Day 23 – Wednesday 15th June 2011
The action comes thick and fast and emotions soar and plummet like a yo-yo. When I arrived at the campsite, the lady in reception told me all about the bus services to get to the main tourist attractions. She could see that I had a bike but commented that the roads are very dangerous.
Well, she was right! But I’m always up for a challenge. Carolyn gave me a map of Athens which seemed good enough, so off I went on the bike. And this is where the fun begins!
Big cities like London have a lot of traffic on the roads. In Paris there are a lot of scooters weaving in and out as they make their way to the front of queues. In Rome, the phrase “pedestrianised area” doesn’t mean much (especially to scooters and motorbikes), and one-way streets can be two-way if you feel so inclined. In Athens, there is all of that together... and more!
If the traffic isn’t moving, scooters may just pop onto the pavement to get past cars. When roads are 2, 3 or 4 lanes wide (in each direction) with a raised curb and grass down the middle, sometimes scooters or motorbikes will just hop over it to get where they want to go. A “no right turn” sign (or “no left turn”) is optional if what you’re after is down there, and even the subways get used by scooters or motorbikes! It’s as if the road rules only apply to cars or large vehicles.
I’m on a bicycle... already I’ve gotten used to establishing myself on the roads: “This is my space, I know what I’m doing and you will respect that!” I don’t try to stay out of the traffic, cycling in the gutter as so many do in the UK; I’m firmly in one of the lanes and I’ll overtake cars if they’re going too slow. Yes, it’s a little dangerous, but it’s either that or be forced in the gutter and getting stuck in potholes, parked cars and pedestrians. As for getting to where I want to go, well, when in Greece...
You see, riding a bike (as with any vehicle really, and to some extent even walking) is all about confidence. It’s about saying, “I’m in charge of this, the vehicle does not control me and I will make it do what I want it to.” Going slower than the rest of the traffic, not having the courage to poke your nose out of a side road and always waiting for a gap that’s “just a little bigger” are all signs of nervousness and timidity. It just won’t do. Especially in Athens. Even if I’m unsure of where I’m going, I still act like I know what I’m doing until I can find a quiet place to check the map.
It’s not long before I get to the Acropolis. There’s a distinct lack of tourists and a short walk later I find out why: “The Acropolis is closed on 15/6/2011 due to a strike.” Marvellous.
I’ve cycled all this way and I can’t even see the major attraction of Athens. I check at a little kiosk to make sure the strike is off tomorrow and I’m in luck.
I head over to the Ancient Agora which has a very impressive temple still standing. The lady at the ticket office says, “You have 20 minutes before we close. I don’t think you have time. Maybe come back tomorrow.”
It’s not even 3pm and yet all the archaeological sites seem to close at 3pm. This is turning out to be a rather naff day.
Well, I had a bit of a walk up one of the local hills, seen a monument and some good views. There’s a place called the Zappeion which is meant to be fairly good, so I cruise on over. Along the way I come across Handrian’s Arch and a good view of the Temple of the Olympian Zeus. Clickety-click and I move on.
The Zappeion is rather impressive as a building, even though I’m not entirely sure what it is. Up the road a bit is the Parliament building and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Off I go!
The large road seems surprisingly devoid of traffic and there seems to be a lot of pedestrians. In Rome they had blocked off one of the roads and made it pedestrianised, so I assumed they’d done the same thing here.
As I get nearer, the number of people makes cycling incredibly difficult. Many people are walking in the opposite direction and are covering their mouths and noses. I then notice an odd smell and a tingling sensation in my nose. Cycling is too difficult with all the people so I turn back and try to find somewhere cheap for a bite to eat.
I find a little place called the “Smiling Café” and a chirpy Greek guy with a good American accent rushes around trying to serve everyone.
“Hey buddy! Take a seat – if you can find one – and I’ll be right with you!”
It’s certainly a busy place and no wonder: the food is far cheaper than most places. The “Hamburg Special” (Hamburger, chips and a drink) for €4.50 will do me fine, and it turns out to be one of the best burgers I’ve ever eaten!
Just as I finish off, I hear a loud sound; a cross between a thunderclap and a gunshot. As I walked the hills earlier, I heard thunder as it tried to rain, but this was different... and there it was again... and again! It’s too frequent to be thunder... what could it be, I wonder?
A swarm of police motorbikes race past the café and suddenly I’m aware of a lot more people, some covering their mouths and noses. A Greek couple sit down and make polite (albeit struggled) conversation. I ask what’s going on.
