Pottering around the Peloponnese

The dirt track peters out in the middle of an orange grove.
'Route recalculation. In 300m, turn sharp right and bear right.'
Thank you, sat nav.
All around me, in the fading light, are nothing but trees, save for a little shed to my left in which a little dog is slumbering, curled tightly against the cold.

It had been a pleasant drive all the way down to Corinth. Somewhere past the sprawling grey suburbs of Athens, just beyond Elefsina, the E94 hits the coast, and the Saronic Gulf appears, like an epiphany, shimmering under the bolts of sunlight that pierce the clouded sky. On the radio, a man with a harmonica sings a bluesy song. I catch the words 'καφές και τσιγάρα' (coffee and cigarettes), and attempt to hum along. I cross the Corinth canal without realising it (the half-smile and hesitant 'happy new year' of a bored toll collector still vaguely on my mind), and find the snow-dusted peaks of the Peloponnese surging to greet me.

I turn off the E94 just before Corinth and meander down a country road to Argos, before getting lost in the orange grove. I manage to reverse out and not run over an ancient man with a wattled neck, who was pootling along on an incongruously red scooter. He spoke no English, and did not remove his cigarette to give directions. It takes me a while to remember that 'ναι' (nay) means 'yes' in Greek.

I eventually enter Nafplio in triumph, and in time for dinner.