After a string of terrible sleep scores, which are par for the course. When we’re on the move, I’m still undecided about whether these Oura rings are a good thing or not. We left our hotel, which sits just above the main city, and made our way down into the heart of San Sebastián. We were both excited, not just to explore a new part of Spain, but to reunite with friends who once felt more like surrogate parents to us.

Dake and Yvonne were a steady presence during our early years in the Bahamas, offering their wisdom and calm as Rachel and I found our footing and started a family. Dake’s kids, Dake Jr. and Laura were away studying in the U.S, as were Yvonne’s. back then, while we navigated the often choppy waters of young adulthood. Dake even gave Rachel away at our impromptu wedding, and both he and Yvonne are godparents to Seb, roles they have always taken seriously. Yvonne’s pancakes were legendary, and Seb quickly learned he could trade morning cuddles for treats.

The contrast between the evening before and the following morning was remarkable. We had arrived under the cover of darkness, but in the daylight we were greeted by a breathtaking side of Spain we hadn’t seen before. San Sebastián is surrounded by forested mountains and sits gracefully along the dramatic Bay of Biscay. And what a bay it is, but more on that later.

Parking in the city is limited, and what little there is tends to be reserved for residents, which is fair enough. So we found a car park, left the car, and made our way through the charming city to locate the family’s hotel. The whole crew was there: Dake, Yvonne, Dake Jr., Laura, and their partners, Jimmy and Ben. Dake Jr. and Laura had organised the trip as a surprise for their dad’s birthday. It was a return to his father’s roots, a journey back to the town he had once left behind to begin a new life in the Caribbean. They had even managed to track down relatives, with a reunion planned for later in the trip. It was, without question, a meaningful and emotional occasion.

Seeing everyone again felt surreal at first, but within minutes it was as if no time had passed. In truth, it had been about seventeen years since we were last together. Laura’s partner, Ben, a self-proclaimed foodie, had done his homework and booked us a table at Bodegón Alejandro. It was their second visit, so we already had high expectations, and even after just the appetisers we knew we were in for something special. The food was exceptional, but it was the company and conversation that made the meal truly memorable.

After lunch, we spent a few hours wandering the city. This was our first time in northern Spain, and we were struck by its atmosphere. San Sebastián is only thirty minutes from Biarritz and sits close to the French border, which gives the city a distinct multicultural flavour. There’s a strong Parisian influence, with touches of Gothic architecture scattered throughout. We really liked it.

Later that evening, after a quick change at our hotel, we picked up Dake and Yvonne and drove about twenty-five minutes to the picturesque town of Getaria for dinner at Kaia Kaipe, a well-regarded seafood restaurant perched above the small port. The views were stunning, and the food was another highlight of the trip. After dropping them back at their hotel, we said our goodbyes. The next part of their journey would take them to Ampuero, where they planned to meet long-lost family members for the first time and we didn’t want to intrude. We all promised not to let so much time pass before the next reunion.

Not wanting our reflective mood to linger too long, we set off the next morning for another day of exploring. The sun was shining, and after breakfast in the city, we walked along the famous La Concha Beach, considered one of the most beautiful in Europe. Its reputation is well-earned, thanks to its setting and history. The beach runs about a mile from end to end.

We took the funicular up Monte Igueldo for panoramic views over the city and spent a couple of hours exploring both sides of the mountain. On our way back down, we walked once more along the beach, and this time we were treated to a surprise dolphin show, as a few playful pods had made their way into the bay.

As fate would have it, the weather took a turn. Daytime temperatures dropped from the mid-twenties to the high teens, and with the cooler air came adverse conditions. We had torrential rain, and in a town built on an incline, that quickly became a problem. The roads turned into fast-flowing streams, and I now understand why the curbs are so unusually high.

After the rain came strong winds, along with the occasional sharp shower. Unfortunately, it also meant we had to give up our daily swims. Still, we can’t really complain. We haven’t been grounded too often on this trip.

