Change of Pace: A Month in the Peloponnese
When you give up your house, your daily routines, and your comfort, you (instinctively) try to hold onto the things you can control—even though life itself is anything but controllable. W e spent hours searching for the perfect accommodation; a great location, reliable wifi and good amenities. Finding the right spot was critical for our work, so we clung to the perfect choice for a month. It feels good to explore the new surroundings—figuring out where the best supermarkets are, learning on which day the local market came to life and discovering the best hikes in the area. But the unknown quickly became familiar. Comfort crept in, routines formed, and before we knew it, days were spent on the beach. Don’t get me wrong—routine and comfort have their place, but in my opinion, they’re overrated. It’s all about balance. After all, neither good times nor good stories will occur very often if you just sit around.
Sweet Oranges and Sandy Beaches
After a quiet month in the sleepy town of Arkitsa, we found ourselves longing for a livelier village—somewhere where the shops are still open. We stumbled upon an apartment in the seaside village of Tolo, our new home for the upcoming month. Tolo is located near the bigger town Nafplio, the northern part of the Peloponnese.
This whole roadtrip has been loosely planned, and it was merely coincidence we ended up in the Peloponnese—a peninsula at the southern tip of the mainland that seems to have it all: mountains rising out of the shores, gorges and caves, and pristine white sandy beaches stretching along the crystal blue sea.
As we drove past Nafplio, the citrus trees replaced the olive groves. It was then, at age 31, that I discovered oranges are harvested in January. After avoiding all the potholes on the road, we arrived in Tolo for the first time.
We were restless and we couldn’t settle, not with the bright sun calling us to go outside. From sunrise to sunset, we explored every inch of this beautiful area. We hiked coastline trails, wandered through the narrow streets of Nafplio’s old town, and climbed hills that offered breathtaking views of the area we stayed in. It was the last week of December, and with temperatures reaching 18 degrees, the idea of camping on a remote beach crept into our minds. I know it is a strange idea to camp while paying for accommodation, where you can rest on a comfortable bed and enjoy a shower, but we couldn’t resist these sandy beaches.
The day on the beach was spent gathering firewood, soaking up the sun, and cleaning countless plastic straws discarded with single-use to-go cups (Greeks, what’s up with those cups!?). That evening, we enjoyed the heat of the campfire while watching thousands of stars lighting up the sky. Sleeping in the car was far from comfortable—cramped and cold, but the morning made up for it. The sun rose over the waves, reflecting its orange color on the water as I was meditating on the rhythm of the waves.
When the days started to feel the same
Two weeks passed, and the area became familiar. We hiked the same trails, drove further into unexplored areas, and I could navigate the pothole-riddled roads with my eyes closed—figuratively speaking, of course! Yet, the days started to blend together and a restless feeling crept in. Only the bags full of incredible sweet oranges we got from the locals kept us in place.
We wanted more. We wanted to go further south, to leave behind what had become routine. In some sense, and it sounds ridiculous writing this on virtual paper, but I felt stuck again. I was daydreaming about chasing the unknown. Don’t get me wrong—the area still had so much more to offer, more historical sites to uncover. But reflecting on our past journeys; comfort isn’t where we come alive.
I came up with reasons why to stay, but in truth, it was just a mental barrier I had to pass—a hesitation. The whole point of this journey—of this escape—was to stop waiting, to start living in the moment as much as possible. I wanted to follow my instinct, more so than reasonability.
There’s a thrill in the unknown, it feels like we’re adding more life to our days. I know my mind is sometimes longing for comfort and routine, and sometimes the feeling is right and valid. But you cannot enjoy the comfort when there is too much of it. I also recognize that this feeling—the ability to seek change simply because we crave it—is a privilege in itself. This isn’t a universal truth, just my own meandering experience.
Exploring the Peninsulas
As free as we currently are right now, we left Tolo a week earlier than planned. Once again, we packed up the car, this time reorganizing the luggage for the journey ahead. Taking the coastal route south, we passed Leonidio—a gem for climbers.Tucked away in a valley, this town is known for the mountains that surround it, their peaks are famous for their vertical climbs.
Crossing over the mountains, we experienced three seasons in just a few hours. Spring was already starting in the valley, where the flowers were blooming. In the gorge, autumn was still there due to the missing sunlight, and when we reached the summit, the snow was laying next to the road, covering the peaks.
Not far from Leonidio lies Monemvasia. Its name means ‘single passage’—a fitting name for this castle town between cliffs and the sea. Walking through its narrow, car-free streets made me relive the old time. Most of the shops were closed for the winter, so we missed the hustle and bustle that likely fills the streets in summer. But the quiet gave us something just as special: the town almost entirely to ourselves. We wandered alone on empty plazas and climbed to the upper town, where views of the old town backed by the sea.
We were wild camping whenever the weather allowed it, slowly learning how to make sleeping in the car (more) comfortable. This way of traveling gives us the ultimate freedom we crave—moving without a set destination or check-in time. It also makes the accommodations feel even more special. You are already happy to wash off the dirt and salt of the past few days and put on some clean clothes.
We slowly traversed the southern part of the Peloponnese this way. After exploring the eastern peninsula, we made our way to Mani, central of the three peninsulas that extend southward from the Peloponnese. The terrain is mountainous and inaccessible, it’s not long ago that the villages here could only be visited by boat. We traveled by car and on foot, climbing steep paths and crossing the Langada-Taygetos Pass.
Set high in the Taygetos Mountains, this road to the summit is not for the faint-hearted. Known as Route 82, it is said to be one of the most breathtaking roads in Greece. The most dramatic stretch is where the road clings to the cliffs of the Langada Gorge. At the foot of this mountain lies Mystras. The archaeological site lies above the modern village of Mystras and the city of Sparta. Its architecture is influenced by Byzantine design. It’s astounding to see the scale of the city, its urban planning, and how they made the mountain their own during this period.
Early in our journey we discovered that the distances in Mani are deceiving. Areas that seemed close on the map—just 10 kilometers away—took us almost 40 minutes to reach by car. Few people explore the ends of this peninsula for this reason. But those who do follow the rough coastline are rewarded with hidden bays, where the water is so clear you can see many fish beneath the surface. In one such bay, we noticed a small pod of dolphins drifting through the water. The remoteness of this place allows nature to thrive. We were lucky enough to see a jackal—twice—vanishing the moment when our eyes met his.
But we still had to visit one peninsula—the western one. Some Swiss travelers we met along the way didn’t recommend visiting Pylos, a coastal town in this region. We didn’t listen. Instead of taking the direct route from Kalamata to Pylos, we chose the longer, scenic coastal path. I won’t bore you with a list of all the hikes we took or the places we stopped, but I will say this: not all friendly advice is worth following.
Everyone travels differently, with their own wishes and perspectives. For us, Pylos and its surroundings became yet another place to love. It’s true that this area is more touristy (though we barely noticed, as all the campsites and resorts were closed). Golf courses and resorts do fill up some parts of the landscape, but between them are places not touched by mass tourism—if you look hard, you can still enjoy some remote beaches.
We’ve been in the Peloponnese for just over a month now—far longer than we originally planned. Funny enough, it wasn’t even on our initial route. But these incredible peninsulas are so hard to leave. By the end of January, it feels as if spring has already begun. Flowers bloom between the lush green grass, and birdsongs echoes through the gorges. It’s not just us enjoying the warmth here—life all around us seems to be celebrating the sun. We know we should be heading north by now, moving on to the next chapter of our journey. But instead, we find ourselves adjusting the itinerary once again—just another week here..
Birdsounds in the gorge
