Imagine this wonderful scene. We have a tiny village way at any height about the mountainside, amidst fragrant green olive groves that have stood here for hundreds of years. The limestone village houses, clad only in mottled ivy leaves and ancient mosses, huddle close together, as though they're seeking to shade one another through the burning glare with the midday sun.
The ancient olive tree, over 2 hundred years, but nonetheless proudly bearing her mantle of evergreen leaves being a widow's veil, stands at the center of the village square, providing the necessary coolness of shade on the driver with everything alike who crowd beneath her.
It can be mid-morning plus the villagers start to collect underneath the tree, his or her ancestors have gathered for hundreds of years, within the same shade of the identical olive tree. They gather to exchange information, to laugh about which mans wife leaves him, also to shed tears of regret over individuals who have died recently. They gather to stay peacefully in the shade and enjoy the company of friends and neighbours alike.
Nearby the ancient olive tree would be the village bakery. The village women, clad into their traditional dress, take in the little stone house that's the village bakery, to acquire their fresh fragrant bread and exchange the latest gossip. The golden crusty loaves continue to be hot in the wood-fired ovens. Each woman wears this headdress or scarf that is representative of her village. They are like exotic multicoloured birds because they stroll retreat of the bakery and into the sunlit square. Lots of the women are breaking chunks from the hot bread and so are relishing the crunchiness of the crust and the soft sweetness of the new bread beneath. Many of the loaf will be eaten before they arrive home, but no matter, they can always return back for more later.
The ancient olive tree, over 2 hundred years, but nonetheless proudly bearing her mantle of evergreen leaves being a widow's veil, stands at the center of the village square, providing the necessary coolness of shade on the driver with everything alike who crowd beneath her.
It can be mid-morning plus the villagers start to collect underneath the tree, his or her ancestors have gathered for hundreds of years, within the same shade of the identical olive tree. They gather to exchange information, to laugh about which mans wife leaves him, also to shed tears of regret over individuals who have died recently. They gather to stay peacefully in the shade and enjoy the company of friends and neighbours alike.
Nearby the ancient olive tree would be the village bakery. The village women, clad into their traditional dress, take in the little stone house that's the village bakery, to acquire their fresh fragrant bread and exchange the latest gossip. The golden crusty loaves continue to be hot in the wood-fired ovens. Each woman wears this headdress or scarf that is representative of her village. They are like exotic multicoloured birds because they stroll retreat of the bakery and into the sunlit square. Lots of the women are breaking chunks from the hot bread and so are relishing the crunchiness of the crust and the soft sweetness of the new bread beneath. Many of the loaf will be eaten before they arrive home, but no matter, they can always return back for more later.
Some of the village the male is gathered inside Kafeneon, their traditional assembly for generation after generation. They are all here, from Spiros, who's almost a century old, to young Kostas with his newborn. Inside crowded smokey atmosphere of the cafe-come bar-come social centre, they play Tavli (Backgammon) or cards. They drink coffee, and laugh and cry and make believe you shout at one another. They discuss the next thunderstorm, plus the basketball match, and ways in which they'd alter the world as long as they were a politician. Women are certainly not barred from this masculine whole world of the Kafeneon, however are to not be encouraged either. It is often a place of refuge from women and family for generations.
Nearby would be the little village shop, optimistically referred to as a supermarket from the villagers. It carries essentials the villagers need, like candles and chocolate bars, cigarettes and fire lighters. There's a handful of old tables outside the shop on the marble cobbles, and a few even older chairs. There're there if you cares to nap for a while and pass any time of day. Two visitors sit outside at the old table, which consists of faded red gingham cloth held i'll carry on with a battered section of elastic.
Each one has a glass of clear red village wine, fruity and rich and good to taste, regardless of the deficiency of modern preservatives and hygienic bottling plants. They are sharing a plate of Mezedes (little things to take at and eat). They savour the rich black tanginess in the local olives, the super creamy tang of the Feta cheese, made out of milk from local sheep, plus the surprisingly good tartiness in the sardines pickled in wine vinegar. They finish their superlative snack, and try to ask Sophia who owns the store, the amount of they owe her. "Tipota" she cries, "Nothing", she laughs, hugging them both tight successively. "Appreciate it" they murmur, slightly embarrassed at not sharing one common language. They cannot need one."Sto Kalo" she cries after them-"To the Good!"
Hospitality and friendliness come together throughout the village.
They stand in amusement as old Maria drives her herd of sheep over the village en route to her milking shed.
Where is that this wonderful place, where hospitality and friendliness continue to exist, where visitors are welcomed with open arms and hearts? Where is this fact village the place that the old traditions are still lived full, and where a stranger can be a friend you've not met yet?
It's usually just about thirty minutes drive from the resort hotel you're staying in! You can find hundreds of these traditional villages dotted around Corfu. You simply must switch off the leading road and travel for just a short distance until you are likely to pick one on your own.
Avoid getting shy about intruding in a traditional Greek village. The villagers could make you feel welcome within their village. They could stare at you, but it is only friendly curiosity. Park your vehicle somewhere where it won't upset anyone, or block the tiny country roads. Walk around the village and explore, and say "Kalemera"" (Morning) or "Herete" (Good day) to anyone you observe.
Try the fragrant bread from the wood oven bakery, share a plate of Mezedes, taste the local wine. Get back to the village one evening and go to the local taverna. Try dishes you have not got word of, and experience flavours of food you've only thought of. Taste a little of the actual Greece, and meet some real Greek people. You will soon stop like a stranger and become a buddy.
