Last minute beach holiday ideas in Greece

A seasoned traveller, travelbite writer Daniel Barnes, decides to try something different… with a package holiday to Greece.

As summer ebbs away I headed of to Greece in search of a haircut.

I last had my haircut in Dubrovnik. That was a year ago. The barber was located on one of the lesser shopping streets in the old town. He - aged anywhere between 65 and 85 - sat at the back of the shop and smoking with a woman who could have been either his wife or mother.

He continued smoking as he cut my hair. Without my glasses I really couldn't see much, but as I strained my eyes to make out photos I could make out army officers, which have been him or a son in the communist or Nazi forces.

Elsewhere it seemed he had smoked in that barber's shop for the last 50 years through revolution and civil war. Dust covered all surfaces.

But the results beat those of even my Holloway Road barber, or those I get in Krakow.

Flying out to the island of Kefalonia on a package holiday, my plan was to explore the island – famous to some as the setting of Nicolas Cage's Captain Corelli's Mandolin - relax a bit on the beach and get a hair cut.

Being on a package tour we ended up in the tourist town of Skala. It appears the town was created just to take cash out of people's pockets.

A new town – with Roman remains – built around hotels and tavernas with a range of identical menus.

While this means there is lots to spend your hard earned cash on, there are no hairdressers. The owner of our hotel – pitying me in my task – offered to shave my head.

A cut too far for me. So the search went on.

We drove up the coast to the small port of Sami. Sami is as far away from the tourist trap as you are likely to get on the island.

There is a line of restaurants along the harbour, but mostly shops seem to be for the locals. A shame it's a bit of a dump.





But my search for a hair cut continued. Sami did have a hairdresser - but her lunch hour lasted until six that evening.

So we headed to the beach in Antisamos Bay - what coming to Kefalonia is all about.

As green mountains in three directions dive into the water, a small white pebble beach is trapped in the middle.

The treacherous drive along the usual island roads added to the sense of reward as we narrowly avoided crashing down the cliff like a villain from a 70s cop show.

The true joy came from heading underwater.

Before the bottom of the sea followed the decline of the mountains, I was swimming with endless shoals of fish. All sizes and colours.

My initial anti-package holiday panic dispersed among the fish, the shoals of young beautiful people (not the resort obese types, chain smoking their way to a tan), and the marvellous view all around.

No bars here with pounding Europop, just the slight whisper of a breeze like a young lover's breath and the waves tapping against the shingle.

Across the island there is the famous Myrtos Bay, however, it compares poorly to Antisamos.

Our tour company rep explained Myrtos was one of the ten most photographed places in Greece. She did not explain how this is measured.

Perhaps the Greek authorities take notes on all photos sent for processing and have some strange deal with Microsoft to check digital archives? Who knows?

Myrtos Beach from above is amazing; towering green hills, silver sand and azure water.

But after the twists down there you find overpriced sunbeds, a crush for parking, a crush for space and some of the dearest cans of coke in Greece.

I was last in Greece ten years ago when they still had the drachma and everything was so cheap I came back with more cash than I left with.

Perhaps my cynicism is fuelled by the fact that, with the euro, it is now more expensive than London.

After a brief visit to Myrtos – up and down the road - we moved on to Assos. The small village lies under a Venetian castle on the opposing isthmus. Although expensive, the harbour is not choked by tourism - despite the Italians hiring apartments sneered down at us on the beach.

The drive down is again dangerous, but this is why the village is so cut off and special.

The only sounds I can hear as I lay on the stony beach tapping into my iPod Touch – writing this – was a father making motorbike noises at his daughter in the sea, an English boy telling his father he has caught a fish and a concrete truck reversing down the mountain from the castle.

Some pigeons coo in the background, a dog barks and some Greek builders are arguing (not doubt over how long lunch should last).

My girlfriend - lying in the sun - asks me the time. I reply: "Two o'clock in England."

She smiles as the time doesn't matter.

I try to change into my swimming shorts under the towel and am now going to swim. In the water I met some more fish. Assos has no barber though.





Driving back to the hotel and simultaneously trying to avoid going to the hotel – packed with those Brits who see a holiday as an excuse to drink around the pool all day and all of the night, swear at the children, ignore the beach 20 metres away, and turn red – I deliberately drove passed the new Skala and into Old Skala.

As I drove up to Old Skala I expected a village destroyed by the earthquake. A few signs directed the car to an amphitheatre - worth a note.

Suddenly a restaurant appeared with views over the bay to the next island and menu that wasn't the same as every other restaurant.

The food was great and view amazing as the sun went down - ameliorated by a goat running into the terrace not herded away by unbothered staff.

But still in the distance I could hear some Europop – and strangely Marilyn Manson. A strange mix - and a reminder of the resort life, dancing and cocktails not too far off.

The next day, still in search next of a haircut, was Lassi.

After being quickly disappointed by the town built badly around a couple of beaches – where I was hit by a tennis ball – during a game of what seemed to be hit-a-tennis-ball-hard-at-an-English-tourist-and-run-away-when-he-gets-angry.

Outside Lassi lays the Gentilini vineyard - a small outfit with just 50,000 bottles a year - where the onus is on quality (quite a contrast from Lassi).

The owner - Anne-Marie - was shocked when we revealed we had been drinking house white on the island.

"If you are going to drink something uncorked - don't. Just have beer instead. You don't know what they put in it. It could Bulgarian bought for 50 cents a litre."

Despite being tired by a coach visit and the end of the harvest, Anne-Marie took us around the 25-year-old empire (started by her father). It is worth visiting just for the smells of the fermenting wine.

The grapes are slowly fermented to bring out as much taste as possible - like a stew, as Anne-Marie explains: "You can cook a stew in half an hour and it will be done but not taste of anything.

"But of you simmer a stew for a few hours all the flavours come out. It is the same with wine."

The attention to detail at Gentilini extends from the organic vines to the oak barrels imported and only used three times - meaning 0.33 cents of the price of one of the reds is just the barrel.

But the reason anyone goes on a wine tour is the tasting.

While Gentilini is about getting wine right it is not stuffy.

Anne-Marie explains some reds are perfect for chilling a little and enjoying with pizza and friends. There is one concern though - Gentilini may in trouble with distributors as they are running out.





We drive on as the evening sun makes everything seem rosy - perhaps the wine was taking effect - to the castle at Kastro.

More breakneck corners, some startling reversing and we made it to the castle.

Formerly the capital under the British and previous French occupiers, the castle of St George holds a grand position.

Unfortunately heavily damaged by the earthquake that hit the island in the 1950s, there is still plenty to explore and let imaginations run wild.

A couple of bars were also on hand to spark the imagination with some more with a beer.

Now it seems the hill top village of Kastro has forgotten it has a massive castle and has gone to lunch. No barber.

So as my petrol tank emptied, and the impending doom of jamming myself into a package tour flight home in a seat that makes Ryanair seem capacious, I headed to the capital of Argostoli to find a barber.

Didn't stay long though as the town is a bit rubbish.

So I return to London with long hair last cut in Dubrovnik, but a great holiday and a great taste of Kefalonia.

Daniel Barnes