My weird car almost wants to be a 4x4, but seems to have fallen short and settled for something less, like a security guard that wanted to be a cop. The drive is moderately challenging, all twists and turns, slow climbs and sudden drops, but it’s a lot of fun. The local radio plays a series of late 90s hits before dying out, so I turn off the AC too and open the windows.
My first stop is Platres, where I had lunch the day before. A funny thing about this little mountain towns; there can’t be more than a couple of thousand living in each and yet they all religiously have banks and bookies – a lethal combination.
I’m here to visit the Kalidonia waterfalls, which have nothing to do with Scotland; it translates and beautiful nightingale. I do some brief warm-up exercises with my leg – this will be its first real test since its reconstruction and I have no clue how it will hold up.
The first couple hundred yards are up a dirt road, after which there is a sign explaining the route and what flora and fauna you may see on the way up. Annoyingly there are two paths... I decide to follow the one from which I can hear running water.
The first ten minutes pass without incident, following the meander of a yet unseen river on top of a gorge. The scent of pine carries on the air initially, before being smothered by deeper forestation.
Soon the path joins the water and it isn’t so much a river as a belligerent stream, running from the hills. In the air butterflies dance with each other; in the water small trout dash for cover when my shadow looms overhead. I take some pictures. Light trickles through the trees, but my camera isn’t good enough to capture the detail my eyes can.
I walk on as the stream tumbles down mini falls and swirls in suddenly deep pools. My knee, surprisingly, feels strong although my hamstrings and calves grumble their discontent. Just as I’m thinking about this, though, I step into a patch of light – and very nearly onto a snake. I pull back my leg in sudden shock and nearly fall over, like someone who’s just trod on a turd, trying to undo the irreversible. I fumble for my camera, but this sudden movement has perturbed the serpent and, in slow motion, it slithers into the nearest bush.
I swear out loud. I’ve never seen a snake in the wild before, not in hours of playing outside, not in weeks of attending nature clubs at Culzean castle. From then on, I hold the camera just a little closer.
I continue on, crossing a set of stepping stones, then another, then another. When it comes to the fourth set I stop. Two of the stones here are being overrun by water. One missed step and it won’t be the embarrassment I’ll be worried about. I tentatively step out a couple of times, all the while trying to consider which route will be least strenuous for my knee, but in the end, decide against it.
Depressed, I head back down the mountain. After crossing all the stepping stones again, I have a break to take some pictures. I’m just about to set off, when I see an old man, coming down the route I just have. I ask if he’s just been to the waterfall; he has.
Humiliated, angry and finally determined, I restart my ascent, stopping only to fill my water bottle from the stream. When I get back to the troublesome crossing, this time it seems like no kind of challenge – if he can do it, I can do it and all that macho bullshit.
The path winds on, occasionally through rocks, but more often trees and another couple of times through the water. As I venture upward, a couple of families pass me on their way back down and looking at the age of their children, I am ashamed of my earlier cowardice.
Overall my knee does well, although after 40 minutes, it begins to tire. There must be dozens of tiny bits of muscle and sinew that haven’t been used for a couple of months.
I have a brief break at the bottom of a set of make-shift stairs, take a few deep breaths and make the final climb. The falls are at the summit and suddenly the embarrassment and effort seem like tiny prices to pay. They’re more serene than stupendous, throwing down an eternal jet of water as they always have, down about ten metres into an unambitious pool, which quickly passes it onto the stream below. It’s a pretty scene. I spend about 15 minutes snapping and sitting before I’m surprised by a German couple. Part of me grudges their arrival and I soon leave.
A while later, I’m back at the car and I realise my legs are trembling from the effort they’ve made. I had originally planned to make another trek around Mount Olympus, but that now seems foolish. Also, somewhere along the way I lost my shades, but, at the moment, I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about anything less.