We had planned a weekend visit to Matera, followed by a bike ride inland the next day. We took the train to Bari, but discovered that our connecting bus to Matera wasn’t at the location we had been given. As we made our way to where it should have been, we spotted the bus passing us in the opposite direction. It was another case of poor directions, and we missed it.

So we found ourselves with an unexpected day in Bari, which turned out to be surprisingly rewarding. At first glance, it looks like a fairly standard urban centre. In fact, it is the largest city and metropolitan area on the Adriatic. But if you scratch the surface, there’s a lot more to it. The city was once a prosperous trading port, and signs of that history are easy to spot.

There’s a castle near the entrance to the old town, which itself feels more like a maze than a city centre. Towering above the sunken streets are tall Venetian buildings that add real character. And as with much of this Italian trip, there was a fair amount of walking involved. We don’t mind that. We enjoy wandering and watching the world go by. To add to the pleasure, the sun reappeared, even if the air remained cold.

We found a good spot for lunch before returning to Monopoli. We weren’t too disappointed. Puglia will still be here next time.

The following day was meant to be for cycling, but the wind and rain had other ideas. That pattern continued through the rest of our stay. Then, on the day we were due to fly out, the weather cleared completely. The sky was blue, the sea was calm, and the temperature climbed again. Typical. Still, it gave us a few more reasons to return.

We made it to the airport in Bari with time to spare, and after an hour’s delay, we were finally on our way to Barcelona. The flight took just over two hours, and we landed about 7:30pm.

There were no direct flights to San Sebastián, so Barcelona was the best option for getting into Spain on the 9th October. After collecting our luggage, we picked up the hire car and began our journey north. It would be around 560 kilometres to our destination.

Rain was falling heavily as we left Barcelona, but after an hour or so into our journey, it began to ease. Since we were driving at night, there wasn’t much to see, apart from the long line of lorries. They came in all shapes and sizes but were, to their credit, very respectful of other drivers.

Just under five hours later, and shortly after half past one in the morning, we finally arrived at our hotel, checked in and promptly collapsed into bed.

After saying our goodbyes to Jon and Jo the night before, we left the apartment just before 7 a.m. the following morning and wheeled our one heavy case the one kilometre through the thankfully empty streets. The day before had been a public holiday, with many of the roads closed to traffic.

We arrived at the bus station 15 minutes early, which turned out to be a stroke of luck, as our bus to Napoli was preparing to leave. We were already feeling a bit nervous, as our travel agent had been somewhat blasé with her instructions. Unfortunately, our fears were confirmed when we arrived in Napoli.

With less than 30 minutes to make our connecting bus, we discovered that the first bus had dropped us off more than 3 km in the wrong direction. Traffic appeared to be completely gridlocked in every direction. (I really should have double-checked the drop-off point beforehand.)

As the realisation began to set in that we had likely missed our bus for the day, and with only about 15 minutes left to get across the city, our unlikely saviour appeared. At first glance, he looked like a taxi driver, but after we jumped into his heavily bruised cab, it quickly became clear he was more of an aspiring rally driver. He drove the chaotic streets with reckless abandon, surfed along tram tracks, and somehow managed to get us to the entrance of the bus station with just a couple of minutes to spare.

Rachel tore off to hold the bus while I paid our driver and wrestled the bags across the street. Phew.

The bus itself was relatively comfortable, with reclining seats, and after four and a half hours of crossing the country from west to east, we were dropped off at a bus stop just outside the main town of Monopoli.

Monopoli is laid out like a giant chessboard, just in front of a charming old town that dates back some 2,500 years, when it was a fortified outpost for the Messapians. That said, it’s fair to say the beautiful architecture you see today is largely the work of the Venetians in the 1500s. The town sits within the historic Puglia region.

Our apartment also dates back to Venetian times, with high ceilings and thick stone walls that are perfect for the long, hot summers. Beyond the old-town charm, we also have the Adriatic coastline on our doorstep. After exercising each morning on the rooftop terrace, serenaded by birdsong and the three competing sets of church bells, we’ve swum every day so far.

