We would never recommend a trip to Corfu just for the kumquat liqueur, but this Chinese fruit has been cultivated on the island since the late 1800s and the liqueur makes a unique treat — or gift if it doesn’t appeal to you!

Standing out from the many standard souvenir-gift shops, Antica, 25 Ayios Spiridon, leading away from the north end of Liston (tel. 26610/32–401), offers unusual older jewelry, plates, textiles, brass, and icons. Gravures, 64 Ev. Voulgareos, where the street emerges from the old town to join the new town (tel. 26610/41–721), has a fine selection of engravings and prints of scenes from Corfu, all nicely matted. Originals (taken from old books or magazines) can cost 150€ ($195), reproductions as little as 10€ ($13). The elegant Terracotta, 2 Filarmonikis, just off N. Theotoki, the main shopping street (tel./fax 26610/45–260), sells only contemporary Greek work: jewelry, one-of-a-kind pieces, ceramics, and small sculptures, some by well-known Greek artists and artisans. Nothing is cheap, but everything is classy.

No dearth of ceramics can be found in Corfu, but we like the Pottery Workshop, 15km (10 miles) north of Corfu on the right of the road to Paleokastritsa (tel. 26610/90–704), where you get to observe Sofoklis Ikonomides and Sissy Moskidou making and decorating all the pottery on sale here. Whether decorative or functional, something will certainly appeal to your taste. Two kilometers (1 1/4 miles) farther along the road, on the left, is the Wood’s Nest, offering a large selection of olive wood objects just slightly cheaper than in town.

Read more: http://www.frommers.com/destinations/corfu/

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Knowing Greece was a country with a legal system as watertight as a colander, I covered myself for any eventuality that would happen (knowing it WOULD…Never a COULD or MAY option here), or so I thought!

Due to the struggling Greek Economy, money was a BIG issue! Overjoyed when money was bought in and spent by the beloved tourist, but they detested tourists, or anyone with no Greek connection, overstaying their welcome, knowing only too well, that eventually we would be, in any way, shape or form, earning money!

Vatos, a compact but perfectly formed village, sandwiched between Pelekas, Ermones and the Ropa Valley, on the West of the island, was an area not well known by British holidaymakers in the 80’s, but the Germans came in their droves, often staying for months. Nikos and I decided to convert our horse stables into holiday apartments, giving the backpacker a more pleasant place to stay, with cooking facilities and bathrooms other than roughing it on the concrete floor in the store room attached to Spiro 97’s taverna!

The previous morning, Christolei, the old man, whose misfortune, was having his stone wall demolished regularly by the bus, due to the sharp bend in the road and very tight turn, had completed his morning mission…visiting as many neighbours as he could manage…to get away from his nagging wife Koula, and as usual, our house was his final spot. 3 greek coffees and umpteen ouzo chasers later, we knew all the latest gossip.

Nikos must have told the old man of our visit to the Port Police, and he must have told everyone else! As the bus pulled up, I could see it was packed to the gills with villagers. As we boarded some wished me luck and said a few prayers…Others crossing themselves, muttering Thea Mou (My god) and a majority slating the criminal ways of their own Constabulary!

Surely obtaining a permit was….Filling out a few forms, maybe paying a small fee…Having a mug shot taken…Given a list of ‘Do and Do Nots’….No Problem! (Infamous saying at the time in Corfu…Yes, got the badge and the t-shirt) ….Help!

I’m escorted to the Captains office, a dilapidated room in dire need of decoration, with Birth Certificate, Passport, and what I believed to be the ‘Golden Ticket’…my Bank of Crete account book, detailing the handsome deposit of 150,000drx, clutched in hand.
On the desk was a file, stuffed to the brim with official looking papers and badly photocopied photographs. MY FILE! What!

I was told to be silent until I was spoken to, so for 20 minutes I sat, mouth tightly shut, thinking how annoying the Captains habit of clearing his throat was, which he did with every document page he turned. I then shifted thoughts to the décor, wondering if it had ever been touched since it’s heyday as an SS interrogation room in WWII…Why change the look I thought, when it’s still being used for the same purpose!

