Shaded by an olive tree

It's not as hot as I thought it would be, but the sun reflecting off the Sea of Korinth is intense. It's good to take a break from sunning my lily white, Northern Canadian shoulders.

Our self directed touring brought us to a small sea side town, Diakofto.

Everything was picturesque. The sun lit up the most intimate corners of cafes that were shaded by the twisted branches of leafy trees.

We stretched out on a pebbled beach with not a soul in site. The wind had picked up a bit, but it just made the strength of the sun a bit more bareable. I can't imagine how hot it gets mid-summer. I think I'd wilt.

Ceileigh immediatly threw herself into the cobalt blue wake. I stupidly had forgotten my bathing suit. After ensuring that we truly were alone, I stripped off what I didn't want to get wet and threw myself into the water.

We let the waves push us back on to the beach and we sat and took in the intensity of the mountain range across the water. The range of the Southern Coast of mainland Greece definitely gives the Canadian Rockies a run for its money.

As always my stomach began to sing. It was lunch time. So we made our way through the village in search of a place to eat. Local highschool students were playing volleyball on their outdoor paved court. We finally came to a taverna with deep windows and retan furniture and in indoor/outdoor fireplace.

We sat back and greeted the waiter. I expected him to pass us menus.

"Come and see," he said.

We followed him into his kitchen in the back. There we greeted his mother, the cook, who had to be in her early 80's. She wore a midlength black skirt and a white blouse and apron. Her salt and pepper hair tightly pulled back into a bun. She smiled at our limited Greek phrases and pointed to the industrial sized pots that were waiting on the cooling stove, covered up.

Her son lifted each lid and explained what each dish was in his clear, but broken English.

I chose the cabbage rolls in lemon sauce.

We had Greek Salad and our chosen meals from the big pots. I still can't get over how fresh the tomatoes are. Here each salad always arrives with a giant rectangular piece of feta that you have to break up yourself over the salad. So fresh. So tasty.

The cabbage rolls was the right choice, but a few hours after my body punished me and everyone else around.

After lunch we took a road up to a remote, mountain top village, which has turned into a skiing village for wealthy Athenians. But one side of the mountain is where the traditional village life still remains.

The roads were very narrow and weaved tightly between the cobblestone homes with wooden shutters. Some of the buildings have toppled and remain in a ruined heap.

There was a sombre tone to our visit here in Kalavryta. We wanted to see it knowing its WWII history. In 1943 the Nazis attempted to occupy this tiny village, 40 kilometers above sea level. When the villagers resisted on Dec 8 the Nazis violently took the lives of all the men who lived in the village. They then moved all of the women and children into the school house that overlooked the valley. They were to be burned alive. But is was at the hand of one brave Austrian Nazi that all of the women were spared and were able to escape.

Such dramatic overtones for such a tiny place.

But life has marched on for Kalavryta, where locals love to talk to visitors like us, even when we clearly don't speak Greek.

As we carefully weaved our way downward to leave the village we made room for an elderly woman walking up hill, leaning on her wooden walking stick. She was closely followed by a sheep and a goat that looked to be twice her size. We waved and smiled not expecting a response. We received the opposite, she paused, waved and beamed a friendly, toothless smile.

We weaved our way down the switch backed road way to make our way back to Rion.

But I'll forever remember that Kalavrytan smile.