Other things happen: I drive to the world?s second most expensive monastery (after the Vatican) and try to call in on a friend of a friend in a mountain village, but the falls aren’t bettered. They made me realise how much I miss being outdoors, the hills and trees... And on Sunday I go back to Dubai.
My first stop is Platres, where I had lunch the day before. A funny thing about this little mountain towns; there can’t be more than a couple of thousand living in each and yet they all religiously have banks and bookies – a lethal combination.
I’m here to visit the Kalidonia waterfalls, which have nothing to do with Scotland; it translates and beautiful nightingale. I do some brief warm-up exercises with my leg – this will be its first real test since its reconstruction and I have no clue how it will hold up.
The first couple hundred yards are up a dirt road, after which there is a sign explaining the route and what flora and fauna you may see on the way up. Annoyingly there are two paths... I decide to follow the one from which I can hear running water.
The first ten minutes pass without incident, following the meander of a yet unseen river on top of a gorge. The scent of pine carries on the air initially, before being smothered by deeper forestation.
Soon the path joins the water and it isn’t so much a river as a belligerent stream, running from the hills. In the air butterflies dance with each other; in the water small trout dash for cover when my shadow looms overhead. I take some pictures. Light trickles through the trees, but my camera isn’t good enough to capture the detail my eyes can.
I walk on as the stream tumbles down mini falls and swirls in suddenly deep pools. My knee, surprisingly, feels strong although my hamstrings and calves grumble their discontent. Just as I’m thinking about this, though, I step into a patch of light – and very nearly onto a snake. I pull back my leg in sudden shock and nearly fall over, like someone who’s just trod on a turd, trying to undo the irreversible. I fumble for my camera, but this sudden movement has perturbed the serpent and, in slow motion, it slithers into the nearest bush.
I swear out loud. I’ve never seen a snake in the wild before, not in hours of playing outside, not in weeks of attending nature clubs at Culzean castle. From then on, I hold the camera just a little closer.
I continue on, crossing a set of stepping stones, then another, then another. When it comes to the fourth set I stop. Two of the stones here are being overrun by water. One missed step and it won’t be the embarrassment I’ll be worried about. I tentatively step out a couple of times, all the while trying to consider which route will be least strenuous for my knee, but in the end, decide against it.
Depressed, I head back down the mountain. After crossing all the stepping stones again, I have a break to take some pictures. I’m just about to set off, when I see an old man, coming down the route I just have. I ask if he’s just been to the waterfall; he has.
Humiliated, angry and finally determined, I restart my ascent, stopping only to fill my water bottle from the stream. When I get back to the troublesome crossing, this time it seems like no kind of challenge – if he can do it, I can do it and all that macho bullshit.
The path winds on, occasionally through rocks, but more often trees and another couple of times through the water. As I venture upward, a couple of families pass me on their way back down and looking at the age of their children, I am ashamed of my earlier cowardice.
Overall my knee does well, although after 40 minutes, it begins to tire. There must be dozens of tiny bits of muscle and sinew that haven’t been used for a couple of months.
I have a brief break at the bottom of a set of make-shift stairs, take a few deep breaths and make the final climb. The falls are at the summit and suddenly the embarrassment and effort seem like tiny prices to pay. They’re more serene than stupendous, throwing down an eternal jet of water as they always have, down about ten metres into an unambitious pool, which quickly passes it onto the stream below. It’s a pretty scene. I spend about 15 minutes snapping and sitting before I’m surprised by a German couple. Part of me grudges their arrival and I soon leave.
A while later, I’m back at the car and I realise my legs are trembling from the effort they’ve made. I had originally planned to make another trek around Mount Olympus, but that now seems foolish. Also, somewhere along the way I lost my shades, but, at the moment, I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about anything less.
Other things happen: I drive to the world?s second most expensive monastery (after the Vatican) and try to call in on a friend of a friend in a mountain village, but the falls aren’t bettered. They made me realise how much I miss being outdoors, the hills and trees... And on Sunday I go back to Dubai.