At last! The ‘Golden Ticket’! The Captain catches my attention and smiles, and with perfect English tells me that I’ve been a very good girl. “So…you have money…eh?” “You bring from England…eh?” “You must bring more…not enough here for permit” “Must be 300,000drx in your account for me to give you permit” “Also.. you must pay for permit..50,000drx”
Forgetting that the Captains English was way better than my Greek I retorted with “You’re talking shit, taking the piss.” “You’re getting nothing from me, go to hell” Captain, outraged at this point ups the fee to 100,000drx and demands instant payment. I place the final nail in the coffin with a sarcastic reply that went down like a lead balloon! “ This room could do with decorating Captain”…”I will do it for you, and will only charge you 100.000drx!”

The Captains fist smashed down, so hard on the table, that my file leapt several inches and emptied it’s contents…My boyfriend crumpled into a sweaty heap, mumbling…Afto then einai kalo (This is not good) on a continual loop…and…my urgent need for the toilet was now extremely urgent!

The Captain had succeeded in reducing me to tears and my boyfriend to groveling …pleading for a compromise.

He still insisted that a further 150,000drx had to be, either in my Bank account, or produce evidence that the required amount in foreign currency had been exchanged. As for the 100,000drx fee…he was prepared to waiver this if, at the end of the week, I could provide the evidence needed and also bring to him items jotted down on a list…….

My thanks goes to .….….…..

Arsenio Kostopoulos: Manager of the Bank of Crete, St Rocco Square, Kerkyra, for compiling a fictitious list of currency exchange transactions, to the sum of 183.000drx..
Irenie Lazari:  For her homemade Baklavas and baked Halvas.
The news stand in St Rocco Square:  Where we purchased a box of 200 Aroma cigarettes & a bottle of 5star Metaxa
And finally…   My boyfriend Nikos Lazaris for stumping up the 5000drx to complete the deal.

As I walked toward the Old Port bus station, with my officially stamped Aliens Permit, I wondered what the demands would be for my next one in 90 days.

This was the beginning of my affair with the Corfu Police…I visited them when I had to…but mostly..without an invite…they visited me!

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Across the road was Effie’s supermarket and beside Takis Taverna was a dirt track that accessed the marina. Good business was made serving the yachties that went back and forth most of the day. Sitting outside in the sun we would guess the nationality from the demeanour as each retired sailor came and went from Effie’s.

African Pete came to town and caused a stur in our beer-laden interest. His lovely young wife from an African tribe followed Pete from Effie’s with the shopping on her head. Walking 4 paces behind (As was the custom) we were transfixed at the site that walked past.

Never in a million years would this happen for us as we all looked at our partners. The response was less than accommodating. Very quickly backpacking this winter around African was taken off the agenda just encase we got ideas. We did our best…

Kevin was a master at advertising the Taverna. Frequently he would write ‘Free Beer Tomorrow’ on the board outside when business was getting to slow. The un-aware would make a point of being there tomorrow only to be charged for their beers. When asked Kevin would reply “Avrio” (Tomorrow in Greek) Free beer was always tomorrow never today.

For some reason he super-glued a 50drx coin to the stone step outside the taverna door. Anyone attempting to pick it up became the subject of bar humour. One day a builder short on change, got out his chisel walked to the coin and maid up the difference for his beer.

Takis was the working mans local anything you needed could be found there, Boat bits, car hire; flight tickets anything you care to think of. I have no idea how things are now and would welcome some posts on this subject.

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Nikos the painter having lived in Australia for some years had a much broader outlook on life. His humour was wicked and stylish like a true Corfiot but with a subtlety that was full of guile (We got on well) and as a boss he was fair and reliable.

When rained off on jobs we’d shelter in the local greasy spoon “The Dirty Duck” mainly because of its pool table at the back. Regardless of the occasional downpours I’d still receive a full days pay.

Nikos was well known in Corfu town he’d frequently leave me to complete work while he disappeared only to return with frapes (Cold Instant Coffee) hours later in a happy or sad mood.

Quite often walking between jobs I’d be grabbed by the shoulder and told. “Not down that street I owe money” and we’d go by a circular route between jobs. Avoiding  suppliers was a game we frequently played.

Returning one day in a dark mood I’m asked “ How muck black paint do we have?” I wait for the explanation.

“I painted this jewellery shop ‘White’ 4 months ago and he won’t pay up!”
It wasn’t difficult to read Nikos mind and questioned the legality.

“No Davey he wants it black” I’m told with a wink. “He’s changed his mind. I’m sure its all a misunderstanding.”

Hanging from his hand were the keys of the Jewellery shop! “He never asked for them back.”

