This is Myrtos Beach.
Lots of the books and websites tell you how this is the best beach in Greece.
Like all such places, it’s mostly worth avoiding, particularly at noon in peak season, which is when we arrived. We juggled the car through a busy one way system to the bottom of the cliff, where we took one look at it and kept driving back up the one way system and back out. We stopped to get this photo. Then we went to Assos for lunch.
The morning had already seen us becoming part of the tourist machine as we joined a conveyor belt queue of families walking through a man made cave to a docking point where about 7 simultaneous boats were shunting around a natural flooded cave with an underground bit. It was revealed by an earthquake about three and a half thousand years ago or more and they’ve called it “Cave of the Nymphs” because Odysseus sells round here. Our boat trip was over before it began and the pilot whacked us around with his locked in oars while scattergunning high pitched Greek peppered with snatches of English. There’s not much you can say when you haven’t got a clue. “This is a cave. It is old. Stalactites and stalagmites. It is deep water. Look it is dark now. Next.” It felt a bit like striking out over Styx only to have Charon change his mind and drop you off back where you started.
After lunch we overheated for a bit before driving to the less populous part of the island because I had left half my clothes there. I got them back and then we found Politos beach. Much less of a scrum to get there. Sure there were hopeful looking young men at the very bottom standing around signs saying “Parking €7” but it was clear enough that we could just sling the car at the side of the switchback with all the others and go down on foot.
Azure sea. Swirling tiny marbles where there might be sand. Some shade near the rocks. Plenty of sunshine. We charged up. Sun. Swim. Sun. Swim. Sun. A quick cold freshwater shower. Change in the car. Dinner in Argostoli.
Our flight is delayed by an hour and a half but we all still had to go to the airport. Now we are waiting here, through security. It’s barren. There’s nothing. And they just told Lou we are gonna be kicked out of this shonky café as it’s closing. The only option will be to go join all the corralled brits on their way back home to Gatwick. Man I don’t want to go back… It’s comforting that it’s not gonna be freezing back home. But I’ve enjoyed being in the med. I could murder a curry though. It’s funny the things you start to miss. I’m also looking forward to trying to see more of my friends. But that’s been hard enough to do for ages anyway.
Farewell lovely hot place. I’ve brought back some ouzo, honey and olive oil. And a rock.