I have never been brilliant at reading maps, which is how I found myself standing in a lay-by three miles outside Astros, Peloponnese, arguing with a hire car sat nav that had apparently given up on life. The journey from Athens had been straightforward enough - smooth motorway, dramatic mountains, that lovely sense of holiday anticipation - until the final stretch, when I decided I knew better than Google and took what I confidently called a "scenic shortcut." It was scenic, certainly. It was also a dirt track used by local goat farmers. I spent twenty minutes reversing past confused livestock before finding the actual road, by which point my other half had gone very quiet in the passenger seat. You know that particular silence. We arrived at the Astros Peleponese property with me doing elaborate apologising and him pretending he had not just mentally updated his life insurance.

The villa itself made immediate amends. Perched on a hillside with views across the Argolic Gulf, it had that satisfying Greek holiday home feel - whitewashed walls, terracotta roof tiles, a pool that caught the afternoon light like someone had planned it that way. I stood on the terrace with a lukewarm can of Coke from the airport, already forgiven, watching fishing boats drift below and feeling properly abroad for the first time in years.

We had packed for walking, being the sort of British people who treat holidays as endurance events with better scenery. The plan was ambitious: coastal paths, mountain trails, that satisfying ache in the legs by evening. I had researched routes near Paralio Astros, the seaside town ten minutes down the hill, and had grand visions of striding along headlands like a Mediterranean explorer. The first morning dawned bright and hot, the sort of Greek sunshine that makes you feel slightly drunk before breakfast. We set off toward the coastal path that runs south from the harbour, water bottles clanking, sun cream applied with British thoroughness.

The path started beautifully - rocky coves, the sea that impossible blue, wild herbs releasing scent underfoot. We walked perhaps two miles before the sky began doing something I had not anticipated. Clouds gathered with theatrical speed, dark and theatrical, and within minutes we were caught in a downpour so sudden and heavy that we might as well have walked into the sea fully clothed. Greek weather, I have since learned, does not consult holiday brochures. We squelched back to the villa, passing a local fisherman who watched us with the resigned expression of someone who has seen many optimistic foreigners defeated by Mediterranean unpredictability.

The next two days brought more of the same - glorious mornings, sudden afternoon storms, the kind of meteorological mood swings that made planning impossible. We adapted, as British people must. Mornings became our walking window, quick expeditions before the clouds gathered their forces. I found a lovely route through olive groves behind the town, ancient trees twisted into fantastic shapes, the ground silver-green with fallen leaves. Another morning we climbed the lower slopes of Mount Parnon, not far from the villa, on a trail that gave views across the plain to Nafplio in the distance - though I am using "climbed" generously here, it was more of a determined stroll upward.

The afternoons, defeated by weather, became slow and Greek in the best way. We read books by the pool during dry spells, dashed inside when thunder rolled across the gulf, played cards with the sort of competitive intensity usually reserved for major sporting events. I became peculiarly attached to watching storms approach from the terrace, the way the mountains disappeared into grey and the sea turned sullen and metallic.

By the fourth day I had stopped checking weather apps, which were clearly guessing. We set out regardless, packing waterproofs with sun hats, embracing the absurdity. A walk to a nearby beach turned into a soggy adventure, then a swim in warm rain, which felt deliciously ridiculous. Another morning brought perfect clarity, and we walked further than planned simply because we could, following a coastal track to a tiny chapel where someone had left lemons as an offering.

What I had expected to be a walking holiday became something more interesting - a lesson in letting go, in finding rhythm in uncertainty, in not being the sort of person who argues with sat navs and weather gods. The Peloponnese gave us olive groves and sudden storms, goat encounters and that particular light that comes after rain. I returned home with legs less aching than anticipated, perhaps, but with a better story and a new appreciation for waterproof phone cases. Some holidays you plan. Others, like our week at Astros, simply happen to you, and you are lucky if you have the sense to enjoy the unfolding.