The day we went to Delphi (we had a lovely time)

M |After a chilly night with full duvet and blankets, we awoke to a beautiful sunny day. Our plan was to set off to Delphi but there seemed to be no information visible to direct us to the bus. Our yachting neighbours were not the most sociable lot and didn’t seem to entertain any idle chat.

I set off to explore through the alleyways and twisty streets, passing the beautiful cathedral, when I met two women. They spoke little English but seemed to understand my quest for the bus and gesticulated towards a childrens’ playground around the corner. No joy.

My wanderings continued around the village’s nooks and crannies. It is a beautiful, traditional, well preserved but living village. Every turn reveals narrow cobbled alleyways with pots of rosemary and orange trees in inviting little courtyards. Roses blooming and wild poppies scattered around filling every crack. Beautiful stone houses in various states of disrepair displayed vibrant blue and green flaking shutters.

I had 3 further attempts to find the blessed bus stop with various directions to ‘ the big square’ . There are several squares. I eventually found ‘ the big one’ at the opposite end of the harbour and followed various directions to ‘George’s cafe’ .

The baker instructed that the bus left at 10 and 2 or 3 o’clock and there were vague and confusing waving directions about its departure point.

We had missed the early bus by this stage so we spent the morning pottering with some jobs and repairs before setting off again.

It became clear at George’s, from a random guy, that we would have to buy a ticket there and told us to return at 3.45 . The small yellowed timetable in the cafe window suggested 2.30 . We had previously been told 3 pm. So decided to wait in the town square and watch as events unfolded. Not much happened. Several rather dishevelled dogs strutted about and cats yawned languorously in the flower beds.

At 2.45 an elderly man appeared in George’s and ceremoniously set up a wobbly table with a big book of tickets. A few other hopefuls arrived with assorted luggage, including strimmers and various intriguing packages. We stood in an orderly queue as George thumbed through the pages of carbon copy and with great gravitas wrote us each a ticket.

Delphi ? He nodded. 7 Euros. Sorted.

The bus arrived, as did a flurry of people jumping on hurriedly. A car drew up, parking directly in front of the bus. Much gesticulating and heated voices ensued . The female driver was not going to move, bus or no bus. An impasse. Eventually some sort of truce was negotiated and she moved the car about 3 feet… more shouting and she inched forward until the bus finally swung free and we set off. Goodness knows what all that was about.

At last we were on our way. The conductor then examined all the tickets very closely. He was taking his role very seriously and seemed weighed down by his responsibilities. Clearly bus ticketing is a matter of significant gravity.

We had been told that the journey to Delphi took about 30 minutes. However after about 20 minutes we arrived in the neighbouring town of Itea and everybody, without explanation, got off the bus. The conductor grunted when we asked what to do next but it became clearer as everyone piled off, started retrieving their bags, strimmers etc that this bus was going no further. The passengers started loading them on to another bus. Is this one going to Delphi ? They shrugged.

From Delphi towards Galaxidhi

We showed our tickets to the new driver. He said nothing and his face remained inscrutable and mildly irritated. We hoped for the best as the bus started climbing into the mountains. He took out his mobile phone and started a loud diatribe into it as we swung round increasingly tight hairpin bends and headed high up into the snow capped mountains.

Temple of Apollo

The views became increasingly spectacular, with swathes of olive groves spreading through the valleys and the view of the sea sparkling in the distance.

Athenian Treasury

We passed through several small villages before reaching Delphi. The driver sighed and shrugged  when we asked about the return bus and we were disembarked into an unremarkable street. As we walked through it we found a sign to ‘ bus tickets’ at a small restaurant. The waiters clarified that a return bus would be leaving at about 8 pm and that a short walk would take us to the archaeological site.Bus travel in rural Greece is fun, but you need a relaxed perspective.

As we approached the Delphi archaeological site, various tour groups appeared, suggesting that we were heading in the right direction. The view of the valley beneath us was stunning, an unspoiled vista of wild flowers, birdsong and towering snowy peaks. It was certainly a unique place and we began to see why it was chosen for such momentous and historic significance.

Omphalos`-`centre of the world

Pan-Hellenic Games Stadium 500BC!