“A protest.”
Oh.
Bang, bang, bang! Lots more people moving fast away from the noise. About 50 yards away I can see smoke. I think I know what’s going on, but I’m going to check it out anyway.
I carefully make my way up the street, past literally hundreds of people. A couple of streets away there’s some chanting going on. As I approach the corner, I hear something smash and lots of people turn and run. I take a few steps back and wait a moment.
I can see a pile of burning rubbish at the intersection of the road. One brave scooter goes past. A couple of people pick up some rocks which are littering the road and throw them, quickly taking a few steps back after. I poke my head around the corner to see what their target was. I knew it!
I see a line of police, clad in gas masks, fire resistant clothes and shields. This is a riot. And I’m in the middle of it!
More explosions come from behind the police line. Riots are clearly breaking out everywhere. The camera’s out – I’m not missing this! More objects get thrown and the police take ground as they march towards us. People move back, others start to run. A tear gas grenade is launched at the trouble makers. It’s my cue to leave. I love being in the middle of action but I’m not stupid: I value my life as well!
I get back to the bike and make ready to go. The action seems to have died down so I go for it: instead of cycling away – the safe option – I head for the burning rubbish pile to get one last look at the police line. As I slow down to look, one protestor politely steps out of my way, waving me past before he throws his bit of rubble. I decide to pick up the pace and get out of the line of fire!
I get back to the main road where I was before and find a lot more people than earlier. I cycle as far as I can before the crowd is just too dense. I’m stopped by a couple of lads so I try to find out what’s going on.
“Our Government accepts help from the International Monetary Fund. We don’t want it! We end up in more debt. They betray us. They traitors.”
I ask how long it’s been going on for. Apparently this is Day 22 of the protests and they’ll keep going until the Government listens. Not everyday is rioting though.
I try to get to the other side of the protestors by cycling around. Really, I just want to see some more action. The police are blocking off many of the roads so I end up making a huge detour.
I find myself going up a steep hill and find that I’m at the base of the Lycabettus Hill. I decide to try to get to the top to see what’s there. The road is as steep as the Grand-St-Bernard pass (but thankfully nowhere near as long!) and I’m soon at a car park. I buy an ice cream to keep me going and head up the footpath that gets to the top.
There’s a church and a café. I see an open door and a sign that says, “Tickets.” I don’t really want to pay to see whatever is up here so I try to get as far as I can without paying.
There is a path off to the right and it goes right to the top and to the church. Quite a few other people are up here as well... I think they’ve paid to be here, but no one’s asking any questions, so I carry on admiring the spectacular views of Athens.
A short while later I decide to have a sit down in the café and write some postcards. A lady hands me the menu and boy is it expensive! I end up going for the cheapest item: a 1 litre bottle of water for €3 and I take my time over it. I suppose they have to be expensive to make any money – it’s quite a trek to get up there!
Time is getting on and I enjoy the free-wheeling back down. I try to keep close to where the protest is, in the hope of seeing some more action. No such luck, although I do cycle through some of the aftermath. The streets are a mess and I go past some smouldering embers of a rubbish pile. A group of policemen are stood across the road, no riot shields though as it’s fairly calm now.
Two skateboarders are coming towards me fairly fast, the nearest one not looking where he’s going. The pedestrians in front of me move out of his way and I try to move the bike aside otherwise this is going to hurt.
“Woah!” I yell at him but it’s too late. I feel his skateboard clip my foot and pedal – at least he didn’t hit me – and he goes tumbling down the road at quite some speed! I look back to see if he’s ok. He’s back on his feet and ignoring me... the police are laughing at him and he gets a little angry. I decide to take the opportunity to quietly pedal away as one policeman applauds my good work!
The only thing left is to traffic-dodge my way back to the campsite as dusk is just starting to set in. It’s been an eventful day!
Stats
Mileage = 21.30 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 38 minutes
Average speed = 8.0 mph
Top speed = 25.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 1066.0
Day 22 – Tuesday 14th June 2011
I’m in Athens! I can’t believe it. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten emotional about achieving something.
For at least the last 15 days, as I’ve cycled further and further from home, I’ve had one line of a James Blunt song stuck in my head. One line, because that’s all I can remember... I’m not really a fan of his. Anyway, the line is: “Gotta ask yourself the question: where are you now?”
I’m not entirely sure why... it’s not even the right question that I’ve been asking myself, it’s more like, “What are you doing here??”
