The Mani, Part 2

We had planned a day of touring for Friday.  Alec maintained that he would not feel as though he had really been to the Mani unless he had gone to some of the typical hill towns, and set foot on the very tip of the peninsula.  Feeling lethargic and rooted where I was—and none too excited about any extra time in the car—I thought I might skip it.  But since we had had a complete day at the house already, I decided to go. Which meant we all went.  We started out at the caves of Diros, an incredible example of stalactites and stalagmites.  We went through on a rowboat steered by a guide, sometimes through very narrow spaces and ducking our head to avoid being beheaded by a rocky spike.  I’m not much of a spelunker myself, but the kids loved it.

We then drove south, down the west side of the peninsula, through the tiny towns of Dryalos, Briki, and Mina, all of which are set high on the hillsides.  The Mani is not the Greece of bleached white houses and terracotta roofs.  Tower houses are the iconic residential types—they make each town look like its own castle.  Each town also has a tiny church, most from the Byzantine era.  Unremarkable from the outside, every inch of the interior is covered with painted figures in jewel tones, and gilded.  They sparkle in the dim light.

We ate lunch on the beachfront in Gerolimenas—Alec picked out his fish, a fresh red mullet, and I ate a dish of cheese, tomato and egg.  We shared a thick square of saganaki, a cheese that is grilled and served with a drizzle of olive oil.  The kids swam before our food came, and then while Alec and I lingered. 

From there we drove to Vathia, another hill town—the one that graces nearly every post card of the Mani.  We arrived during the heat of the day and found it deserted.  Although this area is not devoid of tourists, there aren’t too many.  We haven’t heard a single American voice since we arrived.  Which means we are the loudest family anyone here has encountered in a long, long time.

The drive from Vathia to Cape Tenaro, at the tip of the peninsula, was breathtaking.  The road started high up, with stunning views of the sea, and then curled down and around, affording amazing views of the tiny towns that have dotted these hillsides for thousands of years.  The remnants of ancient stone walls snake up and across the hills, and it is hard to imagine people inhabiting this isolated place so long ago. 

A lone taverna marks the entrance to the car park at Cape Tenaro.  We stopped for an ice cream to fortify the kids for the walk to the tip.  The wind had started to kick up, and it was a few kilometers from the car park to the lighthouse at the end.  We gave the kids a pep talk, and off we went.   A small footpath winds its way out of the car park and toward the tip of the peninsula.  On the way you pass the remains of an ancient building, it’s wave motif mosaic floor still largely intact.  As we climbed higher and edged closer to the end, the wind became stronger and stronger.  We got close to the lighthouse, but after walking for about 40 minutes decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and turned around in order to ensure that the kids could make it back.  They loved it—their hair whipping around.  We all felt as if we had arrived at the end of the world.

We were hot, dusty, and sticky, and all I could think of was the small cove near the beginning of the path, with a perfect beach of turquoise blue water.  Alec obliged me by going up to the car for my bathing suit—I would have gone in naked were it not for the other family on the beach.  There seems to be much less toplessness in Greece than in the rest of Europe, so I’m guessing it’s a more modest culture.  The water was so perfect and such a spot on antidote for the hike—it was one of my best swims ever.  We drove home full of the spirit of the Mani.

We decided to go to Gythio, the closest relatively large town within a half hour’s drive.  The drive was just long enough for both Milo and C.C. to throw up on the way—we had rolled the dice and decided against giving them Dramamine.  I had a fabulous gyro sandwich made with grilled chicken, tomatoes, lettuce and tzatziki.  Have I mentioned just how amazing the tomatoes are here?  And that means something, coming from a Jersey gal.  We walked around, and found an ice cream shop with wifi so that Alec and I could both get on the internet and get some business done.

The only business in tiny Drosopigi, where we are staying, is the taverna, which we had not yet tried.  We decided to give it a go for our Saturday night dinner and, when we got there at about 8:30, the place was hopping.  We got one of the only outdoor tables remaining.  The kids ran outside to hunt for bugs and play with other kids in the town square, which made us almost feel as though we were having a date.  When their food arrived, the kids landed in their seats long enough to wolf down their meals.  C.C., spying that a large grasshopper had landed on a man on the other side of the restaurant, pointed and shouted, “Hey mister, there’s a huge bug on your shirt!”  She could not have been louder.  Everyone turned, but of course the man did not understand what she was saying.  So she walked up to him and flicked it off.

On Sunday, our last, we decided to try a new beach—at Kotronas, about a 15 minute drive away.  But it was crowded and near a road and a dock full of fishing boats which, I think, explained why I encountered a couple of dead bait fish in the water.  The fish were the last straw, and soured me on the place. I wanted to go back to Skoutari, so we did, and passed our last afternoon swimming, reading, getting a bit of sustenance in the beachfront taverna, which is packed with families whenever we are there.

We spent the evening packing up and loading the car—we had to leave at about 6:30 the next morning for the four hour drive to our noon ferry.  I never sleep well on nights when I know I have to get up early, and that night was no exception.