Rosy-fingered dawn gave way to an intense morning sun as we wound our way up and down the mountains of the beautiful Pelion peninsula. There are sweeping views of the clear blue water of the Pagasetic Gulf as you round the last few hairpins to sea level, and take the coast road to Milina. It is a village of narrow streets so we need to find a place to park from where we can find Rob and Rachel’s place on foot. The place we find is right next to the beach, just about far enough off the road for safety in the shelter of a seafront building. We have instructions to find the house which conclude:
“200 years up that road/concrete track is our place, two red tiled roofs with a white gate in the middle.” Rob blames auto-correct for the distance, but atmospherically, it is just about right for the road….
Down the steps the other side of the white gate the two old stone buildings under the two red-tiled roofs face one side of a paved courtyard. On the other sides, a picturesque stone ruin 
and a half-tamed garden waiting to be transformed into a cool oasis with splashing water. Perfect. 
The courtyard has orange trees set into the flagstones which entangle their branches overhead to provide shade for eating, drinking, sitting, reading – all the quiet activities such surroundings invite. I chose to sit there to eat apricots with yogurt and honey in the morning. Thank you Rob and Rachel.
The buildings are the ruins of an old olive press and it is the work of Rob and Rachel that has created this quiet haven. One building was completely without a roof but now sports an amazing configuration of beams – built in the Albanian tradition apparently.
The airiness of the white rooms and the metre thick walls kept us cool while we spent three nights enjoying the space of a house and garden after the tininess of the van – a whole bedroom, a truly amazing bathroom, a private garden and a lighting system we still have not quite figured out! The first night we could not get the stove to work and just had to go out to eat:-) At the beach-front Elia taverna we shared the best fava I have ever eaten followed by the best melanzani-type dish for me and cheesy-potatoey Piliortico (?) for Neil. (I would describe it as a Greek version of tartiflette but google search has let me down on this one.) He enjoyed it.
The village fronts the sea with a row of tavernas and the side streets have enough small grocery shops and bakers to meet the needs of the day. And the days are HOT. Swimming becomes a late afternoon activity as the sun begins to set, followed by a leisurely sundowner. 
One morning we go early and find a solitary sleeper on the beach in his bedroll. As people arrive to swim he picks up his bed and walks back to his van – full of fruit and veg which he sets off to sell around the streets. Looks like a nice work – I pursue one of my favourite activities – collecting sea-glass.
The cooker now works – the trip switch was up instead of down (or vice versa) – so I cook on our last night to finish up the bacon and eggs we had had in the van for some time. My fault for being so un-Greek in my repertoire – the hob objected and a startling crack came from under the pan. Horror of horrors – I had somehow cracked the ceramic surface! Mortifying to damage other people’s borrowed stuff! (Follow up – many emails later and Rob’s local house-guru managed to source a replacement and arrange its installation in time for family holidays – thank goodness!) The cat in the window was unmoved throughout.
It came to 16th June and we were now on countdown to our ferry date on 20th. My usual resources showed a real paucity of camper stops and campsites across country from Pelion to Patras and I wanted to see Delphi enroute. Stella said over seven hours drive to get to a campsite at Delphi and it was so hot we were reluctant to be any distance from the sea. Fortunately the ACSI book showed a couple of the campsites near Delphi had swimming pools, but seven hours is still waaay too far in a day. Finally looking in park4night I found a parking spot just back around the top of the gulf – but three hours drive on the windy roads. It is a public beach just at the end of the road from Nea Anchialos – right on the sea with trees.
It rained some more as night drew on so no cooking outside, which we normally do, and yet again we were forced to eat in the local, on-site taverna:-) Lamb chops and chips again for me! Portia nestled damply in the trees below.
