Our fisherman’s caique chugs across the water from the Ionian island of Lefkada, carving white trails of foam into the Mediterranean’s deep blue. We pass the private isle of Skorpios, once home to Greek oil tycoon Aristotle Onassis, and purr into the harbour of Meganissi, its quayside home to only three bars, two restaurants and two corner shops.
Giagiathes, black-clad widowed grandmothers, stoop as they carry the week’s shopping, the curve in their backs matching that of the bay, while at the small kafeneio, backgammon dice clatter around the board as the menfolk sip on thick, black coffee.
If it were not for the fact that the captain of our boat is a young girl called Katerina, we could be back in the 1970s, which is a good thing because that is just what we have come to find.
I am travelling to Meganissi with my mother Audrey, who has lived in Athens for 35 years, in search of that elusive “something” that inspired a then 40-year-old divor?e from Yorkshire to up sticks and take her two young children to live in Greece.