Into the Peloponnese
- rnv178
- Jun 13, 2022
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 15, 2022
It is called the Delphic Riviera and is truly something special. Most who visit Delphi do so from Athens. They come, they visit, they turn around and retrace their steps to the capital. A few head onwards and follow a winding and irregular road along the northern shore of the Gulf of Corinth. It is one way of reaching the Peloponnese, by crossing the bridge at Antirrio, and heading south to Rio, Patras, and beyond.
Having overfilled our tummies at breakfast while watching martins dive bomb a swimming pool to catch hovering insects just above the water’s surface, it was time to drive west. We descended the steep mountain from Delphi towards the Gulf of Corinth and passed through hectare upon hectare of olive grove on the way.
The olive trees were pollinating, May and June are the worst months, so we sneezed and coughed as we travelled. Once level with the gulf, perhaps slightly before, we could see it was a magical day, with smooth water beside us, reflecting anything there was to reflect. Life stood still as we drove, an occasional boat chug-chugged the gulf waters and the blue of the several lobster farms looked even bluer than we expected.
Then we saw the wind turbines, and the pylons, and the wires, and the litter. We had seen plenty on our journey already, yet somehow this remote location seemed even more inappropriate. Once-scenic views had been spoiled by long lines of pylon climbing the sides of mountains. Once smooth ridgelines had lost their gentleness thanks to rows of wind turbines. This portion of rural Greece had changed. Technology had removed its mystery and its rural nature had vanished.
Doubtless, those who had erected the turbines and pylons were proud of what they had achieved. Bringing power to communities is seen by many as worthy. Yet the damage they have created is considerable and they have changed the face of the region.
Distraught, and wondering if the engineers even realised what they had done, we stopped at the shoreside village of Marathias to down yet another cup of coffee. It is one of the perils of infrequent service stations. If we stop to beg the use of facilities, our conscience says we should at least have a drink, occasionally even something to eat. By the time this full journey is over, with a full month away from our home, I anticipate being at least ten kilos heavier and deeply addicted to caffeine. To think that once I would only drink decaffeinated coffee. Now anything goes, all in aid of a pee.
To be fair to Marathias, the turbines and pylons were invisible from the village, so it was possible to pretend they were not there. I went up to the two middle-aged men who were sitting quietly under a sunshade, as they each played with their worry beads (komboloi) and stared out across the flat water.
“How do you find it here?” I asked.
“Love it,” they replied in almost unison.
“I’d find it hard to work here,” I observed.
“Why?” one asked.
“It is so peaceful, I would spend all day looking across the water. How could I possibly do any worthwhile labour?”
Both smiled, again in unison. “You’ve got it,” they said, in clear agreement. “But then that is life, particularly in Greece.”
They were right. Marathias was so peaceful, it was difficult to move on, especially as one kilometre around the corner would be pylons, turbines, and litter, and plenty more to annoy us. But off we set, and simply diverted our gaze until it was time to cross the Gulf of Corinth and arrive in the Peloponnese.
Our crossing of the space-age bridge at Antirrio turned out to be straightforward, although required a significant toll. Once in the Peloponnese, the first part of our journey down its western coast had little to commend it. Mostly there were roadworks, with speed signs that made no sense, while a trucker’s stop for another break brought in many suspicious glances from locals. Again, I had to eat and drink as compensation. This time it was a double Greek coffee and a multiply refrozen ice cream that tasted more like crushed ice cubes than the ice cream it purported to be. On went another kilo, maybe even more. Soon I will have to find new trousers. My shirt is already feeling tight.
The car pinged a message today, to say it required an oil change. Part of me hoped to wait until we returned home, but I sense it will be too long and dusty. Somehow, we will need the job done on the road, which I am guessing will be yet another unpredictable adventure. This journey has been full of those, from the moment we left Blighty.
Our endpoint was the southwestern corner of the Peloponnese near the small town of Pilos, a facility called Costa Navarino. Many had told us it was the place to go, so we were heading there with a last-minute booking. Costa Navarino is run by the Westin group and is by no means a cheap option. Like most hotels, the moment we arrived made us feel unsettled, as we slowly readjusted. From pylons and wind turbines to trucker’s stops and hard-to-understand speed signs, added to road surfaces that were more irregular than flat, Costa Navarino was something different.
In a word? Impressive, a place that was hard to fault.
***
Stayed at:
The Westin Resort Costa Navarino
Navarino Dunes, Costa Navarino, 24001 Messinia, Greece
Tel: +30(0)2723095000
Had coffee at:
Votsalo Taverna
Marathias, 29092 Greece
Tel: +30(0)2695048044
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