A love affair with Greece lasting more than 40 years

As a 1st-year university student and movie fanatic in 1969, the film "Z"[1] ignited my interest in Greece. It had all the romance of a struggle to overcome a repressive regime and instilled in me an urge to visit the country. An urge that was not realised for another 6 years.

Above: traditional transport awaits better-off travellers from the Piraeus-Hydra ferry.

​By the time I got to Athens the evil junta had just been overthrown. This was probably just as well because I don't know what I'd have done had any pre-1975 member of the right wing military junta (1967-1974)[2] challenged me for my views.

1975

My visit was at the end of a year's secondment to London and my then wife, Carmela, and I were returning to South Africa. We had "open" return tickets on South African Airways that I was able to exchange for a cheaper intercontinental flight on Luxavia[3]. That embraced two stopovers, the first in Vienna and the second in Athens where we would get the budget Boeing 707 back to Johannesburg.

Actually the Vienna to Athens flight also stopped over in Thessaloniki. This is only relevant because this was the first time I'd come across a real "Ugly American". Up until then I'd found Americans in South Africa and the UK to be perfectly charming and often a lot of fun.

"I wanna Schlitz," a grating female voice echoed around the relatively small aircraft. At first I was doubly baffled because I'd never come across this item before and her voice was far from clear.
"Madame, I'm afraid the only beers we have are Fix, Mythos, Alfa and Amstel[4]​," the polite steward responded.
"I wanna Schlitz," our delightful fellow passenger whined, "they must have some in the terminal!"
"I'm afraid we're about to take off Madame, I cannot delay the flight on the off-chance they might have this beer I've never heard of in the terminal."
At this time Madame became abusive and a glance around the plane proved that every one of her fellow passengers would have cheerfully throttled her.
​Thankfully the flight time from Thessaloniki to Athens was less than an hour but, if I remember correctly, she muttered away to herself about Fix vs Amstel for most of the journey and on the bus to the terminal.

We were only in Athens for a couple of days and I can recall my initiation to Greek coffee, a trip up the Acropolis with relatives of George Thomopoulos[5], a road trip to Corinth and Isthmia and a voyage on a ferry to Hydra . I had persuaded Carmela that Hydra was a good place because Leonard Cohen lived there and we might get a sighting of him. Of course, we didn't. I doubt he even still lived there by then.

The most poignant moment was visiting the twisted wrecks of the Athens Polytechnic gates. These had been left at the entrance after approximately 40 people were killed on 17 November 1973 when a tank crashed through the barrier allowing the army of the junta to enter. A powerful symbol that I believe remains there to this day[6]. 

Above (l-r, top-bottom): Carmela with George Thomopoulos' mother and his cousin; view from Lycabettus Hill to the Acropolis, Piraeus and the Saronic Gulf beyond; sponge sellers abounded on the streets of Athens in 1975; the ferry docking in Hydra/Idra; hopeful Hydra cats; donkeys ascending the hill behind the port.

1984

​Shan's and my first trip to Greece was about the islands. We'd originally intended to fit the Hellenic Republic into our 1983 journey but it quickly became obvious that we were biting off too much. The sum of our 1983-4 expeditions proved that our decision to split the journeys proved to be the correct one.

​We flew direct from Johannesburg to Athens where we spent an ephemeral couple of days including a visit to the Parthenon.

Serifos

​But our mission was island-hopping and it wasn't long before we were on a ferry out of Piraeus bound for Serifos. We'd chosen it deliberately as a quieter option where we could acclimatise. And so it was. Our accommodation was still under construction but the room was comfortable enough until the mosquitoes descended on the first night. I recall we were up at dawn and seeking out a place that sold anti-mozzie coils. We also had a peaceful start to survey the local environment. No self-respecting Greeks were about but a completely naked British family were exploiting the tranquility to enjoy an early-morning dip. 

I think Shan had been a bit ambivalent about even swimming topless (our South Africa Calvinism coming to the fore) but a cheerful good morning to this attractive couple and their two children and it was topless all the way for a month[7].

Above (l-r, top to bottom): Shan never wore a swimming top in Greece (in those days); the last time was in Paxos in 1993 where she is joined by another bathing belle in the form of our 3-year-old daughter, Kate.
        
We stayed on Serifos for a while and got to know the ropes. We discovered taramasalata, tzatziki, houmous, non-resinated wine and sassy travellers. We'd chosen to kick off in Serifos with pre-booking and then play it by ear from there. Fortunately one of our French co-travellers was a bit more cool than sassy and we became friends after a day or two.

"You must go to Santorini," he asserted, "but don't aim for Fira, the main town, jump off the ferry at the first stop and go to Oia; it's much more authentic."
We listened and he seemed like a right on guy so we did just that (more of that when we get there in this narrative).

There were also a whole lot of Norwegians on the island with what seemed to be the express purpose of drinking cheap alchohol. After trips to Norway much later I understand why but the impact on us then, in Serifos, was that there was a bunch of amiable guys who were pissed 24x7. On one of our expeditions to different beaches on Serifos we encountered a young man lying across our path naked apart from a T-shirt. Stepping carefully, we found our way to a small cove where Shan felt comfortable in her newfound penchant for topless bathing. We spread our towels and settled down to absorb some rays. A short while later we spotted a snorkel approaching. 

It was clearly headed for our cove and Shelley-ann was definitely the attraction. The guy's nipples must've been scraping the gravel on the beach when my bride sat up crossly, arms folded over the main attractions and glared at our intruder. He was already thrashing his way out to sea and two things were clear: he was German and he had been terrified by the stare of Freya that confronted him.

Apart from topless sunbathing, eating and drinking, Serifos, like many islands, had a small town in the hills from an age when it was important to defend the population from invaders from the sea. This one was named Hora (along with many similar villages around the Greek Islands).

Above (top-bottom, l-r): Hora as seen from the harbour; Hora from above; cats are everywhere in the cyclades; I dunno, this caught my imagination in the harbour.

​Our sojourn on Serifos was over too quickly. The advice we received from seasoned travellers was leading us to Naxos, another island a little less travelled. There was a direct ferry, albeit a fair bit smaller than the behemoth that had conveyed us from Piraeus, and we set out in sunshine to cross a calm sea; a matter of a little more than 85 km via Paros.​

Naxos

About halfway between Serifos and Paros everything turned upside down. Not quite literally but the ferry was being tossed around like a cork. Shan and I were sharing a porthole and staring out at what was transpiring; one moment looking into the abyss of a trough between waves and the next staring at the sky.

