With no knowledge between us of the Byzantine Empire, we set off for a half-day history lesson. Learn something new. Uncover the mystery of the Mystras.
History was never my strong point at school. Gave it up at the end of the third year. A final year exam mark of 14%. A rather flattering result – from zero revision. I remember making up the most absurd answers. Inventing my own version of history. Just to be funny and annoying. Thought I’d go down in the school’s history books. Not good enough however. Got pipped. 7% from another classmate did!
Camping Castle View Mystras lives up to its name. We can see it from our pitch. Even if it’s a twenty minute uphill to the entrance.
We stop half way. Mrs S needs to make a point.
We walk what’s left of the old town. It’s a fascinating labyrinth of streets and alleyways. Interconnecting the three heirarchal levels. Plebs left outside the bottom layer. Our guise safe for now.
Our return to site takes us back through the small town. Past garden gates. Each with a dog or two on full alert. Senses in full scan mode. Ready to vocalise their presence. Snarling, snapping, slobbering jaws. Eager to show us who’s king of their castle. Further on, another set of eyes – or rather just the one – clock us. Let’s hope he can’t tell the time.
The sun returns. So we round the day off nicely. An hour warming by the pool. Until it becomes too irresistible. I go ruffle it’s surface.
