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I am proud to say that shortly the Hellenic Bookservice in London (the largest collection of Classics and modern Greek books for sale in the world) will be stocking a selection of my books. It is the most wonderful treasure trove of books and well worth visiting. http://www.hellenicbookservice.com/

In the alleys squirreled away from the main square, a whole new world of wonderment awaits. Orange, fig, walnut and plane trees proliferate, lending a dappled shade to these labyrinthine ways. In their turn they lead effortlessly to tiny courtyards where washing dances on lines strung between Ottoman-style balconies to a symphony trilled by an orchestra of caged song birds.

A generous review of More Hidden Crete from the Kritsa-based author Yvonne Payne. Kind words from a fellow writer and much appreciated.

As we stroll past the memorial commemorating those who died in the evacuation of allied troops from Chora Sfakion to Egypt following the Battle of Crete in 1941 our ferry, the blue-hulled Neptune, makes its way into harbour.
Could it be the same boat I travelled on from Agia Roumeli when I last visited all those years ago? Surely that was white. Was my memory deserting me? As the lines are thrown ashore and the boat is drawn towards the quayside I notice chips in its dark blue paintwork revealing white beneath the blue. The layers of paint so deep that, like the rings in a tree trunk, they betray the many years served by this trusty workhorse.

As the Northern Cape of AgiosSpyridonas approaches off the starboard bow of the Brindisi ferry, or far beneath the wings of your rapidly descending aircraft, something happens to the light; as if some celestial switch has been flipped, changing everything. You know you have left the rest of Europe behind and are now in Greece.
Corfu is one of Greece’s enchanted triangle of islands which stand sentinel to that country’s archipelago, the numbers of which can be measured in their thousands. It occupies that role on the north-west frontier, as Rhodes does to the east and Crete to the south. But the island is not large. It is not even the biggest in the Ionian chain, that distinction going to Kefalonia some 100 miles further south. But in stature it is a giant, punching way above its weight in terms of its attraction as a destination and its historical and cultural influence over modern Greece.
The creaking resonance of bass notes, the hawsers strain every sinew as the winches reel our ship landwards, lending an accompaniment as something new and vibrant opens up before us. Far astern lie the mannered ways and manicured vistas of Italy as we are drawn, inch-by-inch, ashore to the cheery confusion and careless landscapes that signal arrival at our port of entry into Greece.
It is of little surprise that the town of Kerkyra, like the island itself, is a gentle introduction to the Hellenic world, being the closest Greek landfall to a country that held sway here for so long. That the Venetians contributed their architecture, the French their cafés and the British their cricket and ginger beer is undoubtable, but if life on Corfu seems less chaotic than that on those islands further south and east, the dominant gene is still that of Greece.
As the sun rises on the sleepy capital, the light reaches a level of candescence that shines so keenly it divests everything of all but its essence. It is as if every day you open your eyes for the first time and the world is reborn.

As we drop down towards the south coast our way is blocked by a bevy of goats following their goatherd on his quad-bike and coerced by a pair of stealthy sheepdogs. The bells around the necks of the most recalcitrant ring out a tune that has been played on these hills since time immemorial. The base notes rung by the biggest bells worn by the more indomitable members of this travelling band so they can be identified when they wander from the herd. The melodious tinkling of the smaller instruments sings out from the more harmonious members of the ensemble.

I love Corfu as do many of my friends including the talented author @Effrosyni Moschoudi and am mindful that I have neglected marketing my book about the island Corfu – A Notebook for some time. To try and put thing right it is on offer from now and throughout the weekend for Kindle readers for .99p (or equivalent) here. If you choose to take up the offer I really hope you enjoy the read.

Disused windmills stand sentinel at the island side of the stone bridge in the area now known as Poros. Without their sails they look as though they have been rooted to this spot for all time. Belying their appearance, they were built in the 1920s as flour mills for the local population of Elounda. On the canal a couple of pleasure boats are moored up alongside small caiques, their crews no doubt enjoying a late lunch at Kanali, the wonderful fish taverna perched on the bank of the waterway. It stirs memories of sharing with family and friends a wonderful starlit meal, a huge platter of glistening bream, large pink prawns, crispy fried squid, salty sardines and anchovies washed down with the driest and sharpest of golden wine from iced carafes.

We emerge on the seafront beside Ta Kochilia taverna and opposite the island of St Nicholas, some 250 yards offshore. I think the translation of this is ‘The Seashells Taverna’. It is a perfectly named restaurant in an idyllic spot where the gentle ebb and flow of the waves purrs in unison with a contented grey and white cat asleep on the rocks. This is one of these moments in life where the mind takes a perfect picture, which will never be erased.

Agios Nikolaos is a gem of a town nestling beside the Gulf of Mirabello on Crete’s north-east coast. More self-contained and less sprawling than its larger counterparts, Heraklion and Chania, it retains an effortless beauty, not in the least part aided by its natural location. Looking as though it has always washed its face and brushed its hair, the town sparkles, even on the odd occasion when it rains.