Seafaring nation?

Well I don't know but there was a lot of throwing up going on. Shan and I were part of a small bunch trying to provide succour to the seafaring nation. Shan more than me. I was able to apply techniques to keep the contents of my own guts from emptying into the cabin while Shan was passing out transparent sick bags to most of the passengers. Not a pretty sight if one were looking the direction of a puker facing you. Not all of the lovely liquid made it into the bags either and much of it was sloshing under the duckboards in the toilets, threatening to break out. The captain's young son, on his summer holidays, was bravely whistling while he attempted to mop up the surging morass in the lower deck of the vessel.

We eventually reached Paros and the calm waters of the harbour restored some sanity. Shipping officials herded us off our ferry ... it was going no further in those seas, certainly not to Naxos.

Then we heard official types shouting "Naxos, Naxos," and pointing at a queue for a much bigger ferry. We complied, relieved, as were quite a few others, and embarked on the formidable ship. That will get us to Naxos, we all thought ...

Being a bit of a map geek, I knew that the ferry route from Paros town to Naxos hugged the coast of Paros island before popping across a narrow strait to Naxos town: a matter of around 30 km. We weren't long out of port before the reassuring coast of Paros to starboard started to disappear to the stern. A while later we located a member of the crew and mentioned this conundrum. It took a bit of ingenuity to convey our dilemma to someone whose English was about as good as our Greek. Shan and I were ordered to wait and eventually a group of other passengers was herded into our corner of the deck. They were in the same predicament. We were ordered to wait for further instructions.

​After a longish while we were all herded again, this time into the bridge of the huge vessel. The room was in darkness apart from a spotlight shining from the captain and on to our little "clan". The tone was threatening. Understandably, the crew all spoke Greek and all of us spoke something else, mostly English. The captain eventually revealed a working knowledge of English and I was singled out as the spokesperson for the clan. 

Turns out we were on board the good ship Naxos and we were headed to Piraeus. The captain was initially unsympathetic to our plight and seemed as if he was going to insist on charging us for the trip from Paros to Piraeus and then ditch us with the police in that port. He wanted all our passports and I only just managed to restrain myself from inquiring if Greece was still in the grips of a Junta, 10 years on, and pleaded on behalf of the clan that we'd all made mistakes independently in a difficult situation and that officials shouting "Naxos, Naxos" at a bunch of bewildered tourists on a dark and stormy night might have been a little less than helpful. I suggested that if he was accusing us of being stowaways it would be appropriate, given the severity of the charge, for embassy officials from each and every one of our nationalities to meet us at the harbour in Piraeus with the captain in attendance.

There was a lot of Greek dialogue on a crackling radio and the captain eventually showed a scintilla of sympathy for our situation. The clan was to stay together and be met in Piraeus by officials who would advise us on what would happen next.

We were herded off into the hands of officials almost 24 hours after leaving Serifos and Shan and I and some of the others who still wished to go to Naxos were shepherded off to a southbound (large) ferry for that island. We were a day late but safe and looking forward to resuming our month's expedition. We'd spent a total of 19 hours on ferries trying to get from Paros to Naxos.

Sometimes it is better not to be backpackers.

When we'd been planning our odyssey in Durban, Shan had invested in two suit bags. This was the luggage for our month's sojourn. She was immovable. I stopped cursing her perseverance when we alighted from the large ferry from Piraeus. The de rigeur for those who had accommodation to offer on an island was for the landlords and/or landladies to meet the ferries when they arrived at an island and negotiate with the mostly backpackers who disembarked in their port.

Apparently accommodation in Naxos town was at a premium.

A respectable middle-aged Greek couple made a beeline through the hordes of backpackers for Shan and me and offered us their place in the town. The rate seemed reasonable and they shouldered our bags and beckoned for us to follow. We climbed through the old town to a spacious apartment that was to be our home for a week. We thanked our hosts and asked why they'd singled us out from the crowd[10].

"No backpacks," they smiled indicating our suit bags. What a wife I had.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): wandering around Naxos' whitewashed lanes in the sunshine(x2); the road down to the beach; things got a bit hazy down at the Traverna Naxos near the harbour; a tale of four churches (x3); transport on Naxos.

The Jeep was a necessary evil for getting around on Naxos. We'd never have got down to the beach or got to those pesky churches that were perched in the most inaccessible places. Back in the day the Naxiot faithful would have had to work hard for their faith.

When we visited, Naxos' old town centre, Kastro. was noted for its crafts and tempting jewellery (no, we did not make a small purchase but that was rectified  when we reached Fira in Santorini). But the al fresco bar was perhaps the biggest temptation with its easy Greek cuisine and cheap wine ... not to mention the music that was tastefully blaring nonstop Andreas Vollenweider on a two-hour loop. We became so addicted that we purchased the then extant albums as soon as we got home and played them full blast to recreate our Greek odyssey.

Santorini

All too soon our blend of bacchanalia and bucolic relaxation had to give way to more exploration and  another island was in our sights. For many, Santorini was the pinnacle of Greek Island exploration with its volcanic history and unique geography. We were looking forward to checking it out. The legend of Atlantis played a part, coupled with the preservation of the Minoan city of Akrotiri in the 17th century BC by the lava from what is alleged to have been the world's 6th or 7th most powerful eruption in known history.

The distance from Naxos to Santorini/Thera was similar to that from Serifos to Naxos but this time without the mishaps and we arrived at the port serving Oia on a sunny afternoon.

​Above: my homemade bodging together of individual photographs in an attempt to give some idea of the extent of the caldera of which Thera (the bit you mostly can't see because I'm standing on it) is the main part. The closest island, Nea Kameni, is the crater of the 35 century old volcano.

Following the advice of our French friend that we had met on Serifos, we eyed up the herd of donkeys gathered on the wharf.  They were there to convey us up the 278 steps and bedecked in strange-looking wooden saddles. In fact there was one horse, a bunch of normal sized donkeys and one smaller, decrepit looking ass. I naturally supposed that, being the tallest, I would get the horse. 