The Italian mainland coastline here is mostly rocky, dotted with small sandy coves carved into the headlands. There’s a big coffee culture too, with different social groups meeting every morning. Even though we’re tourists, we always try to interact and find out what’s going on, which is always good fun.

Like much of southern Europe, daily life here starts early and winds down around 1:30 p.m. as businesses close and the streets empty for the afternoon rest. Things begin to stir again around 5 p.m., when the town slowly comes back to life.

We’re really enjoying the laid-back feel of the place and have decided to do our exploring of the wider region over the following week.

We’ve established a routine, where we have a light breakfast at the apartment before heading out. This is usually followed by a stop at a coffee bar along the way, where Jon launches into full “Spanglish” (his mix of Spanish and English…I’m still not sure why), made worse by me trying to recover the situation with my very poor Italian. Neither approach seemed to work, but as always, neither of us is willing to concede that our method might be flawed. The girls, however, seem to be enjoying the experience.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve chosen not to hire a car, mainly because it seems far more practical to visit the key coastal areas by sea. The port is about a 20-minute walk from the apartment, and we booked our ferry tickets online to avoid any queues, especially since my timekeeping has never been one of my strong points.

We boarded the passenger ferry at 9:30 am. With a capacity of 120 passengers, it wasn’t particularly busy, and since we were among the first to board, we headed for the top deck and found seats comfortably at the front of the seating area. The sea was calm, and the coastline provided plenty of interest during the hour it took to reach Amalfi, our first stop to drop off and pick up passengers.

Amalfi is spread across opposing mountains and serves as a key hub for tourists looking to explore the region. Soon enough, we were on our way again. It’s always appealing to see these colourful Mediterranean houses with their terracotta roofs huddled together, often with barely visible roads carved into the mountains. What’s especially interesting are the small and large buildings that appear completely marooned, with no obvious access to road or sea.

Another 45 minutes later, we arrived in Positano, a dramatic, pastel-coloured village clinging to a steep cliff face. It’s a busy tourist destination, but as you wind up through the stair-laden streets, the crowds seem to thin out. Eventually, you spill onto narrow lanes filled with charming boutiques and small restaurants.

We spent the day wandering, topped off with a great lunch recommendation. The restaurant, Buca di Bacco, didn’t have the best reviews online, but the locals clearly knew better.

The next morning, after the usual coffee ritual, we returned to the ferry port, once again heading in the same direction. This time we travelled beyond Positano and around the Sorrentine Peninsula to Sorrento, where the larger townhouses appear more evenly laid out along the sheer cliff face. Sorrento sits in the Bay of Naples, with Capri visible in the distance.

The town itself didn’t have quite the same charm as Positano, but we stopped for a long lunch at a restaurant with truly impressive views across the bay. Afterward, as we’ve done throughout this trip, we were content to amble around and take in what the town had to offer before heading back to Salerno.

Feeling the need for a slightly more relaxed day, we once again boarded a ferry, this time to the village of Maiori, 30 minutes away, for a day on the beach. We chose Maiori knowing that after dinner, we had tickets booked for that evening to see a violin virtuoso performing with her ensemble, in the beautiful Chiesa di San Giorgio. We had all been looking forward to it, and it did not disappoint.

On our last day, Jon and Jo took an early ferry to visit Capri. Rachel and I, on the other hand, discovered that a local train strike had been scheduled for the day of our onward travel. This meant we needed to find and book an alternative route. Hey ho.

With the rain starting to fall more regularly, we decided it was time to head off again. After a quick hike up the M11, we once again found ourselves at Stansted Airport, this time travelling with longtime friends Jon and Jo, who would be staying with us for the first week.

After an uneventful flight (my favourite kind) of around three hours, we landed in Salerno on the Amalfi Coast. We had decided against renting a car, so we hopped on the transfer bus into the city.

As far as cities go, it isn’t that big, with a population of only about 100,000, but it feels a lot larger as everything and everyone seems to be stacked on top of each other. Our host met us outside the building where we would be staying for the week, a recently renovated two-bedroom apartment within walking distance of trains, buses, and the all-important ferry port.

