Parga - Lefkada Greece - the mainland, 40 years later

The moon crests the hill behind Parga

It's been a very long time since I was on mainland Greece. A lifetime ago. I remember Athens, more particularly Piraeus port, dark early mornings straight from the airport, slices of aubergine and minced loveliness coated in bechamel the consistency of stiff boarding school custard, queues for ferry tickets and the blissful escape to the islands, so much better than I remember the mainland.

There's a dim memory of a coach across the Corinth Canal, but where I was going and who with, is lost in time. I suspect it was booked on teletext.

Forty years later and we are in search of exactly half of the same thing. Vine covered tavernas, a beautiful bay, a beach, fresh fish and lazy semi-drunken afternoons in the shade, the evening Sirtaki music and traditional Greek dancing in a hidden square.

The other half, the 18 30 club hotels, the Disco Inferno, the late night hookups, the fry-up and pint for breakfast, followed by nauseated mornings drenched in factor two Ambre Solaire smelling of coconut, garlic and stale fags, are no longer on the agenda.

Exactly half of me is pleased at this realisation, exactly half of me misses those innocent pre-mobile phone, pre-AIDs, pre-E, pre-mortgage, pre-reality days.

But time waits for no man, and it's been years since any sort of sunrise vigil was conducted without a cheeseboard and fine red wine! So get a grip, Mick.

We have a week in August, and are frantically in search of that illusive taverna afternoon. A chance conversation at a daytime sixtieth birthday party (where else would we go now?) threw up mainland Greece as an option. Parga, specifically.

I glanced at the map and thought that, because of its distance from Athens, the trip would naturally involve a ridiculously long coach ride through winding mountains, sick bags, and a full days travel. The world has changed dramatically. So why do I behave like a Catherine Tate character, shrieking with surprise, when I find things have moved on?There must be a psychological term for this?

BA fly from Heathrow to Preveza, and although it was an early start, by 2pm we were in our hotel in Parga. Had we set off from Windsor at the same time, with the school holiday traffic and impossible parking, we would be lucky to have been in the Gurnards Head in St Ives by then.

I had heard of the Lefkada area of Greece but never considered it before for a short break. It really is an option. Our pilot apologised for a 20 minute delay on the runway, but triumphantly announced arriving 20 minutes before we were due, less than three hours in the air.

Forget Dubrovnik, Hvar, or Santorini. Lefkada is open for business.

Of course it's school holidays here in Parga too. Many locals also head for the coast. But this definitely isn't anywhere near as busy as it's near neighbours Corfu or Paxos.

Also, Parga is absolutely stunning. It's Dimitri does Disney-on-sea. And with a car, there are countless quieter beaches, inland villages, and secluded areas even on a Sunday when 'everyone' is out.

Mrs NHSontheRun doesn't like the expression Dimitri does Disney. She feels it's not clear that I like Parga. I guess it could mean manufactured, and of course it is, with its beautifully lit hill top castle and off shore islands. It is intended as a compliment in this case, to the effort shown to fulfil my fantasy brief of Greek seaside town with all modern luxuries included.

Day of arrival we ate at Zorba's. FFS! We arrived starving. How can BA justify literally a shot sized bottle of water and a half sized protein bar as acceptable outbound grub? Zorbas front of house grabbed us physically from the street. A taverna so authentic that there was a life sized mural of that most Greek of all leading men, Anthony Quinn, (born Manuel Oxaca in Chihuahua City Mexico), adorning the wall. However there was nothing Central American about the grilled sardines and octopus we were served. Absolutely Delicious.

We greedily chugged down their free lemoncello at the end of the meal. Emboldened, I thought it was appropriate to comment that an ouzo would have been more authentic. They responded, not by dragging me out into the street and pointing across the bay where on a good day Puglia is just visible, but by delivering two large ice cold ouzo's. Efcharisto poly!

Our hotel is also fabulous. Hotel Maistrali, central, pretty courtyard garden, great breakfasts (yoghurt, fruit, honey, nuts and berries - of course!), balcony view over the bay, and attentive, amusing staff. Their greatest achievement is their generosity dealing with my pathetic attempts at Greek. Today when I asked for an iced coffee without sugar, I said: " freddo espresso scato " they kindly gave me an iced coffee without sugar (sketo) rather than an iced coffee with shit (scato). I am not sure I could have been that generous!

I've also been treated, at Golfo beach taverna to the best slice of solid bechamel topped moussaka witnessed by man since Piraeus 1984. An absolute triumph.

I have sat in Tavernas so perfectly Greek that Senõr Quinn himself could have danced in sideways and no one would have spotted his Mexican accent.

As times have moved on it's important to remember that trying too hard is one of the cardinal sins of the food industry. The Yard, just 30 meters from our hotel came highly recommended, but fell heavily into the seriously trying too hard category. Don't go unless slightly tasteless tuna tataki, or slightly over-dry veal loin are your thing. Certainly don't drink the wine. House white is what you are after.

This is turning into a proper travel blog so I'm going to have to apologise and and sidle out dancing to the strains of Sirtaki. It's hard to say anything is too Disney once you realise that the Sirtaki dance music was actually written for the film Zorba the Greek in Hollywood.

Parga is well worth a visit. It's Hellenic/Ionian perfection, mixed with Mamma Mia, Hercules and Zorba the Greek. George Michael was being blasted out in the square as we came home for an Ouzo and honey based nightcap tonight. Kalinychta.

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