Next stop Kefalonia, or should that be Cephalonia?

 

Well, it's back to cruising, for a short while at least, and perhaps not quite for the last time this year. We pick up on where Mrs PBT's and I left you, which was us leaving our mooring, in the spectacular setting of the Santorini caldera, and heading off into the open waters of the Ionian Sea. A leisurely day at sea than followed, before reaching the last of the Greek island destinations on the cruise, but one which happened to be by far and away the best.

I'm talking here about Kefalonia – also known as Cephalonia which, for us, seemed perfect in every way. The sun was just rising as we docked at the moorings in the island's capital of Argostoli, and an array of red lights, lit up the jetty, highlighting where we would soon be walking, once the Queen Victoria finally tied up. We'd ordered breakfast in our room that morning, in preparation for an early start on our, pre-booked “Leisurely Kefalonia” excursion.

After “swiping out” as we left the ship, we headed along the quayside towards the waiting coaches, lined up ready for those embarking on a shore excursion. Disappointingly, there was an unseemly scrum, as fired up cruise passengers jostled for places, even though there was plenty of room for everyone. The tours were, after all, pre booked. Needless to say, we got a seat, and by being patient were directed onto an “over spill” where there was ample space.

This pushing, shoving and general lack of manners by the mainly elderly passengers on the ship, seemed a real feature of this particular cruise, and it was so bad at times that I gave up on the buffet for breakfast, preferring instead either the Britannia Restaurant, at the stern of the ship with its sedate and unhurried waiter service or alternatively keeping my good lady wife company, enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the comfort of our cabin.

 Eileen described this behaviour as FOMO - "Fear Of Missing Out", but the fact was no one did miss out, all that was needed was a little patience and some good manners. We couldn't put our finger on it, but we haven't witnessed this type of behaviour on any of the previous cruises we'd been on, and that included the voyage from Hamburg up to the Norwegian fjords with a boatload of boisterous, but good-natured Germans.

 Safely on board the comfortable coach, our leisurely excursion of Kefalonia took us through attractive streets of Argostoli, before climbing up into the hills. On the way our guide explained about the earthquake of August 1953 that devastated large parts of Kefalonia. Consequently, most the island’s buildings either date from after that time or have been extensively restored after the earthquake. This applied to the church, at our first stop, which forms part of a former monastery.

Dedicated to St Andrew, the church contained a rather bizarre relic in a form of a rather grizzly-looking, and shrunken, mummified foot, said to belong to the apostle himself. There were some impressive wall paintings, and the setting among the hills of Kefalonia added to attraction, but of more interest to me was the imposing castle of St George, high on the hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. Built by the Venetians who occupied the island for several centuries it still looked reasonably well preserved and had obviously survived the earthquake.

I'm not sure quite how accessible it was by coach as I would like to have seen it, but instead we continued along some narrow and, at times, quite hair-raising mountain roads complete with hairpin bends, as we climbed right up into the interior of the island. Mrs PBT’s take was not to look out the window at those moments, particularly when the back of the coach appeared to hang over the abyss, but I couldn’t resist a quick peep, having every confidence in our unflappable driver.

On the way our guide told us how, due to its strategic position on trade routes between Europe and the Middle East, the Venetians, the Turks, and forces from several other countries had occupied Kefalonia. Britain also had a presence in the Ionian Sea for a short while, towards the end of the Napoleonic Wars, but the saddest story was the one concerning the Italian troops who'd occupied the island during World War II. Following the collapse in 1943 of Italy’s fascist government, and the subsequent armistice which heralded the country’s exit from the war, Nazi troops arrived on the island, to take their place.

 A tragic chain of events, then led to the massacre of several thousand Italian soldiers, held prisoner by their former comrades in arms, after being regarded as traitors. At the end of hostilities most of those responsible for this horrific war crime were never brought to account, with just a handful standing trial at Nuremberg. Set against the background of the initial occupation, was the fictional story of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin which, in 2001 was made into a film, staring Nicholas Cage and Penelope Cruz. Our guide was less than complimentary about the film, although to be fair it must have boosted visitor numbers to Kefalonia.

Eventually we arrived at our next destination, a large vineyard and wine-making complex right in the heart of the island. Several other coaches already were already there, and yet again it was an unsightly free for all, this time just for a few small glasses of wine. If people could just wait rather than pushing and shoving, there would have been plenty for all but, as witnessed earlier in the day, the behaviour exhibited by some of those n the excursion was shameful.

In the end I managed to get some water for Eileen plus a couple of glasses of wine for myself, but not exactly being a great wine connoisseur, I didn't feel as though I’d missed much. Instead, I just enjoyed the beauty of the surrounding countryside, with views of the grapevines, climbing up the slopes of the surrounding hills in every direction. 

After leaving the vineyard, the coach took us on a different route back down into Argostoli, following a series of steep winding roads, before crossing the end of the lagoon on a man-made causeway. We then drove along the water front with its various shops, bars, and restaurants before arriving back at the ship. By this time the sun was blazing down on the town, and the mercury had climbed into the low 30’s, so I left Mrs PBT's to make her way back onboard the boat and set off to explore Argostoli, on my own.

As I walked along the road, past the row of shops and restaurants, keeping in the shade as much as possible, I bumped into a fellow passenger from the ship who we'd got to know. Andrew was full of enthusiasm about a bakery a bit further along the esplanade which was selling homemade pies. Being a huge pie fan, I had to go and try one, but by the time I found the place the only pies left were cheese and mushroom. It's unfortunate that I'd missed the meat ones, but a nice puff pastry pie, plus a decent cup of coffee for six euros, was a real bargain.

