10.50 am.
I've got my ticket for the eleven o'clock bus to the Isthmus, and I've had a last stroll and snapped a last few photos of pretty Nafplio on this sunny autumn morning. I've had some friendly Jehovah's Witnesses try to sell me "Watchtower" in Greek; a somewhat peculiar conversation as they talked for a fair while before I could get a word in to say I don't speak Greek (which is one of my stock phrases in Greek!). We all beamed at one another slightly awkwardly until one said "We are - Jehovah Witness! Good morning!" and I said "Kalimera! Have a good day!" and then we all smiled at one another again, and they went off to look for an easier discussion.
I also bumped into the boss from Ta Phanaria, Mr Kostas; we shook hands and he wished me a good trip and I wished him a good year next year. Nice man.
Now I'm just waiting for the bus.
11.50.
We're the other side of Mycenae now and climbing steadily into the hills. No more citrus orchards here, just olive trees and more and more vineyards. Scrub-covered hills above, all green and gold in the sunlight.
Earlier, outside Koutsopodi, a gorgeous vintage car passed us; 1920s at a guess, no idea what make; open topped, all shiny and polished with burgundy bodywork. For obvious reasons I don't usually get car-envy, but that could tempt me. They probably do about four miles to the gallon though. But so stylish!
Masses of cyclists; all in proper gear, with numbers on their backs. It must be a road race. Here and there are police officers by the road assisting. Lovely day for it.
The road is lined with plane trees, poplars, holm oak. We go through a tiny village with a veg stall, a kafenion, vines on balconies all golden-leaved and hung with purple fruit. A field of pumpkins, big brilliant-coloured fruits ripening; then one of cabbages and another of yellow squashes. More vineyards; miles of them. Road signs say "Nemea 4 km" so we're definitely in wine country. Red soil and red-gold rocks. I'm trying to snatch some photos but they'll probably be dreadful as there are a lot of bushes and trees along the roadside and it seems every time I press the shutter, bam, there's a tree.
Climbing, climbing. We join the motorway and speed onwards. Spectacular piece of road engineering, looping through the countryside, going through broad golden cuttings in the rock... More vineyards. It would be nice to do a wine tour here someday; Greek wines have got pretty good in the years since I've been coming here.
A sudden mass of Spartium juncium by the verge. Fascinating yesterday at the PFF to learn it's a fibre plant. I never knew that. One of those things you have to soak and beat and soak again and generally process till the cows come home.
The hills ahead are a whiteish rock now, and we're climbing again, enough that my ears have just popped. Then suddenly the view opens out to the left; we're v high, with the sea in the distance. Gosh, that's the Gulf of Corinth! Blue as an azure butterfly's wing. Mountains beyond; and lower ground ahead towards which we begin to swing down. Another sudden shock as I get my first glimpse of the Acrocorinth. Huge, looking like the Rock of Gibraltar, with distant fortress walls gleaming in the sun. And a raptor wheeling silently on a thermal, high up, between here and there.
12.30. Isthmos Bus Station. Bit of a middle-of-nowhere place just south of the Corinth Canal.
It's a sort of Hellenic bus version of Clapham Junction or Crewe. Nothing happening except long-distance buses coming in, dropping off passengers for transfers, picking up other passengers, rolling out again; that and the other traffic (cars and lorries all heading to or coming from the big new road bridge over the Canal). I'm waiting for the local bus; there's only one an hour >sigh< and this isn't the most picturesque spot, to be honest, local colour or no; telling myself to relax, enjoy the sunshine and the comings and goings. The sun is shining, after all, and I have snacks and plenty of water.
An ant goes by at my feet with a bit of flaky pastry, a flat crumb held high like a sail. Struggling slightly as the breeze keeps blowing it down flat - if it were the sail of a dinghy then Ms Ant would have capsized multiple times by now. But she pulls it upright again each time and soldiers on.
26 years ago I got stuck at Corinth railway station for over an hour; now here I am stuck again. What was worse, then, I'd had no breakfast, and all I had on me was a small bottle of water. This is better than that, anyway!
Suddenly, bingo, a bus. 55 minutes' wait; I must have just missed the previous one.
