High life
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Taki
AIsland of Zante everyone who has ever heard of Turkey knows, the Greek world took a nose dive back in 1453, when the barbar- ians breached the gates of Constantinople, in the process killing the last Byzantine emperor, Constantine Paleologos.
The next 400 years were real downers for the Greeks. Thanks to the Ottoman yoke, a people that had given the world what is known as civilisation, science, medicine, drama and poetry — and even selective democracy — ended up missing the Ren- naisance and resembling the donkeys that conquered them.
The only ones who got it right were, of course, those from the Ionian islands, the string of seven off the western part of the mainland facing Italy. The Doge of Venice made sure of it, keeping the hated towel- heads off places like Zante, Cephalonia, Paxos and Corfu. After Venice lost its clout, the Brits took over, making sure peo- ple read Shakespeare and teaching the Ionian Greeks cricket.
When the Ionian Islands finally joined the motherland in 1870, there was great rejoic- ing, but it's been downhill ever since. Zante, or Zakynthos, where my family comes from, gave Greece her greatest poets, Kalvos and Solomos, also Foscolo, as well as (with Corfu) her only nobility. I first visited my father's birthplace in 1962. Gentlemen dressed in white linen suits, ladies carried parasols against the sun, and people bowed to each other in the main square. The town band played Mozart during the evening hours. It was paradise on earth.
Then came the twin bane of civilisation; television and tourism. The young picked up the grotesque habits of the barbarians in Athens, while developing cheap tourism in the form of disco bars and rent-a-motor- bike. The racket is now unbearable, the fumes fouler than the smells of Woodstock.
The reason I'm here is karate training camp. 50 black belts, all sleeping in tents, kicking and punching non-stop every morn- ing. Although staying on board my boat — not the smartest of things to do when fac- ing much younger men each day — I sur- vived the week not only in one piece, but even triumphant on the last day of full force fighting. Then came the best part of the trip. I steamed up to Corfu, met some friends, and slowly made our way back down to Paxos, Lefkas and Ithaca. The weather was perfect and the company even better. In all the years I've been cruising, this was the most successful of trips. And as always when things go well, it got better at the end.
The airport of Athens is among the best in Africa. It cannot by any standards be called a European one. Nevertheless, on a whim, I decided to fly Virgin with my friends. It was the best choice. The Virgin people were not only pleasant on the ground, they were also efficient. On board, they were perfect. The captain flying the plane was Milto Itounas, once King Con- stantine's pilot, later on a senior captain for Olympic Airways. Milto was and is Greece's best flyer, and as charming a man as one can find anywhere. While Olympic has gone broke through overmanning and dodging of fares by civil servants and government bureaucrooks, he has gone from the worst airline to the best.
Now, I, too, am a believer. Incidentally, the female stewards on board were not only pretty, none of them even slightly resembled the first bimbo of Greece.
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