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I’d a steady job, time on my hands and some spending money. I’d my first steady girlfriend. A wild cat that could throw plates like frizzbys. Having lived on the Island for 6 years she could curse me in English, Welsh & Greek. Yet it was my calming effect that she craved.

Sitting in Arches bar propped up by my elbow testing my ability to handle drink. I’m mesmerised by the MTv videos being played ‘Fine Young Cannibals’ with the guitarists wobbly legs and ‘INXS and their disposable placard video in a derelict factory (I’m showing my age now) have repeated for the third time tonight.

Subtitle hints from Theo (the bar owner) about how to make women happy were getting me down.

I see Sarah pacing the bar with a bee in her bonnet. I’d done nothing wrong. I’d been polite gentlemanly and courteous. I was defiantly not taking her for granted. (A lesson previously learnt) and I was not behaving like her previous Greek boyfriend that she complained so much about. Something’s up and I haven’t a clue.

Sarah appears from the semi-haze and is sitting nose-to-nose with me now, grinning like a psycho Cheshire cat a look that always disturbed me.

Spinning on my stool I save the contents of my drink before I realise I’ve been slapped across the face. She’s leaving now nose stuck up in the air. I can only see the back of here head as she disappears through the door. A chorus of jeers follow me as I recover and gave chase.

I’m bewildered, confused and don’t understand her explanation of ‘I felt like it’ and strangely don’t care. I can see she’s coming to a decision and there’s nothing I can do about it. We head back home as if nothing had happened.

“She’s to wild for you Davey! You’ll never control her!” was Theo’s advice back at the bar. “You need a nice Greek girl that understands us men.”

Relationships are all about giving space or so I thought. The dance between stepping in and being Manly and stepping back, takes experience and I feel frequently unsure.

It’s this Island really it’s like a golden cage very beautiful and colourful, scenes that take your breath away yet the prospects of career advancement are very limited. Sarah was coming to the end of her relationship with the Island. If only I new that at the time.

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My one and only head to head confrontation was in a boat yard in Mandouki. I’d worked in ‘Spiros Boat Yard’ for 3 months and got use to the buffoonery that frequently went on. Although I was employed by Spiros may manager was Vangelis. A good hearted man but frequently impulsive with an explosive temper. I’d learnt to appease his good nature and avoid his dark side… or so I thought.

Vangelis had just returned from London seeing his children and estranged wife. It had not gone well! He even missed his return flight back to Corfu because a London Cabby left him in a housing estate in Hounslow (a London suburb) at 5am in the morning. We in the yard guessed why but said nothing. Anyway the English were not his favourite people by the time he got back.

“Davey! You have not been working hard enough! Since I’ve been away”
I was perplexed,  my work rate was one of the best while others had fallen by the wayside, Greeks included. Looking around I see Costas under another keel lifting his eyes up to heaven giving me a grin of support. I say nothing and continue working.

Vangelis continues to pace around the yard muttering to himself, repeating his argument with the London Cabby days before and curses me for being so slow.

“I take 2000 DRX from your wages tomorrow because you have worked so slowly!” This was a step too far… so I argue the merits of employees trusting their employers in the future. Things escalated…

“I pay you nothing!” says Vangelis. Which he repeats and no attempt at reason would persuade him otherwise. Now I’ve lost a full weeks wages for arguing about money I’d already earned. I’m astonished and angry and felt hard done by. It was too great to ignore and the argument intensifies.

A ‘Red Mist’ of anger descends upon me and Vangelis seeks refuge by climbing up onto a speedboat and pulling up the ladder.

My chance of getting my hands around his neck and dragging him into the sea vanished as he stood grinning like ‘Lord and Master’ on top of the speedboat.

I walk over to his recently washed car and open the side door facing Vangelis over its roof.

“You will pay me my money or I’ll piss in your car!” That got attention; Spiros and Costas start to approach from behind looking very concerned. Looking back I waved them to stop with the wag of one finger. Which they do! The audience grows…

Vangelis dares me with threats of retribution, no pay and the usual obscenity. However he can only see the top half of me from his position on the boat.

“Keep your money! This is worth it!” I say and do a convincing job in his car.
Well the reaction was dramatic. Volcanic Vangelis is off that boat like a monkey heading straight for me. Slowly I back up folding my arms.

My act of fake sabotage had done the trick. The audience including Costas and Spiros with their perverse sense of humour rolled around amongst the keels of the yachts as Vangelis ‘fuming’ storms off into the distance.

