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"What's the most beautiful place you've ever travelled to?", a question I'm sure that we have all been posed over the years. Some of us may need to ponder awhile before reaching our answer, some may offer a selection of two or three destinations as contenders for the title, whilst others, myself included, have no hesitation whatsoever; the most beautiful place I've ever visited in my life is the tiny fishing village of Kioni on the eastern coast of Ithaca in the Ionians.

I've crossed the straits from Kefalonia on a rust-bucket ferry, the "Agia Marina" and I am now heading along the roller-coaster central mountain road that follows the jagged spine of this rugged and spectacularly scenic little island. I pass through the village of Anogi and after a few more miles, arrive in Stavros where the only road junction of any importance on the island is to be found. I turn northeast and climb Pelikata Hill, past the Homeric remains and then as suddenly as that, start to drop back down to the coastline and the village of Frikes. From Frikes, I then head southeast for a couple of miles until again, the road descends through lush vegetation and to my left, I get my first glimpse of Kioni through the ferns, palms and huge yuccas.

The sight is one to behold; a tiny, horseshoe-shaped harbor flanked on either side by cottages, behind which the terrain rises steeply to become the ubiquitous "maquis" covered sandstone that characterizes so very many Greek islands. I pull over to the side of the narrow road purely to take in the magnificent panoramic vista; I can see fishing boats bobbing on the gentle swell, a few scattered tables and chairs outside what must be the village kafenion and a few locals going about their business in an ambling, care-free manner.

I drop down into Kioni and park the car at the top of the village. I open the door and, having enjoyed the comfort zone of the car's air-conditioning it hits me, the stifling heat which literally makes me gasp. It has to be pushing forty centigrade and I can immediately understand one of the reasons why life here is conducted at such a leisurely pace.

I stroll down past the church with it's odd ovoid-shaped campanile painted in warm ochre tones. To one side is the village bakery with an alluring arrangement of bread, cakes and "baklavas" in the window, all giving off a tantalizing aroma that I almost succumb to. To my right is a simple kafenion, no doubt the one I spied from up on the hill, with it's cobalt-blue painted wooden

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