The site itself was fantastic. The path wound steeply up the hill, past the Treasuries of the various Hellenic states and amphitheatre. Those with angina beware ..it is unremittingly steep and several of our rather larger tourist companions were puffing and moaning as we made our way to the top.
The effort was rewarded with an amazing view of the stadium at the top. Absolutely fantastic, I could just visualise the ancient Greek youths running about in the scud. Well worth the climb. I think we were lucky that it was relatively quiet and we had easy views of all the monuments without too many obstructions or selfie intrusions.

Our ticket [ 12 euros each] included entry to the adjoining museum. We swithered about the alternative….a welcome beer, but decided to pop in to have a look. It was wonderful. Full of beautiful artifacts and treasures from the site. Definitely not to be missed and we were enthralled there for about 2 hours.

Bronze charioteer

We headed back to the town hoping that the alleged bus would materialise. Just time for the best pizza ever at a small cafe overlooking the valley.

Emily's Mum

Huge - maybe 7m tall

A motley assortment of people appeared out of the ether and after much shouting and noise we all piled on the bus. The driver assured us, with the regulation shrug, that we would get to Galaxidhi, eventually. Lots of discontent on the bus as we came to realise that the others had booked seats, and various rounds of musical chairs ensued before we could settle to enjoy the journey. The sun was setting as we rounded those hairpins and saw the lights in distant hillside villages spring to life. This bus wended a different route, further into the mountains before arriving at Itea again where we were ejected and left on the pavement. Like a miracle, another bus emerged out of the chaos and we were scooped off towards home. Summertime was patiently waiting.

Didn’t we have a lovely day ?

C. The following morning we left the little treasure that is Glalaxidhi. It is one of the nicest spots we have visited and next time we pass by we will explore further. Having toured around quite a few piles of old stones, the archaeological site at Delphi is top trump. Highly recommended if you are at all that way inclined.

The Corinthian Gulf is really beautiful, reminiscent of an alpine lake with snow peaked mountains all around and vibrant greenery. It is also pretty unspoiled. At this time of year it is very quiet, in two days of sailing we only say 3 other yachts and a couple of commercial ships.

We set off from Galaxidhi and reversed the pilotage past the off-lying shoals and islets, which although still requiring accuracy was somewhat less scary than on the way in when we were under duress.

There was little breeze and we motored for two hours. A SW wind slowly filled in and we sailed at a nice pace until about 10 nm out from our destination, Corinth.

As we closed on the yacht harbour we noted there were only three other yachts moored up and a handful of fishing boats. However the berthing areas were a mass of little orange buoys trailing mooring lines and working out which buoy to pick up as the line for a particular berth was the issue. Eventually we identified what we thought was a buoy and a berth pairing and reversed in.
M picked up the buoy from the stern as we passed it, and quickly realised that pulling it on board was not going to work. She did the sailing crew two step to the bow where I thought she might disappear overboard if she did not let go, but she managed to pass a line round the mooring line.Well done.

We pulled up serenely stern to the pontoon and all seemed well …… until I noticed there was an orange buoy peeking up from under the hull. We has run over another buoy and its line.

After a lot of head scratching we made a plan, which was to bring ourselves into an along side berthing position by the use of shore lines in the (hopefully) right direction to release the buoy under the hull. 

Success .. the plan worked perfectly, but as we were finishing up the harbourmaster/coastguard/ fisherman/foreshore marinero turned up in his fishing boat and did a lot of shouting in our direction. He insisted he would help us move to the other pontoon which was much safer.

I was on the cusp of refusing as we were sorted when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a mast sticking out of the water on the other side of the pontoon we were moored to. A yacht had sunk at its mooring! Was this the outcome for the last guy who refused to move?

Buoys everywhere - spot the mast sticking out the water!

On this basis I agreed with the marinero to go to his suggested pontoon, however M was standing on the bow hands in hips, having none of it, and a bit of politicking ensued!

We managed to extricate ourselves from our alongside position without collecting any of the floating and submerged impedimenta, which was almost as tricky a manoeuvre as the original approach, but it transpired uneventfully and we drove round to our new berth. 

After a lot of fussing about getting us tied up, my new friend explained that he had all his various roles, that he would help us leave in the morning, that the town was full of bandits from Syria and other countries and that he would protect us and our boat, if we paid him 10 Euros. After a glance at the sunken yacht I pressed the flesh and passed over the tenner.