Wednesday, 27^th April, 11

We left Lastovo at 8 am for the seven hours voyage back to the mainland and the Neretva River delta. The crossing was uneventful except for the sighting a lone common dolphin that came to say hello, rode our bow wave three times and then peeled off to explore other diversions. This interested me I have read that common dolphins are no longer seen in the Adriatic. The sea was mirror calm so the boat was steady and I managed to get a great deal of work done while underway.

By the time we anchored off the delta, the weather had turned cold and rainy even so we decided to try to explore the delta by tender. A closed lock gate barred the entrance to the channel but when we arrived exactly at 5 pm the gate was opening as it does every hour on the hour. No sooner had we negotiated the small lock than the rain started to fall in big heavy blobs, so we scuttled back and pleaded with the keeper to let us retrace our steps. He let us through and rather sheepishly we returned to the warmth of the mother ship.

I called the contact number I had been given for the bird watching guide that had been booked. I had been trying all day to reach the man and finally I spoke to a woman who promised to get him to call me. After some hours he had not called back so I asked Victor to call him for me. The man was brusque to the point of rudeness and seemed entirely disinterested in helping; he said that the man who was meant to take us out tomorrow was sleeping – this seemed an unlikely excuse. Eventually, and after much cajoling, he arranged for a guide for tomorrow at 3 pm. On calling this guide we found that he speaks no English; I think we can manage with a bird book if he points out each species. This saga illustrates the rather negative and uncooperative attitude we have encountered to date. I think it must be a hangover from a state run economy where no one learns to be customer focused or how to deal properly with clients in a welcoming, friendly manner; their attitude seems to be, “I don’t care either way”.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

At last, a brighter and warmer morning so we decide to make another attempt to go up river in the tender. This time we take Viktor to translate. He is such a great find, charming, smiling and helpful at all times. He tells us that he prefers to be a Croatian in Croatia and a Bosnian in Bosnia. The first man we encounter, fishing from his traditional wooden boat, won’t talk to us on camera. His reason being that he was formerly a Captain in the Marines. Apparently many former soldiers have been taken by the police and extradited to The Hague to stand trial for war crimes.

Derek, ever the bold one, stops the boat and talks to a gnarled old lady standing outside her house on the riverbank. She has a characterful face, deeply crevassed and ancient looking; she seems eager to talk to us – that makes a change. She tells us that she farms mandarin oranges and indeed there are orchards all along the riverbank; neat rows of trees on square plots separated by drainage ditches. She informs us that before the locks were made the banks flooded regularly in winter making farming difficult. Sadly, the effect of these drainage schemes is to spoil the riverine marsh habitat so important for young fish and for birdlife. The only birds we are seeing are herons, an egret, a moorhen scuttling into the reeds and a small bird with a very loud song perched high on a waving reed.

Eels come up river in November to spawn and are netted with great nets strung across the river. The young elvers hatch in the spring and when they are big enough they migrate thousands of miles across the Atlantic Ocean to the Sargasso Sea, only to return to their birth river when they too are of breeding age.

We just got back to the lock in time for the twelve o’clock opening. As we were about to enter the lock, I saw a snake swimming close to the boat and, from its zigzag markings; I knew it was clearly a viper. Viktor identified it as a horned viper, a common but very poisonous species. It disappeared in a flash, swimming in serpentine fashion back into the reeds.

At three in the afternoon, our guide Drazan appeared to drive us around the delta and to look at birds. He came with an ornithologist who spoke no English. We drove up onto the hills overlooking the patchwork of Dutch-style polders, sections of reclaimed marsh that our now salt free and lie just below sea level. The roadside is still a blaze of colour from broom and salvia. From up high, we got a great panoramic view of the wide expanse of the delta interspersed with islands of jagged limestone boulders and banks of reed beds.

Our bird guide proved to be knowledgeable, able to identify everything with its Latin name; otherwise conversation was limited to mutterings in Croat that were unintelligible. Among the more interesting sightings were a little bittern, black winged stilt, ten Avocets and the sound and sight of many raucous great reed warblers that vied for dominance from their reedy cathedrals all along the river bank.

