Safe Return Doubtful

I’ve borrowed the title from a short book (by Josh Malerman) I read this morning before heading out. It’s from a series of six released for this time of year. It promised a lot, but didn’t really deliver. Nonetheless, it was entertaining enough. It concerned a student, who after a particular story told around the campfire, heads by herself into the woods to see if there is any truth to the ‘impish demon’ that is supposed to lurk there.

I have wandered so many forests around Europe, but so far not encountered anything like such a demon. I live in hope though. Two problems stand in the way of such an experience. The first being that I see too much beauty in their midst, whatever the weather, day or night; I’m not approaching the situation from the right angle. Folklore, myth and legend is part of that beauty, and it fascinates me. The best authors do it so well, from writing about nature, as for example with Shrubsole’s Lost Rain Forests, to the more sinister, horror from the likes of Shirley Jackson, MR James, Robert Aickman, Algernon Blackwood..

The second, is that with Roja, we see very little anyway. We often hear foxes, boar, who knows what else, but rarely catch a glimpse. With Roja leading the way, he ensures any such demon keeps its distance.

It was a cloudless day today, pretty much perfect conditions, with the day soon warming up to the early 20s.

I walked the couple of kilometres down to the magnificent Portitsa Gorge, with an old stone bridge spectacularly guarding its entrance. It was built in 1743 to serve the needs of the locals to pass from the village of Spilio, and it’s monastery, to the village of Monahiti.

We hiked the Portitsa Trail, a six kilometre loop that climbs into the forest steeply, before reaching a four wheel drive track, from which there are great views across to the gorge and Spilio village above it, winding its way much less steeply, down to the river. Ford the river, and back along the road.

By midday there were a few more people around, including a minibus of English pensioners who live on Crete.

Above, the village of Spilio can be seen above the valley.

I spent the afternoon attending to my online library, something I haven’t done for a few weeks, and always takes far longer than I think it will.

I had hoped to continue to work on my new website, but due to the sport on, dismal England cricket, and extremely wet rugby from Newcastle, I never got to it.

I certainly enjoyed the World Cup Final, and exchanging texts with various friends. By the time the Cup was presented, it was twenty minutes after midnight, so it was done with a Jamesons on my part. A good night to have an extra hour..

It’s been a memorable 7 weeks. I’ve watched almost all the games, which I thought I would struggle to do in the West Balkans, from up at 1500 metres in the remote Bjelašnica plateau in Bosnia with one bar 4G and a speed of about 5mbps, to a surprisingly strong signal, at a similar altitude in the Accurseds in Montenegro.

I’m glad it’s over though, I do feel culturally malnourished. In the short term, it’s that time of year, so I’ll be trying to find some decent horror films the next few nights.