Imagine this wonderful scene.
There is a tiny village way up high on the mountainside, amidst fragrant green olive groves that have stood here since time immemorial.
The limestone village houses, clad only in mottled ivy leaves and ancient mosses, huddle close together, as if they are trying to shade each other from the burning glare of the midday sun.
The ancient olive tree, over two hundred years old, but still proudly bearing her mantle of evergreen leaves like a widow's veil, stands in the centre of the village square, providing much needed coolness of shade to the young and old alike who crowd beneath her.
It is mid-morning and the villagers are beginning to gather beneath the tree, as their ancestors have gathered for hundreds of years, in the same shade of the same olive tree.
They gather to exchange information, to laugh about which mans wife has left him, and to shed tears of regret over those who have died recently.
They gather to sit peacefully in the shade and enjoy the company of friends and neighbours alike.
Nearby the ancient olive tree is the village bakery.
The village women, clad in their traditional dress, gather in the little stone house that is the village bakery, to buy their fresh fragrant bread and exchange the latest gossip.
The golden crusty loaves are still hot from the wood-fired ovens.
Each woman wears the particular headdress or scarf that represents her village.
They look like exotic multicoloured birds as they stroll back out of the bakery and into the sunlit square.
Many of the women are breaking chunks off the hot bread and are relishing the crunchiness of the crust and the soft sweetness of the new bread beneath.
Most of the loaf will be eaten before they arrive home, but no matter, they can always go back for more later.
Some of the village men are gathered in the Kafeneon, their traditional meeting place for generation after generation.
They are all here, from Spiros, who is almost a hundred years old, to young Kostas with his new baby.
In the crowded smokey atmosphere of this cafe-come bar-come social centre, they play Tavli (Backgammon) or cards.
They drink coffee, and laugh and cry and pretend to shout at each other.
They discuss the weather, and the basketball match, and how they would change the world if they were a politician.
Women are not barred from this masculine world of the Kafeneon, but they are not to be encouraged either.
It has been a place of refuge from women and family for generations.
Nearby is the little village shop, optimistically referred to as a supermarket by the villagers.
It carries essentials the villagers need, such as candles and chocolate bars, cigarettes and fire lighters.
There are a couple of old tables outside the shop on the marble cobbles, and a few even older chairs.
They are there for anyone who cares to rest for a while and pass the time of day.
Two visitors sit outside at the old table, with its faded red gingham cloth held on with a battered piece of elastic.
Each has a glass of clear red village wine, fruity and rich and good to taste, despite the lack of modern preservatives and hygienic bottling plants.
They are sharing a plate of Mezedes (little things to pick at and eat).
They savour the rich black tanginess of the local olives, the super creamy tang of the Feta cheese, made from milk from local sheep, and the surprisingly good tartiness of the sardines pickled in wine vinegar.
They finish their superlative snack, and try to ask Sophia the owner of the shop, how much they owe her.
"Tipota" she cries, "Nothing", she laughs, hugging them both tight in turn.
"Thank you" they murmur, slightly embarrassed at not sharing a common language.
They do not need one.
"Sto Kalo" she cries after them-"To the Good!" Hospitality and friendliness go hand in hand here in the village.
They wait in amusement as old Maria drives her herd of sheep through the village on the way to her milking shed.
Where is this wonderful place, where hospitality and friendliness still exist, where visitors are welcomed with open arms and hearts? Where is this village where the old traditions are still lived to the full, and where a stranger is a friend you haven't met yet? It is probably only about half an hour drive from the holiday resort you are staying in! There are hundreds of these traditional villages dotted all over Corfu.
You only have to turn off the main road and travel for a short distance before you are likely to find one for yourself.
Don't be shy about intruding into a traditional Greek village.
The villagers will make you feel welcome in their village.
They may stare at you, but it is only friendly curiosity.
Park your car somewhere where it will not upset anyone, or block the tiny country roads.
Walk around the village and explore, and say "Kalemera"" (Good morning) or "Herete" (Good day) to anyone you see.
Try the fragrant bread from the wood oven bakery, share a plate of Mezedes, taste the local wine.
Return to the village one evening and visit the local taverna.
Try dishes you have never heard of, and experience flavours of food you have only dreamed of.
Taste a little of the real Greece, and meet a few real Greek people.
You will soon stop being a stranger and become a friend.