We wind our way along Kefalonia’s western coast, toing and froing from the ocean to the rocky headland, and after two hours of hairpin bends, we arrive at Fiscardo – one of the few towns left unscathed by the 1953 earthquake. The houses, built during the 300-year Venetian rule, are all pink and pastel blue. I fall in love instantly.
We set up camp at Emblisi beach and decide that it’s paradise. But by the time we head back to Fiscardo, the yachts and flocks of rich tourists have arrived. To home. Here, the buildings aren’t more than 50 years old, but the sea’s just as blue. And there’s something in the olive groves – knotted and a little wild, that I’ve come to love.
The thing I think I’ll remember best is the green of the olive trees against the blue of the sea. Khaki against turquoise, deep and clear, mottled like a seal’s back.
We eat at the Taverna by the nearby beach. Courgette fritters, a slab of homemade feta and slow-cooked rabbit stew – the meat so tender it falls off the bone. The waiter, who speaks perfect Greek, has a broad Lancashire accent. It reminds me of Shirley Valentine going on holiday to Greece and deciding to stay forever.