Going through France didn’t seem too bad: I’ve done it loads of times before, especially on motorbike trips with dad, Neil and Pete... it’s just a little different on my own. As I went up the Alps into Switzerland, that’s where the question really started ringing: what on earth was I doing trying to cycle up the Alps with an overloaded bicycle? Not only is it an overloaded bicycle, but a bicycle that’s not intended to carry a load, especially not a load that’s about twice the weight of an American on a diet of Big Macs. Ok, so that might be a slight exaggeration...
Then I got to Geneva. I was last there 5 years ago... again on a motorbike trip, and yet here I was on a bicycle. The question rang out loud and clear as I wrestled with the Grand-St-Bernard and flew into Italy like a speeding bullet.
Pisa was a little odd: the question disappeared for a day. Then I got to Rome and it fired up again, especially as I got sight of the Colosseum and stood in front of the Vatican.
The question was louder than ever as I woke up on the ferry with Greek mountains in the distance, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before I set foot in a country I’ve never been to before.
As the craziness of this trip sinks in, the question fades away and I’m left staring in amazement at the fantastic sights and scenery, overwhelmed at having got here by myself... with a bicycle!
Even so, today wasn’t easy.
After bivvying under a tree, I was away at 6.45am. I stopped off at Argos to do some shopping... (Ok, I just wanted to say that! In fact, the whole reason for me heading east over the Peloponnese mountains instead of north east towards Corinth was so that I could drop by Argos and make a bad joke. I know that’s sad, but aren’t you used to it by now?) Actually, I got to Argos before the shops opened: at a Carrefour Express I was asked to leave because it was only 7.45am and they opened at 8am; and I got to another supermarket at 8.20am and decided to wait the 10 minutes for them to open.
I got to Mycenae and had a quick go at finding the ruins. It looked like I had to go uphill for 2 kilometres and I really couldn’t be bothered, so I continued towards Corinth. I managed to avoid getting on the Autoroute (why am I still calling it “Autoroute”? That’s the French term, I might as well just call it motorway...) and made my way to the sea where a little lie down, a dip in the sea and a couple of hours’ rest with a coke was a good call.
Shortly after 2pm I hit the road again: about 50 miles to Athens and I could be there by 7pm.
First I had to get across the canal that separates the Peloponnese from the mainland. Carefully avoiding the “motorway,” I found a small wooden bridge. I watched as a car went across, and then I followed suit... getting shouted at not only by the bridge supervisor, but also from the driver of a car coming the opposite way. Eventually the supervisor tries English: “On foot! Walk!”
No sooner had he said that than I see why. The front wheel slips between 2 of the planks, almost wedging itself. As I pull it out, the back wheel does the same thing, going down with a thud.
“See, now you have big problem!”
With a heave I get the wheel out, quickly check that the pannier rack is still attached – amazingly it is! – and rather sheepishly walk the rest of the way.
Something doesn’t seem quite right. I pull up next to a wall and inspect. The bolts holding the rack have bent a little more and there’s now a bit of contact between the rack and the tyre. Great. I’ve done about 5 miles since the beach, I’m aiming to be in Athens tonight and I’ve got to sort this rack out right now. Oh well, it could be worse... it could be raining.
Luggage off, tools out. With a bit of coercion, I manage to bend the rack so that some smaller bolts can fit, making the whole thing more solid (assuming I haven’t broken the rack as I bent it by force). The rack is now a little wonky, but it’s well away from the wheel and it feels very solid. Luggage on and off I go.
I notice that there is far less creaking now, especially when I go over some bumps. I stick to the Old National Road, since the new one is the motorway, going right by the coast. The view is awesome and I’m blitzing this section of the journey. Things are going so well...
And then the heavens open. I swerve into a little “mini market” shop by the roadside, buying a can of Sprite to justify me sitting on a bench under the covering as I wait it out. It could be worse... it could be – no, wait, it is raining!
It doesn’t seem like the kind of rain that lasts a long time, but still I’m well aware of the time ticking by. Eventually it eases up a little and I decide to just get going. It isn’t long before it stops completely.
More stunning views as I get to Megara. I’m really careful to avoid going on the motorway (going through the centre of Elefsina instead, which is very busy), and then it happens. The road I’m on – which is still the Old National Road – has a barrier across it and all traffic is shunted onto the motorway. Well, I tried.
Carolyn told me of a campsite in Dafni, just before Athens, so I figure I’ll try to find it.
I stop at a service station to try to get a drink but it’s shut. There’s a man sat there and I ask him where Dafni is... a little further up the motorway. I continue on and see a sign for a “Byzantine Monastery.” I stop to have the last of my water and find that this monastery is completely fenced off. Not much of a tourist attraction.
