First point of call was Moni Agios Gerasimou, a relative hive of activity as the saint’s feast day was rapidly approaching. The old church here was fascinating, containing the saint’s casket, which is normally opened up once a year on October 20th. Adjacent is the new, much larger church, built in the 1980s to accommodate the huge numbers of pilgrims who assemble to celebrate the feast day.

Our next stop was at the spectacular Drogerati caves, a few miles west of Sami. We ventured into the subterranean chambers to find amazing formations of stalactites and stalagmites, all lit by blazing arc lamps that covered them in an orange hue. A couple of miles farther is the wonderful Melissani Lake, a must-see for any visitor to the island. We availed ourselves of the boat ride out to the middle of this crystal-clear, underground lake, formed by violent earth tremors eons ago, and marvelled at the oarsman’s consummate skill.

We stopped for lunch in Sami, which, according to most of the travel guides, is “a pretty little town.” We had to disagree; Sami needs a bloody good wash and brush up (please take note, Sam). We sauntered around its dusty streets for an hour or so trying to find any hint of where the scenery was constructed to film “Captain Corelli,” but to no avail, so we pressed on up the rough track that took us to Antisamos Bay, just around the headland.

Now, this was easy to see where filming had taken place. The track down to the beach was only constructed for the filming, and prior to that, you could only reach Antisamos by boat.

Retracing our route back to Sami, we passed a faded sign for “Sami Acropolis” and “Kastro,” so we followed the dirt track up the mountainside. Upon arriving, we were again disappointed to find nothing more than vast piles of rubble and nothing official to indicate that historic remains were here or what we were looking at. But that is so typically Greek...

Quick Tips:

October temperatures were very warm at around 26C, nowhere near as hot as Rhodes, Crete, or Kos in June, but the intensity of the sun makes 26C here feel like 35C at home (on the extremely rare occasion that the UK has ever experienced a “35”).

Caroline and I tan quickly, and we had very red faces and shoulders after driving all day with the sun roof on the jeep down. Just because it’s October doesn’t mean you can forget the sun cream.

Fuel stations are few and far between so fill up in the towns when you have the chance. Most churches and monasteries will insist on bare arms and legs being covered prior to entering, so guys, take a T-shirt and three-quarter-lengths, and girls, take a wrap around skirt and pashmina for the arms.

Best Way To Get Around:

Compacted dirt roads change to loose surface, then to rocks, so care is of the utmost. The mountain tracks are very steep, with excruciatingly tight bends, many without barriers. Meet someone coming the other way and you could be in for a half-mile reverse to a passing point.

Purchase a good map of the island. I can thoroughly recommend the Road Editions map of Kefalonia and Ithaca, published in Greece but available in the UK from a decent book-shop for £4.95.

Greek driving – what more can I say? The ethos here is, “I am the world’s best driver. If anyone overtakes me, it is an insult to my manliness. No one can get from A to B quicker than I. I can overtake traffic on blind bends without a second thought. Road markings mean nothing. If I flash my lights at you, get out the way, as brakes aren’t standard equipment on my car.”

There, you’ve been warned.

We park the jeep in the deserted car park, donning suitable clothes for the visit. The new church is stunning, painted in light cream with red pan tiles. We leave this to later and walk to the old church, past the imposing Venetian four-belled campanile.

We adhere to Greek custom and light a small candle as we enter. The old church dates to at least medieval times and contains some wonderful treasures, including the casket containing the body of Agios Gerasimos. He was renowned as a healer and became very popular with the islanders after his return from the Holy Land in the 16th century. His casket is opened only once a year, namely on his feast day of October 20th, when he is carried over the heads of the sick, dying, and diseased in an effort to cure them of their maladies.

But we are going to be lucky; a family of pilgrims has travelled to Frangata but cannot stay until the 20th. The priest agrees to open the casket for them, but “no photos please,” and there he is, the man himself.