We are taken to some electricity pylons and atop two of them we see two dead Eagle Owls, a pair that had been electrocuted where they had perched simultaneously on two adjacent pylons. It was angry making to see two such magnificent birds killed for the want of a better-designed pylon. The birds were able to touch the wires and the metal frame of the structure simultaneously thus bypassing the insulators.

We saw locals paddling their traditional river skiffs, some now fitted with outboard motors. Whenever we see an interesting character, we stopped to chat. An elderly lady that we spied fishing with a reed pole greeted us with a broad smile on her weather-beaten, leathery face. She was wearing an old grey skirt and a stained flowery smock, on her head, a floppy fisherman’s hat. She quickly removed the hat to show off her new blue-rinse hairstyle of which she was so proud. She chatted away with Viktor translating thrilled that she might be on TV. At the end of the piece Timot asks us to leave in the boat so that he can film us going. The lady was visibly alarmed thinking we were leaving Timot behind. I told her that he was on special offer for one day only.

Mon, 25^th April

The crossing from Korcula to the island of Lastovo takes three and a half hours. It is the most westerly inhabited island of all those in the area and was a base for Tito during World War II when he was the leader of the communist partisans. The land is little touched by any signs of cultivation and there are no abandoned terraces. We see a few goats roaming on the hillside but little other sign of life either human or animal. The sea is clean and clear and, where there is shade, colourful yellow sea anemones and brick-red algae bloom. The overcast, chilly day does not inspire us to film much although we admire the pristine maquis covered hillsides and the forests of Aleppo pine higher up the slopes.

Apparently the last recorded case of vampirism in Croatia happened on this island. In 1737 there was an outbreak of a deadly diarrhea that the locals blamed on vampires.

Tuesday, 26^th April

We woke to a dull and overcast day also cold with no sunshine to warm our bones.

There is little to see or film on this strange island of Lastovo. The guide book tells us that there are many raptors here but we have not seen any. The bay is surrounded by wooded hills with a few modern houses clustered around the quay.

We take off in the tender to explore a sinister looking bay with the remains of watchtowers and abandoned industrial buildings. It must have been a secret naval base under Tito; the island was closed to visitors until 1988. The caved-in roofs and the abandoned tunnels dug deep into the hillside are eerie and a bit scary. Inside the well-made tunnels are many long-legged cockroaches that look a bit like spiders. Captain Tim was rather scared by them but then he is a bit scared of the land but fearless at sea.

Viktor tells us that his grandfather, still alive aged 95, was imprisoned by Tito for seven years just for daring to express the mildest criticism of the regime. He spent the time breaking stones on some offshore island but still doesn’t know which one. He was blindfolded and just shipped away. The West’s view of Tito as a benign old communist at odds with the horrid Stalinists is far from the truth. His may have been a less stringent form of communism economically but it was just as cruel and ruthless a police state as any of them. His image was ameliorated by film of this avuncular gentleman entertaining gullible Heads of State and film stars such as Bob Hope on his luxury private islands of Brioni and Sveti Stefan.

Bruce is running out of food, so he is glad we are heading back to civilization tomorrow.

Sat, 23^rd April

Mljet Island, off Dubrovnik.

After some initial confusion about where we were meeting, we finally connected with our lady guide provided by the National Park. She was a rather dour, unsmiling Croatian lady still nostalgic for the days of Marshall Tito. She was pleasant but unenthusiastic and had almost no knowledge of natural history, something extraordinary in a park guide, I thought. As there was only one road into the park and we were in a taxi, her guiding skills such as they are, were never put to the test.

The island is beautiful and well wooded having been a possession of the Benedictine order for some centuries; they forbad the cutting down of trees. We rambled along the shoreline among the maquis and stands of Aleppo pine then took a short boat ride to an island in the lake where the ruins of the monastery stood.

Once back aboard, we had a delicious dinner and I think we all had a little too much wine. Lizzie’s request for “just half a glass” became a standing joke as Derek refilled her glass for a second and third time.

