The village that time forgot

By LINDA COOKSON

Cephalonia, famous, of course, as the setting of Captain Corelli's Mandolin is the largest of the seven Ionian islands, known collectively as the Eptanissa.

If you're hell-bent on hitting the book-and-movie trail, you'll still find plenty of locals happy to share their guesses at the likely inspiration for the novel's setting. Venture more widely, however, and you'll be wonderfully rewarded.


The island has a landscape that is quite astonishingly varied – as individualistic and as captivating as the Cephalonian people themselves. Cephalonians are famously, defiantly different. The local wine is Robola, not retsina. The local instrument is not the bouzouki but the guitar. And the island itself is full of all manner of geological quirks and surprises. An ancient underground cave known as Drogarati ("home of the dragon") is like something dreamed up by Gaudi – a spectacular subterranean cathedral-cum-fairy grotto, where multi-coloured stalagmites and stalactites ascend and descend like rusting organ-pipes or melting candles. Maria Callas gave a recital here in 1963, when the cave was first opened to the public.


In keeping with its mythological credentials – Daskalia island, just south of the fishing port of Fiscardo, is where Odysseus was ambushed on the way home from his 10-years of adventuring after the Trojan War – Cephalonia abounds in hidden secrets and touches of magic. Hundreds of rare, wild orchids bloom by the wayside on uncharted mountain tracks.
The island's highest peak – Mount Aenos – is home to a herd of wild horses so shy that they're rarely sighted except when gathering to drink water from a spring near a secluded monastery. Even the goats have an aura of enchantment – exotically dark-skinned, with eyes the colour of amber and disconcertingly golden teeth.


With the exception of a brief stretch of development at the rather unlovely resort of Lassi, on the island's western coast, Cephalonia is still remarkably uncommercialised.

Understandably, many visitors head automatically for Fiscardo, a picturesque harbour on the northern tip of the island and one of the few villages to escape the full force of the catastrophic earthquake that brought appalling devastation to Cephalonia in 1953.

With its colourful 18th-century buildings, flower-filled balconies and horseshoe bay, Fiscardo is undeniably lovely. If it has a drawback, it's simply that its very attractiveness – especially to the rich and famous – has inevitably partly de-localised it and leads, in peak season, to overcrowding. At the height of summer, hemmed in by a white forest of yacht masts and with the harbour's fish restaurants packed to capacity, you can start to feel a little claustrophobic.


To experience an equally charming and much less crowded alternative, however, you don't have far to travel. Some 15km to the south-west of Fiscardo, stunningly located on the narrow neck of a peninsula separating two small coves, the village of Assos is a sleepy little harbour with only 85 inhabitants. It has a pretty bay, visited regularly by families of dolphins playing hide-and-seek among the fishing boats, a simple pebble beach, a handful of tavernas and a pace of life that is totally relaxed. The main excitement each day is a cheerful horn blast from the van that brings fruit and vegetables to the village. Assos is far and away my favourite place on Cephalonia. It's the village that time forgot.


If you're seeking romantic appeal in a homely environment, Assos's setting could hardly be bettered. The village is almost hidden amidst thick pine forest, ringed by tall cypress trees and overlooked by a ruined 16th-century castle built high on the peninsula by the Venetians who then governed the island. By day, you can make the hour-long climb to the castle and look down on to a rugged coastal landscape of hidden coves, caves and beaches that are accessible only by sea. One of the coves is inhabited by a colony of rare Mediterranean monk seals. At night, looking up towards the peninsula from the village, you can wait for the magical moment each evening when the sun has gone down behind the castle and pale shafts of moonlight start to stream across the ruins and on to the harbour below.


Assos suffered badly in the earthquake of 1953. But, happily, it escaped total destruction. A scattering of former aristocratic mansions have survived, although – their inhabitants long gone – most have crumbled further into disrepair and become overgrown by outcrops of pears, pomegranates and fig trees. The village's two small churches have been restored – the peach-coloured hill-top church and triple bell tower of St George and, down in the village square, a tiny pink church known as the "Madonna of the Sand" after its former location on the beach. Following the earthquake, the shoreline shifted.


A village square is traditionally the heart of any settlement in rural Greece, and Assos is no exception. Plateia Parisian – "Paris Square", so named because the French contributed especially generously to the rebuilding of the village – stretches alongside the waterfront under a cool canopy of plane trees and silver poplars. Its Kafenion and tavernas are the time honoured gathering place of villagers and visitors alike. The vine-draped Assos Taverna and Taverna Platanos are set back from the waterfront. Nefelis Taverna and the Taverna Nerides look directly over the harbour. All serve surprisingly varied menus, including each taverna's individual take on the island's speciality, kreatopitta or Cephalonian meat pie – a jumble of rice and assorted meats wrapped in a special pastry. I have to admit that my first and only taste of this delicacy produced a decidedly Nicolas Cage moment (the star of the film of Captain Corelli's Mandolin won few fans on the island on account of his reported loathing of Cephalonian food.) But don't let that put you off.


The charm of Assos is its gentle pace of life and genuine community feeling. There are lovely walks to be had, in and around the village, past ancient olive groves, carefully-tended flower gardens and small orchards of lemons and almonds, but the real heart of the village is its people. Adonis, who runs the Nefelis Taverna after years as a seaman and is unofficial guardian of Irma, the village's one-eyed dog, is a fund of stories. So, too, are the tavli (Greek backgammon) players in the Kafenion. "Beware of the goats," warned one of them suddenly one night, apropos of nothing. His friend explained. Far from exhibiting signs of ferocity, Assos's golden-eyed goats like nothing better on a hot summer evening than to saunter down from the mountains for a nice long sleep in the middle of the main road. And in Assos, as in all of Cephalonia, it's important to let sleeping goats lie. It's that sort of a place.

- INDEPENDENT