Afterwards it was time for a beer, and where better to enjoy one that in the cool shady interior, of the attractive Dash Coffee Bar overlooking the waterfront.  Seated at the bar, enjoying a cool and refreshing half litre of Mythos beer, whilst watching the world go by outside saw me in proper, wind-down holiday mode, and was the perfect way to round off my time ashore in Kefalonia. Before leaving the bar, I had a chat with another fellow passenger from the boat, an intrepid fellow in his 80s, holidaying without his wife, who was back home in Somerset, and thoroughly enjoying himself. (And Mrs PBT's complains if I abandon her for just a couple of days!).

I rejoined Eileen on the ship mid-afternoon, and then towards early evening we joined fellow passengers on the rear deck for some impressive views as we sailed away from Argostoli and Kefalonia. We both agreed the island had been by far the nicest and most pleasant destination we'd experienced on the cruise, even though at that point in time we still had Sardinia and Portugal to visit.

Will the Harvey's at the Boar's Head, last the weekend?

The Boar’s Head Inn at Eridge, is an unspoilt 17th Century inn, just off the main A26 road, a mile or so to the north of Crowborough. It is a low beamed pub with a cosy interior, featuring two inglenook fireplaces. There is outside seating with good views, although when I called in on Saturday, it wasn’t exactly a day for sitting outside. For those who are hardier than me, it’s worth noting, that to the north of the pub, there is a steep wide valley that is traversed by the A26, where twin streams flow along a valley floor flanked by thickly wooded slopes. The railway  between Ashurst and Crowborough makes its way along this valley before journeying to the end of the line at Uckfield.

So, what was I doing at the Boar’s Head? A pub I’d last visited over 30 years ago, and one that I got to know just a few years after moving to Tonbridge. It was my involvement with the local CAMRA branch, which was then known as Tonbridge & Tunbridge Wells CAMRA that took me to the Boar’s Head, as back then the branch covered a small area of neighbouring East Sussex, that included Crowborough.

I remember the place as an unspoilt old inn that belonged to Whitbread, and as such served a decent drop of Faversham-brewed, Fremlin’s Bitter. A decade or so later, and a change of employer, led to me commuting, by car, every day between Tonbridge and Lewes, so I often drove by on my journey to and from work. I say “often” because sometimes I would take the scenic route across Ashdown Forest, thereby avoiding the traffic bottlenecks of Tunbridge Wells and Crowborough.

I was prompted to make a long overdue visit to the Boar’s Head after driving to Crowborough the day before. Mrs PBT’s, and I had visited a medical centre in the town, in order to obtain our COVID booster vaccinations, but the drive through the town is one we take quite often, as Eileen’s sister, and niece live in nearby Uckfield.  Despite this familiarity, I hadn’t given too much notice to the Boar’s Head as it is now set back from the main A26 road. When I worked in Lewes, work was underway to straighten and widen what was a notorious stretch of road between Eridge and Crowborough, which is why the pub is now, mercifully separated from the A26.

The Boar’s Head is also on the No. 29 bus route between operated by Brighton & Hove Buses, which runs every half-hour on weekdays and Saturdays, between Brighton and Tunbridge Wells. It is a well-used service, and for those with a bus pass, the ideal way to travel between Kent and Sussex. With a bus stop, virtually outside the pub, it’s an ideal way to visit the Boar’s Head, without having to drive. Having clocked the position of the bus stops, on both sides of the road, as we drove passed on Friday, the following day I decided to hop on the bus from Tunbridge Wells and check out the Boar’s Head for myself.

It has to be at least 30 years since I last set foot in the pub, and I’m pleased to report that very little had changed. Arriving shortly after 2 pm, I found the pub pleasantly busy, without being overcrowded. Here were several groups of diners, but also a group of drinkers either propping up the bar or sitting at it. I joined the latter group, as I had no real plans to eat, and faced with a choice of Harvey’s Best or London Pride, I opted for the former.

It cost me a fiver, which seems to be the going rate for Harvey’s, these days. The Lewes-based company have always been a little on the dear side when it comes to the prices of their beers, but given their quality, it’s a price I don’t mind paying. Harvey’s also became the matter of some debate at the bar, as two of the fellas sat there were expressing their concerns that the current cask was unlikely to last the weekend.

According to the two girls behind the bar who, incidentally, were doing a sterling job, the cask of Sussex Best on sale was the LAST ONE. From what I could gather, the pub’s licensees were on holiday, and there had been a mix-up with the order from Harvey’s. The next delivery was scheduled for Tuesday, and at the current rate, what was left in the cellar was unlikely to last until then. One worried drinker questioned how many pints had been sold since the last cask went on sale. One of the girls estimated at least twenty, which begged the question, would the Harvey’s last out until Tuesday? As serial pub explorer, and prolific blogger, Retired Martin would point out, it’s debates such as this one which make pubs such interesting places.

It’s all about the detail, even if that often includes the trivial as well, because at the end of the day whilst such things appear unimportant to the majority of us, to some they represent almost life and death situations. So, as Martin would say, it’s seemingly unimportant incidents like the Harvey’s running out, that make pub going so interesting and enjoyable.

Final point, I was unlucky with the bus timings on Saturday, and after missing one in Tonbridge, right at the start of my journey, the knock-on effect was narrowly missing the No. 29 bus in Tunbridge Wells, as well. The return journey was marred by a late running service, so after making my way to the stop, nearly 10 minutes before the bus was due to arrive, I ended up waiting an additional 15 minutes before it eventually turned up. It wasn’t raining or anything, so wasn’t a huge deal, but it was chilly, and certainly cold enough to remind me that the insulating properties of denim aren’t particularly good!