This is the final post of a two-month journey that took me from Istanbul to Athens via the Sea of Marmara, the Turkish Aegean coast, several Greek islands and the Peloponnese. It was not planned in any conventional sense. It started with my aunt Janet, who wanted to visit Constantinople. It ended, as these things sometimes do, somewhere else entirely.
Eleusis sits about 21 kilometres west of Athens, close enough for a day trip and easy enough to overlook. Most people do. But for nearly two thousand years, this was the most sacred site in the ancient Greek world — home to a set of secret religious rites that promised initiates something no other cult dared offer: a better outcome after death. Nobody who took part ever revealed what happened inside. This post is an attempt to piece together what we think we know, and what it felt like to stand there.
Athens needs no persuasion. After six nights in Nafplio, I was ready for it — the noise, the layers, the familiar streets and a few places I had been meaning to get back to for years. This post covers the final stretch of a two-month trip, from leaving Nafplio to a few days in Athens that reminded me exactly why I keep coming back.
Nea Kios is an eight-kilometre taxi ride from Nafplio sitting at the tip of the Argolic Gulf. But with any place beginning with Nea, there is always a back story. This one leads to a small museum that few people know exists, a square full of quiet symbolism, and a story about what happens when an entire community is forced to start again somewhere new.
There is something reassuring about a KTEL Argolida timetable. Clear, very specific, and somehow always full of confidence. The bus from Kranidi would connect at Epidaurus, deliver me to Nafplio by 13.26, and say nothing whatsoever about the forty-two gold steps waiting at the other end. This is Nafplio approached slowly, by bus, on foot, and along a railway line that no longer runs.
Ermioni is a small harbour town on the eastern Peloponnese, often overlooked in favour of nearby islands like Hydra and Spetses. But this working town, set on a narrow peninsula with two contrasting harbours, offers something different — a slower pace, a sense of place, and easy access to both the mainland and the Saronic islands. After leaving Spetses, I spent two nights in Ermioni to see what lay beyond the obvious — and found far more than expected.
Spetses challenged my expectations. What I assumed might be a polished and upmarket Greek island turned out to be far more balanced, with character, culture and a sense of authenticity that is easy to miss at first glance. Visiting in October, I extended my stay, explored the architecture of Spetses Town, navigated a few mixed dining experiences, and discovered an island shaped as much by history as by reinvention. This is my honest review of Spetses, and why it left a lasting impression.
Spetses has a way of revealing itself in layers. Beyond the harbour and its polished façade, there is a deeper story shaped by a wealthy benefactor, maritime power, revolution and, as it turns out, the occasional appearance of vintage bicycles and tweed. This post brings together two of the island’s museums and an annual event that I hadn’t quite expected to find here.
Walking north from Dapia reveals a slightly quieter, more layered side of Spetses. Away from the harbour and grand hotel façades, the island unfolds through coastal paths, historic mansions, accessible beaches and little detours inland. This walk along the north shore brings together architecture shaped by maritime wealth, landscapes softened by pine and cypress, and chapels — including a remarkable cave church — that offer insight into the rhythms and resilience of everyday island life.
A slow first walk along Spetses’ southern shore reveals far more than expected — from working boatyards and Armata history to sculpture, quiet beaches and shifting first impressions.
A slow weekend in Mytilene, shaped by local buses, walks through villages, thermal landscapes and moments of everyday island life that quietly draw you in.
On the far western edge of Lesvos, Sigri revealed itself slowly. Over four peaceful nights, wandering volcanic landscapes, exploring the Petrified Forest and settling into village life, Sigri became a place of stillness rather than spectacle.