Nothing doing, I got the ass which I mounted with some difficulty, partly to do with the wooden saddle and lack of stirrups and partly to do with my steed's reluctance to be mounted. It turned out my ride, who was reluctant to go anywhere, was assigned the lead position for the winding narrow stone path to the top. She was reluctant to set off but jerked into motion sulkily when the donkey meister urged her to do so with a stick.

Each step was met with a sigh and a pause and I started to imagine the 278 would consume a lifetime. It also was concerning for the 20 or so others behind me, all of us wanting to get to the top to find accommodation in Oia. About half way up the horse and its rider, a chap a little shorter than me, started making a move to overtake. Red rags and bulls spring to mind but I was on a donkey and she literally took off, galloping up the remaining 100-odd steps.

I got to the top first with Shan and her mount in hot pursuit. At this point I imagined my little steed would stop but, no matter what I could do, she carried on galloping down the road. Just when we thought we were goners, a slip of a young girl stepped out in front of us making donkey-stopping noises and then ultimately blowing up the beast's nose when we got close. Very, very close.

I was very, very grateful but even more so when this charming lass announced that her parents had sent her into the village to offer accommodation.

And it turned out it was the last accommodation in Oia and all the other jockeys behind us would have to seek a place to stay elsewhere.

Our digs were comfortable enough and most reasonable (as was the case on most of the islands so far). We resolved to stay for 3 nights.

Above (l-r): Oia looking towards the main town of Fira; perched on top of the 100m high cliffs with terraced lodging below; sunset from Oia across the tip of Thirasia, the second-biggest island in the caldera, 

We enjoyed spending our evenings in Oia in its clifftop restaurants overlooking the caldera. It was there we discovered a strange phenomenon and my ability to detect it. Also Shan's irritation over my lack of attention to her and my conversation while I exercised my detection skills.

Basically (and seemingly coincidentally) the town was overrun by tourists from a small neck of the woods in South Africa known as "the last outpost of the British Empire". Not something to be particularly proud of in 2025 but at least quaint in that I was able to recognise those from my alma mater by their diction, pronunciation and mannerisms. Some were irritated that I could to do this and others delighted. And, no, there was no old boys' reunion going on, merely coincidence.

Above (l-r): We spent the day wandering around Fira which seemed to be a bigger and more commercial version of Oia; the live bouzouki was tempting but not as much as sitting on a terrace in Oia with simple food and watching the sunset; a wine estate awaited for our scooter tour of the island[12].

We visited Fira, Thera's main town, and explored pretty comprehensively including the manifold jewellery shops. One of these was slightly less bling than the others and the wares were rather tasteful. We bought Shan a gold and sea pearl bracelet but didn't have enough money for the asking price. The shop owner saw how much she cherished it and asked where we were staying. Our address in Oia didn't phase him.

"I can see how much you like the bracelet," he said, "bring me the money tomorrow."

Such was the way in Greece in those days (I'm not saying that's not longer true) and we were back at opening time the following day to fulfil our side of the bargain.
​
Having explored the main town of Fira, accessed by a death-defying bus from Oia in which the bit of the vehicle we were seated in seemed to be suspended in mid air on the bends of the steep mountainside, we resolved to rent a Vespa to explore the island more fully on our second full day.

This was probably the most underpowered two-wheeler I'd come across as a bike owner and tester of beasts up to and including a Kawasaki 1200. My humiliation was complete when we fell over on a hairpin bend. It occurred to neither of us to stick a foot out (it should've been me) and it was a dusty duo that righted the scooter and proceeded to our first destination, the Akrotiri lighthouse set atop a small "mountain" on the cliffs overlooking the sea in just about all directions.

Unfortunately our little Vespa wasn't capable of getting up the hill with both of us bestriding it so I had to coax it to the top while Shan had a relaxing stroll to the top. The views were worth it and I had to persuade my wife that we could both descend on our little 50cc buzzbox. We'd visited the furthest attraction first and our next stop was the Red Beach. It had red cliffs a la parts of South Wales but not too much else. We had a look and proceeded to Akrotiri.

​No matter how one looks at it, Akrotiiri is astonishing[10]. What have we been doing these past 36 centuries? I had a similar feeling more recently when visiting Turkey in 2006 and witnessing the sophistication of Ephesus and observing the housing and civil infrastructure there. ​

Above (l-r): c'est moi standing in the doorway of a 3,500 year-old doorway; parts of the town of Akrotiri that had been excavated by 1984; the lava soil on Santorini is very fertile and produced wine even then[11]..

​What does it say about a doorway that could easily accommodate a 6-footer 3,500 years ago when 400 year old houses in England required a pronounced stoop to avoid a sore head? Many of the excavated house sported  more than on storey, and the ancient town had been equipped with water born sewerage those 35 centuries..

Our bones were tired and sore by the time we returned our Vespa and all we wanted was a shower and a casual restaurant overlooking the caldera. We rubbed shoulders with a few of the Natal Midlands crew enjoying the same peaceful end to a day.

Before we left we had to visit the actual crater i.e. the island of Nea Kameni. There were boat tours that allowed us a decent amount of time to explore while warning of the dangers of heat exhaustion and sunburn. We were wowed by the volcanic ruins and happily didn't become more burned or exhausted.

Above (l-r): looking across the island with its eerie evidence of various eruptions from the cataclysmic 16th century BC eruption through various smaller incidents over the intervening 3,500 years and with modern Fira in the background; the big boy ... the main crater itself (evidently I can be seen on the far side as far away as possible to avoid messing up Shan's photo.

Antiparos/Paros

I cannot remember why we elected to spend the next 6 nights (including my 33rd birthday) on Antiparos. Perhaps it was a recommendation from our Serifos friends? Good value? After three ferries, Fira-Naxos-Paros-Antiparos spread over an entire dawn to dusk day we arrived at our accommodation which really was the worst we had.  So much so that we bailed out and found new digs in a pension nearby. Our French friends in Serifos hadn't quite hit the spot this time.

Above (l-r): cheapest food in town at the taverna in the square; also the auditorium for town scandal; our second accommodation; opposite a night club.

We arrived in Antiparos naïvely believing we could find a cashpoint and withdraw sufficient funds for much needed food and wine - πόσο αφελείς ήμασταν! We were down to three 100 Drachma notes (a little less than a Pound in those days) if we kept back enough for the ferry to Paros the next day to get some cash.. We managed to get a litre of retsina and a couple of pastries for that and found a table for some crowd watching.