I had to go. My manager wouldn’t work with me so with regret, Spiros paid me out of his own pocket promising a good reference for the future.

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Politics, arguments, disputes over money are not uncommon and in Corfu its no different. Some of my posts would suggest it’s mayhem on the island. This is far from the truth. Corfu has always been a well-run profitable island that steadily invested in its infrastructure. It’s just the disputes can be more colourful and the legal actions positively creative in there dastardly interpretation.

I’m typing this in way of explanation, to hopefully explain the context of the posts that are to follow. Its quite different being a foreigner living in Greece than just visiting as a tourist. It takes a while to understand the way of the road. But once you now your way around its plain sailing.

400 yards from the Liston and my brush with the law (Read .. Square Bashing at the Liston) Buried amongst the alleyways of Old Corfu town was ‘The Gallery’ a foreign run bar who’s roof was in dyer need of repair, so bad was the situation buckets were passed around when it rained.

I was one of three labourers working on the roof of ‘The Gallery’ we were aware of the dispute between ‘The Gallery’ and their landlord. A threat of legal action had been given if ‘The Gallery’ went ahead with the roof repairs. Assuming this was a financial dispute over who was going to pay the final bill we considered it safe to work one Saturday morning on ‘The Gallery’ roof.

Not to be… The Lawyer ‘for the landlord’ arrived with support and a dispute in the alleyway gets under way. Our boss instructs us to lay low on the roof and stay quiet.

Scuffles and shouts are heard and up pops this strangers head with only his eyes and  big nose visible. Just like a “Wot No? drawing” of old.

Discretion being the best part of valour, we left across the roof tops of old Corfu town. I still have visions of looking down at the tourists and seeing the bells of ‘St Agios Spyridon’ in the not so far distance. Slowly we edge are way from roof top to roof top looking for a way to get down; only to be thwarted by the lawyer searching for us in the streets below.

Finally we shimmy down a Venetian drainpipe half buried into the wall then the Lawyer spots us.

It was the screams more than anything that panicked us. Just like Cat burglars being caught in the act…. we bolted in three different directions leaving the Lawyer screaming for the police.

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I was on a photographic commission shooting for a Holiday brochure in the San Stephanos area of Corfu, following my intrepid boss up a dirt track I stepped on this snake by accident. I only new it was there when feeling the pain. Squeezing my toes showed the puncture wounds. Hopping back to the mini-market in San Stephanos (1.5 hours from Corfu Town) I was greeted by a me-lay of Greeks running around on hearing the news. I’d lived in Greece for some years and seeing Greeks run was unheard off this worried me more than anything.

Greeks never run, especially in the heat they shout across a road in conversation before they’ll exert themselves. With the utmost haste they called the accident Clinic in Ipsos (Mid-journey back to Corfu General Hospital) and translated the news. What followed were a series of events that taxed the nerves of one of the most intrepid Greek travellers.

Arriving in Ipsos clinic I was wheeled past all the moped accidents strait onto the table by my boss. (His driving on the hairpin bends nearly sent us into the olive trees). Heart checked and lungs tested I was injected with a large dose of drugs that set my heart racing artificially high, speeding up my system to counter any poison that may be taking effect. Letter in hand from the clinic I was wheeled back into little Greek car by running nurses at a speed that ‘Lewis Hamilton’ would have been proud of 45 mins later I was in the Corfu General Hospital again the doctors were positively speeding about which freaked me more than all the needles coming in my direction.

Taking blood samples for the haematology dept’ from one arm within minutes of anti venom being injected in the other. A very re-assuring voice removing more blood from my wrist (Both arms were occupied) told me. “You’re lucky! If you arrived after two hours from a good bite we would not have bothered”… this followed by a reassuring grin (Greek humour can be wearied). Staying overnight with a saline drip stuck in another vacant position (Don’t ask) I spent the night in the upstairs ward.

I apparently have the dubious honour of being the first none Greek to have been bitten in 20 years and quite the mini star of the ward. It turned out my snake had exhausted most of its venom during the season and had little left for me however I had to stay in the hospital for another 24 hours because they had no idea how I would react to all the anti-venom coursing through my veins. On the plus side I had free medical treatment that was very good although a bit too fast for my nerves and only a 50-drx (20 euro) charge for the drugs.

