian. Freda, the owner is a Greek Australian and so whilst I was collecting various items to buy, Waldo struck up conversation with her. He wanted to find out if there were many 'xenoi', foreigners living on the island, and of those what nationalities were they. All I heard was 'Keith, Keith Baker he's English. he used to be with the British Hellenic organisation in Athens.' I immediately joined the conversation. Some years ago when I had had an office base in Athens my company had been a member of the British Hellenic Chamber of Commerce, and Keith as it's Managing Director had been most helpful to me. We had enjoyed numerous lunches together and some good laughs. I wondered if he would remember me? Correctly Freda would not give us his telephone number and so I left my business card with her. That evening I wrote a short letter to Keith, explaining what we were looking for and that we intended to return the following year to purchase property on the island.
A few weeks after we returned back to Cardiff, to rain and to work, I received a letter from Keith '... it appears that you are looking for a property exactly like the one we have just a week ago sold!'