Blurred Footprints

 Blurred Footprints

Sfalassa Bridge on the A2
Mediterranean Motorway, Calaria

    There are bridges and then there are bridges.  Italy is famous for its bridges, many known worldwide, especially the famous among Venice’s 391 bridges.  One in particular, the Accademia Bridge, made of wood, was built almost 100 years ago and meant to be “only temporary.”  Looking south, a drive from Calitri all the way to Reggio-Calabria, where you can catch a ferry to Sicily just across the Strait of Messina, for example, is a showcase of modern Italian engineering genius, meant to be permanent.  The Calabrian terrain is extremely mountainous, especially along the coast.  Its exceptionally precipitous geography kept people apart and isolated in little coastal hamlets for centuries.  The advent of highway construction in Italy’s deep south changed all that.  You can now emerge from a tunnel, shoot across a bridge, and seconds later enter another galleria (tunnel) bored into a craggy mountain without slowing.  I’ve noticed that some interludes out in the sunlight between tunnels are so brief that it’s hopeless to get a GPS position update.  It is a reasonable trade for it avoids the need for a nose-bleed serpentine descent to the valley floor, far below, followed by a curvy climb back to cruising altitude.  Toward the end of this highway system, you can easily see across the watery gap of the Strait of Messina where for years a bridge, a little over two miles long, has been proposed and re-proposed all the way back to ancient times.

Turning to the opposite coast, imagine a bridge-tunnel network across the Ionian Sea, say from somewhere near Otranto across the Strait of

A Giant Musk Boring Company Drill
At the Las Vegas Convention Center Loop

Otranto to Albania.  Over thirty times the distance across the Messina Strait, now that would be a bridge.  Impossible?  Well, although not as long or as deep, it was done across the English Channel (32 miles) and the Chesapeake Bay (18 miles), so why not?  While Elon Musk’s SpaceX aims at Mars, his Boring Company is building high-speed tunneling drills.  It may be impractical, but remember, you heard it here first!

What is fascinating and little noticed, is that Italians name their bridges.  In fact, they go to the trouble to post a sign at each bridge with its name, along with the bridge’s length in meters.  I’ve no

Typical Italian Bridge Signage

idea why, especially with the cost involved, but there they are, posted to either side of bridges over every river, creek, and chasm.  I presume the trans-Ionian Sea crossing I envision would be deserving of such a sign.  But everywhere else, couldn’t the money be put to better use?  Is there a powerful sign making union out there somewhere?

We’d been in Italy for about a month.  It was getting time for a road trip, off to somewhere we’d not been before.  Without the bridge-tunnel we needed, and ignoring an overnight ferry, we first headed west to Naples for a flight before we could head east to nearby Greece.  Our sights were set on Corfu, Corfu Town on the island of Corfu to be exact.  Absent Venice’s canals, we understood that Corfu’s architecture with balconies galore, its warrens of narrow alleyways, shady back streets and tiny squares full of bars, eateries, and pretty shops

Brindisi to Albania/Greece
Not Too Far at All 

are straight out of Venice.  There is an explanation for this.  Venetian rule of Corfu began in 1386 AD and lasted 411 years until the dissolution of the Republic of Venice by Napoleon.^[3]  Over that time, Corfu was heavily seeded with Italians who are known as the Corfiot.^[1]  In the 12th century, the Kingdom of Naples sent Italian families to Corfu to rule the island.  Then, from the 4th Crusade of 1204 onward, the Republic of Venice sent many Italian families to Corfu.  These families brought Italian ethnic and linguistic heritage of

A Kingdom of Venice Flag
Hangs in the Street of Corfu Town

the Middle Ages to the island.^[1]  In 1386, Corfu voluntarily became part of Venice's colonies and remained so until the late 18th century.  With such an early and enduring presence, it’s no wonder that to this day there is an indelible Italian imprint on the character and culture of Corfu at all levels.  It begins with the name itself, Corfu, which is an Italian corruption of the Greek word for crests, koryphai.^[1]

We wanted to find out for ourselves, so in mid-July we headed off to the Mayor Mon Repos Palace Hotel in Corfu Town.  It was certainly not the best time to venture off being as hot as it was in Italy and no telling how hot in Greece but clinging to the hope it had air conditioning and that it operated, we drove to Capodichino Airport in Naples.  We’d worked to keep our baggage to a minimum, somewhere just above wearing bathing suits the entire trip.  EasyJet doesn’t make it ‘easy’ as their name tries to infer.  There is a cost for everything … à la carte seats, down to costs based on dimensions for in-cabin and in-hold baggage.  They slice and dice everything.  I wondered if it is to make up for pandemic losses like everyone was into.  

Maria Elena, the Easy Jetsetter
Gets Aboard

But then, if I recall, I think they were always into ringing out their customers shy of going upside down to shake the last Euro from their pockets, like a roller coaster ride.  “This is the Captain speaking, sorry for that turbulence back there folks, but today’s in-flight special is a seatbelt promotion for only €25, that’s a 20% discount!”  I looked for a standing option since it was only an hour flight, but they haven’t figured that one out nor your lung capacity to charge you for the air you might want to breathe.  Am I being too sarcastic?  We’d soon see.  