Sun, 24^th April – Easter Sunday

We have just anchored off Korcula about a mile from the walled old town. It took us a while to complete the procedure and it was nearly 10 am before we finally got ashore. We hurried with all the camera equipment through the gate in the city walls, up to the church at the top of the town. No sooner had we established our position outside the church when the bells started pealing and the clerical procession arrived for the Easter service. It was a filmic opportunity not to be missed and we made it with a minute to spare. Timot, the cameraman, is brazen; he gets right in front of the procession and films close ups, then he goes inside the church and films the Roman Catholic service inside.

After the church service we explore the beautiful old Venetian town and then at one o’clock, we wave goodbye to Alex and Lizzie Catto as the jet away on the ferry to Split.

Ragusa - Dubrovnic

Friday, 22^nd

We have arrived at Porto Montenegro to take on duty free fuel. Things start to go wrong, the re-fuelling takes longer than we expected; eight tons of fuel take at least two hours, so we can’t get underway until nearly ten in the morning. The voyage would normally take about five hours, we had planned to leave at 9 am and arrive at 1pm. Now its looking like we will be in Dubrovnic at 2 pm. Things go from bad to worse; at about midday we are enveloped in a thick sea fog, at one point we can hardly see the prow of the boat from the wheelhouse, we slow down to five knots – half speed. We are within quarter of a mile of the city walls and still can’t see it. We nudge gingerly around to the back of the town to the main port where we must go to clear customs and immigration. We finally dock at nearly 4 pm. We wait for an eternity while Tim goes through the port arrival formalities. As we have to be in Mljet Island tomorrow at 10 am to meet our guide, it seems that we will hardly get to see Dubrovnic – a great disappointment. We are meant to meet our “fixer” here but he can’t get past the fenced off enclosure. The locals certainly take their time stamping our passports and issuing us with our permits. At last, at about 5:30 pm we are free to leave and our fixer meets us with all our paperwork and itinerary details for the guides and places we will be filming. We make a fast pit-stop to buy local phone cards and then head for the old town.

To our surprise the town is bathed in beautiful evening light while out to sea a white blanket of fog hides everything except the tops of the offshore islands; they seem to float amongst the clouds.

We loose no time in climbing the many steps onto the old city walls and are rewarded with some stunning views and excellent low evening light, Tim our cameraman, is in ecstasy. As we walk around the fortifications, I tell Derek something of the history of the city-state of Ragusa as it was known; an Italianate independent city state from 1386 until it was ended by Napoleon, that destroyer of sovereign states both small and large, in 1808.

The city roofs show evidence of the massive destruction in the recent war. Only a few lichen covered old roofs remain among the brand new red tiles.

The fortifications are impressive; a fact that helped to preserve the independence of this tiny state for over 400 years; the city government, made rich by the trading merchant princes, used its coffers to bribe and pay ransom in order to remain free.

As the light faded and the twittering swifts headed for their roosts in the eaves of the houses, we head down from the walls to join the throng of strollers in the lamp lit old streets of the city.

The beautiful bay and town of Kotor

Thurs, 21^st April

We have just arrived in the beautiful bay of Kotor in Montenegro. Sadly, our time here is now reduced to just 24 hours as we are running behind schedule. The port agent has just come to see us and has told us about the many bureaucratic obstacles; we need a cruising permit – cost Euros 420 – and apparently this is not obtainable here but only in Kotor and after 1pm and we are not permitted to cruise in these waters or leave the boat until we have the permit. If we anchor close to Kotor we will be charged Euros 100 per day and another Euros 100 after midnight for the next day. This is not a great welcome and seems so authoritarian and unnecessary.

Eventually, with formalities completed, we go into town. Kotor is at the head of an arm of the inner sea lake and is a beautiful small town that dates from 9^th C. For most of its history it was a Venetian possession, an important port and safe haven for their trading galleys as they plied to and from the near east. Rising above the town far up the steep wooded hills behind, are the old walls. They zig-zag up the hill looking like the great wall of China. They meander for well over a kilometer and rise up hundreds of meters. We climb some distance in the heat of the day and look down on a magnificent view of the bay and town below. The mass of ancient fortifications and the red tiled roofs look just like Dubrovnic.

