I woke up, and the sun was out, and the weather forecast was good. So I've had a lazy day. No sightseeing at all, just a long walk, a swim, some painting and a picnic lunch, and then more walking and swimming. Apart from a brief interval of cloud in the early afternoon it has been gloriously sunny all day.
The Nafplio Information Guide website tigtn.com had inspired me to try the footpath along beneath the walls of Palamidi; it leads to Karathona Beach, the only big sandy beach in the area, about two or three miles away by this route. I set off at about quarter past ten this morning.
The path was mostly still in shade. The sea was calm and sparkling blue below, seen through pines and olive trees. There were pigeons feeding and wildflowers blooming, butterflies and bees flying past, locals out walking dogs or jogging, and two elderly Americans strolling and discussing metamorphic rocks.
By the time I'd been walking (with frequent photo stops) for a bit more than forty minutes, the sun had swung up and around, and the path had swung about too, and I was in full sun, with cicadas singing in all the trees and rocks around me.
At this point I reached a marvellous outcrop of massive rocks that towered over the path, and below that a little sheltered pebble beach.
There were steps down, and someone's bathing towel on a rock, but otherwise it was deserted, and it looked irresistible. I knew I wasn't at Karathona yet, since that is sandy, so this had to be Neraki, which can only be reached on foot or by boat.
I decided to have a quick dip, just to cool off. I finally left again three hours later.
There are two glories to a pebble beach; one is the intense clarity of the water, and the other is that it's much less likely to be developed, because most people prefer sand. Neraki beach, being also a good couple of miles from anywhere, is virtually untouched. It was a calm morning, just the tiniest waves lapping in to shore, and the sea was as clear as glass. I swam for thirty minutes, sat on a rock for a while, swam again and had my snack; then I painted the view, sunbathed, and swam again. Then I had my picnic lunch.
There were rock thrushes, both common and blue, in the cliffs, as well as crows, pigeons, blackbirds, sparrows, bluetits and nuthatches in the trees around. At one point a moderately big raptor wheeled overhead, turning on the thermals and slowly quartering the slope below, and all the birds fell silent. I think it was a honey buzzard. I and the one other swimmer both stopped and stood chest-high in the water watching it. The utter silence was extraordinary.
During the time I was there, a few other bathers came and went; two older women, a couple of solo guys, a couple of young families. But it was mostly very quiet; a real idyll.
An elderly gentleman turned up, who came over to chat while I was eating. It turned out he was deaf and also semi-mute. We communicated in a mixture of made-up sign language and written notes in the back of my sketchbook. He warned me not to swim towards the far right hand of the beach as there was something in the rocks there - I'm not sure what, crabs, aggressive fish? - that could bite me. I gathered that he came over here to Neraki beach whenever the weather was good, to enjoy the perfect view, the swimming, and the lack of people. He'd built himself a little lean-to against the back of the beach and painted the rocks in the immediate vicinity with flamingos, love hearts and anchors. I lent him my watercolours to touch up his paintings, though I don't know how well the colour will stand up to the next rain storm.
His name was Evangelos and he seemed a happy man. It felt intrusive to take his picture, so you will just have to imagine him; he was tall and skinny with a thin cap of short white hair, and a suntan the colour of oak furniture. He arrived in jeans and a tee-shirt and changed into a pair of shorts, and folded himself up to sit on a rock and look at his view. If other bathers came near him he would shake hands, and watch them attentively as they talked to him, and talk back in signs. I like to think of him making his way to Neraki on sunny winter days; sitting gazing into the far distance, the mountains of Arcadia, meditating on who-knows-what...
In 1989, the local eccentric was a wild-looking man who hung about in the trees near the footpath round the Acronafplio, muttering incoherently and exposing himself to walkers. I hope he got proper care eventually; I'm glad that today's eccentric is an altogether different kind of chap. I overheard one of the other bathers telling him he was like Diogenes with his pot, avoiding other people; Evangelos laughed appreciatively, but he was perfectly friendly to me. He could read lips, and write in both the Greek and English alphabets, so he'd clearly had an education; I wonder what he did with his life? At any rate, it seems he is enjoying the simple pleasures in his retirement. Long may he continue to do so.
I did leave idyllic Neraki eventually, to walk on to my original objective of Karathona Beach. The path winds on around a few more curves of the cliffs, with more beautiful views out to sea. Unfortunately the sun went into a bank of cloud at exactly the point I rounded the promontory and the beach came into view.
It's a wide curve of yellow-brown sand, with about three small café-bars, well spread out, and parking in the trees behind the beach. There are fresh water showers near the beach bars and a life-guard in the middle of the beach. It's sheltered and the water stays shallow a long way out, so it would be a perfect beach for children; and on a Sunday afternoon there were a lot of families there.
I swam again, but the clouds stayed, and after the peacefulness of Neraki I found a semi-organised beach less appealing. Usually I rather like that level of organisation; when there's enough in the way of facilities that you can get a shower and something to eat, but aren't being blasted at by the roar of speedboats doing banana rides, or the clash of different pop music blaring from a succession of adjacent bars. I think if I'd seen Karathona in the sunshine, and without having visited Neraki first, I'd have liked it much more.
After my second swim I walked back along the coast path; it took me almost exactly an hour, which would normally mean around three miles, but as I was quite tired I'm guessing it's actually more like two and a bit. It's a lovely walk, though, with glorious views and the air scented with pine resin; and there were all those butterflies and bees and cicadas, and more wildflowers. And the sun came out again, soon after I'd set off. I guess it just wasn't Karathona's day, as far as I was concerned.
