Mark & Jen's 'Around the World' Travel & Photography Blog

Odysseus’ last stop before he sailed home to the island of Ithica, and the island home for Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Corfu is the most verdant of Greece’s islands. Sage green olive groves dotted with tall, conical cypress trees smother the rolling hills of the island until the land ends abruptly in the emerald waters of the Ionian Sea. The English love it, the Germans crave it, and the Italians practically live here. But Corfu is also home to numerous Greek villagers of its own.

For eight days, we walk along the Corfu Trail, traversing the length of the island from south to north. Our path takes us through olive grove after olive grove and village after village, like connecting the dots of a jagged puzzle. In fact, I spend the entire first day thinking I am walking on thousands of goat turds, but then I realize… they are olives. We enter a village square and rest under the shade of an oak tree. At its only cafe, a group of men lounge for hours over single glasses of beer. They wave us over to sit and take a rest; we comply.

The infamous olive… / Just another Corfu village…

Later, an old woman riding side-saddle on a donkey surprises us as we rest under the shade of an olive tree. The woman’s gypsy-like dress and her donkey draped in a multi-colored striped blanket are straight out of a movie. Immediately, she starts yelling at us in Greek and waving us off the road. We look confused… maybe this tree is her property? She continues yelling, so we stand up and back up a little out her way. She kicks her donkey and he creeps forward, skirting our very presence. She leaves without another word.

Another day, a man working in his olive groves educates us in Greek-accented Italian about the price of olive oil. We follow him somewhat through our intermediate Spanish. “Two ducats a bottle here, five at the store,” he says. He then shows us how the olives fall from the trees into his nets, which he then presses into oil. “Elsewhere in Greece,” he says in my loose translation, “they shake their trees. But here, we let the olives fall naturally.”

Greek Orthodox Church / Endless olive groves…

On Sunday, we pass through yet another small village when suddenly, a church procession surprises us in our tracks. Wearing irreligious T-shirts and shorts, backpacks on, sweat dripping down our foreheads and faces, we can do nothing but stop. It is the church’s name day. The elders carry the icon of the saint as the church processes slowly behind it. The choir, dressed in traditional red-and-black Grecian village dress, sings hymns of worship. The orthodox priest swings incense back and forth and stops the procession directly in front of us to pray at a shrine, right next to Mark. We shift in our boots and try to appear solemn and holy. As soon as the priest moves the group on, we scurry toward the trail.

When we are hungry, we sit under the shade of an olive tree and open our pack. Earlier in the morning, we had picked up a loaf of freshly made bread, crusty on the outside and soft and moist on the inside. We slice a fresh tomato and then layer on a bit of local cheese and some salami. For dessert, there are the oranges picked from a fruit tree along the way.

There are no easy camping opportunities on the island of Corfu. So we reluctantly resign ourselves to a hot shower, a comfortable bed, satellite TV, and jacuzzi at a local hotel. I throw open the Venetian windows overlooking the beach below and breathe deeply the sea air. For dinner, we stop at a local taverna. Over a carafe of homemade wine, we toast to our tzatziki, calamari, stuffed vine leaves, fresh salad topped with pungent olives, and slices of recently baked crusty bread.

Corfu, overlooking mountains of Albania in the distance / Liapades, Corfu

This walk would never have been possible if it weren’t for the hospitality of a local retired English couple, Chris and Terry, who lent us their guidebook, opened their home, and gave us a ride. We even had the pleasure of chatting with Terry for a day on the trail. Corfu is now their home, and they were proud to share its wealth of beauty with us.

On our last day in Corfu, my mind begins to wander toward the concept of home. Like Chris and Terry, the local villagers of Corfu share their island home each season with the influx of sunbathing tourists. They share their olive oil and their wine, their culture and their music. And as I relax in our rented vacation apartment overlooking the Kalami Bay, I too long to be able to share my home with others. I feel comfortable and at peace about the forthcoming end to our year of travels. I am ready to come home.