We are surprised half way up by a large snake sunbathing on the path; we identified it later as a harmless European Glass snake, a type of slow worm. Once we reached the shore again, I sat down on a bench in front of the city walls and although I didn’t see it, another snake wriggled between my feet and slithered off into the bushes behind me. No one managed to get a photo, so I couldn’t identify it but Alex Catto was convinced it was an viper of sorts. I think the Roman’s might have taken this as a sort of omen but of what I’m not sure.

Albania and Kotor

Mon, 18^th

We tried and failed to get an export stamp for the camera equipment that we bought in England; so we can’t reclaim the VAT; we wasted over two hours first thing. Meanwhile the crew went shopping for food on the grounds that not much worth eating will be available in Albania.

Our guests, Alex and Lizzie Catto, arrived straight off the aeroplane just in time to join the boat before we left on our first adventure. Alex, an old Cambridge friend, is tall and grey with a craggy intelligent face. Lizzie is rather shy and charming and a dear sweet friend. We crossed the Corfu channel in flat calm to a point not far from the southern border of Albania. We are heading for the delta of the river Thiamas; a wildlife area famed for its flamingoes and pelicans but the main channel is poorly marked; the river has a very shallow sandbar at its mouth.

The Cattos stayed on board and slept, they were very tired having left home at 2 am. We took the tender to the mouth of the river and found the white stick that is the sole marker. The river mouth was strewn with dead trees and debris and we were unable at first to find the way in and got stuck in the mud many times. Derek stripped off and towed us over the bar.

Once inside the estuary the channel deepened. We saw some flamingoes in the distance but only gulls, swifts and sandpipers close to. It is a dull day and the weather has turned very cold; my hands are cold and numb.

On the left bank among the reeds, I spotted a large brown shape that at first I took to be a cat but I quickly realized was an otter; it slid silently into the water and swam along the shore. We got quite close in the tender and the creature didn’t seem that perturbed by the noise of the engine. It looked like a log floating but under power, after a short while it dived. We saw two more of the creatures and were struck by their large size and how unconcerned they appeared to be by us. After a while cruising up this jungle-like river with tall reeds on each bank, we felt we had to turn back as Capt Tim is keen to get to Saranda in daylight – there are no proper charts in these waters. We were tired and cold by the time we returned to the warmth and comfort of Kalani.

We were greeted at Saranda by a bevy of officials who were all unusually polite and helpful. The reason soon became clear. Our contact here, Arni Tare, is an important local politician and clearly a man of influence. He arrived rather late to welcome us having attended some local political meeting. He and his American wife, Nancy, are coming to dinner on board.

Bruce excelled himself with the food he really is an excellent chef. Arni is a very tall man, I judged him to be 6’3’’ at least but as he said he is shorter than King Lecha. He was a fascinating guest having been brought up here under the Marxist strongman, Enva Hoxa, and apart from a few spells abroad has lived here all his life. He is a forceful man of about 45 who exudes power and confidence. He is involved with an American underwater archaeology project; no doubt we will hear more of this tomorrow. The boat concerned is owned by an American who lives in Key West, a town I know well; we saw the boat in Malta and had a tour of her and her expedition equipment that includes an underwater vehicle. The boat can remain geo stationary while not at anchor by using thrusters and GPS to maintain a position – something that is helpful when doing marine archaeology. They have a license to explore this coast from the government and Arni said that he could have supplied us with the results of their own surveys to use as charts.

He is very taken with Alex Catto and his concentration and attention is mostly directed to him. He is fluent in English with no accent. His height, and nearly bald head, give him an imposing appearance. He answers his phone a number of times at dinner; either a sign that he is rather rude or perhaps he has important and urgent matters to attend to. He is open, charming and friendly. He is kindly coming with us to Butrint tomorrow. He was Director of the Butrint Foundation until he fell out with Jacob Rothschild, the major donor. Arni has given us some ideas for things and places to see that are not well known or easily accessible; it seems his name will permit us to cruise into places normally off limits. I am not sure how happy Capt Tim will be, he is rightly nervous of these uncharted waters.