Very simple, authentic food they said, as we conversed in Anglo-Greco-Italiano. They had eaten there the night before and were enthusiastic about what they had eaten – phonetically, scored-val-yay with horta. When we got there the owner told us the menu choices were fish or meat and no-one spoke English to explain exactly what was what. The owner phoned her daughter to come and talk to us and she whizzed up a few minutes later. Then it transpired that she had also met the young Greek couple on their walk and they had told her what we should eat: scored-val-yay with horta to start and a plate of small fishes to follow. Horta is very like spinach and both it and the scored-val-yay were delicious. The owner came out and explained how to make the latter with a fair bit of mime and the help of ingredients from the shelf in the kitchen. It seems it is white bread, without the crusts, soaked in oil, a bit of vinegar plus garlic and salt then pressed somehow into a loose paste. Definitely no food processor. We chose fish and each had a plate of lightly fried sardines – with a squeeze of lemon a memorable birthday meal.
guide-book and road signs; Sparta, Arcadia, Thermopylae, Mycenae, each calling us to loiter with the mythical shades amongst the fallen pillars and tumbled stones. But…. we had a rough plan and it is difficult to abandon a plan, however sketchy, and there is always the possibility of next year (when there is not a heatwave). So we decided to leave the third finger of the Peloponnese for another day and make a big leap across the Spartan valley, skirting Tripoli (Tripoli? How did that get in there?) to a spot just around the end of the Gulf of Nafplio in the Argolid. Yes – where Jason and his Argonauts came from!
I needed support going down because my smooth, flat soles were inclined to slip on the marble paving slabs on the paths – brought to a high shine by generations of feet. If you go – wear good grippy trainers. To show the height – you can see the many buses in the car park.
The ancient port of Koroni sits below a Venetian fort towards the tip of the south-west peninsula of the Peloponnese. From Kalo Nero we crossed the mountains from the east coast of Messenia to the west, bypassing Kalamata (where the olives come from) and Ancient Messene (through sheer ignorance). The roads proved a lot less fearsome than they appeared on the map and had great views. Beyond Messini (the new one) fruit and vegetable stalls dotted the roadside – a sack of oranges made its way into the back of the van (4 Euros) together with fragrant tomatoes and courgettes. In the book Camping Koroni claims to be fifty metres from the sea without mentioning they are all vertical. There were steps and a path down the (small:-) cliff to a Taverna right by the sea. The beach was sandy and it was quite a walk to get in above your knees – nice though, with the old town just across the water. It was a pleasant enough site with plenty of shade but I did not take to the high hedges around the pitches – seemed to make it a bit airless after the openness and direct access to the sea of Kalo Nero. The swimming pool was a bonus. 
It was Hot. At about five o’clock we braved the heat and tackled the steep streets of the charming old town. They took their toll!
Refreshing ourselves with a rather sophisticated (and expensive ) ice cream on the harbour front we also yielded to the honeyed blandishments of the mini-baklava in one of the boutique bakeries. A small, well wrapped, selection went into the back-pack for future delectation. The town seems to be well endowed with hardware shops for no obvious reason, none of which had the sort of mat for the outside of the van we had realised was needed – especially on a sandy beach. Some of them retain an old-fashioned look. 
I downloaded it and started to read – awe-inspiring. With his wife he crossed the Taygetus mountain range, the spine of the rugged and remote Mani, on foot and discovered the inaccessibility of the region and the hospitality of the people. He stopped and conversed with people in isolated villages along the way and wrote “There are times in Greece when you feel you could live with as little forethought about food as Elijah; meals appear as though laid at one’s elbow by ravens”. This echoes Neil’s childhood memories at the home of a greek school friend many years ago: lamb chops and potatoes fried in olive oil would invariably materialise in front of them not long after each expansive welcome from his mother. Since then I have discovered that Leigh Fermor lived to 96 years of age, only dying in June 2011 at his home in Kardamyli, a small town we were about to drive through obliviously:-(
The pitches are not marked out so it is airy and spacious – judicious use of the compass and we maximise the shade from the tall pines. 
We manage though and find a much wider range of dishes on the menu. Neil has been waiting to find chicken in the oven with potatoes – soft, garlicky and oily – and I go for kleftiko – stolen meat – cooked in paper with vegetables – meltingly soft. And still only about €28 with tzatziki starter and wine.
I wander out later and find a newly married couple in their wedding clothes posing for their wedding photographs. It makes for some great shots but I can’t help thinking it is tempting fate to use a shipwreck as a backdrop for a new marriage!
SnailTrails.. . . . 