After dropping off our luggage, we took a stroll through the city, catching our first proper glimpse of it: narrow streets flanked by tall buildings, all wrapped within a lively promenade that runs shoulder to shoulder with the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Lunch turned into an early dinner, followed by an early night. We were ready for a busy week that Rachel had wisely blocked out so she could enjoy the full tourist experience as well.

After a light breakfast and thoroughly confusing the barista (me with my poor Italian, and Jon with his blend of Spanish and English), we had to settle for whatever we were given. It wasn’t quite what we ordered, but it was a lesson learned, at least in theory.

We boarded the train to Pompeii late in the morning for a relaxed one-hour journey. Once we arrived, we booked a mid-afternoon bus to take us up to the volcano. In the meantime, we set off on foot to explore Pompeii, which is set in some truly beautiful countryside.

It is a sprawling site, complete with ancient villas, temples, and intact mosaics. Considering the city was buried under volcanic ash for more than 1,600 years before being rediscovered in the 1800s, it is in remarkably good shape.

We wandered the uneven main road, fed by narrower side streets, and with just a little imagination, it wasn’t hard to picture this as an affluent Roman city. The bones of some truly impressive buildings are still clearly visible as you walk along the ancient Decumanus Maximus.

After grabbing lunch on the go, we boarded the bus for the 30-minute twisty climb up to Mount Vesuvius, followed by a further 30-minute walk to the crater. Unfortunately, by the time we reached the summit, the crater was mostly shrouded in cloud.

Vesuvius still ranks among the top ten most deadly volcanoes, having erupted catastrophically in 79 AD and again in 1631. But today, as we perched on the edge of the crater, we saw only a few faint plumes escaping into the mist along with the unmistakable smell of sulphur.

https://www.airbnb.com/l/r7WdYFIR

Rachel had her summer team meet-up, so we pointed the car south on Bank Holiday Monday for a late afternoon rendezvous over dinner with our youngest (and blondest), whom we hadn’t seen since his Athens visit in June. Needless to say, we had plenty to catch up on.

After traveling for four years, I’ve gotten pretty good at finding and negotiating accommodation deals, and had managed to secure us three nights at Easthampstead Park in Wokingham, Berkshire. The site dates back to 1350, when it was a hunting lodge and part of the Windsor estate. Around 500 years later, the beautiful stately home that stands there today was built.

Rachel needed to be in Crowthorne mid-morning the next day, so after dropping her off, I headed to the Wellington Farm Shop, a great spot for brunch. Whenever I’m back in the UK and in my old stomping ground, I meet up with Paul, a real wizard with anything mechanical and an adrenaline junkie, for a catch-up that, as always, is colourful and entertaining.

That afternoon, I stopped in on Colin and spent a few hours catching up with him as well.

With Rachel out each evening for dinner with her team, Christien had invited me over for an evening of good food and great company. He’s an excellent cook and always entertaining.

The following morning, after taking advantage of the hotel gym, I met up with Andy for a good walk around the scorched grounds and a proper catch-up on all things political and everything wrong with the UK—over coffee on the rather splendid terrace.

Next was a visit with Steve at the Aviator at Farnborough Airport. Even in his early sixties, he’s still a consummate sportsman. We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time, but as with all good friends, we picked up right where we left off.

Then it was off to my chiropractor for a quick adjustment, followed by another walk around the hotel grounds, this time with my brother, catching up on his life.

That evening was a repeat of the night before with Christien, who somehow managed to outdo his previous evening’s culinary delights. As ever, there were plenty of laughs.

After a late checkout and what had been a truly rewarding trip full of connection and conversation, we headed back to East Anglia. Rachel, though exhausted, was in good spirits after what had clearly been a productive three days with her team.

We’d arranged to spend Seb’s birthday weekend with him and Ally, so with Christien arriving Thursday evening (juggling work commitments), and Rachel and I arriving Friday afternoon, we were ready for what had been billed as a competitive family game of paddle tennis.