Tues, 19^th.

Saranda, Albania.

Arni Tare comes to collect in the morning to take us to Butrint. He comes in his 4x4 with a taxi in tow to take the others. He drives us the long way round the lake to Butrint through the green Albanian countryside. The towns here are not a pretty sight with uncontrolled urban sprawl and square concrete houses many of which are unfinished.

We go to a small village inhabited by Albanians from the north, all Roman Catholics unlike Arne who is a Sufi Muslim. They are also half as tall as him. The locals now make replica mosaics painted onto wood and pebbles to sell to tourists at Butrint.

He is the most genial and hospitable man and friends it seems with the many locals that stop him en route. The wild flowers are in bloom, mostly the same species as in Corfu. We see a raptor riding high above us but I’m not quick enough with the binos to see it well. I see a tiny Scops Owl alights on a post, it is the owl of Athene and the symbol of ancient Athens. We are lucky to see this nocturnal bird in broad daylight. The distant views of the lakes below and the green hills in the distance are magnificent and Timot gets some great shots on file. Butrint Park is only half an hour away but two hours elapse before we get there.

The site is on a hill that is almost an island with the river on one side and a lake on the other. The area is well wooded and enjoys a view of the sea not far away across the marshes. Inland lies a patchwork of water meadows and a long low hill topped by a settlement of recent date.

Arne gives us a tour of the complex site; it has many layers from Greek through to Venetian and the site is impressive being well wooded and nearly surrounded by water.

The settlement dates from Illyrian times; then the Greeks came and built a shrine; the place was full of snakes and snakes were the symbol of healing, hence the caduceus the staff with snakes twined around it is the modern symbol of medical doctors and pharmacies. As such it became a place of pilgrimage, an ancient Lourdes. A hostel was built and then a theatre; the site remained sacred into roman times and in the Romano-Christian period a baptistery was built with a beautiful mosaic floor and a Byzantine Basilica much larger than seems to be justified by the modest surrounding settlement.

Outside the main enclosed sanctuary area there are Venetian period buildings and a Palace of Ali Pasha, the Turkish ruler of this part of Greece and Albania at the time of Byron and Edward Lear. Lear stayed here with his boyfriend, the aptly named Lushington who went boar hunting in the hills while Lear sketched.

On the journey home we took the shorter coast road. We were shaken by the uncontrolled development of badly built and designed houses, many either half-built or fallen down, that has produced an urban blight and ugliness on an unparallel scale. At least the area surrounding the site of Butrint has been preserved from further encroachment by the establishment of a National Park and its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Wed, 20^th

A day at sea; this will be our longest cruising passage from Saranda up to Montenegro. The distance is about 160 nms, which equates to about 18 hours cruising. We plan to arrive in the very early morning tomorrow.

The passage up is calm for us experienced sailors but our guests feel a little queasy because of a rolling swell. The coast is mostly clear of buildings as the high mountains fall sharply down to the coast with little or no flat land and few roads. Some of the tallest peaks still have a little snow on them. The coast has cliffs, caves and tiny coves with sandy beaches that I would love to have time to explore but we must press on as we have a schedule to maintain.

An abandoned village; Big Band Day; the mummy of St Spiridon

Sat, 16^th April

We awoke to a rainy and miserable day cold and clammy with grey cloud cover.

We decide to make it a day of filming indoors, so we re-shoot the opening sequence where we introduce ourselves, and the expedition’s quest, to the viewer. With each passing day we both become more relaxed and natural in front of the camera. Next we talk to Amber about her marine biology and her experiences on a local fish farm, she has been coming here ever since she was a baby – what a wonderful place to grow up in.

Derek and Timot go down the hill to the old olive press to shoot an interview with the engaging young man who makes olive wood furniture and bowls. I stay up at the house to write my blog and answer my emails.

