Having camped for almost a month near the small town of Kardamili, south of Kalamata (of olive fame), Greece,  the Captain and I decided to take our VW camper van for a ride to the very south tip of Greece. On the way, we stopped at the caves of Pyrgos Dirou.

In those long ago days, the entrance fee for a 40-minute boat ride and a short walk inside the cave was about $5.50 Cdn. Now it is about $27 Cdn.

As the Captain and I sat in the flat-bottomed tour boat, a guide paddled us through the cave, reminding us now and then to duck our heads down to avoid getting our blocks knocked off by a stalactite. The tour was creepy and awesome at the same time. Cables ran along under the water to provide lighting all the way through the cave. That was fine, but I couldn’t help thinking of the primitive wiring I’d seen on our travels through Greece. What if the lights went out? We hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight with us.

Fixing the wiring Greek style

Back in the cave, an elderly Greek woman in a black dress and a hat with a netted veil, sat in front of us in the boat. She was probably only about 70 but we were less than half her age. In spite of signs throughout the cave saying not to speak too loudly, she turned to talk to us about the fengari.  What the heck was a fengari?

Apparently, it was the moon. We definitely didn’t see a moon in the cave, but this friendly woman, most likely a widow,  was perhaps inspired by the reflections of the lamps lighting the cave. Maybe the soothing sway of the boat reminded her of happier times when she saw us, the smiling young couple seated behind her.

Suddenly, in a good strong voice, she began to sing a romantic Greek song about the fengari. As the tour guide paddled us along, I chewed my nails about the possibility of the ceiling coming down on us, and the Captain reached up several times to  push the nice little old lady’s head gently to the side to save her from hitting it on one stalactite after another. She didn’t stop singing, but smiled her “thank you” at him each time.

At one point we got out of the boat (there were two or three boats travelling behind each other) to step out onto a trail for a short walk through the dry part of the cave.

When we came back, we were loaded into a boat for the return trip to the cave’s entrance. Unfortunately, when it was my turn to board, there was no space left for the Captain. They assured me that there would be another boat in a few minutes to bring him back, but I refused to go without him. It was not a place to be abandoned even for a few minutes. I only remember it because they argued so hard, trying to fill that one space. We insisted though and waited together for the next boat.

Although it was an experience that I remember fondly even decades later, it was a relief to get out of the cave and breathe again. My claustrophobia had been put on hold for long enough.