All was quiet for an hour or so and then it all kicked off in the opposite corner of the square. Much shouting, arm waving and threatening behaviour. Shan being Shan had to find out what was going on and shouldered her way to a good vantage point while I held on to the table.

"There has been a cuckolding incident between a couple just about to get married," my wife reported back, "there are two family factions each blaming each other and it looks as if it will turn ugly."

The ruckus seemed to intensify and the shouting became louder as the mob left the square. Most of us remaining seemed to be tourists and we looked at each other quizzically. We never found out the gruesome details and eventually headed back to our new pension for the night.

​The next day we caught a boat to Paros and went in search of a cashpoint. I remember it not being easy and compensating ourselves with an ice cream once we'd aquired the readies. Then we had to get back to Antiparos in a gale whistling down between the two islands. It was just one kilometre but terrifying. Our second experience of Greeks not being the seafaring nation we'd imagined them to be. The wind persisted for a couple of days until we had to return to Paros to once again catch a huge ferry back to Piraeus; this time intentionally so we could fulfil a dream of visiting Spetses.

The day in Paros included a 20 minute each way bus ride to Naoussa. Perhaps we'd have been better off missing out our excursion to Antiparos and just stayed on the main island, even if it was more expensive.

​A few vignettes of Paros below ...

Above (top-bottom, l-r): repurposed vehicles (x2) (the bus was probably in action not long before); dried fish ready to eat?; every harbour has its nets out drying; urban whitewash (x4); a bar waiting for more patrons; classic sunset as per most evenings.

Spetses

Spetses was always going to be a highlight of our trip. The initial interest was kindled by our love of John Fowles and The Magus, just as we'd been stimulated the year before to visit the Lyme Regis Cobb of The French Lieutenant's Woman fame (see https://www.marksadventures.co.uk/all-personal-blogs/time-to-pay-up).
​
We headed off to "our" island on an altogether faster means of transport i.e. a Flying Dolphin hydrofoil which was a welcome end to seemingly eternal trips from Paros via Piraeus. We also found pleasant accommodation for ourselves but never found a place on Spetses (a.k.a. Phraxis) that convinced us it had an appropriate atmosphere for Conchis and Lily's love nest. 

Above (top-bottom, l-r): we got to Spetses on the hydrofoil; some random grub; which we ate at the quayside gazing with envy at a splendid ketch.

​We did enjoy the beguiling facet of Spetses and Dapia, its main town, that there was almost no motorised traffic. This was by design and made mooching around all the more peaceful and to be positively enjoyed.

We had a light and airy apartment that shared a balcony and a seemingly paper-thin wall with the one adjacent to ours. Our neighbours on the other side of the wall were particularly vigorous in the exercises they performed just before retiring. It started with the sounds of furniture squeaking rhythmically, built to a crescendo with their headboard banging frantically on our shared wall and then ended in groaning and heavy breathing that could easily had been occurring in our own space. We had been hoping to catch a glimpse of these young acrobats on the shared balcony but they never strayed on to it while we were there.

Above (l-r): We found Fowles' school gates; and the school; ​

Returning to our "obsession" with John Fowles and The Magus, we did find the school at which Fowles taught. We also followed every Magus lover's fantasy and sought a likely house from the island's gossip that we determined to visit ... actually we didn't get that close but we did get a caique from the port in Dapia ​to Agia Paraskevi and peered around a bit for Conchis' house. We thought we spotted it but it seemed a bit of an anticlimax. What were we expecting? We had been addicted to a work of fiction. After all, we had searched for Camelot the year before!

Above (l-r): every Greek island has an "everything" shop; another of the pretty boats that made Spetses so beguiling; young fisherwomen enjoying the sunshine.

Actually, our first expedition occurred the day before the caique trip. We hired a bicycle each with rear carriers complete with bags for small luggage and set off to circumnavigate the island. This was to be a trip of around 25 km and we were young and fit. It was a hot day so everything other than our actual flimsy clothes went into the bags. Our first stop was at a viewpoint where I must've rooted around in the bag for my camera, taken a picture and resumed our quest for a beach breakfast that beckoned some way further on. 

We found the beach easily enough after an hour or so's pedalling, ordered a sumptuous Greek breakfast and sat down to eat it. I don't know what made me look in my bike bag for my wallet before I'd begun but I did. And it was not there. Everything was in it from my passport to our tickets for the hydrofoil back to Piraeus and all the money we had left for our holiday.

I immediately jumped on my bike and set about searching the road back to where we had stopped. I left Shan eating her breakfast but it turned out she'd lost her appetite and went to explain to the restaurant proprietor what had happened. He was typically Greek in his understanding and insisted that we could return to pay him the next day. She set off in hot pursuit.

In the mean time I was combing every inch of the road back to the viewpoint, where I'd last seen my wallet. She caught me near the viewpoint and we searched the remaining path together ... nothing.

Disconsolate, we made our way back to Dapia and found the police station to report my loss. Nothing. in fact the police were a little contemptuous. I was completely dehydrated and we found a cafe to buy several litres of lemon juice. We both needed it. Me the most. How we paid I cannot remember but it may have been one of those wonderful pieces of Greek hospitality coming to the fore yet again.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): some sort of church - Greek Orthodox?; all over Europe but particularly Greece, the place to buy almost anything consumable; cars all but banned on Spetses; the ubiquitous cat; sharp fellow traveller; Είμαι εγώ; light & shade - Shan does justice to a colourful island; last memories of Spetses..

But luck and wonderful citizenship was on our side gain. We eventually made our way back to our pension after returning our bikes to find a smartly dressed young police officer in uniform talking to the owners at the reception desk. Our hosts spotted us and were immediately energised:

"Mr and Mrs Harrison," they exclaimed, "this gentleman (indicating the policeman) has your wallet."

The sigh of relief was palpable. The policemen was ever so slightly superior and chided us about looking after our things. A Dutch couple had found my wallet and handed it in. Nothing was missing, We immediately asked where we could find them and thank them appropriately.

"They were over here from the mainland for the day and have already gone back," He and his colleagues had had the prescience to ask for details and provided us with their names and temporary address on the ​Peloponnesus. We would have liked to buy them a thank-you meal.

​On our way home via Hydra and Athens.