Unfortunately, Rachel, still recovering after being in hospital earlier in the week, was sidelined, but thankfully on the mend. The game ended up being less competitive and more just good fun with the Watsons.

Chris and Lesley, who were out of town, had kindly offered us their enchanting house a home full of great energy and entrusted us with the care of Floss, their very friendly border collie.

The next morning, we took Floss out for a walk, joined by Christien, who was staying with Seb and Ally, and brought along Arlo, their springer spaniel with boundless energy. After tiring out the dogs, we headed into York to meet up with Seb and Ally.

We arrived at Roots, the restaurant Ally had chosen for Seb’s birthday. It wasn’t really my thing, but what was, was the walk that followed through the city of York.

Founded in 71 AD, York boasts some of the most beautiful buildings in the country, with York Minster, one of the largest medieval cathedrals in Europe, at its heart.

We also passed through The Shambles, a famously narrow and winding street said to have inspired Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter books. Unsurprisingly, it was packed with tourists from around the world, all weaving their way through its magical shops and storybook atmosphere.

It’s been hot here along the coast of the Peloponnese. Basically, if the wind blows from the north during the summer months, it keeps the temperature in the low 30s, which is manageable. But if it blows from the south, through the mouth of the Argolic Gulf, up from the Sahara, it pushes the needle into the low 40s. After late morning, everyone disappears indoors and only reemerges once the sun has set. Still, it’s interesting how life just continues—no complaints, just quiet acceptance.

For our part, we’re still enjoying our early morning routine, followed by a late-morning trip to the Évita Beach Club for a couple of coffees under the shade of the trees, looking out across the gulf toward the other side of the Peloponnese and chatting with the locals.

We slipped into the rhythm of Xiropigado very easily. If we weren’t still committed to our nomadic lifestyle, we could have quite happily stayed. But as they say, all good things come to an end. After saying our goodbyes to all the wonderful people we’ve met here, we set off the next morning for Athens to catch our flight back to London, only to discover it was delayed by five hours. (We could have had that final swim after all!)

Arriving late threw us out of step for a few days, but with most of the UK enjoying a rare stretch of unbroken sunshine, everyone seemed in good spirits. Soon enough, we were back to our walks along the banks of the River Ouse, exchanging good mornings with familiar faces. One afternoon included a walk around the interesting Hinchingbrooke House, of Oliver Cromwell fame now, somewhat surprisingly, a state school.

After one failed attempt, we finally managed to plan a weekend in Cambridge with Rachel and Keith. With the weather set fair, we made our way to the city for a mid-afternoon rendezvous. Once the cars were parked and our bags dropped off at the weekend’s accommodation, we set off exploring, catching up as we walked along the River Cam.

The best way to take in the beautiful schools and colleges is by boat, so we hired a punter. Cambridge dates back to the 9th century, though the University of Cambridge, the first of its academic buildings wasn’t established until 1209 by a group of scholars. The stretch of river that backs onto the colleges is less than a mile, but it’s packed with one architectural masterpiece after another, with only a few modern intrusions.

We opted for an early dinner at the rather excellent Mercado Central, which we all thoroughly enjoyed.

The next day, after Keith and Rachel completed an early 5K parkrun (having failed to convince us to join them!), we headed off for breakfast, which by the time we found it, was more like brunch. Still, it was well worth the walk.

From there, like a small herd of goats, we spent the rest of the day roaming the city. Rachel and I have visited Cambridge a number of times, but this was the first time we truly wandered on foot, which really is the best way to appreciate it.

After a quick freshen-up, we headed out again for dinner, recounting the day’s exploits and all agreeing it had been a wonderful weekend.

Keith and Rachel left early the next morning, having further to travel, but Rachel and I decided on one last long walk along the river before heading home.

We’ve moved on from the apartment where we’d been staying for over a month. As lovely as it was, we were starting to grow roots and besides, they had new guests coming in. With only a few days before check-out, we found a charming little villa owned by an incredibly warm and welcoming family. It’s a bit further back from the sea, but even quieter and still only a 5–10 minute walk to our regular swim spot, where the “morning crew” of older locals, just a little bit older than us hang out. Hah—we love it!