Following this, the priest agrees to open the trapdoor that leads via steps to the cave beneath the church where Agios Gerasimos lived. It’s a tight squeeze, but I make it to the bottom and then see the even narrower gap at floor level that leads into the chamber proper, a hole no more than 12 inches square. How could anyone live willingly down here?

The old church also contains some beautiful frescoes and chandeliers, along with a small library of crumbling books.

We come out into the warm sunshine and head for the new church, built purely to accommodate the ever-increasing numbers who travel from all across Greece to pay respect to their cherished saint. Again we strike it lucky: a local lady of about 40, who speaks wonderful English, gives Caroline and me an unofficial tour. The church is only 20-odd years old and the interior paintings are still not complete. They are magnificent, depicting various scenes from the scriptures with portraits of revered local saints. The colours are breathtaking; goodness me, if anyone ever needed an excuse to turn to religion...

Work is ongoing inside to prepare for the great day; a small army of cleaners are engaged in polishing every surface up to a brilliant sheen and they hardly notice us as we stroll past.

We return outside to take a look at the other buildings within the monastery and see that a coach party has rolled in just as we decide it’s time to push on. I bet they’d give their eye-teeth for what we’ve just seen.

We leave the car and cross the road to the entrance where a gruff voiced Greek informs us that it’s 3.50 euros to go in. We cough up and start the steep descent into what is initially Stygian gloom but then gradually lights up as the arc lamps reach our steps.

Drogerati is one of the principal attractions on the island but goodness me, there are only 50 people down with us and it’s tight to say the least. Intense yellow arc lamps illuminate the interior casting a bright haze across the main chamber, making it difficult to compensate for photographs.

The caves are two million years old and were discovered in the 17th century. The inside stays at a constant 18c and descends to over 60m beneath the surface. The acoustics are incredible and as such, occasional classical music concerts are held down here.

The natural formations almost defy description; stalactites and stalagmites form the main features in varying colours, the results of tens of thousands of years’ gradual seepage and the resulting build up of mineral deposits. Some are relatively “new”, just a few centimetres long, some are monsters, six meters tall and two meters around.

The central chamber is cathedral-like, it’s roof soaring above our heads with an almost perfectly flat floor. Drogerati suffered no damage in 1953, such is it’s depth and thickness of walls. More people are coming down into the cave and are finding it difficult to squeeze by those on their way out. It must be insufferable in here in high summer. The steps are slippery but we are sensible enough to be wearing trainers. Incredibly, I spy a woman of around thirty wearing at least three-inch heels. Maybe she’s off clubbing later?

Drogerati Caves are a wonderful sight but controlled access would be necessary in summer to avoid queuing and bottlenecks. The arc lamps are there for a reason but they virtually preclude photography and I’m sure that people must take a tumble on the wet steps occasionally. The chap on the entrance looked and sounded like he’d lost £10 and found a penny and the tavernas at the car-park were over-priced for average quality food.

But it’s all about geology in the end and Drogerati competes with anything that Postojna in Croatia or Cheddar in Somerset can offer.

We park up and pay our 4€ each at the kiosk. We enter the main chamber via a sloping walkway that has been hollowed out of the rock and leads down to the tiny landing stage, where a boat is ready to leave with a few passengers aboard. The oarsman helps us aboard and then quickly skulls the 4m boat out into the middle of the first chamber. The colours of the water are mesmerising and surprisingly warm, around 19C.

A little background: Melissani Cave/Lake was formed around 30,000 years ago. It is known to have been used as a shrine to Pan, and artefacts have been uncovered that confirm this. It was opened to visitors in the 1960s and rivals Drogerati as the prime attraction on Kefalonia. Seawater from the sinkholes at Katovothres, near Argostoli, flows beneath the island for 20km at a rate of 1km per day to surface in the lake. This then drains slowly into the saltwater “duck pond” at Karavomilos, just half a kilometre away.

Originally, the entire lake was covered, but the roof collapsed during the 1953 earthquake. This deposited a vast rubble cone into the lake at an offset angle that has the effect of varying the depth of water inside from just 2m to an incredible 30.

