Albania and Northern Greece 2023: Part One - Corfu, Greece

London-Corfu - 2^nd June 2023

For the first time since I can remember, I didn’t go anywhere last year. Well, we went to Cornwall, but that was to see my Mum so it doesn’t count. It was just too much hassle – pointless and expensive Covid tests, trains on strike, buses on strike, air traffic controllers on strike, Highways Agency on strike and stupid, stupid Brexit. So, this year I’m gonna make up for it with a vengeance.

We were tempted into a lovely week on the Isles of Scilly in March but by May, the heating still on, I was getting itchy feet again.

The familiar routine begins. You spend ages finding the right flight and it’s only going to cost you £35 each or whatever, and then at the last moment you find it’s double that if you want to bring a suitcase bigger than a pillow. So, you reluctantly fork out for one piece of hold luggage, because there’s two of you and you’re away for two weeks, and then you have to measure your little case and pack early and weigh it to make sure it’s no heavier than 8kg, or whatever measly allowance they give you, and they tell you this needs to go under the seat in front of you, which is bollocks because there’s tons of room in the overhead lockers. And they’ve taken out all the seats from the old plane and replaced them with 30% more so they can cram in even more passengers, thus making the 3 ½ hour flight to Corfu as uncomfortable as possible. There’s hardly any staff and they’re just employed to police their unjustified rip-off baggage policy and the plane’s sitting for an hour at the stand because Easyjet are bottom of the runway pecking order. This is on top of the £50 it takes to get to Gatwick by train, supposedly a ‘London’ airport, which is about £5 cheaper than a Uber and that’s only more expensive because they charge the drivers for dropping you off.  Of course, this is how the super-rich have ‘earned’ their money since Brexit.

We’re late into Corfu, it’s 9pm. It’s 20 Euros to get to our Airbnb next to the Ionian University because they’re allowed to charge this much even though it’s a 5-minute drive and we could have walked it in 15. Some confusion about where it is, but I ring the host who’s charming and her mother greets us at the door of the flat. Three staircases up, nice view from the tinsy-tiny balcony of a ruined mansion up a hill. The mother is lovely and they’ve gifted us beer, wine, water, cake and fruit which is much appreciated, but all the windows and doors are shut and compared to England it’s unbearably hot even though it’s probably only 25c. So, when she leaves, I open everything up.

We go into Corfu town which is only a 10-minute walk. It’s a busy Friday night and the clubs are booming their music into the street where hundreds of immaculately-dressed young people are chatting excitedly. We have a drink at an unpretentious and friendly doughnut bar beside a pretty square. We could have eaten but don’t so return to the flat around midnight.

The reason for the closed doors and windows soon becomes apparent. Dozens of mosquitos are buzzing in my ear and the flat is under the airport’s take-off path. Planes screech upwards every ten minutes until 4am. There’s a brief respite and they resume at 6am. After bathing myself in citronella, closing the french window and cranking up the air conditioning, I manage three hours sleep.

Corfu – 3^rd June 2023

It’s a late start. Beautiful sunny day, high twenties. Tucked beneath the New Venetian Market, up some steep stairs, is Corfu’s Central Market. There are a few fishmongers, some greengrocers and a few tourist shops, but it’s pretty small. We grab a coffee and look up Tripadvisor suggestions for things to do. Corfu Old Fortress? Maybe, looks like a bit of a climb though. Most of the other suggestions are for beaches which are not in Corfu Town.

We get good, cheap spanakopita from an actual bakery and set off to wander. The narrow allies are very scenic and largely packed with shops selling useless items to bored tourists. They have a largish open-space here which contains a very arid cricket pitch. We give the Museum of Asian Art a miss, reasoning that there are probably better ones in Asia, and go down a tunnel because it’s there, which leads to Faliraki Beach – mainly rocks and techno music blaring. We have beer.

On our way back to… we don’t know where we’re going… a lone cloud in the clear sky gifts us an unexpected downpour. Luckily, we happen to be just outside the Casa Parlante Museum, one of the sights recommended by Tripadvisor. It’s a historic 19^th-century mansion featuring animatronics, according to google. It’s ten Euros each, so we’re expecting good things.

The ‘mansion’ is on the upper floor of the building only. The guide, who speaks good English, is obviously very proud of the place and keeps on going on about the beautiful antique dinner ware. ‘They look just like the ones your Mum has,’ whispers Mrs Mad, quite loudly. The dining room is very small, so is the reception room, and the main bedroom, and the kids’ bedroom, and the kitchen and, smallest of all, the servants’ accommodation. It’s like going on a guided tour of your own house. The animatronics are showroom dummies dressed in Victorian clothing who barely manage to lift a tea cup ten centimetres in the direction of their heads, very slowly. Only half of them work at all.

We watch the FA Cup final on a big screen in a bar in the middle of the street. We’d been to Corfu Town for the evening back in 2019 and ate at a very good restaurant close to the old harbour. We haven’t booked and it’s full because it’s a Saturday night. They offer us a table out front, but it’s raining sporadically. We go to a traditional restaurant in the back streets that I’d clocked earlier and take the last free table, which is when Mrs Mad tells me she hates Greek food. So, I’m left with an enormous Greek salad, a huge bowl of chips and some souvlaki to eat by myself. She cheers up because there’s a wedding going on, some musicians and cute kids dancing. We get free dessert.