How the beaches, culture, and people of Corfu captivated me
This is not the typical introduction to an article about a Mediterranean island. It's the dead of winter, 2021, and I find myself in Kensal Green Cemetery in west London, standing before the crumbling imperial mausoleum. We're here to bury Nikos, a man who, for many, embodied the essence of Corfu. I spent my twenties searching for the perfect Greek island, hopping from the well-known (Mykonos, Santorini, Cephalonia) to the lesser-known (Kythira, Symi, Meganisi). None quite matched the vision I had as a child, inspired by Robert Graves, Mary Renault, Lawrence Durrell, and John Fowles. Greece was an idea before it was a place: freedom, deep thought, a constellation of sand, salt, and thyme.
Then, on a whim, I accepted an invitation to play cricket in Corfu. I knew little about the island then, but I was drawn to its strategic history and the unique blend of Greek, Venetian, and British cultures. The cricket pitch, nestled within a UNESCO World Heritage site, was a unique sight. I joined the Lord's Taverners, a UK sports charity team, and was amazed to discover that the Corfiots were excellent cricket players. The Greek national team is almost entirely comprised of players from the island. Despite our defeat, we were consoled by the warmth, generosity, and excellent dinners in the Old Town.
It was during one of these dinners at the Pergola that I met Nikos Louvros and his wife, Annabelle, the founders of Cricket Corfu. Nikos was full of wild energy, and Annabelle was deeply in love with Greece. I recognized the impulse, and by the end of the meal, we had planned our future together: to launch a literary festival. Over the years, this vision has taken glorious shape. The Corfu Literary Festival, which began modestly in 2017, has grown into a significant event, attracting renowned authors like Stephen Fry, Sebastian Faulks, Bettany Hughes, and Matt Haig.
Nikos lived for this festival, showing others the beauty and drama of the island he was born on and returned to. He is gone now, but the festival endures. This September, it will return, larger and more magical than ever, with Homer's Odyssey at its heart. Corfu is large enough and varied enough that you can build an entire itinerary around water and never feel you are repeating yourself. Swim early, before the day warms, or after lunch, when the sea feels silky. Swim at dusk, when the surface holds the day's heat and the light becomes thick and slow.
Corfu's cuisine is not what you usually think of as Greek. It's shaped by Venetian influence, centuries of contact with Italy, and the island's produce. Pastitsada is a beef stew with pasta, sofrito is beef or veal slices braised in a sauce of white wine, vinegar, garlic, and parsley, and bourdeto is a fish stew. In Corfu Town, make time for a night at Salto, contemporary but grounded, with excellent ingredients and a superb wine list. Then, enjoy an ice cream at Papagiorgios, and walk the Old Town with a cone in hand, feeling part of a long tradition of summer nights.
In 2020, during a brief lull between Covid lockdowns, we held the festival as an act of defiance. The world was half-closed, plans changed by the hour, but for a few days, the island opened its arms and let us in. Chairs were spaced out, masks slipped on and off, and hand sanitizers were perched on every table. Despite the challenges, there was laughter, ideas, beauty, and a sense of humanity.
One morning, Nikos appeared with a boat, and we set out along the north-east coast. We stopped at inlets you would never find from land: slivers of shingle, limestone shelves, and beaches no bigger than sofas. Each time we stopped, we swam as if trying to shed the year off our skin. I felt like I had snatched freedom from darkness.
That was the last festival Nikos attended. He died of Covid the following January, on my birthday. When I think of Nikos now, I think of that day on the water: of joy under pressure, of how precious it becomes. The island felt altered, not less beautiful but more charged, as if the light carried grief in waves. Yet, Corfu also teaches that love for a place can outlive the person who brought you there, becoming a way to honor them.
I have tried to do that in my own way. My novel, 'A Stranger in Corfu', is dedicated to Nikos. It grew out of this island, its layered past, its atmosphere of secrecy and hospitality, and the sense that stories cling to the land. The novel is, at heart, a love letter: an attempt to pay proper attention to a place that has given me more than I can easily name.
Go to Corfu and do not hurry. Swim often, drive into the hills, and eat as if time were a gift. Let the island reveal itself at its own pace - slowly, then all at once. And if, one day, someone appears with a boat and an idea, say yes. 'A Stranger in Corfu' by Alex Preston is published by Canongate (£18.99). To support the Guardian, buy a copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply. The 2026 Corfu Literary Festival runs from 21-27 September.
