Like a couple of hunting eagles we take to the skies – above our map – or tablet. Scour the landscape below. Hunger sees us soar. Need to fill those empty grey cells. Satisfy our souls. Only the best pickings suffice.
Day 25 sees us touchdown a wingspan or so from the town of Delphi. The once Greek centre of the world. Camping Appolon now the centre of our world for the next two nights. Perfectly positioned. In comfortable walking distance from the museum and famous archeological site. Tomorrow’s excursion.
Unusually, we don’t walk off today’s drive. Instead, indulge ourselves. An hour’s table-tennis obliges nicely. Our rallies longer than usual. Then we realise the table is longer too!
The small village of current day Delphi an equal mix of shops, cafes and high street hotels. The season hasn’t really got going. Lots of preparations in progress in all quarters. Opening night looms and all props and players have to be ready and word perfect.
The museum and what’s left of the ancient sanctuary don’t disappoint. Although our entrance price does. We become bitter and twisted like a couple of gnarled wooden-tops. Miss out on half price tickets. No ID with us. Can’t prove we’re as old as the hills we’re standing in. Mrs Jobs-worth rules OK? Grrrrrr-eece!
The museum’s immaculate display of fascinating artifacts leads us through the ancients’ timeline. English translations appreciated. Their craftsmanship at its best. From miniature . . .
. . . to lifesize . . .
Through delicately painted earthenware . . .
to stunning use of goldleaf
We round the day off going our separate ways. Mrs S to lap up the remaining day’s rays, poolside. Mr S has had his eyes set on a top-side cave since arrival. He wants to go feral.
The sixty-five minute climb not straight forward. Underfoot mainly loose scree. Creates a roller-skate effect. The spiky gorse and kin don’t help. From the knees downwards I’m being severely exfoliated. They’re starting to look like they’ve been open fire roasted. Sections split like a baked potato. Wisely (for a change) I’m wearing tough gloves.
The climb is worth it. Spectacular view the reward. Take five to cool off. Call Mrs S with a hopeful question. “Can you see me?” . . . silly question!
The down is tricky. Decide to utilise my knowledge of sailing skills. Tac this way then the other. Try to lessen the slope and it’s pull. Zig and zag. Think I’ve mastered it. Become over confident. Don’t take care. In an instant I’ve switched disciplines. Become an unwitting competitor in a World Cup downhill. Seriously lose control. Didn’t anticipate entering the ski-jump competition too. As a last gasp adopt the snow plough technique. Guaranteed to slow. Learned and used only once before – when I was thirteen. Almost does the trick. Feet fly. Luckily I don’t. Come back to earth. Backside takes the brunt. Should be painful. It isn’t. Check my back pocket. Ouch! That’s gonna hurt my other pocket soon enough.
Nearing base camp I’m greeted by my next of kin.