We had our first visitor for tea: Demetra, one of the morning regulars and our self-appointed Greek teacher. I don’t think either of us will ever be fluent, but it won’t be for lack of trying!

Wherever we go, I always try to get a local take on life. I gave up long ago on the filtered narratives pushed by mainstream media. Rachel and I first started coming to Greece in the early 1980s, back when the Drachma was still in use and the country leaned more towards communism. Even then, we found the people to be genuinely welcoming. Things have changed here, as they have everywhere, but to me, the warmth and authenticity of the people remain unchanged.

We’d left the weekend open, unsure whether we’d have a car. But on Friday morning, Giannis messaged me with confirmation, and amazingly, I managed to book what turned out to be the last available apartment inside the castle. With a couple of overnight bags packed, we set off just before midday for Monemvasia.

There were a couple of route options, but we chose the longer part-coastal, part-mountainous one. We’d been told how beautiful the coastline of the western Peloponnese is, with its swathes of white beaches carved into cliff walls, set against dramatic mountain backdrops and it didn’t disappoint. It was absolutely stunning and well worth the extra journey time.

The climb over the mountains was a bit arduous in our tired but dependable little car, but still a pleasure, thanks to the bursts of colorful flora and wild terrain along the way. I’ve said it before: half the joy of these adventures is the journey itself. And as a fellow traveler once said to us, the harder a place is to get to, the more it’s worth seeing and experiencing.

Back on the coast, some three and a half hours after setting off, we rounded a bend and were met with our first glimpse of Monemvasia, a spectacular fortress town carved into the backside of a rock, invisible from the mainland. At first, it just looked like a big rock out at sea, accessible only via a narrow causeway.

Once across, we had to wait for a parking spot to open up along the roadside leading to the castle gates. No vehicles are allowed inside the old town, and even if they were, the narrow, cobbled streets wouldn’t permit it. It’s essentially a medieval city, founded by the Byzantines in the 6th century, with stunning architecture that seems to grow organically out of the rock.

After meeting our host George, a fountain of knowledge and great recommendations, we headed to one of his suggested tavernas for an early dinner: delicious food with panoramic views over the tail end of the Peloponnese.

As the sun slipped behind the mountains, we made the climb to the fortress above the town, passing a tiny place of worship carved into the mountainside before reaching the summit to take in the views. Wandering around this once-impregnable stronghold eventually brought down by siege, was both humbling and awe-inspiring.

The next morning, we were up early for a swim in the crystal-clear waters that lap the base of the castle, another unforgettable experience. After a hearty brunch and one last stroll through the old town, we made our way back to Xiropigado, with a quick detour to Nafplio to revisit our favourite restaurant. It didn’t disappoint….again.

I’ll be honest, I was selectively sociable before starting this chapter of my life. Unlike Rachel, who’s always enjoyed chatting with anyone and everyone, I’d often avoid eye contact if I didn’t feel like interacting, just to sidestep a conversation.

Now though, I make a point, both at home and away, to acknowledge people as I go about my day, and it’s incredibly rewarding. After a month of greeting most of the villagers daily, they’ve become eager to offer us tips, tricks, and little bits of local knowledge. We’ve gradually gotten to know each other, and it’s a connection I never would have made in the past.

We’re still “temple running.” There’s something about these ancient places, a kind of energy, that’s become a bit addictive… or maybe that’s just us. It helps that each site seems to be tucked into truly stunning, often tranquil surroundings. But getting there is half the fun: winding through sleepy villages (many of which appear abandoned, though it’s usually just the quiet afternoon lull), cruising along new, mostly empty freeways, or navigating narrow roads that cling to the coastline. Before we know it, we’ve driven two to three hours without even realizing.

