On the way to Hades

 
We drove the length of the Mani to the tip at Cape Taenaron; there, the road ended. It was August, but only a handful of cars had come this far. The middle of the day. 41 degrees. We took refuge in the small cafeteria to consider what next? That was easy - two zero beers.
 

In winter, it had seemed simple: leave Stoupa early morning and arrive here before the sun was too high and hot. With hats, water and strong shoes, three kilometres on from where the road ended, on the path across the bare headland to Hades, then three kilometres back - that should be no problem for us; we who are part of that group marketing men call ‘the old fit’. 
 
On our way down the Mani, we had been delayed in Areopolis, just wandering through the streets of this magnificent old town. We had only ourselves to blame.
 
The waiter wasn’t busy and had time to chat. A young man with a long, thin beard, he could have been a novice monk but was in fact a shepherd on Evia who worked here two months a year. He knew more about Taenaron than Google or all the guidebooks. We had parked, he told us, at the Temple of Poseidon. Originally, it had been dedicated to Apollo, the sun god, which seemed appropriate as Taenaron is the sunniest place in Greece. Next to it is the Necromanteio where the oracle might pass messages from the dead. In this area, Zeus had grazed his cattle. The mythology poured out of him.
 
He pointed out the path we must take across the headland to the underworld. But he shook his head: You mustn’t go. You may not make it back.
 
We looked at each other - we knew he was right. We thought of Michael Moseley, the doctor and broadcaster, who had set off over a similar headland on an equally hot day in Symi last year. He did not return. Such an intelligent man who died a foolish death.
 
Disappointed, but not defeated, we finished our beers and walked a few metres along the path to Hades. Then we turned back. We had, at least, set out on the path to Hades. We know now where it is and will return, no doubt, when the time comes…
 
An old widow, small, bent and dressed in black, then appeared in front of us. Madam, I asked, have you come from Hades? No, she explained, like us, she and her family had walked just a little way along the path but, anyway, she said, this isn’t the path to Hades. She explained that her husband had once been to Hades - swimming through an underwater cave at Porto Kayio. Madam, I stopped her, your husband went to Hades but returned because of his great love for you! Her whole face opened in one big smile and she was young again! So often, it is the people you meet who make the places you visit.
 
Richard Devereux