Patrick Leigh Fermor was one hell of a great travel writer, but he was no prophet. Back in 1958, in his fourth book, Mani: Travels in the Southern Peloponnese, he wrote, “[Kardamyli] is too inaccessible and there is too little to do there, fortunately, for it to ever be seriously damaged by tourism.”
He was so wrong. That these fate-tempting words have doubtless played a part in Kardamyli’s transformation can only be described as deeply ironic. Once an unassuming village on the Mani peninsula, caught in the embrace of the Taygetus mountain range and the Gulf of Messenia, it is now a full-fledged tourist magnet, attracting an international writerly set – the sort who consider William Dalrymple’s books ‘beach reads’ and paperbacks to be just a bit déclassé. Kardamyli hosts an annual jazz festival and a new annual literary festival has recently come to town, too.
“Kardamyli is too inaccessible and there is too little to do there, fortunately, for it to ever be seriously damaged by tourism.” – Patrick Leigh Fermor (1958)
He may not have had the gift of foresight, but Patrick Leigh Fermor had a way of stringing words together that could be soul-stirring: genre-defining, he was one of the best to put pen to paper. The esteemed Jan Morris (no slouch at the travel-writing game) described him as “the supreme English travel writer”. “One mustn’t gush, but, like Venice, Château d’Yquem or a Rolls-Royce of the 1930s, he really was beyond competition,” she gushed, fulsomely and unabashedly, in the obituary she penned in the Guardian.
Fermor had a deep affinity for Greek culture: he fought with the Cretan resistance during the German occupation, was made a Commander of the Order of the Phoenix by the Greek government and spoke several Greek dialects. He was particularly drawn to Kardamyli, describing it as “like one of those Elysian confines of the world where Homer says that life is scarcest; where no snow falls, no strong winds blow nor rain comes down, but the melodious west wind blows for ever from the sea to bring coolness to those who live there. I was very much tempted to become one of them…”.
He did (famously) come to live here. He and his photographer wife Joan designed and built a house in an idyllic olive grove at the sea’s edge in the mid-1960s. Fellow travel writer Bruce Chatwin also spent time in Kardamyli – he finished writing The Songlines here in 1985. Chatwin and Fermor were friends, and after Chatwin’s death in 1989, Fermor did him the honour of scattering his ashes in a tiny mountain village north of Kardamyli.
The Patrick & Joan Leigh Fermor House, to give it its full name, was bequeathed to the Benaki Museum in 1996 and recently refurbished. It is now a place of pilgrimage for budding authors, running regular fellowships for writing and research. If you have the cash and the inclination (but not necessarily the writing talent), the house is available to rent for three months each year.
For those without the riches of Croesus, it is also open to small groups of visitors. (The much-photographed writing desk in Fermor’s study has become a near-fetishistic object; it can only be a matter of time before it gets its own Insta account.)
Greek feasting
Kardamyli’s writerly credentials are just one facet of its appeal. This was my second visit, and I’m already making plans to come again. It probably comes as no surprise that it’s the food and wine that has exerted its pull on me. There are more places to eat and drink now than there were eight years ago, but it remains mercifully free (so far) of Starbucks and its ilk, and cooking traditions are proudly upheld.
The steep climb to Old Kardamyli Traditional Restaurant will reward you with sublime views over the town (the sunsets are spectacular) and some of the best cooking you’ll find: crisp-skinned slow-roast pork; gemitsa (stuffed vegetables); garden-fresh green beans cooked the way your (Greek) grandma would. The wine list showcases the region’s top producers.
My ultimate Greek taverna would be @elies_kardamili on Ritsa Beach. Tables are shaded by olive trees, sunlight is dappled, the menu lists Greek classics: saganaki, fried anchovies, keftedes, horta (greens), gigantes, and the full range of grills, good-value Greek wines and, of course, chips. Everything tastes as it should.
South of town, Delfinia Beach is my favourite for swimming. A small black-pebble beach with impossibly clear water and a no-frills beach café serving the likes of deep-fried anchovies or loukaniko sausage with hand-cut chips, Greek salad and ice-cold local beer.
Nearby @stoupa_restaurant is a bit less taverna and more restaurant with gorgeous sea views, serving the likes of tomato keftedes, anchovy fillets on dakos (barley rusks), goat mince with local pasta and graviera cheese sauce, and a twist on traditional loukoumades – these were filled with feta and served with red pepper sorbet that’s a perfect colour complement to the local rosé.
Fish doesn’t get fresher than that served at Takis fish restaurant in Limeni, a tiny fishing further down the Mani peninsula, tucked in the elbow of a sheltered cove. We feasted on locally caught golden grouper cooked over a wood fire and served without ceremony: horta and courgettes on the side, good bread and olive oil and hand-cut chips cooked in (you guessed it) more olive oil. Free entertainment was provided by a pair of huge sea turtles cruising the cove like itinerant buskers.
To get back to Patrick Lee Fermor for a moment and that opening quote… Although Kardamyli has undoubtedly changed, it has not been ‘damaged’ by tourism, and long may that last. For now it’s poised at that Goldilocks sweet spot, with just enough tourism to support the restaurants, tavernas and wine bars, yet not ‘over-touristed’ so that visitors lose sight of what they come here for – a glimpse at another way of life, a way that’s becoming scarcer with each passing year.
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