We had just a brief stop in Hydra (enough to reflect that not much had changed since Leonard Cohen's residence there) on our Flying Dolphin return journey. We arrived in Piraeus at around 2:30 PM with 7-ish hours to kill before our rendezvous with Athens airport and our return flight to Johannesburg. Perhaps the fashions had changed a little in the intervening 9 years since I'd visited previously but much of it remained familiar.

We did have a fabulous last laugh with a German couple with whom we shared a meal after a last canter around the old city.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): the port on Hydra; 1984 Athens street scenes (x2) looking down from the Acropolis with Piraeus in the background; the majestic Parthenon in the afternoon light (actually this is a bit of a cheat because we did the Acropolis and other parts of Athens at the outset of our trip and I combined them here); time to go home;

Above: a typical menu, this one I suspect from Athens, illustrating how inexpensive so many of the aspects of Greek travel were in 1984. The exchange rate fluctuated between 135-150 Drachma to the pound in that year. The Pound was worth an average of R1.44 South African Rand for the year, although the Rand took a pounding in the second half of 1984 plummeting to R2.30 for £1 by the end of year. 

Hearty meals could be had for £1-2!

​We met the aforementioned new German friends when the Athens skies opened and we had to run for cover. Under an awning. They were at the next table and the weather was a catalyst to talk and then share hilarious anecdotes about our respective Greek travels. We also revelled in the cheap Greek beer and wine and had to be vigilant of the time to avoid missing our flights.
​
1987

We'd been staying with Phil and Ali Duff since immigrating to the UK on the 7th of April and were finally closing in on a house of our own in Faringdon. We decided to give them a little breathing space and found a package to the Sporades that could just about be accommodated by our budget with direct flights from the UK to Skiathos.
​
​Skiathos

The first picture below shows Shan being rather cross. Basically, I was demonstrating how to skim pebbles across the smooth sea and one of them stuck to my finger and launched itself after I'd intended it to be released and hit my beloved on the forehead. I have to say the lack of blood or bruising suggests that it was a minor incident but I had to make amends. In the meantime a couple in the background are doing a bit of post-wedding snogging and he's ditched his clothes in anticipation while she seems rather more reluctant.

Above (l-r); Shan's cross face; making friends with the local tavernistas at one of our epic nights out.

The Sporades group of islands in those days were relatively undiscovered but Skiathos had a rather terrifying airport.(still does if Google Maps are to be believed) that starts and ends in the sea. We were able to visit other islands from there by boat. We chose to go to Skopelos, which was unspoiled and magnificently rugged. Round about mid-afternoon on a hot day clouds formed almost instantaneously and it started to rain.

We were half way up the steep hill dropping down into Skopelos town when the rain became a deluge. Fortunately we were able to shelter in a small passage as the water came down the hill in a torrent. In minutes it was raging over the roofs of the cars parked in the street leading down the hill and we were grateful for our little refuge.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started the downpour stopped and the sun came.out and we were able to continue our descent to the waterfront promenade, which was knee deep in water.

Above: Late summer 1987 and we look more like Saffers than Poms ...

Must've been all that working in the Duff garden​ topped up by Skopelan sunshine (in between the rain).

Our penultimate day was spent back on Skiathos. While walking back from the beach at lunchtime, we encountered some elderly Greek locals singing in a taverna in one of the small lanes They were gathered around an acoustic guitar wielded by one of their group. They were welcoming and pretty good singers so we grabbed some vino and settled in. A passing group of Norwegians stopped to listen and were soon also enjoying their drinks. Our Greek musicians played for quite a while before announcing that they were required for an afternoon shift at work. We joined forces with our new found Scandi friends and much later ended up in a nightclub still wearing our shorts and teeshirts from the beach,

I think that it was at sunrise the next morning that we said our "adjøs" and returned our room for a quick nap and a shower before rushing to get our early flight back to the UK. You might recall that our previous Greek trip finished in a similar manner!


1993

​Sometime after 1987 three colleagues and I decided to form an IT company and immediately landed a long-running contract with a department in the UK government. We worked our fingers to the bone to get it up and running and holidays fell by the wayside. Shan eventually raised her own finger. We hadn't had a holiday in years and our baby, Kate, was almost four. Shan got some catalogues in and we settled on a couple of weeks on Paxos just South of Corfu. It seemed less commercialised than Corfu itself and we signed up for a villa, owned by Nikos, in a huge olive grove with a bit of a trek into the little harbour town of Loggos (now Longos). A little closer than Loggos was Marmari Beach which became a favourite of ours for 32 years.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): Kate and me, floating free at Marmari Beach; Shan and Kate conferring; one of many trips to our favourite Loggos restaurant (for lunch this time?); the long trek up to our villa; the sea in the afternoons was always rough (view from our villa); good time for an afternoon kip; back down to town after sunset; the bus squeezes along the front on its 12 km tortuous journey from Lakka to Gaios; the wonderful Dina who looked after us at our favourite restaurant that year; Kate made some Italian friends on the steps of the church on the first night; and then some Ozzie friends a few days later; communing in an olive grove on the water's edge.

We travelled on the bus into the island's Mecca, Gaios, once or twice and also took a boat to the smaller island of Antipaxos just to the South. We were sussing out the boats and were soon waylaid by Captain Biki who enticed us on to his brig for the journey. It was a sunny day and the sea was calm all the way to our destination. The main attraction was Paralia Vrika, a large cove with a gentle white sand slope into the turquoise sea. Perfect for Kate to swim.

We'd just finished our swim when the wind started to get up and we began to search for somewhere to shelter. The next thing Captain Biki came charging on to the beach rounding up all his passengers and started herding us with some urgency to the boat which was in a small inlet beyond the headland defining the swimming bay. It wasn't that far but the sand was soft and we had to jump on to the boat from some rocks once we got there. Biki was agitated.

He steered the boat out into the Ionian and towards the notorious 2km channel between Antipaxos and Paxos. As we emerged from the lee of the former and plunged into peaks and troughs ahead, it became clear that this was going to be an extremely scary mile and a half across the water. Biki, himself, was not particularly reassuring. In fact his suntan had paled dramatically. He dug around for lifejackets and, there were none. We had some pretty ineffectual armbands for Kate but no-one was confident they'd help much. Shan wrapped her in a towel to keep her from the sudden cold. But there was nothing for Shan and me. We had both been strong swimmers at one point in our lives but hadn't really kept it up to the extent that we could feel confident swimming a kilometre in a raging sea.