Derek and Daphne want to take us up into the hills to an abandoned 18thC village called Old Perithea apparently there is a good place for lunch there and the place itself is interesting.

After a good but simple lunch we emerge to find the weather has cleared even if the temperature is still very cold. We decide to shoot some of the picturesque derelict village and its hidden setting in a deep valley. The almond and Judas trees are in blossom and the hillsides are a mass of purples, off-white and yellow. The scene is a capriccio of fallen stones with verdant hills rising in the background dotted with patches of colour from the flowering fruit trees and yellow broom. Wild grasses lie at the feet of the old stones and in amongst the grass are wild flowers, Verbascum, Asphodel, mints, Euphorbia and Jerusalem Sage. I was reminded of a flower painting by Klimt such was the haze of spring colour. The sage has almost finished flowering up here whereas it is still in full flower down at the coast – the opposite of what I would have expected. We notice a quince in blossom as well as a ground cover of scentless mayweed. We are delighted that we decided to stay and film, the place is a visual treat.

Sun, 17^th

Today is going to be a whirlwind of activity; it is Palm Sunday and the day St Spiridon, the local patron saint, is paraded through the streets with all the local dignitaries of church and state. We get Alex to take us into town as we fear parking will be impossible. We arrive in time to meet Derek and Daphne. Derek walks us through the town pointing out the most important features and telling us some of its history. The town looks and is Venetian 17^thC and 18^thC with crowded narrow streets and winding alleys. The main square has a cricket pitch left by the British and a fine promenade made by the French in their brief period in charge; it is a replica of the Rue du Rivoli in Paris. We learn about the eccentric Brit, Lord North, who had vile personal habits, dressed as a ancient Greek, and did many good works including founding the Ionian Academy. These Islands were under Venice for four hundred years until Napoleon extinguished the Republic in 1798. Most Venetian possessions, including Corfu, became French. Their period in charge was short. The British defeated Napoleon for good in 1915 at Waterloo, so Corfu became British until 1864 when The Ionian Republic was formed; it lasted for about 50 years until Enonis or union with Greece occurred.

We walked though the square and into the old fort that commands the town and the harbour. It is an impressive array of military architecture mostly from 18^th C but there is a fine 17^th C canal dug by the Venetians to provide a moat for the castle and its towering rock base. They kept their cavalry here and we were shown the exercise paddock between the outer and inner defensive walls. We stopped to linger on the drawbridge while Derek regaled us with funny stories of friends and prominent Corfiots. At last we came to the castle outer wall and looked over into a small harbour surrounded by a stone jetty; it was here that the Venetian galleys stopped in safety to re-provision and take on board the precious Olive Oil for which the island is famous. Derek proudly drew our attention to the stone posts at the outer edge of the jetty and he told us that he had noticed that they were of the same exotic stone as the remains of a Roman Temple that had been excavated nearby. It seems the Venetians had robbed the temple of some of its columns and used them as piles for the harbour wall.

As we left the fort, the massed brass bands in their military style uniforms were lined up ready to start the parade. The youngest bands go first followed by the next in seniority until the band that is the oldest – about 1840 – proudly marches just ahead of the Greek Orthodox Archbishop surrounded in a cloud of incense that made me sneeze and he marches or rather strolls in front of the canopied silver reliquary containing the mummy of St Spiridon. St Spiridon although dead for hundreds of years has an armed guard of sailors to accompany him. The parade ends with a phalanx of local worthies and politicians for whom the parade is a three line whip. Timot weaved in and out of the parade taking close ups of the players and of the many and varied hairstyles of the younger men. The uniform of each band was different; each team has its own colours but common to all was a Ruritanian camp military theme stuck somewhere in the early 19^th C. We them repaired to a noble house on the main square where a private party was in full swing. A rather upset Daphne greeted us and told us we were very late and many of the important guests had already left. We explained that we were caught up in the parade and entranced by it visual and auditory excesses. There was so much good food provided by our hosts Mario and Tassi Paipet that I was rather alarmed to discover that our next port of call was a restaurant and a table of twenty odd people all of whom expected to eat a large Sunday lunch. The food was so good that we did manage to sample most dishes – best of all was the cuttlefish and spinach.

