Methana

Methana is nearly an island.  It is mountainous, geothermal, the confluence of multiple geo fault lines, beautiful and virtually unpopulated.

Methana has beaches, harbours, hot springs, cafes, tavernas, homes, olive groves, terraces (lots of terraces), a few hidden away small fertile valley pockets of farms and orchards, and at this time of year wild flowers and lots of blossoming fruit trees.

Methana is incredibly rocky and nearly all over terraced with rock walls in every little bit that someone might have tried to grow olive trees or other food crops on over the centuries. Some are still maintained and support olive trees of various ages. Many others are looking neglected as the struggle of humans to survive in the most inhospitable parts has been abandoned in favor of more fertile (or less shaky) undertakings. Because of its convergence of fault lines, Methana wobbles a bit when the earth's crust under it rumbles. This feature of Methana doesn't seem to concern a human who grew up on 'The Shakey Isles', but there is no denying that Methana is comparatively underpopulated, and apparently under visited.

We drove from that narrow neck that connects it to the mainland to the main town - also known as Methana. The street that defines the edge of sea and land is a picture of decaying grandeur and faded luxury. One or two modern hotels are in evidence but they are modest and fairly unassuming. The quayside at this time of year is not crowded with competing cafes bars and eateries filled with tourists and holiday makers. 

We passed the now closed and crumbling bath houses associated with the Sulphur Hot Baths, and which were probably the main attraction in times gone by, checked into our little hotel apartment and went out to find coffee for humans and a place to sit in the sun.

Mr B consulted Gurgle again and told us he'd found the top rated local place to eat in tonight, so after the sun set on our cafe seat we wandered off to do a recce (find it, check out what it looks like),  and then strolled through town until F got distracted by an Alpha sign. 

Alpha means beer to humans.... for me it meant staring down an army of local cats until the beer was gone and it was dark enough to complete our stroll, depositing me back in the room to guard the heating while my humans went out to fetch my grilled chicken. 

I always order grilled chicken.

It took them ages and they came back smelling of sweet wine and chocolate cake and carrying half a bottle of ouzo....

...but they had the grilled chicken with them. They confirmed the taverna was indeed worth every point in its rating, and more; and they still don't know what it was called. How daft is that?

The chicken was good though.