​Looking at Biki didn't boost our confidence. The boat really wasn't achieving much more than 4-5 knots and that meant our crossing would take at least a quarter of an hour of nail-biting. It felt like an hour.

The relief when we reached the lee of Paxos was palpable. It was as if winter had returned to summer. Biki's colour returned and he dug into a compartment in the bottom of the boat for refreshments. For those of us who could drink beer, it was a riot of relief and verbal diarrhoea. Fortunately Kate was blissfully unaware but Shan just looked resigned to the fact we still had another, albeit sheltered, 7km to go before we could step off on to dry land.

As we put into Loggos, a very worried Nikos was waiting for us. His relief was palpable. He had been worried as soon as he had seen us queuing up to board Captain Biki's boat and had been torn as to whether he should advise us not to go. He hadn't trusted the boat and he'd read the weather forecasts.

We never saw Captain Biki's boat in the harbour again. Not in that year nor during a subsequent visit in 2001. We didn't think much about it until a later visit in 2004 ...

Years later my great friend and seasoned old salt, Robbie Burns, nodded as to the notoriety of the channel between Paxos and Antipaxos, which had been a scary experience for people in much more competent boats than Biki's.

Above: Whatever happened to Captain Biky? Shan rediscovers the boat in July 2004 while walking in a remote olive grove.

We had loved our little villa up through the olive grove and seated peacefully on top of the hill but, nocturnal rutting hedgehogs notwithstanding, we decided that somewhere a bit closer to the town would be preferable if we ever came to Paxos again ...

​And return we did, prompted by the death of our dad, Woody, in 2001.

Above: for a while our aspiration when staying on Paxos - the Manor House in Loggos and associated apartments - with stupendous views across the Ionian Sea to mainland Greece; evening in Loggos bay. ​ 
2001
​
In 2001 Dad (pictured below, seated on the left) died from multiple ailments, including the prostate cancer that had afflicted us both. My sister Cath and I decided to take our Mum to Paxos a little later in the year. It was a place that Dad had always wanted to visit but never had, despite exhortations from a close friend to share in the adoption of some olive trees on the island[8]. He died on the 1st of March, which was the "same" day our brother, Paul, had died in 1990, a leap year [9].

Above: Paul's 1990 funeral at Hilton College - seated - Dad, Mum, Paul's fiancée, Adele and me - standing - four members  of Adele's family, my sister, Cath, holding her son William, my nephew, Karl, and his mother, my sister, Sue;

Shan, Kate and I bagged one of the Manor House apartments in Loggos and Cath, John, William and Alex occupied the ground floor of the Manor House itself. The apartment was well-situated but that was about it. It's probably useful at this stage to rename Loggos "Longos" because that has happened between our early visits to the island and current days.

Above (top-bottom, l-r): at  In Paxos Shan and Kate preparing for the 2001 sunshine, topless no longer (and never again), battleships in the fresh Marmari morning sunshine; Kate looking for shells and pebbles with new-found friends; Mum and me at dinner; Shan and Mum; Kate focussing on her Granny; one of the few Venetian buildings that survived the 1953 Ionian earthquake; Kate in an alleyway that also survived; Kate probably won't thank me for this typical pre-teen caricature.

Our second trip to Paxos was essentially a tribute to Dad who had talked about going there but never made it. We renewed our acquaintance with this lovely island after an 8-year break doing other things elsewhere in the world. I believe Cath et famille were there for the first time and the Manor House garden was utilised by the younger set while we spent much of our time on the verandah drinking beer and gazing out to sea with Mum.

​2004

This time we managed to persuade the Caves (Joanna, Tim, Sophie and Robbie), our great friends and next-door-neighbours to accompany us to Paxos. They rented a house for themselves above Longos and we hit out together on expeditions and every evening for libations and food.

We finally made it to our dream accommodation in the Manor House in Longos and the view (left) was much as it had been in our apartment 3 years previously but there the similarities ended. We had the upper floor which was extremely spacious with a spare room for Kate to share with Sophie when she needed it over our two-week sojourn.

​Shan and I embarked on the occasional serious walk while the others preferred a gentler time, probably on Marmari Beach, joining together in the evening at at the Roxy Bar in the harbour.

​As we were there for two weeks we had several expeditions involving boats. Our main expedition together was to the far side of the island in a larger, skippered boat to visit the caves.

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A picture of the Caves at the caves will show up a little further down but before we go there, we did a lazy-ish familiarisation of the (mainland-Facing) Longos side of the island starting with a 2.5 mile voyage to Lakka at the Northern tip of Paxos. The water in the bay there was so clear there it seemed as if it was half its depth and some of us had a dip and others admired the billionaires' yachts before reversing our journey and heading back past Longos for the 6 mile voyage via Gaios to Mongonissi Beach, where we had another swim in the sheltered azure sea.

The trip back took us back to Gaios where we stopped for a bit before commencing our return trip to Longos. A little shopping may have taken place, accompanied by ice cream. Heading off from Gaios down the narrow-ish channel between Paxos and the tiny island of Panagia we encountered a veritable monster of a Sea Cat motoring towards us at quite a rate, headed for the main port on the island. 

Rather childishly, if not cruelly, Tim and I discussed volubly whether we should alter our course to our starboard to avoid the behemoth approaching us at some speed or whether we could nip through between its ample thighs (hulls). There was plenty of room for the latter but it almost certainly would have got us into a lot of trouble.

Joanna was not amused and so should she have been. I still feel bad about it to this day and my only excuse was that Tim was complicit. What is more, while I'm writing about this beast in late 2025, I can find no evidence of such a vessel existing in those waters, let alone approaching Paxos.

Nonetheless, it happened and I have witnesses. Sorry Joanna.

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Above (l-r, Top-bottom): First three are of  Shan and me admiring the architecture in the early stages of our hike; then there's me half way across the island which has two coastal ridges with a deep and steep valley in between; from our vantage points we were able to snap the two gorgeous but different bays - the first being Longos and the second Lakka (note the clear water that makes the boats appear as if they're suspended); some bigger boats that couldn't make it into the Lakka harbour; there was still a Communist Party HQ on the island, taking me back to the day when I first encountered the film Z and visited Athens in 1975; 5 pictures of fairly remote buildings in Paxos' central valley; it was a hot day on our boat trip along the North-East Coast and these birds had made a sensible decision; Kate got to drive the boat after we'd passed the catamaran to our port side.