5 to 2 pm.
Outside the Bus Station Café in central Corinth. Full of spinach pie. 20 minutes' wait here between buses, just enough time to eat some food and use the loo. On the bus from Isthmos to here, a lovely elderly couple stopped me from getting off at the wrong stop and told me where to go when we got to the right one - all in the usual mixture of my broken Greek and their patchy English.
Corinth is a bit like a larger version of Argos; a bustling modern town with people doing their Saturday shopping. Hardware stores and wedding-dress shops, butchers and greengrocers and gents' hairdressers... I'm on a street corner and around me are a DIY shop, a street corner kiosk, a health food shop, a store selling orthopaedic aids for the less mobile, a barbers, a pharmacy, an insurance sales office and a kafenio.
And my bus appears. Yay, last stage of my journey!
We bounce out of town on a road parallel to the sea. There are kite-surfers out over the Gulf and a small cargo ship has just come through the Canal and is heading west. The radio plays something wild and folky with a wailing fiddle line, vaguely Cretan-sounding, and then Hozier's "Take me to church". I feel like whooping. We turn inland and after a couple of miles the road goes up onto a bluff, and we're here. The driver doesn't know which stop I want but another passenger does.
And I've arrived. The owners of the Tassos Rooms are a friendly elderly couple who take my passport number, give me a small bunch of the superb local grapes as a welcome, and show me to a lovely first floor room with framed engravings on the walls, a floor tiled in marble the colour of a strong cappuccino, and a terrace big enough to hold a party.
View to the north, out over the countryside and down to the Gulf of Corinth, and the mountains of Boeotia in the distance. View to the south, a roof; and towering over it, the Acrocorinth. This is all pretty fine, I must say!
I seem to have landed on my feet again with this last new set of rooms; the accommodation Gods have been on my side alright for this trip.
Tired, but in a good way. I'll unpack and wash some of my dirty things, and then have a rest before I go out for an evening stroll.
I've got my ticket for the eleven o'clock bus to the Isthmus, and I've had a last stroll and snapped a last few photos of pretty Nafplio on this sunny autumn morning. I've had some friendly Jehovah's Witnesses try to sell me "Watchtower" in Greek; a somewhat peculiar conversation as they talked for a fair while before I could get a word in to say I don't speak Greek (which is one of my stock phrases in Greek!). We all beamed at one another slightly awkwardly until one said "We are - Jehovah Witness! Good morning!" and I said "Kalimera! Have a good day!" and then we all smiled at one another again, and they went off to look for an easier discussion.
I also bumped into the boss from Ta Phanaria, Mr Kostas; we shook hands and he wished me a good trip and I wished him a good year next year. Nice man.
Now I'm just waiting for the bus.
Waiting at Nafplio Bus Station
I have an unusual neighbour on the bus; not sure if he's luggage or mascot
Saturday is the week's second market day; and I say goodbye to lovely Nafplio...
11.50.
We're the other side of Mycenae now and climbing steadily into the hills. No more citrus orchards here, just olive trees and more and more vineyards. Scrub-covered hills above, all green and gold in the sunlight.
Earlier, outside Koutsopodi, a gorgeous vintage car passed us; 1920s at a guess, no idea what make; open topped, all shiny and polished with burgundy bodywork. For obvious reasons I don't usually get car-envy, but that could tempt me. They probably do about four miles to the gallon though. But so stylish!
Masses of cyclists; all in proper gear, with numbers on their backs. It must be a road race. Here and there are police officers by the road assisting. Lovely day for it.
The road is lined with plane trees, poplars, holm oak. We go through a tiny village with a veg stall, a kafenion, vines on balconies all golden-leaved and hung with purple fruit. A field of pumpkins, big brilliant-coloured fruits ripening; then one of cabbages and another of yellow squashes. More vineyards; miles of them. Road signs say "Nemea 4 km" so we're definitely in wine country. Red soil and red-gold rocks. I'm trying to snatch some photos but they'll probably be dreadful as there are a lot of bushes and trees along the roadside and it seems every time I press the shutter, bam, there's a tree.