After lunch and hardly able to walk, we repaired to the Johns’ flat in town to meet the beautiful Rosa Cappon, a Corfiot opera singer. She was such a sweet lady and volunteered to sing some early Greek opera songs for us. It was quite clear that her feminine charms were working their magic on us all but especially on Derek Johns who was clearly rather taken with her. The day ended appropriately with a drink on the roof terrace of the flat looking over the tiled roofs of the town, hearing the bells pealing and watching the swifts dive and dart after the evening flush of insects, twittering all the while and flashing past us to end their day with a sudden headlong flight into a wall or guttering where they have their nests.

We decide to get up early and film the dawn breaking over Albania but it is a misty and overcast day. It’s a 5:45 am start; we drive through the dark on empty roads for forty minutes from Gouvia where the boat is moored to Kassiopi in the North of the island. The dawn itself was a disappointment but the day soon cheered up and the bright Greecian sunlight illuminated the swathes of wild flowers at the roadside, Jerusalem Sage with its bright yellow flowers contrasting with banks of purple Honesty, the flower that dries into golden discs-like seed pods looking like nature’s money. Wild garlic and other alliums run riot, close to the road we notice the huge plants of Verbascum with their furry leaves, they are not yet in flower. In the fields wild Lupins were bursting into bloom.

The Johns family, Derek, Daphne and daughters Leafie and Amber welcome us to a hearty breakfast on the terrace. They have expanded and improved their little hamlet of houses over the last forty years. We have seen it evolve having been guests at various periods in its evolution. Leafie and her husband Marcus now live in the house closest to the main gate; they live and work in Corfu and speak perfect Greek. Their charming little daughter, Mirsini, captivates us all as she smiles and performs perfectly for the camera. The grandparents are both so charmingly loving and affectionate with her – she and they won all our hearts.

Derek took us to visit the seaside villa of a friend. The house is a dramatic collection of buildings surrounding a small valley with a virtually private bay, the whole covering about 30 acres. The gardens are dotted with statuary, some of it roman including two magnificent sarcophagi decorated with somewhat crude carvings of people and animals on the long sides. A 19thC bust of Lord Byron stood in a corner.

The first courtyard is decorated in a Venetian style with a scalloped top to the surrounding walls and typical Greek inlaid pebble floor in squares. I noticed a magnificent wellhead that Derek said is Venetian and early. On one side was a Latin inscription and the base was supported by acanthus leaves that lead us to speculate that the piece was originally Roman and was updated in the 16^th or 17^th C with a carved Venetian coat of arms. We passed through an orchard of citrus trees laden with huge yellow fruit; we were told they are lemons but they are the size of grapefruit. In between the trees were manicured beds of vegetables and herbs.

We passed through the fragrant garden in the enchanted valley down to the shore and then ascended a path up to the other promontory where a vista opened up of a rock quarry facing the sea. Apparently the quarry was revealed from a mass of rubble and screed when the swimming pool was made. Now Cypress seedlings had established themselves in the crevices of the rock looking like a bonsai garden. At the side of the large swimming pool are Roman statues of female torsos draped in folds of stone fabric. It is the villa of a modern day emperor.

Next we moved on to visit another “Imperial Villa” but this time a contemporary one. The garden was designed by our host’s daughter and her husband, Leafie and Marcus ……… Again, it enjoys an elevated seaside position with magnificent coastal views. The architecture works well and the whole is pleasing. We have come to see the garden and to enjoy the way that Leafie has designed the wild garden to blend into the wild olive grove. The olive trees have been allowed to grow naturally whereas they are normally tightly pruned. It’s too early for poppies but we see a carpet of mostly white wild flowers flourishing under the trees.

Next we drove to a small beach where Derek told us the story of its naming by the family, “Auntie’s snake beach”. Some year’s ago Aunty was picking wild asparagus in sandals when there was a shrill scream. Derek rushed to her side to discover that she had been bitten by a adder. It was in springtime, the season when snakes emerge from hibernation to warm themselves in the still weak sunshine so they are lazy and sluggish – easily trod on by unwary humans.