The pictures are all a bit of a jumble above because they cover the two expeditions, i.e. the walk Shan and I did across the island and our first boat trip as a complete group. Once we had got over the trauma of the gargantuan Catamaran ship, we relaxed a tad and pulled into a wide bay at Kipiadi Beach, where I think I'm correct in saying that Robbie and Sophie got their first taste of sea "free" swimming.

​Bacardi Breezers were the order of the day after we returned our rented boat to its rightful owner.and retired to the Roxi Bar

Above (l-r, Top-bottom): 5 pictures from our trip to the caves; one from a walk on the hill overlooking Longos bay, showing the ruins of the old soap factory.

​The soap factory had been a ruin since we'd first visited Paxos in 1993 and we always wondered why that prime piece of water's edge had been left to "rot". And then we visited in 2024 ... so take a peek lower down in this blog ...
​
2007

​This was a "girls'" expedition for a week to Kefalonia for Shan, our friend Debbie Beasant and Kate and her friend, the aforementioned Sophie Cave. I wasn't there so I'll leave it to them to blog it if they wish to. Kate and Sophie have been to Greece on many expeditions that didn't involve parents and I have no idea what they got up do. Sophie had been introduced to Paxos in 2004 (earlier in this blog)

2008

Above (l-r, Top-bottom): the main Rou Eastate infinity pool in the early evening with Albania 3.6 miles (AtCF) away; Kate and Shan relaxing with a similar backdrop; our own infinity pool during the first week; plus a hot tub; I get to use the Laurus "plunge" pool in the second week.

This year was a bit of a pot pourri starting off with a long weekend in Lombardy feasting on the sights of Bergamo's Citta Alta and concluding with Christmas with Cath (my sister) in Normandie. For some reason or the other, perhaps because Graham Dyson persuaded me, I also ended up at an old boys' dinner in the Natal Midlands in South Africa.

We had mulled over going to Greece but were looking for something a little different from Paxos and the holiday seemed to be drifting away. And then Shan happened upon a chance in a lifetime.

She had read that a British architect had been busily resurrecting  one of those "forgotten" mountain villages and renovating it to a high level of luxury and environmental standards.

​It was called the Rou Estate and was situated in the hills above the sought after coast of North-Eastern Corfu. Getting there in those days was a bit of a mission and it seems much the same in 2025 if Google Maps are reasonably up to date.

Once you get there it is a revelation and, apart from the lack of a restaurant in those days, it was a temptation just to hunker down. The estate pool was magnificent and the private one we had for the first week not much less so. We had been spoiled with the 6-bed Thyme accommodation and were a little disappointed when we had to move in the second week. In fairness, the three of us had been lucky to get the upgrade and when moved to a smaller place we still had a stonking view.

But we did want to spend some time exploring so we accepted the remoteness of Rou and took ourselves to what the island had to offer: beaches, boating, bathing, (eating and drinking) and exploring the hinterland.

Our attraction to Agni beach was further piqued  when, probably because of its compact size, Kate was approached by brother and sister in the taverna who asked her to join up with them which resulted in her spending much of the reminder of the holiday in their company. Just the ticket when travelling as a lone teenager with fuddy-duddy parents.

Above (l-r): for our first night's dinner we crept down the hill a few miles to a pleasant rustic taverna, next evening and Shan and Kate are enjoying the bayside delights of  Agios Stefanos on an idyllic sheltered bay; Mr Smuggy McSmugface; Agios Stefanos waterfront at night.

​After a few forays to a number of gorgeous beaches and some languishing around the pool at the Rou Eastate we decided it was time to gird our loins and make some forays into the mountainous hinterland. 

Our first visit was to Old Peritheia, which was reputed to be the oldest mountain village on Corfu. There was certainly a collection of places of worship in various stages of repair, some of them still extant.

Left: Kate standing under the bell tower of Agios Jokobus der Perser. 

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Above (l-r): ​the "toyrist" shop ... play on words or ...;Shan and Kate in one of the many doorways that went nowhere; welcome lunch.

It really was a different world up there in the mountains: practically zero traffic and old villages; we were in heaven. The road back to the coast passes a track up to Mount Pantokrator, the tallest mountain on Corfu and reputed to have stupendous views and a getting on for 400-year-old church[13]. I attempted the first bit of the track which was in a horrendous state and there was NO-ONE about. We didn't want to get stuck up there lateish in the afternoon.

Beaches and beach restaurants at Kerasia and Kalami satisfied our penchant for swimming and eating but it was only when we crept down the the precipitous road to Agni that we found our nirvana. A relatively small settlement but with everything we could need. We commuted down there daily from Rou for the last stretch of our holiday and booked the prime-position house right on the beach for the following year.

Above (l-r, Top-bottom): the deluxe arrival at Agni for supper (x2); a curious five master - some reckoned it was a training ship; one of the many beautiful beaches with Albania in the background; once was Lawrence Durrell's house; What is wrong with this photo?.

Did the large boat in the first frame above come from the Rothschild commune and was it bearing Peter Mandelson[14]? We'd been eating out a table away from him in Shepherd's Market not long before. Answers on a postcard vis-a-vis the last photo above, BTW.

​2009

Above (l-r, Top-bottom): at one end of the cove, Taverna Agni; Shan looking smug at Taverna Agni with the village's compact beach stretching out to the other end and Taverna Nikolas; Taverna Nikolas with our two-bedroomed cottage physically connected (note Shan's towel bagging pole position on the beach.

Agni, it would be difficult to beat it. A freshwater swimming pool, perhaps? But that would have chlorine. A bigger kitchen/living area? Who needs that with two restaurants to choose from and a verandah actually right on the beach where the Taverna next door was happy to look after our requirements for drinks and snacks..

We had decided early on, when booking the cottage, to invite Sophie from next door (see 2004 above)  to accompany us as a friend and companion for Kate. That had been a great decision, given the sociability of the cove, and the two young women soon had a côterie of new friends.

Entertainment was provided by passers-by, on the beach and in the water. The latter including swimmers, small boats, medium-sized boats and colossal Ships further out to sea negotiating the Straits of Corfu.

Above (l-r): boats of all shapes and sizes in the bay and in the straits; hanging around at night.

We did occasionally venture out from our beachfront idyll. We undertook another foray to the mountains in the  hinterland; to Old Peritheia; and another day rented a boat to traverse the 3x2 (crow flies) miles from Agni to Agios Stefanos and back. There was also quite a lot of walking involved with a decent cliff path connecting Agni to Kalami via the old Durrell homestead.