The only decent shot I got; a vineyard below the road
Climbing, climbing. We join the motorway and speed onwards. Spectacular piece of road engineering, looping through the countryside, going through broad golden cuttings in the rock... More vineyards. It would be nice to do a wine tour here someday; Greek wines have got pretty good in the years since I've been coming here.
A sudden mass of Spartium juncium by the verge. Fascinating yesterday at the PFF to learn it's a fibre plant. I never knew that. One of those things you have to soak and beat and soak again and generally process till the cows come home.
The hills ahead are a whiteish rock now, and we're climbing again, enough that my ears have just popped. Then suddenly the view opens out to the left; we're v high, with the sea in the distance. Gosh, that's the Gulf of Corinth! Blue as an azure butterfly's wing. Mountains beyond; and lower ground ahead towards which we begin to swing down. Another sudden shock as I get my first glimpse of the Acrocorinth. Huge, looking like the Rock of Gibraltar, with distant fortress walls gleaming in the sun. And a raptor wheeling silently on a thermal, high up, between here and there.
12.30. Isthmos Bus Station. Bit of a middle-of-nowhere place just south of the Corinth Canal.
It's a sort of Hellenic bus version of Clapham Junction or Crewe. Nothing happening except long-distance buses coming in, dropping off passengers for transfers, picking up other passengers, rolling out again; that and the other traffic (cars and lorries all heading to or coming from the big new road bridge over the Canal). I'm waiting for the local bus; there's only one an hour >sigh< and this isn't the most picturesque spot, to be honest, local colour or no; telling myself to relax, enjoy the sunshine and the comings and goings. The sun is shining, after all, and I have snacks and plenty of water.
An ant goes by at my feet with a bit of flaky pastry, a flat crumb held high like a sail. Struggling slightly as the breeze keeps blowing it down flat - if it were the sail of a dinghy then Ms Ant would have capsized multiple times by now. But she pulls it upright again each time and soldiers on.
26 years ago I got stuck at Corinth railway station for over an hour; now here I am stuck again. What was worse, then, I'd had no breakfast, and all I had on me was a small bottle of water. This is better than that, anyway!
Suddenly, bingo, a bus. 55 minutes' wait; I must have just missed the previous one.
5 to 2 pm.
Outside the Bus Station Café in central Corinth. Full of spinach pie. 20 minutes' wait here between buses, just enough time to eat some food and use the loo. On the bus from Isthmos to here, a lovely elderly couple stopped me from getting off at the wrong stop and told me where to go when we got to the right one - all in the usual mixture of my broken Greek and their patchy English.
Corinth is a bit like a larger version of Argos; a bustling modern town with people doing their Saturday shopping. Hardware stores and wedding-dress shops, butchers and greengrocers and gents' hairdressers... I'm on a street corner and around me are a DIY shop, a street corner kiosk, a health food shop, a store selling orthopaedic aids for the less mobile, a barbers, a pharmacy, an insurance sales office and a kafenio.
And my bus appears. Yay, last stage of my journey!
We bounce out of town on a road parallel to the sea. There are kite-surfers out over the Gulf and a small cargo ship has just come through the Canal and is heading west. The radio plays something wild and folky with a wailing fiddle line, vaguely Cretan-sounding, and then Hozier's "Take me to church". I feel like whooping. We turn inland and after a couple of miles the road goes up onto a bluff, and we're here. The driver doesn't know which stop I want but another passenger does.
And I've arrived. The owners of the Tassos Rooms are a friendly elderly couple who take my passport number, give me a small bunch of the superb local grapes as a welcome, and show me to a lovely first floor room with framed engravings on the walls, a floor tiled in marble the colour of a strong cappuccino, and a terrace big enough to hold a party.
The terrace...
... and the view
View to the north, out over the countryside and down to the Gulf of Corinth, and the mountains of Boeotia in the distance. View to the south, a roof; and towering over it, the Acrocorinth. This is all pretty fine, I must say!
I seem to have landed on my feet again with this last new set of rooms; the accommodation Gods have been on my side alright for this trip.
Tired, but in a good way. I'll unpack and wash some of my dirty things, and then have a rest before I go out for an evening stroll.
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