Mani Madness (1 of 4)

When the phone rang, an excited female voice echoed down the line.

“Roy, you’ve gotta see this place, it’s wild.”

“Who is that?” I asked.

“The Mani, in Greece.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Phillada, remember me?”

It was the beginning of May: April had been long and wet, March had seemed even longer and wetter, and last year’s holiday was just a faded memory by now. The idea of an early springtime break suddenly seemed very attractive; all I needed to know was where the hell was I going. My long-time friend and well-travelled trekking guide, Phillada, went on to explain.

“Direct flight Gatwick to Kalamata on the Greek Peloponnese mainland, bus to Sparta, then a week of ridges, peaks and coastal trails that will blow you away!”

“When were you thinking of going?” I enquired.

“I’m here now, how quickly can you get here?”

It was a Friday, the end of a week of grief at work; too much, too late and all too familiar. By the following Friday I had cajoled David, another trekking friend, to join me and we were booked on the Sunday morning flight to Kalamata.

Phillada met us at Kalamata airport for the short taxi ride to the bus station, where we caught the 12:30pm bus to Sparta. We were soon on our way, having passed through Kalamata town, which resembled a war-torn bomb-site. This was due to the lasting effects of the 1985 earthquake, which had devastated this area of Greece and left hundreds homeless, some still living in makeshift corrugated shelters.

A spectacular three-hour bus journey through the mountains took us to Sparta, where, over our evening meal, Phillada introduced us to another eight walkers who we were joining on a trek organised by her. It was tempting to spend one week trekking and a following week relaxing on the beach at Stoupa, a growing holiday resort that would offer a complete contrast, but this was meant as a mini-break and a week would have to do.

What a mixed bunch we were, an age range of 26 to 68, experienced traveller to the directionally impaired, extrovert to ascetic, but all glad to be in the fresh warm air of a Greek spring and away from the gloomy grey skies of Britain. In complete contrast to home, we ate outside, though, after the day’s travelling, nobody wanted to stay up late. One of the couples, Anna and Richard, disappeared by 8:30pm, and the rest of us soon followed.

Lakonia

The outstanding feature of the Mani peninsula, also known as Lakonia (the middle ‘finger’ of the Peloponnese), is an abundance of medieval Byzantine and Venetian fortified towns with tall stone defensive towers, set in a barren stony landscape of rugged mountains, dramatic rocky shores and with a history that dates back to the Neolithic period.

The Mani peninsula is divided into two parts; the Northern (Outer Mani) and the Southern (Inner) Mani. The Northern Mani is backed to the east by the high Taygetos ridge, which can keep its snow cover well into May. From these heights, the ground swoops down, split by tremendous gorges, to flatten out into giant steps before reaching the sea. Still virtually untouched by tourism, the small coastal villages mainly to the west remain picturesque and unspoiled. Inland, the villages are set on ancient vantage points with charming stone houses and fortified towers huddled around tiny chapels housing neglected frescoes of great beauty.

The Southern Mani, which lies south of Areopoli, is hot and bare, and although the mountains are lower, the coast itself is stark and often edged by sheer cliffs. This is a sparsely populated land, many of its villages and towers abandoned to the ghosts.

Read all four parts of Mani Madness
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

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