Snakebites are rare however this snake is a small cousin of the rattlesnake, brown with a criss cross pattern on its back and will attack if provoked. If you’re bitten, kill the snake for identification if you can (Don’t get bit again) and seek immediate medical attention (Under 2 hours and stay calm). Medical treatment in Greece is free for EEC residents for everyone else its treatment first ask questions later.

Snakebites are a rarity, even though be aware of their existence when hiking. Good hiking boots and lower leg protectors are a much safer bet if you intend to do some extended hiking.

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The cricket pitch is still as it was in front of the Liston and hemmed in by a car park on the far side, irregular dents from wayward cricket balls are not uncommon.

In the distance and next to the Museum is the Police station. Pains of guilt spring to mind when thinking about the Police station and events that took place one Sunday morning, it still leaves me with apprehension in case I’m spotted. Yet hand on heart I can honestly say I was guilty of nothing.

I’d been handing out leaflets at the ‘Old ferry Port’ terminal encouraging backpackers to stay at the Hotel Europa, so pleased was my boss ‘Agis’. I was earning close to 10,000.00 drx ($35) for 2 hours work in the morning.

My fellow colleagues working for other establishments were not so happy. Especially Spiro who touted for the ‘Pink Palace’ a popular hostel on the west of the Island.

One Sunday morning Spiro called the Police informing then I was an American working without a work permit (Not true I’m British EEC) and that I was bothering the tourists at the Port. I never really found out the extent of his lies but it resulted in two Mercedes Benz and a black van arriving in the port with officers fanning out searching for me. By now Agis new what was up and found me first, grabbed his leaflets and chucked the remainder into a bin. “You are now a tourist waiting for a friend” I’m told just before the police found me. I’m bundled off to the police station ‘Starkey & Hutch’ style in front of 400 new visitors to the Island.

The Liston Police station is, or was (I’m not sure coz I ain’t been back) was quite dilapidated. I was brought before a plain clothed officer standing behind his desk. I’m 22yrs wide-eyed don’t now much but had seen “Midnight Express” the movie.

This officer looked troubled, I could see it in his eyes, but the trouble was not me I was sure of that. Cigarette stains from smoking his roll-ups had reached down to his forearm from the ‘V’ in his fingers. He didn’t look well.

On the table a triangular brass plaque says “Aliens Police Officer” I’m looking around and feeling quite uncomfortable and unfortunately laugh nervously when I spot it. This does NOT go down well. “Mess with me and I’ll lock you up” he points to the cells.

In the far corner I see metal bars, heavy locks, a bed and a bucket. I had visions of ‘John Wayne’ strolling in through the door. He still didn’t like the look on my face. By now I was in a state of anxiety and could not keep my face strait.

He changes tack. “You are an American!”
“No I’m British”

“Where’s your passport?”
“With my landlord” not true but I was not going to hand over my passport just yet!

“Who is your landlord?” I give my landlords name address and references to others that new I was British and things calmed down a bit. The games were still not over, however.

.….….“You done national service?”
“No! National Service in Britain ended in the 1950’s”

“We Still do National service! You stand to attention at an officers desk like this” and the sergeant next to me encouraged me to stand to attention. I’m then ordered to do other square bashing manoeuvres, which I do as slovenly as I could. (I was beginning to feel brave again and a bit stupid)

“You’ve been bothering the tourists Davey! (They know my name now)
“No! I’ve been working as an EEC citizen for Agis at the Europa Hotel”

“Only your passport will prove that!” .….…..There’s silence for a while….….

.….….“Can I go now?”
They  look perplexed.….….. then grin “Yes you go! You leave the Island Now!”

“Yes I will leave the Island!”
“Now!” He insists.

“Yes! I will leave the Island Now!”

I’m free in less than 30 minutes and stay on the Island for another …6 Months… ­

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Yannis shack; of bamboo, elephant grass and driftwood is situated on Myrtiotissa beach on the west coast of Corfu. Myrtiotissa beach is not easy to find a driftwood sign nailed to an olive tree was my only clue. Walking down a dirt track meandering between the olive trees I found myself standing on a cliff overlooking a tranquil bay. Fresh water from the 200ft cliffs trickled over the rocks and down onto the beach below. Looking out to the west I could see a clear blue horizon Italy being 70 miles away. Myrtiotissa beach lacks the commercialization found on Corfu’s other beaches its isolated location means a walk of at least half an hour is needed to get down to the beach. However commerce is vibrant, its northern end is for clothed or partially clothed sun seekers but its southern end is where the backpackers, travellers and the islands gypsy minded residents reside. A hippy persona emanates everywhere. Artists selling their paintings, jewellery and friendship bands sit naked in the sand sheltering from the sun. Everyone is brown, a procession of bathers walk from the mirror sea to the fresh water shower flowing from the cliff onto the beach. Many using olive oil to enhance their tan whilst others play beach ball in their birthday suits.

