Monemvasia

Greece

Monemvasia

My painting time in Monemvasia was routinely punctuated by a procession of donkeys clattering through the tangle of cobbled lanes, carting away sacks of building rubble.

Byzantine walls and churches

That archaic sight paints the perfect picture of this little gem of a town

While embracing modern necessities like Wi-Fi, flat whites and contactless, some aspects of Monemvasia have barely changed since the 6th century, when one of Europe’s oldest inhabited fortress towns was established.

The town’s name originates from two Greek words; ‘moni’ (μόνη) meaning single, and ‘emvasis’ (έμβασις) meaning approach.

Certainly, the approach to Monemvasia is singularly spectacular.

To appreciate how spectacular, you may have to look up the word ‘tombolo’. For that is what now connects this tiny tied-island, with the middle finger of Peloponnese.

A powerful earthquake in 375 AD separated a huge chunk of rock from the mainland, creating this speck in the Myrtoan Sea, accessible only by boat. To make the island even more inaccessible, a Medieval fortress was built on a plateau atop its steep cliffs, while the ‘new town’ sheltered behind monumental walls, wedged between the base of the cliffs and the sea.

The tombolo is a narrow causeway, created over time by sediment blown and washed to the lee of the island.

(For geographic pedants, ‘isthmus’ and ‘tombolo’ are different phenomena. An Isthmus is a peninsula that’s eroded to nearly become an island. Whereas a tombolo is the opposite; a thin strip formed by wind and waves, tying what was previously an island to the mainland. France’s Mont Saint-Michel originally had a sandy tombolo, as did Gibraltar, whereas Galle Fort is on an isthmus. For the real pedant, Lindisfarne has neither. It has a man-made causeway. Worth remembering, in case that comes up in a pub quiz one day!).

Monemvasia offered the perfect one-two geography and architecture, Monemvasia became a big deal trading town; en route between Constantinople and Sicily, with safe anchorage and strong defences. combination ofThis ensured a prosperous and varied history. At times it has been controlled by Byzantine Greeks, Franks, Venetians and Ottoman Turks. It was even once briefly handed over to the Pope.

Sheltering

Within the walls

Dappled

Texture everywhere

High up above the postage-stamp-sized town, with expansive views of the landscape beyond, the gardens flaunt, flounce and unfold in majestic perfection. It’s a cliché to say they take your breath away, but I did stand there gasping for a minute or two. Maybe it was the climb?

This may well be Bohemia at its best. but, If I say the food is also thoroughly Bohemian, note the capital ‘B’. It’s about as conventional and traditional to the region as it gets. If your idea of food heaven involves knuckle, dumplings, goulash, pickled cabbage, wurst and worse, ČK should fatten you up nicely. If your tastes are a little more bohemian however (small ‘b’), it’s somewhat slim pickings.

My ass was saved (literally) by discovering My Saigon, with a pretty authentic pan-Asian offering, and Nonna Gina serving possibly the best pizza I’ve sliced outside Italy.

If not the food, possibly the most bohemian thing about Český Krumlov is the boating. An essentially pleasant paddle following the current as the Vltava meanders around the town, spiced up by a couple of exhilarating water chutes and the creativity applied to the craft and costumes available to rent. The 13th century costumes and floating beer bars deserve particular commendation, but really, anything goes.

This is Bohemia Central, after all.

Top roof

Pots of charm

OK, I’m telling a little porky here. The food may not exactly be Egon Ronay, but the most defiantly bohemian thing about Český Krumlov is Egon Shiele.

Born in Austria, the tearaway artist was drawn to ČK as his mother's birthplace. ČK in turn, however, wasn't as drawn to Egon Schiele. His morals, antics and proclivities were decidedly too racy for this quiet little place. After a year in which he drew some notable works, but also lured most of the town's young women to his studio as models, he was ‘encouraged’ to leave.

Nowadays, of course, ČK makes as much as it can of its racy luminary. There’s a decent Egon Schiele gallery (although, for the mother lode, make the pilgrimage to Vienna). And of course, the obligatory Schiele tea towels and fridge magnets. I've often mused on what struggling artists would make of the suggestion that their work would one day grace a million tote bags.

For many visitors, Český Krumlov is a day-trip destination, taking in the castle, the not-so-rapids, then something substantial and stewed for lunch. Personally, that'd all make me queasy. For me, the joy, as ever, is in slowly appreciating the cobbles, the meanders, turning a corner to find you’re back where you began, or indeed totally lost, watching the sun slowly settle on the rooftops, knowing you’ll be around to soak it all up again tomorrow.

A quick note about the gateway, Prague. It's aforementioned castle is the largest ancient castle complex in the world, a small town in its own right, and definitely more than a quick visit.

Something about passing through Prague in under 12 hours made me feel distinctly Jason Bourne. Probably the combination of its Eastern Bloc vibes, an early morning departure from the central railway station and foreign Tannoy announcements. I felt like buying a pay-as-you-go burner phone, to place an untraceable call to my agent.

Prague hangs on to that socialist edge, with its mixture of grandeur and grit, Baroque facades and concrete monstrosities. But at the same time, it's developing all the trappings of a contemporary city; urban chic styling, extortionately priced coffee, and cool places to hang out. I managed two epic meals (see below), but passed on the Pilsner bathing experience.