Olympia lies on the opposite side of the Peloponnese from us, so we set off in the late morning, making our way through Astros and onto the A7 for the first 120km, then switching to more scenic village roads for the final 60km. We arrived about two and a half hours later and found a spot under the trees for our little car before heading into Zeus’s sanctuary, created between the 10th and 8th centuries BC.

Olympia is undoubtedly one of the world’s most significant ancient sites. Every four years, the Olympic flame is still ceremonially lit here, next to the altar in front of the Temple of Hera, using a parabolic mirror. Though much of the site was destroyed by earthquakes, there’s no denying the powerful energy that still lingers, especially as you approach the remains of the Temple of Zeus.

We spent hours wandering the grounds before heading into the museum, which is beautifully curated and full of treasures unearthed from the site, from the remarkable statue of Hermes carrying Dionysus to the reconstructed eastern and western pediments, each telling its own mythological story. A great day.

Another two-hour drive brought us to a different valley in the western Peloponnese: Ancient Messene, which may well be Greece’s best-preserved ancient city. Founded during the Bronze Age, it fell under Spartan control, was later freed by the Thebans, and eventually became part of the Roman Empire.

This site, too, has a strong aura. Unlike Olympia, there weren’t many olive trees offering shade, and although similar in scale, it was tougher to walk around in the heat, but well worth the effort. It was fascinating to see how the city had been repurposed over time: first a religious center, then political, military, and finally an artistic hub under Roman rule.

You can’t help but wonder how people from different eras would have interacted if they had coexisted. What a meeting of minds that would have been.

On our way back to Xiropigado, we made a slight detour for dinner in the old town of Kalamata, deep in the region famed for its olives. It was a little rushed, but a nice way to round off the day.

We had originally planned to move up and across into Albania, but the pull of the Peloponnese has proven too strong—so here we are.

We’ve settled into a beach routine: yoga and some stretching first thing in the morning, followed by a slow amble down the hill to our very welcoming swim spot. I’m a creature of habit, so I follow the same 1.5km swim route every morning. After a good swim, we spend about an hour or so on the stony beach catching a few rays before heading back up to the apartment around 11-ish. The middle of the day has gotten a bit too hot for us, unless we’re out exploring, which we’ve been doing most weekends.

The Mycenaeans, who predated the Athenians, were a formidable force that dominated much of southern Greece around the second millennium BC. In the northeastern corner, the famous Lion Gate forms the entrance to Agamemnon’s fortress and a royal palace that once overlooked the now-ruined city. On our travels, we’ve seen some incredibly elaborate architecture, but places like Mycenae stand out as the early foundations upon which future civilizations were built and improved.

Barring the occasional olive tree (for which the region is famous), there wasn’t much shade at the site. And as always, we seemed to be strolling through the ruins in blazing sunshine. Thankfully, Rachel now travels with an umbrella, and I’ve finally adopted a hat—a first for me!

What’s fun, too, are the people we meet, full of enthusiasm and wonder, as they share their own adventures with us. We love that energy.

Heading toward Sparta took us eastward, into the foothills of Mount Taygetos. Sadly, the ancient city, once powerful and dominant, went into steady decline after a series of battles and was ultimately leveled by a powerful earthquake in the 4th century BC. In the 19th century, a new city was built over the ancient ruins.

About 5 kilometers from there, high in the mountains, is Mystras, a medieval Byzantine settlement. Many of the buildings remain intact, with beautiful and surprisingly well-preserved artwork inside the numerous ecclesiastical structures. The site is laid out across three levels, with a fortress occupying the highest point. The lower level includes the remains of the palace and several impressive churches, both inside and out. The mid-level is largely taken up by a sprawling monastery, where some of the dignitaries would have once lived.

It was a good challenge wandering around this medieval center, and we happily spent most of the day exploring and trying to get a sense of what life would have been like.

Not that I’m usually a fan of guides, as I prefer to experience things with my own eyes, but what the Greeks do so well is offer warm, genuine interaction at these ancient sites. If you’re curious, someone is always willing to share more context and insight. We haven’t experienced that everywhere we’ve traveled, and it’s much appreciated.