Bog standard

The bus ride across the island of Evvia ought to be breath-taking, winding up through the forested mountains then down the other side but each time the driver’s phone rang on a hairpin bend and he answered, driving with just one hand, the picture of a mangled bus and its unseatbelted passengers at the bottom of a steep stony chasm became more real.

So I was very relieved when we reached the minimal port of Mantoudi. Last time I was here it was newly opened: a narrow concrete strip with a small wooden hut for selling ferry tickets. This time there is more concrete and a covering over both the hut and some new bench seats.

A few days a week a bus arrives from Athens and disgorges passengers and baggage onto the concrete strip. Some time later a ferry arrives and likewise disgorges passengers and baggage. Everyone swaps modes of transport and leaves.

Our bus must have made its way through traffic jams slightly faster than usual as there was a hasty raising of the flag (perplexingly situated right by the toilets - another addition since I was last here), as we arrived.

Then into Loutraki where my sister was waiting for me on the quayside. It was so good to see her. It didn’t matter in the slightest that her car broke down between the port and her home and that we spent an hour in the garage.

Extra of a building in Glossa that looked for all the world as if it were turning into a birch tree.