It took an uneventful hour and a half drive to the airport.  We arrived early to an overcrowded terminal.  I guess it’s to be expected in the stampede of the mid-July tourist season; By August, Italy’s cities would be abandoned.  Thankfully, it was also icy cool inside which helped to quickly wick us dry.  There was no real EasyJet check-in.  We were supposed to have printed our boarding passes at home.  We’re lucky to have Internet, but a printer too!  That will have to wait.  So, we downloaded our tickets to our phones.  It seems to work for our daughter at Dunkin’s when she pays for her coffee with a QR code scan, and it worked to get us through the security scanner at Capo.  As for those poor souls with baggage to check, they were in a queue that terminated at a luggage self-service robot, that when properly stroked with the correct button pushes and scans, ejected a tag for their luggage.  We were glad we didn’t have to take that tech course.  The flight was quick, about an hour.  I spent what little flight time there was fiddling with the seat trying to get it to recline only to learn this Airbus model did not offer this luxury, even for an additional cost.  Thankfully, we hadn’t far to go, just across Italy and then those hundred miles or so of bridgeless water.  No sooner had we leveled off when our descent began.  This was well before I could finish my Moretti “guy in the green hat” beer.  With no baggage to wait for and not a customs checker in sight, we were outside in a flash negotiating with a taxi driver who had been born in NYC.  Twenty eight euros became 15 and we were off.  Come to find out, though Greek, he had no Italian heritage, but I had to start somewhere. 

Our arrival welcoming was extra-ordinary.  It began right at reception when Spiros, who we

The Mayor Mon Repos Palace
Hotel, Corfu

would learn was the bartender, materialized from around a corner with flutes of cold, sparkling Greek wine.  This was followed with keys to an enchanting, third-floor front room with a balcony overlooking the sea with mainland Greece off in the distance.  If their plan had been to impress us, they certainly succeeded.  We were convinced of this within thirty minutes of our arrival.  Minutes later, now in our room, I responded to a gentle tap at our door to meet Alexandra.  She presented us with a fruit plate and a cake that wished us “Happy Anniversary.”  I’d mentioned this was our anniversary trip when making the reservation and they’d remembered.  From then on, the treatment we received from everyone was outstanding including little Efi (Effrosyni) who worked at night outside in the patio Passaggio Bistro, and the ever caring sisters, Iris (Irida) and Isavella who

Efi's Realm, the Passaggio Bistro
by Night 

exemplified warm, concerned hospitality.  In command of the front desk, we came to rely on Katerina, who over our stay couldn’t do enough for us, and who on her own, just might account for one of the stars of their four star rating.  This service-centric care extended right to the kitchen staff.  I chatted with them by rubbing my belly in an attempt to communicate how much I’d enjoyed the moussaka.  This resulted in big smiles of approval.  Welcome to Venetian Greece.

We were quickly off on our first expedition with some taverna tips from helpful Katerina.  By then it was late.  We checked out a few places as we walked down a nearby side street.  The songs of cicadas, thousands of them I’m sure, was deafeningly persistent.  I’m convinced their legs shorten by the day.  An area bordering the sea, hemmed either side by roads, sheltered outdoor garden restaurant after restaurant.  From their kitchens, just across one of those streets, a steady shuffle of their servings, carried aloft on a panamana or what might be described as a large cutting board with handles, kept patrons well supplied.  We successfully maneuvered as far as the Demitri restaurant where we finally yielded to their front man, Paavo.  Paavo should be granted an honorary degree in marketing for his ability to oil you into his garden of gastronomy.  He reminded us of the men outside the Ischia Port restaurants enticing you to join them instead of a neighboring establishment.  It turned out that Paavo was half Italian and half Greek.  Just imagine, what luck and it was only my second try!  Whether that had occurred well in the past and he represented a true Corfiot descendent or whether he was of a more modern 

Welcome to the Paradise of Gaios

extraction wasn’t clear.  Yet too young to be interested in his heritage, by the time I’d finished my milk colored ouzo, I was pretty sure Paavo’s cultural puzzle was a false positive.  

