Thomas struck up a conversation and before too long a tray of Metaxas appeared courtesy of the legendary hospitality.
‘Ya-mas’ rang out to the clinking of glasses. Further Metaxas reciprocated, more clinking and the slippery slope beckoned. It was not the best preparation for the 13km descent down the rocky gorge so we accepted an offer to sleep on the roof of the pumping station, a panoply of stars above our fuzzy heads recovering for the arduous trek ahead.
Next morning we trudged to the rim of the Gorge peering down 1250 meters towards the coast, our eventual destination.