Along the shore and inland in the grassy wilderness bloom blue iris-like pignuts and wild asparagus as well as delicate wild orchids. As we were filming the shoot was interrupted by barking dogs heralding the arrival of a herd of goats with their tinkling neck bells; a scene as timeless as agriculture itself.

It was here that my childhood hero, Gerald Durrell, came with his older friend, the naturalist Dr Theodore Stefanidis to search for frogs, snakes and lizards and all manner of Corfiot wildlife. I kept a dog-eared copy of his book, “My Family and other Animals” with me at all times when I was a child. It was my inspiration and my Bible, I read his beautiful prose over and over again. I related to his love of nature and rather solitary existence; if only I had had a Dr Theo to guide and advise me.

Taking advantage of the now bright sunlight, we moved on to a small lagoon of sweet water into which runs a channel to the sea. Where the two meet, the water is brackish and is the perfect environment for farming grey mullet and sea bream both prized local fish. The farm was simple and traditional in design, just a few nets retaining the fish in separate compartments. The Mullet are farmed for their roe; extracted by squeezing the abdomen of the gravid females. The fish survive to live another day. The roe is then sun dried to make a prized delicacy, Bottarga, from which taramosalata is traditionally made. The roe can be shaved over pasta to make a dish fit for a king.

After a long flight and a change of planes at Athens, we have finally arrived in Corfu. Tim Chevallier travelled out with us. Bruce Marais, the chef, got here from London yesterday. He spent the night in a pension as the boat was somewhere on the high seas. We were worried all day today having heard nothing from Captain Tim although we know he often forgets to text or call to say he has left and so it was today. No news usually means he is outside the mobile telephone coverage area and so unable to call.

After a delicious dinner, we all went to bed leaving the post mortem until tomorrow. I am interested to know when the boat left and from where. Alex, the steward, suggested that the crossing took 25 hours – I find that rather hard to believe unless she was slowed down by bad weather or engine trouble. 25 Hours at 10 knots implies a journey of 250 miles and I don’t think she sailed that far?

I have already been informed that she had a problem with the hydraulics for the steering and that an engineer has been on board and a spare part has been ordered from Athens. If anything else goes wrong with this boat, the owners say they plan to take her out to sea and pull the plug.

Tomorrow, we plan to get up late and have a day of rest, planning and unpacking. The Johns family has asked us to dinner in the evening and we don’t plan to film at all tomorrow. Anyway the weather is overcast and stormy. We do hope the spare part for the steering hydraulics arrives and gets fitted tomorrow. The owners of the spectacular seaside villa where we hope to shoot in a day or two have been in touch to say they aren’t happy with our third-party insurance cover – another glitch to be sorted tomorrow.

Its before 6 am and the alarm has just gone. Our driver will be here in half an hour to take us to Gatwick where we will rendezvous with our cameraman, Tim Chevallier. The excitement is running high. After months of planning we are finally underway. Our only concern is that we haven't heard from Capt Tim for a while. Is Kalani on time to meet us in Corfu?

We have arrived in London for a few hectic days of preparation; things to buy; people to see; bills to pay; possessions to be gone through in store and rushing around trying to fit it all in. Our dear friends Nigel Roberts and James Fisher have kindly offered us a bed in their lovely house in Abbottsbury Rd, Kensington - so we are spoiled and living in great comfort. We have so much to do that we have hired a car and driver to rush us around from place to place.

I'm excited about the voyage ahead and a bit apprehensive. I have done a great deal of research on the places we plan to visit but you always know that there is still so much you don't know.

We meet the Cameraman, Tim Chevalier, at Gatwick and the Chef, Bruce Marais, will be waiting for us in Corfu. Apart from our Captain, Tim Bliss, I hardly know the other two crew members, Alex Atanasov - the Steward and Viktor Jasovic, our Croatian Mate. We will be living in close proximity to this new family for two months - lets hope we can all get along?