The original plan was to spend three nights in Nafplio, but after a bit of research I changed my mind and booked a hotel in a small village instead. Still, John had heard Nafplio was worth a visit, and since it was lunchtime we stopped to explore.
This small city was the first capital of modern Greece. Its old town hugs the harbour, crowded with gleaming luxury yachts. John was particularly taken with Blue—one of the largest at 160 metres. It was enormous! Nafplio hosts the world’s biggest crewed luxury yacht charter show each year, complete with superyachts and even chefs’ competitions—because if you’re going to own a floating palace, you may as well have competitive soufflé.
We wandered the narrow alleyways lined with boutiques, design stores, and the usual souvenir shops selling items nobody needs but everybody briefly considers. Eventually we settled on a harbour-side taverna. I had sardines—delicious, though as always there was far too much food, even when we tried to share. Greece does not believe in moderation, and honestly, I respect that.
Not all travel decisions are wise.
I probably should have reconsidered when the hotel receptionist reacted to our booking with what can only be described as genuine alarm.m
“Three nights?” she gasped, as if we had announced plans to move in with her.
The room itself was small but clean and cleverly arranged. The balcony overlooked a taverna and a harbour full of fishing boats, which would have been charming if the village itself hadn’t been almost comically sleepy.
Day one passed quietly: a short wander, followed by the important purchase of a bright yellow swim ring, goggles, and a snorkel to share—because nothing says dignity like taking turns with inflatable accessories.
On day two we drove five minutes down the road to see the sunken city. A nearby taverna pointed us another 80 metres along, which felt promising. There was… almost nothing. A small pebbly beach, a few hopeful snorkellers, and a couple of kayaks resting under palm trees, as if waiting for something more exciting to happen.
Give it a year or two and no doubt someone will build a ticket booth and start charging €20 a head. For now, it’s refreshingly underwhelming.
My shoulder limited how much I could swim, and I was very concerned about the sea urchins, but the inflatable ring helped. Still, I was anxious and bobbed around long enough to see the submerged villa. John, meanwhile, simply walked out—there was apparently a submerged wall. I missed it entirely. He had a short swim, declared it sufficient, and that was that. Exploration, completed.
It was also on this outing that we made an important discovery—twelve days into the rental. The car couldn’t properly lock. The rear door behind the driver had lost its window winder and refused to lock at all. Somehow, we’d been lucky. The busiest place we’d parked was Nafplio, where I’m fairly certain we’d left the car in a bus zone. Still, at least ten other cars had done the same, so we followed the time-honoured travel strategy of collective denial and hoped for the best.
The other reason I had chosen this village was its proximity to the UNESCO listed Ancient Theatre of Epidaurus. This fabulous amphitheatre was constructed in the 4th century BC and is considered to be the most perfect Ancient Greek theatre with exceptional architecture and acoustics. We paid our €20 and headed to yet another ancient Greek archaeological wonder.
Preparations for the Athens Epidaurus Festival were in full swing and the place was teeming with workers. We clambered over the ancient stone seats, stood on the circular stone plate on stage and made weird noises like singing and felt the vibrations travel through our bodies. It was a treat.