Coming home from my second visit to visit Alison Pilling in her Greek villa on the magical island of Corfu. When she said she was moving out here, it was a bit of a surprise. Now, after my second visit, it looks so clearly like an absolute no-brainer.
I came out here feeling a bit depressed and am returning home brown as a berry, feeling deeply enriched by my time in this exceptionally beautiful place. It’s hard to think of somewhere else that so seems to ‘personify’ abundance. Giant wisteria the size of trees ornament houses and roadsides everywhere. Purple judas trees dot the hillsides in full bloom, lush green trees and hillsides speckled with colourful houses a small pretty villages, nasturtiums and jasmine, roses and lavender, red hot pokers, bird of paradise flowers, crimson bougainvillea, elegant peace lillies, fig and olive and orange and lemon trees, lizards, wild cats, sonambulent dogs who scare no one, not even me, old folk wandering about the villages greeting us ‘Yassass’ as we walk through. (Hello).
Restaurants are starting to open but mostly lavish Greek salads on the patio by the olive press for breakfast in Ali’s garden, radicchio, fennel, creamy feta, local olive oil and freshly crumbled oregano, and eggs.
A gently revolving door of curious smiling characters arriving; new friends to make who already live here, friends from home coming to stay. Cool water morning swims from the shallow sandy beach, emerging bright and invigorated. Sunday morning ecstatic dance at Soundgarden, a wooden temple in the olive groves with indoor and outdoor dance spaces with a Swiss then a Finnish teacher doing amazing sets for the two times I visited. Dancing outside in the sun, rejoining the group inside for the cauldron. Paradise. Then down to the beach for fresh orange juice and lunch with others before an afternoon nap in my blue shuttered bedroom with it’s views of village, mountains and sea.
Every day more. More rest, more rest. But also walking, starting to discover parts of the Corfu trails. Paths through olive groves that feel like hobbits should be walking through them on some great pilgrimage, or maybe they already have… the sense of centuries of quiet footsteps and devoted care of these lands. Sparkling bays with bright yellow beaches and azure seas. Restaurants, restaurants… salads and spicy baked feta, fresh fried sardines, calamari, stews, peppers, aubergines, courgettes, taramasalata, tzatziki, olives ad infinitum, moussaka, amazing apple pies, perfectly passable wine…
The delight of being welcomed into other people’s homes, people from all over the world who have gravitated to this place to make it their place… getting to discover their tucked away little paradises, down tracks, their renovations, the red sunsets from their gardens over the islands, the red dawn from my window at Ali’s as the sun rises over the mountains of Albania just across the Ionian sea beams its first rays into the Corfiot valleys.
The old Venetian capital of Corfu town, with its elegant Italianate style, well Venetian, winding pedestrian streets, conscientiously avoided ice cream shops and fine museums. Bags of history.
Wildflowers everywhere. A landscape of walking trails not yet enough discovered. Searing heat and fresh mornings. Cloudy days and cool evenings. Alison graciously welcoming all who visit and quietly noticing what they need; rest usually at first. Then connections. Meditation in the old olive press.
Invites to saunas and yoga and singing, community farms, foraging walks, dinners on the decking in spectacular settings. Sensitive, welcoming people, each gently bubbling with vulnerability and generosity. The promise of hot summer festivals.
Can’t imagine I’ll be back, or what on earth possessed Alison to move to this awful place! Joking. As each day has passed, I have grown to love this place more and more.