It was hard to imagine, even in 2009, that Corfu had only turned up on much of the rest of the World's map in My Family and Other Animals, first published in 1956 and that the Durrell Family would have lived there around 90 years ago, before WW2. 

Of course the place would have gained a lot more fame following the eponymous BBC television series released in  1987 and, even when we first started going to Corfu in 1993 when much of it, together with its satellite, Paxos, were pretty rustic (and many would venture, "unspoiled").
Above: part of the view from our
small villa in Agni.

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Above (l-r, Top-bottom): another view from our villa in the early evening; another view of Agios Jokobus der Perser, this time with Sophie; were they trying to tell us something about the vehicles needed for the Corfu hinterland?; Shan with Taverna owner, Nikolas; me with Nikolas' second in charge; Sophie and Kate with the next generation of taverna execs.

Having the Taverna Nikolas next door didn't just mean food and drink on tap but also typical Greek entertainment. In fact, Agni was the smallest "town" we went to in Greece and seemed to offer the most engaging nightlife. And we were accorded the premium hospitality being next-door-neighbours. 

I'm not sure what day the 13th of August was in that year but Nikolas certainly knew how to throw a party on that night and it would have been rude for us not to attend. And what a party it was, too. Sumptuous food (much of it local fish) and dancing into the small hours.

We did try to venture elsewhere on the island, apart from Old Peritheia and our boat trip to the resorts just to the North of Agni but didn't find anything beyond Agios Stefanos that might entice us further. A trip to the South also seemed to result quite quickly into the types of hotels that we found less enticing.

Agni in 2009, it seemed, was our Nirvana so we ended up staying put with the occasional walk out along the coast. Shan and I stumbled upon a stalled development close to Agni that may or may not have been completed in the intervening 15 years or so. Answers on a postcard if anyone knows all these years later.

Above (l-r, Top-bottom): Shan liked to spend the early evenings in repose on our veranda (x2); Snacks on our verandah, courtesy of Nikolas; Sophie and Kate (being typically Bolshie) at breakfast; Shan pursues her love of binoculars; a party at the Taverna; figureheads on our boat, rented for trips up the coast; dog rescues shoe; Nissaki Beach; stalled development just outside Agni (x3) - wonder what happened to it?; lesson in why not to try and turn one's car around on a gravel beach at night - last picture of 3 calling for help but it was still there in the morning; last sunset in Agni.

It took 15 years for us to return to Greece and its islands, mostly because there was a lot of the rest of the world to see and we jumped off the familiar hydrofoil in Gaios, Paxos with alacrity for the 4th time. Much was familiar and lots was new ...

​2024

Find out about  this expedition in a blog of its own by having a look at
https://www.marksadventures.co.uk/random-blogs-to-be-consolidated/just-one-last-swerve-before-embarking-on-northern-spain 
There are many overlaps between the two blogs in my attempt to provide a comprehensive Greek love affair but I really wanted to highlight the new plans for the Northern end of Longos Bay in this "all encompassing" "tome", i.e. that the substantial corner of Longos bay is finally being redeveloped from being a sprawling set of ruins of a soap factory (the odd pic earlier in this blog) to serious activity to turn it into a luxury resort. While Longos had been quieter and quainter than the other two towns, the scruffy site had been somewhat incongruous. Some might say a bit of an eyesore.

One just hopes that it won't cause the whole town to lose its quaint charm by introducing a level of incongruous sophistication. The company developing it seems to be the one that nudged Rou into an expensive luxury establishment but that estate is in the middle of the hills whereas this one could overwhelm Longos if not managed carefully. 

Above (l-r, top-bottom): at least the chimney hasn't changed; consruction full speed ahead on a new luxury complex (x2); another thing (in Gaios) that doesn't change; others do - Kate about to produce a new generation; Marmari beach has become overrun, even in September!

2026

Not going to happen now with the old Leukaemia (AML). Apart from the limited remaining lifetime (already 4 months longer than medicals' best guess in May 2025) travel insurance makes it prohibitive. I got a quote recently from my longtime insurer, Staysure, for a week in France. More than £600 for a week in France when my annual cover before the AML onslaught had been less that a quarter of that! It's probably nonsensical to extrapolate the weeks's quote to a year's cover (which was no longer even on offer) would be something in excess of £32,000. C'est la Vie.

Also, it was much nicer travelling to the Greek Islands when very few of them had its own airport and the ferry journeys made it all seem more of an adventure and far fewer people felt the inclination to just drop into an island for a week. Even Paxos required (and probably still does apart from the occasional gazillionaire's helicopter) the last leg of the journey from Corfu in a boat, albeit a "Flying Dolphin".

It seems hard to believe but on one of our transfers from Corfu Town to Gaios an enthusiastic Brit and more than competent skier managed to persuade the Dolphin captain to allow him to ski behind the "boat" for the journey. A distance of some 34 miles as the crow flies! That's 34 mph (55 kph) for an hour!!!

The END

​​Any further visits involving yours truly are most unlikely given the state of my health. Those other companions on this journey will probably not be able to resist another flirtation at some stage or another.

[Endnotes]:

1. Courtesy of Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Z_(1969_film).
2. ​Courtesy of Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_junta.
3. https://www.timetableimages.com/ttimages/luxavia.htm has a brief summary of the South African ruse to overfly Africa during the Apartheid years.
4. ​Technically Amstel was Dutch and brewed in Amsterdam (hence the name) but was also brewed under licence in Athens.
5. ​George is a great friend from Durban days, and then in London and even briefly in Liverpool. He persuaded us to visit Athens and meet up with his Mum.
6. Courtesy of Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athens_Polytechnic_uprising ​
7. Only on the beach and only topless!​
8. A signifiant number of the olive trees on Paxos were in groves and individually owned. There was a system whereby the locals harvested the trees and then delivered the olives to the owners.
9. Paul died on the 29th of February, 1992, a leap year.
10. This was a bit of a pattern for us as slightly less disreputable travellers arriving on a new island.
11. Courtesy of Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akrotiri_(prehistoric_city)
12. Nowadays Santorini produces expensive luxury wines, particularly top Assyrticos that sell in the UK for around £40
13. Courtesy of Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Pantokrator
14. Yes

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