Detour #276: Motoring Through Mythology in Kefalonia, Greece
Ben Barry takes a road-tripping, beach-hopping Detour to Kefalonia – land of Greek myth and a Hollywood flop.
Located off the Western Coast of Greece, Kefalonia is the largest of Greece’s Ionian Islands and something of a paradise for road tripping beach lovers – not least because its fantastic roads criss-cross an interior rippled by seismic activity and almost always lead to coastal beauty spots, world-renowned Myrtos Beach among them.
Our plan sees us experience both today.
We land at Kefalonia airport, then haul our luggage 100 metres uphill to the car rentals lining the only road that services it. Peak summer means prices are predictably high at £45 per day for a hatchback, but it’s an unpleasant surprise to draw a 15-year-old Mk2 Focus from the hire-car tombola (I reject it a day later and get a six-year-old Mk3, so don’t be afraid to stamp your feet).
Myrtos is our first destination, with our Airbnb host suggesting we swerve the busier coast road and instead head inland, making our way north east from Dilinata to Divarata. Excellent advice.
Leaving behind small villages, we climb into the hills on a route that flows with the topography like a high-tide mark – to my right sheer sides carved from rock, to my left a strip of Armco and panoramic views out to the Ionian Sea beyond.
There’s a lovely organic flow to driving here, few junctions to look out for, minimal traffic and excellent visibility. Just beware that these dusty roads are always slippery, wet or dry. The road eventually wends downhill to the small village of Divarata, where a small if well-signed road spears off to the left, soon plunging downhill between two mountains like a waterslide to the electric blue sea beyond.
No wonder this spot was chosen for scenes in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin – the nicely shot if patchily scripted 2001 John Madden film based on the 1943 Massacre of the Acqui Division, when the German military executed thousands of Italian soldiers. The bloodshed didn’t happen here but it remains hard to reconcile Kefalonia’s grisly past with the tranquil paradise stretching out before us.
You’re unlikely to have Myrtos to yourself. We first see parked cars at the switchbacks that give commanding views over this 800-metre-wide strip of sand, but there are spaces right next to the beach if you’re lucky, and no charges when we visited and plenty of room to relax by the water.
We take a while to wander this crescent of white sand and pebbles (don’t forget your beach shoes), then get some respite from 34-degree heat in the calm blue waters that lap at the shore.
A few hours later we’re back on the road, crossing a narrow strip of land and heading south down Kefalonia’s east coast, looking out over the sea to Ithaca, the island home of Odysseus (the chap who somehow convinced an entire army to climb inside a large wooden horse, tricked the opposition into thinking it was a ‘trophy’, then took an entire city – a use-once-and-destroy tactic if ever there was one).
Anyway, after scooting through Sami, we make our way to Antisamos Beach, another gorgeous pebbly crescent that also starred in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. If the narrow access road suggests isolation, it’s actually a pretty lively spot with clubby music pumping from numerous bars and sunbathers lined up on the (often free provided you buy stuff) loungers. Not for shy and retiring types, no, but Antisamos does have a nice vibe, its clear blue waters make for some spectacular snorkelling and by the time we eat at 5.30pm, the crowds have long since dispersed.
The final leg of our journey sees us loop back towards Kefalonia airport on Greek National Road 50, a lusher forested route with sweeping turns that’s just as enjoyable to drive as the road we first set out on. Parachute me into here and I might guess California.
As we get navigate our final miles downhill to the airport, the sun hangs hazy in the sky, knocking definition from green tentacles of land that stretch out into the glassy Ionian Sea beyond.
In this land of Greek myth and Hollywood critical flop, it’s been quite the odyssey.
Home to the legendary Bathurst 1000 race, the Mount Panorama circuit in New South Wales is actually a public road.