Corfu and a few other islands form a small archipelago.  The real white sandy beaches and clearest waters lie further south, especially on Antipaxos.  Neighboring olive covered Paxos is charming with quaint harbors like Gaios, its capitol, that emits a relaxed, bohemian vibe.  To see it we island hopped there on a day long cruise that calls for a three hour boat ride each way.  I began to understand why I hadn’t joined the Navy.  I was curious, however, enough to want to know why one island, Antipaxos, was ‘anti’ the other, Paxos.  To us ‘anti’ meant against.  Didn’t they get along?  It was from our waiter, Thason, at the Manesko restaurant (meaning ‘Street’) in Gaios that we learned that here it meant ‘ahead’ or a ‘short distance apart’.  One island was just ahead of the other.  That resolved and now ashore, I began to wonder about food.  I sometimes wonder why food, transformed into leftovers in the refrigerator, can taste better the second

Still Some Moussaka Left When I Thought 
About a Photo but Dangerously Low
on the Alpha Beer

day.  Maria Elena attributes it to what she calls ‘wedding,’  Like me, she never took anything approaching organic chemistry, but she speculates it is an overnight ‘wedding’ of molecules, like what happens to wine over three to six months in an oak barrique or cheese molding in a grotto.  Thankfully, while the miracle happens much faster in the frig, it was not the case for the surprise meal we happened upon, thanks to Thason.  He was right that his mother’s equivalent to lasagna , moussaka, right from the oven only hours earlier, would prove to be the best I’d ever had.  I found something else special on Paxos.  After hours bobbing along like a buoy, the many milliliters of the local Alpha beer I ingested, just shy of an intravenous injection, proved a lifesaver.  As for Thason, he proved to be a pureblooded Greek right out of central casting for The 300.

Days later at La Boca in Corfu Town, we met a Maltese man named Christos.  He operated an all-day coffee and wine bar.  It was early, still hours

The Corfu Godfather's Lair

before the evening tourist rush, so he had time to chat with us.  We figured our best chance to find the pedigree we were after was where Italians might congregate, someplace like an Italian restaurant.  He suggested that we forget about either of the Italian places next door to him, and instead go to Il Vesuvio.  With its owner named Mimmo (short for Domenico) it boosted my hopes of realizing my quest.  Had I hit the jackpot and discovered someone of true Venetian extraction?  Talking with Mimmo later, my hopes were dashed when I learned he was a more recent transplant.  An expat from Naples, he identified more with the Cosa Nostra criminal organization then the Doge of Venice.  In fact, he insisted I go across the street to a veritable shrine he’d created to The Godfather, right down tr portraits of the major characters.

By this point I realized that my cohort and I were on a rather fruitless Don Quixote style quest.  As was his pursuit, ours was truly quixotic, a rather romantic attempt to achieve the unachievable.  It

Street Pavers Typical of
Venetian & Roman Roads

was about as futile as

Symbolic of Venice, a Fishtail
Capped Building Gets a Facelift  

an endeavor as that bridge I’d conjured spanning the Ionian Sea.  If my search was to continue, I needed to broaden its scope.  If not the Confiot themselves, then how about their trappings?  Their shadows lay in what they had left behind.  Like those Italian bridges with their signs, here the signs, bridges to the present, were evident throughout Corfu Town.  This Italian style mix of Gothic, Byzantine, and Islamic architecture, so indicative of a once flowering trade empire, remain distinct in its appearance.  Sitting outside a corner café one afternoon at a high-top table by a broad piazza in the labyrinth of Corfu’s streets, we were surrounded by shadows of evidence.  At our feet lay the distinctive pavement they’d once traversed.  Nearby, tarps shielded a tower under repair capped by

One of Many Venetian
Style Wells

fishtail shaped merlons especially indicative of Venetian rule.  Across the street, imposing building after building along with colonnades reminiscent of Saint Mark’s Square echoed a timeless, recurring Italian design.  On our bus ride from town back to our hotel, the old Venetian fort with its towering walls hosted an additional symbol of Venetian majesty, a winged lion.  Like Venice’s Rialto Bridge or Rome’s
Pantheon, all these remain.  They represent a look back to classical times and add reasoning to why Corfu serves as a UNESCO World Heritage site, where cultures mix to this day.^[2]  Even at our stop on olive covered Paxos the once Italian influence was evident in its Venetian-ear town hall.

Today Corfu Town is a hive of tourist activity and new construction.  Although a growing tourist destination that is stretching its natural resources, heavy traces clearly survive of its vibrant Italian past.  For Maria Elena and me, Corfu 

Blurred Footprints

will forever remain more than an island, a testament to more than tzatziki, ouzo, and moussaka.  Yes, it has all those plus Neapolitans like Mimmo, at least one Italian taxi driver born in New York, and a waiter, Paavo, of mixed heritage.  Could it be that Italians are coming home to Greece and Corfu?  After all, beginning with the Magna Graecia in the 8th century BC (well before there was a Venice), adventurous Greeks were colonizing the coastal areas of southern Italy (Calabria, Apulia, Basilicata, Campania, and Sicily).  Culture, even absent a bridge, flowed both ways to create an Italian-Greek legacy built on blurred footprints.

 

From That Rogue Tourist

Paolo

[1] Corfiot Italians

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corfiot_Italians#:~:text=In%20the%2012th%20century%2C%20the,Middle%20Ages%20to%20the%20island

 

[2] Old Town of Corfu

https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/978/

 

[3] Venetian Rule of the Ionian Islands

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venetian_rule_in_the_Ionian_Islands