As unspoilt beaches go, Myrtiotissa beach is hard to beat. Sheltered on three sides by vertical cliffs with a snake path that no vehicle can follow, its fine sandy beach gently slops into the sea. Standing at the waters edge toes disappearing into the sand I find Joanne (Yannis wife and rival to Ursula Andress in Dr No’) back from her afternoon diving adventure displaying a pile of black urchins glistening in the sun, a real pain if you stand on one and Joanna’s self-appointed mission to rid these pests from the beach. Opening one Joanna shows me the orange food inside then eats it raw passing some to me. Tasting similar to mussels I was pleasantly surprised.

Brown bodies abound I could still distinguish between Germans, Scandinavian and Brits. The Italians are a category apart; cultural backgrounds can manifest themselves even on a nudist beach. Fashion conscious Italians, beer swilling Scandinavians, territorial Germans and lobster coloured Brits can be distinguished with ease. Yet the difference between the residents and hardcore travellers was harder to judge. ‘The best time to get to know who’s who is in the evening” says Joanna. “As quite a few sleep on the beach overnight.”

As the sun gets low in the sky the day visitors begin to leave, a precession of coloured garments snake there way slowly up the winding path and disappear from view. “Quality time” as Joanna described it, starts about now.

Ambling along the waters edge, wearing a sarong in ‘Beckham style’ I stumble into the travellers’ encampment hidden from view of the main beach. Attracted by the aroma of grilled fish, life here looked primitive, yet I could see there were plenty that had chosen to camp on the beach for weeks. Familiar faces sitting in the shade only hours before were grouped around a campfire. Rhythms of ‘Cat Stevens’ strummed on a guitar mingle with the evening heat. Sleeping bags arranged in groups, logs arranged around the campfire all were changed and ready for the evening to come. At such a perfect moment it seemed a shame to leave.

Getting there from Corfu Town & airport.
Myrtiotissa beach is 15km west of Corfu town. Take the Glyfada (Via Vatos) green/cream bus (45mins) from the New Port central bus station in Corfu Town and ask for Myrtiotissa beach bus stop (40 mins), you will be dropped of by the side of a road next to an Olive grove with a dirt track. Follow the signs to the beach (The last bus back to Corfu town is 20:30). If you take a car make sure you park in the parking place half way down the dirt track in the olive grove. Beyond the parking area the dirt road becomes really steep a 1in3 incline. Taxis direct from the airport can cost up to 40 euros so ask the price first and then haggle. The Green Bus station from the airport is 4 km so a local bus to the bus station is needed.

Sleeping on the beach…
In Greece, it’s illegal to camp on a beach as there is no revenue earned through its tourism, at Myrtiotissa those that chose to sleep overnight on the beach take their tents down during the day and only put them back up in the dark, others just have their sleeping bags and netting. Myrtiotissa’s isolated location makes the policing of unofficial campers, difficult. As long as no tents are seen it’s possible to become one with the beach and the sea without paying for any accommodation.

Accommodation…
Panorama rooms. Are located in an olive grove at the top of the cliff, overlooking the sea and a 5-minute walk from Myrtiotissa beach. The accommodation is private but you share the communal showers and kitchen. On the main road 300 yards north/south of the bus stop are a lot of apartments to rent. Villa Myrto, Villa Natassa and Villa Capella are only just a few of them. They offer average to high standards.
http://www.panorama-rooms.gr
panoramarooms@yahoo.gr

Vatos Camping is a 30 min walk from the beach and on the outskirts of Vatos village. (The same Corfu-Glyfada bus takes you there) They provide free regular coach transport to Glyfada beach stopping at Myrtiotissa from their campsite.
Tel 0030 26610 94503

Eating out & nightlife…
Mythos bar, Labis bar, Spiros 97 are all within a 30 min walk from the beach and are located in and around Vatos village. There is a local disco ‘Pam Pam’ (Operated by Vatos camping) that opens from July.

Myrtiotissa beach information guide http://www.mirtiotissa.com/

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