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Every Sunday, my wife Mary and I enjoy visiting our local farmers market in Brooklyn. As someone who loves to travel, I always make it a point to chat with the Greek olive oil vendor. Occasionally, we would purchase a bottle, but more often than not, we engaged in conversation. John, the vendor, mostly talked about the house he was constructing in Greece, where he intended to spend eight months of the year. In return, I shared stories about our travels to Europe, particularly Italy, and mentioned our hopes of someday visiting his home on the Aegean Sea. John transitioned from just an acquaintance to a friend, decorating his market stall with photographs of a quaint, mountainous island, his olive grove, and a grandson paddleboarding against a stunning orange-red sunset.
“So, where is your place in Greece?” I asked.
“PEL-OO-PON-EES-US,” he replied, enunciating each syllable more slowly than the last.
“I have no idea where that is,” I admitted.
“You should!” he urged. “It’s out of this world, unlike any other place in Greece.”
As Mary and I prepared for our journey around the Greek Isles aboard the Wind Spirit, we felt a thrill about destinations such as Mykonos, Santorini, and Ephesus. However, I was unfamiliar with the Peloponnese locations, Monemvasia and Nafplio. While these places may not be as popular as the better-known tourist islands, they offer a quiet, historic charm that can be quite appealing for travelers seeking tranquility away from bustling crowds. This was a point that John emphasized during our numerous conversations.
The Peloponnese is located in southwestern Greece, shaped like an open hand, starting in Corinth to the north. The historic castle town of Monemvasia sits on the index finger, while Nafplio is tucked into the thumb. Perhaps this geographical arrangement is why these towns manage to stay below the radar of mainstream tourism. They may not dazzle like the iconic blue-domed, whitewashed structures of the Aegean, yet they offer their own unique, down-to-earth charms.
Monemvasia was our first destination in the Peloponnese. We embarked on a tour of the castle town, where our guide informed us that the name Monemvasia translates to “one way,” referring to the single route into the medieval town. Looking up at the wall, we noticed a conduit that was crucial for the island’s defenses. Our guide compared its stronghold to that of Gibraltar. Though governed by the Turks and Venetians, Monemvasia never saw actual conflict; defenders poured burning sand down the walls onto invaders, an unusual yet effective defensive measure. “Had it not been bravely defended, this incredible site would not exist as it does today,” she explained.
Stepping inside the walls brought a surprising sense of tranquility. We learned that the lion carvings found above the doorways of some public structures date back to the Venetian era when they controlled Monemvasia until the mid-1500s. Our guide proposed a challenging hike to the Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom) church, established as a Christian house of worship under Byzantine Emperor Justinian I. Over the years, it transformed into a mosque and later a museum. However, after our previous excursions to Ephesus and a hillside trek in Patmos, we chose to relish the peaceful atmosphere Monemvasia provided.
As a traveler, I often seek the quiet joys akin to those of a wandering poet, reminiscent of Jean-Paul Clebert’s “Paris Vagabond.” Rather than navigating the steeper streets filled with tourists and large tour groups, we settled in the medieval square, observing three small birds — not sparrows, but similar — busily constructing a nest above a stone ledge. Meanwhile, gulls soared effortlessly in the clear blue sky above, and wild caper bushes climbed the ancient stone facades.
The following day, a brief sail brought us to Nafplio. Mary and I frequently discuss the concept of travel karma, which we experienced here. Prior to arriving, we had only seen the name “Nafplio” in our Wind Spirit guide notes. However, while preparing for our trip, we borrowed a DVD of “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” and unexpectedly came across a scene featuring a travel agency with a classic seawall poster proclaiming “NAFPLIO.” This surprising moment encapsulated the charm of the lesser-known corners of the Peloponnese. We were just hours away from docking, and although Nafplio didn’t directly relate to the film’s co-producers, Rita Wilson and Tom Hanks, the destination revealed surprising connections for us.
Our visit to Nafplio coincided with the bustling Sunday market day. We sought the peaceful beauty we appreciated in Monemvasia, and found it in the market and charming shops of this idyllic coastal town. Nafplio, rich in history from the ancient Argonaut expedition to the Trojan War, felt approachable and inviting, contrasting with the more fortified impression of Monemvasia’s castle.
We strolled not far from the port and gently made our way to the market, enjoying a rare few hours without a tour guide — a refreshing change since departing Piraeus harbor. Hand in hand, we listened to the canaries, paused to smell a fragrant melon we ended up purchasing, and filled our bags with sweet cherries. The market was vibrant, featuring bright red geraniums and our favorite: bundles of grape leaves weighed down with stones, keeping them perfectly in place against the gentle breeze. Later, we shared a cold drink at a café, watching a local grandmother guiding her light-haired grandchild along a tree-lined street.
As evening approached, signaling our final night aboard the Wind Spirit before returning to Piraeus harbor, we stumbled upon a beautifully adorned entryway showcasing the workshop of Anna and Eleni Singenidi, makers of worry beads. Unsure of what to expect, we were mesmerized by the array of colorful bracelets displayed all around the shop. The shopkeeper presented various worry beads made from materials like mineral stones, olive wood, and coral.
“But what are they for?” I inquired.
“Do you have any anxieties or worries?” she asked.
“Some,” I replied, exchanging a knowing glance with Mary.
“Here,” she said, after I selected a vibrant Aegean blue bead, demonstrating how to hold the beads in both hands, allowing them to hang from my fingertips. “It’s different for everyone; just press them between your fingertips and move them slowly around in your palm.”
Now, I use them to relieve the stress associated with writing stories like this one. I have recited many mantras while doing so, beginning with John’s pronunciation of PEL-OO-PON-EES-US, echoing in my ears. It serves not only as a reminder of a destination but also encapsulates the fondest sentiment a traveler can experience: the anticipation of a return to that special place.
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