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My destination was different. It was the tiny town of Diakofto. I found this town by accident. I had wanted to break up my journey across the Peloponnese and was reading through my mega guidebook. Low and behold it mentions this marvelous train ride through the mountains near Diakofto. I knew that I wanted to see that train ride. (About eight years later Rick Steves decided to do a tour of Greece and this was one one of his stops.) Arriving at the town seemed to be quite a challenge. For one I did not know how many train stops it would be from Patras to Diakofto. My guidebook, tucked safely into my backpack suggested four stops. The train driver was determined to make me sweat. He would pull into each station at full speed, stop for maybe a minute and then take off again. I was standing in the middle of a packed train car, looking out the windows trying to catch a glimpse of a sign letting me know where I was. I finally saw a sign that said Diakoto with an approximation on the bottom. The problem with Greek to English writing translations is the translator often takes liberties as to what the actual letters were. It was now 11:00 at night and the town appeared to be completely dead. I did not know if this was the right town or not. It appeared to close enough so I got off. I know now if I found the local taverna I could have asked about accommodations and if this was the right town.. I scanned my rough guide for the cheapest hotel and trudged there only to find that it was locked and there wasn't a light on. So I knocked on the door once, twice, three times and then it opened. The hotel owner must have taken one look at me, figured I was just in Greece from Italy (My big turquoise pack gave it away) said he had a room for 3500 Drachma (about 12 dollars) asked for my passport and led me up to my monk cell where I promptly fell asleep. The next morning, cleaned up and more presentable, I walked downstairs and talked with the hotel owner more. I had one reason for stopping at this little town. The reason I had discovered in my guide book so many months before. There was an old, rack 'n' pinion train that said to traverse up an absolutely beautiful gorge to a town with a sad past. I figured it would make a nice break of my blitz across the Peloponnesian to my eventual destination Ermioni. When I got down to his reception area, a small table on the bottom of the stairs, he took out my passport, pointed to my middle name and proudly (as well as correctly) pointed out that it was in reality my last name. He was very happy that I had made the journey to Greece and asked if I was going to go up to Kalavrita, the end of the Rack 'n' Pinion train. I said "I was" and this made him even happier. I wonder if he lost love ones in the massacar that occurred there? I left the hotel and returned to the train station, a total of a block away. I bought tickets for the next train to Kalavrita and decided to walk around the town in the hour I had to wait. Diakofto seemed to be an extreamly small town. It was about a quarter mile from the beach, a saving feature no doubt, and seemed to be about a total of 4 blocks by 2 blocks. This was also my first real contact with a "Greek Town". On Corfu I stayed at a hotel, ate there and spent the rest of my time driving around. I found the layout of a typical Greek town.. A grocery store that sold the essentials. A bakery A hardware store and some tavernas. My stomach told me I should visit the bakery. I walked in and spotted ambrosia. In a warming rack I saw what appeared to be my favorite Greek dish of all time. The caloric Toro pita. I pointed to it (I spoke no Greek at this time) and the man said Cheese Pie. I was devastated to hear the English name of my favorite dish. For some reason Toro pita sounds so much more exotic. I said "Toro pita" and he responded with a resounding "Ne". I was in heaven. For the next thirty days I would have fresh Toro pita for breakfast. I took a quick glance around the town (foolish I should have spent more time here) took a picture of the original Italian engine and then boarded the train. The Small Greek train I road the night before was a culture shock from the much larger Italian trains. The train I boarded was something from Play land. It had two cars, with bars on the windows lest you stick your head out, with a small, diesel engine in-between them. I quickly got a window seat, one where someone had nicely broken away the bars, and the train begin its slow accent. About 2 minutes later I was awe struck by the canyon we entered. A river had cut straight through the limestone. About a 1000-foot drop I figured. And this little train was making its way right up the side of it on a track cut out that was a little bit larger than the train. At some points the train even passed into the hillside in order to fit. The train ride was well worth it. I witnessed spectacular views of this magnificent canyon. I must have shot two or three rolls of film alone. This was a very well placed detour on my route around the Peloponnesian. I spent the day at the top, I should have walked down to Zahloro´u and the monastery but I was a bit lazy. About 2 I headed back down the valley, this time in a car you could not stick your head out, and then on to Neo Corinth. Contact info: |