Back to the tour: The oarsman now rows out towards the far side, where an impossibly narrow looking channel leads to the vast second chamber. He expertly guides the boat, which is no more than a few centimetres narrower than the gap, through the channel, and we enter the still-roofed main chamber.

This too has a large rubble cone, continually forming as the roof gradually loses large rocks and boulders. The cone will continue to grow until such a time that it meets the roof. This is what eventually blocks up cave systems for speleologists.

Our captain rows us to the far side, where he practises a bizarre form of Greek “yodelling,” sending pigeons and formerly dormant bats scurrying into the damp air in a state of alarm, before it’s time to return to the landing stage and let the next boat through.

There is something magical about Melissani. For what you get, 4€ is very reasonable. The scenery is awesome and quite breathtaking. The water is so blue and still that you’d swear you were gazing at a canvas. The oarsman will take your picture with your camera if required, and for this, we give him a few Euros as a thank you, especially for his navigational skills. Don’t miss it.

We enter the town from the west and drive down the road towards the harbourside. “It’s a bit rundown,” says Caz, and I’m inclined to concur. Holes in the road, houses with shutters hanging off them, cars that look like they’ve just competed in (and lost) the local demolition derby, and a general air of tattiness: our image is fading rapidly...

The wide main square is where we leave the jeep to stroll along the harbourside. There are a few decent-looking tavernas here, all offering “catch of the day,” most hanging on till the last seconds of the summer to ensnare some late-season customers while they can. We see a few rundown-looking hotels and a couple of tourist shops, their stock now almost depleted.

Suddenly, there it is, can it be…? Yes, it is, it’s... CAPTAIN CORELLI’S SNACK BAR!! Half expecting to see Nicholas Cage and Penelope Cruz enjoying a doughnut, we stroll by only to be disappointed. Can this really be all that Sami has to offer? The answer to that is an astounding YES.

If ever a place got complacent and decided to rest upon its Hollywood laurels, then it’s here. It’s no surprise that the majority of British tour companies don’t even bother with Sami anymore, and I can’t say that we blame them.

I like to illustrate my journal entries with the maximum four photographs; I’m going to be hard-pressed here to find four things worthy of a picture. Fortunately, a fisherman ambles into view and I catch him with his bag of sardines as he mooches by. I do then find the pretty church up a side lane (that’s two then) and click away here.

We do “find” the central square that was mocked up as Argostoli, but no thanks to the local information boards. Maybe Sami feels that we don’t need telling?

Without wishing to appear flippant, there’s just one thing I can say about Sami: God help her if she ever experiences another earthquake, but at least there’s nothing much left to fall down or to be damaged.

Once again, we abandon the jeep and clamber up and over the huge piles of rubble and rock that at one time formed the impressive Acropolis and medieval castle that defended Sami and this section of the east coast from sea-faring marauders.

There is another couple up here; they appear to be German and although I know nothing of their language, it’s clear to see that they are as unimpressed as we are. We head across the heaps of spoil until our patience is at last rewarded. If nothing else, the Acropolis offers a superb view across the sea to Sami and further north to Karavomilos.

Deciding that enough was enough, we stroll back towards the jeep and stumble across some huge, shaped stones that form an ancient doorway, with the arch still intact overhead so I take a photo to prove that a) we were here and b) this is as good as the Acropolis gets. Ascerbic criticism maybe, but why oh why doesn’t the Greek government take a bit of pride in it’s archaeological heritage?

Antisamos beach is just a few hairpin bends away so off we trot. This is a bit more like it. We come around the headland and there before us and 300 meters below is the narrow crescent of the beach, used as the Italian base in the film. The road was built for the film crew to access the beach; prior to this it was boat or helicopter.

We zig-zag down the hill and turn on to the beach. Of course it’s mid October and it’s almost deserted but we stay awhile just to recall the film and to fill our lungs with bracing, saline air. A few brave souls are body boarding but the swell is minimal and they’re lucky to get five meters or so.

This is the last stop on our east coast trip, so we saddle up, tackle the hill and point the trusty steed in the direction of Argostoli.