Greek interlude

The drive from Athens to Delphi was long and hot in our un air conditioned car, which was not much bigger than a car shaped suit. We passed up a couple of viewful mountain tavernas at the beginning of the trip, then found ourselves in a wide, baking valley where, now ravenous, we ended up eating cheese pies (surprisingly delicious, actually) outside a gas station.

We arrived at Delphi during peak afternoon heat. The site was thrilling high in the mountains with powerful views that surely helped inspire the world to believe the words of the oracle who sat here. But by the time we had hiked all the way up to the stadium, we were beaten down by the heat, sun, dust and long drive. We were dirty, sweaty and hungry, dangerously close to cranky and running low on fun.

We bypassed the town of Delphi , with its tour buses, tavernas and souvenir stores (and, granted, incredible views), driving instead about 30 minutes to the small resort town of Galaxidi , on the Gulf of Corinth . The town received just a sentence in one of our guidebooks, no mention at all in another, but friends had recommended a pension there. We would spend one night before pressing on to other important sights.

Galaxidi's outskirts were unpromising, as was the street on which the Pension Ganimede sat. But then we parked and walked a flower lined path off the street into a courtyard luxuriant with flowers. A fountain burbled, classical music played, and a pleasingly round man sat at a table reading and smoking.

He introduced himself as the owner, Bruno Perocco, and gave us keys to a couple of rooms so we could make a choice. The interior of the inn was simple and cheerful, unselfconsciously decorated with books and religious art. We walked up creaky stairs and chose a small room with a double bed, private bath and a church incense burner as a chandelier. Then we changed our clothes and went exploring.

Galaxidi is small and genial, popular with Greeks on holiday. It has typically narrow winding streets, sweet little churches, cascades of flowers. Most of the action is around a small harbor, which on one side has the traditional abundance of inviting tavernas, on the other a scallop of rocky beaches and a lovingly protected pine forest.

We dabbled at a beach (popular, we learned painfully, with sea urchins); shopped for supplies and indulgences (a fishing boat was converted into a checkout counter in the store where we bought cold drinks); and lingered over a snack of tender fried squid at a taverna where we watched a dog chase two cats up two trees, like bookends.

That night we dined memorably on Greek home cooking under the trellis of the otherwise empty Dervenis Restaurant. After dinner, we sat by the pier and watched the promenade of elderly couples and teens, families and friends, strolling, flirting, eating ice creams and generally taking a holiday

We woke the next morning to an alfresco breakfast of Bruno's homemade jams, preserves, chutneys and butters served with chewy breads and real coffee instead of the ubiquitous Nescafe. Italian opera and butterflies wafted on the warm air, birds splashed in the fountain and a rambunctious kitten tumbled among the tables. We lingered long over breakfast, then took a walk. Then it was time to pack up and move on.

Travel often puts me in the grips of momentum. I become greedy and want to gobble. Once I start moving it is difficult to stop. After all, the world is so big and we only have so much time.

This was only our first week in Greece. Galaxidi was lovely, but we had plans and intentions. Ruins awaited, other towns beckoned. There was no time for lollygagging or fatigue, for kittens or small town idleness

Returning to pension to pack, we passed the car. It looked like a small, hot prison.

Bruno was again in his fragrant courtyard, talking to some people.

"We gotta go," we said as we hustled past.
"Why?" he asked, an eyebrow arched over the heads of his visitors.
We hesitated in our hurry, like a skip in a record, before continuing up the stairs.
"We don't know," my husband called back over his shoulder.
We went back to our room and bustled aimlessly for a few minutes. Then one of us, I forget who, said "One more day."
We went back to Bruno and announced we had decided to stay.
"I knew you would," he said with a sage innkeeper's look.

And we did.