After all that walking and swimming I figured I could treat myself to ice-cream, so I had two scoops from the gelateria on the corner of Trion Navarchon Square; one scoop of Nutella gelato and one of frozen yoghurt. Absolutely delicious!
The Nafplio Information Guide website tigtn.com had inspired me to try the footpath along beneath the walls of Palamidi; it leads to Karathona Beach, the only big sandy beach in the area, about two or three miles away by this route. I set off at about quarter past ten this morning.
The path was mostly still in shade. The sea was calm and sparkling blue below, seen through pines and olive trees. There were pigeons feeding and wildflowers blooming, butterflies and bees flying past, locals out walking dogs or jogging, and two elderly Americans strolling and discussing metamorphic rocks.
By the time I'd been walking (with frequent photo stops) for a bit more than forty minutes, the sun had swung up and around, and the path had swung about too, and I was in full sun, with cicadas singing in all the trees and rocks around me.
At this point I reached a marvellous outcrop of massive rocks that towered over the path, and below that a little sheltered pebble beach.
There were steps down, and someone's bathing towel on a rock, but otherwise it was deserted, and it looked irresistible. I knew I wasn't at Karathona yet, since that is sandy, so this had to be Neraki, which can only be reached on foot or by boat.
I decided to have a quick dip, just to cool off. I finally left again three hours later.
There are two glories to a pebble beach; one is the intense clarity of the water, and the other is that it's much less likely to be developed, because most people prefer sand. Neraki beach, being also a good couple of miles from anywhere, is virtually untouched. It was a calm morning, just the tiniest waves lapping in to shore, and the sea was as clear as glass. I swam for thirty minutes, sat on a rock for a while, swam again and had my snack; then I painted the view, sunbathed, and swam again. Then I had my picnic lunch.
There were rock thrushes, both common and blue, in the cliffs, as well as crows, pigeons, blackbirds, sparrows, bluetits and nuthatches in the trees around. At one point a moderately big raptor wheeled overhead, turning on the thermals and slowly quartering the slope below, and all the birds fell silent. I think it was a honey buzzard. I and the one other swimmer both stopped and stood chest-high in the water watching it. The utter silence was extraordinary.
During the time I was there, a few other bathers came and went; two older women, a couple of solo guys, a couple of young families. But it was mostly very quiet; a real idyll.
An elderly gentleman turned up, who came over to chat while I was eating. It turned out he was deaf and also semi-mute. We communicated in a mixture of made-up sign language and written notes in the back of my sketchbook. He warned me not to swim towards the far right hand of the beach as there was something in the rocks there - I'm not sure what, crabs, aggressive fish? - that could bite me. I gathered that he came over here to Neraki beach whenever the weather was good, to enjoy the perfect view, the swimming, and the lack of people. He'd built himself a little lean-to against the back of the beach and painted the rocks in the immediate vicinity with flamingos, love hearts and anchors. I lent him my watercolours to touch up his paintings, though I don't know how well the colour will stand up to the next rain storm.
His name was Evangelos and he seemed a happy man. It felt intrusive to take his picture, so you will just have to imagine him; he was tall and skinny with a thin cap of short white hair, and a suntan the colour of oak furniture. He arrived in jeans and a tee-shirt and changed into a pair of shorts, and folded himself up to sit on a rock and look at his view. If other bathers came near him he would shake hands, and watch them attentively as they talked to him, and talk back in signs. I like to think of him making his way to Neraki on sunny winter days; sitting gazing into the far distance, the mountains of Arcadia, meditating on who-knows-what...
In 1989, the local eccentric was a wild-looking man who hung about in the trees near the footpath round the Acronafplio, muttering incoherently and exposing himself to walkers. I hope he got proper care eventually; I'm glad that today's eccentric is an altogether different kind of chap. I overheard one of the other bathers telling him he was like Diogenes with his pot, avoiding other people; Evangelos laughed appreciatively, but he was perfectly friendly to me. He could read lips, and write in both the Greek and English alphabets, so he'd clearly had an education; I wonder what he did with his life? At any rate, it seems he is enjoying the simple pleasures in his retirement. Long may he continue to do so.
I did leave idyllic Neraki eventually, to walk on to my original objective of Karathona Beach. The path winds on around a few more curves of the cliffs, with more beautiful views out to sea. Unfortunately the sun went into a bank of cloud at exactly the point I rounded the promontory and the beach came into view.
It's a wide curve of yellow-brown sand, with about three small café-bars, well spread out, and parking in the trees behind the beach. There are fresh water showers near the beach bars and a life-guard in the middle of the beach. It's sheltered and the water stays shallow a long way out, so it would be a perfect beach for children; and on a Sunday afternoon there were a lot of families there.
I swam again, but the clouds stayed, and after the peacefulness of Neraki I found a semi-organised beach less appealing. Usually I rather like that level of organisation; when there's enough in the way of facilities that you can get a shower and something to eat, but aren't being blasted at by the roar of speedboats doing banana rides, or the clash of different pop music blaring from a succession of adjacent bars. I think if I'd seen Karathona in the sunshine, and without having visited Neraki first, I'd have liked it much more.
After my second swim I walked back along the coast path; it took me almost exactly an hour, which would normally mean around three miles, but as I was quite tired I'm guessing it's actually more like two and a bit. It's a lovely walk, though, with glorious views and the air scented with pine resin; and there were all those butterflies and bees and cicadas, and more wildflowers. And the sun came out again, soon after I'd set off. I guess it just wasn't Karathona's day, as far as I was concerned.
After all that walking and swimming I figured I could treat myself to ice-cream, so I had two scoops from the gelateria on the corner of Trion Navarchon Square; one scoop of Nutella gelato and one of frozen yoghurt. Absolutely delicious!
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