olives

Sentinels of the Past

It seems like there is nothing that would surprise these gnarled yet stately trees who have witnessed thousands of campers since the Dionysus campsite opened over thirty years ago.

At its peak, the campsite was regularly host to 800 occupants. Now the advent of the all inclusive cut price holiday has drawn people away from camping.

The plus side is more space for those of us who still camp. And the people you meet are true travellers. Like the French couple in their late seventies. Travelled with their tents on their backs. He had life theories that were a complete philosophy. He refused to be called a philosopher. When I asked him why he replied because he did not write a book.

When I asked him why he did not write he replied because he experiences things and that is enough. Put me in my place.

The trees also do not make any commentary. Yet they have seen aeons of change around them. In their younger years, conquest by Venetians, Turks, English. Planted by Corfiots in return for an ample purse so that the lamps of Venice could shine throughout the dark nights of winter, lit by olive oil. Now they stand immense and bear witness silently. Shading travellers from the intense summer heat of July and August.

My home for three months on and off. The only sound at night besides the owl hooting continuously was the sound of an olive dropping on the caravan roof.