There are children playing nearby, and a restaurant, so I try to see what it is in case it’s the campsite. I see a big sign saying “Café” and assume that’s all it is. Looking back, I think it was actually the campsite, but never mind.
I get to the outskirts of Athens and pull over to ask where the campsite is. One man seems very helpful: “You go on the big road about 4 kilometres. At the fifth light, turn left.”
I pass the fifth set of traffic lights after about 1 kilometre. The road is now 4 lanes wide – on each side. I keep heading down a hill, growing more uneasy as I’m aware of time ticking by. It’s 8pm already.
I come to a huge interchange. It’s like another motorway is crossing the one I’m on. Motorways in Greece are just like normal roads, except that they are a few lanes wider. There are still shops right by the side of the busy road!
I head straight over the interchange on a huge bridge... and then I see the sign that says no cyclists. Too late. There’s nothing I can do but keep going.
I stop to ask a lady at a roadside kiosk where this campsite is. As she speaks Greek to me, I figure from the tone of her voice and her gestures that I’m not supposed to be here with a bicycle, and that the campsite is back the way I came.
I try to find a way to head back. Stopping at another service station I ask a guy about the campsite. He says 1 kilometre back up the big road.
I find a footbridge over the huge interchange (which is much nicer!) and cycle a little further before stopping to check with another passer-by.
“About 1 or 2 kilometres, on the right you will see Camping Athens.”
He’s absolutely right. It’s now 8.45pm and I feel much better. A good – and much-needed – shower and then food at the campsite’s little restaurant. It’s been a long day so I’m going to treat myself!
Stats
Mileage = 95.64 miles
Riding time = 8 hours 15 minutes
Average speed = 11.5 mph
Top speed = 33.0 mph
Total mileage since start = 1044.7
Day 21 – Monday 13th June 2011
After a couple of days’ break, I get back into the thick of cycling. As soon as I left the house in Kallithea, I cycled uphill for a few kilometres. It was no bother – I was fresh and the view was stunning! Nassos kept telling me how lucky I am: it’s meant to be one of the hottest months of the year for Greece and yet the temperature has barely hit 30°C! It feels like one of Britain’s hot summers. Today was a little hotter than the previous days... or so it seemed. Maybe it was because the sun was beating down and I was cycling hard that it felt that way.
My mountainous journey was slow going. I knew there’d be a fantastic downhill to come, but the miles ticked by so slow I almost wondered if it would ever come. With Andritsena long gone, I came to a major junction and faced a choice: down the hill to Megalopoli, then up to Tripoli; or continue over the mountains towards Stemnitsa, turning right towards Davia and then down to Tripoli. I postponed the choice-making and took a break at a service station a few yards from the junction.
As I enjoyed a can of 7-Up, the choice got made. At this point in the day, time was no issue and the question popped into my head: “Are you a man or a mouse?” Mountains it is then!
There was a long, gruelling hill to Elliniko and for a few kilometres beyond. A car came round the bend towards me and I got a glimpse of the shocked look, not just on the driver’s face but on 2 of the passengers’ faces as well. Yes, only a lunatic would bring a bicycle up these mountains!
Some of the downhills were hard work: nice, gentle descents are not good as the friction in the tyres, combined with the air resistance, means freewheeling is not an option. Even with pedalling, I struggled to go faster than 12 mph. If this was the downhill I got after all my hard work, I would not be a happy bunny!
Soon after Davia, the real descent began. Now this was more like it! I passed a campsite, but I was still high up in the hills and there were a few miles left to Tripoli. My map indicates a campsite at Tripoli, so I enjoyed the downhill and pressed on.
My knees were aching quite a lot at this point. The vast number of uphills, combined with me only taking short breaks (because I wanted to make the distance fast) is not the best. The downhills don’t help as I always take those opportunities to give my bum a break from the saddle, using my knees as a bit of suspension over any bumps. At least my foot no longer hurt (when I was at St-Laurent-en-Grandvaux, many days ago, I lowered the saddle and it worked a treat – just a few millimetres took the strain off as I pedalled).
I hurtled towards Tripoli, trying hard not to use the brakes unless absolutely necessary. When I reached the town, I realised I had no idea where I was going. I figured heading straight was the best option and soon I came across a supermarket. A few supplies, and I tried to ask where this campsite is.
“No campsite, only mountains in Tripoli.”
Ok, now I’m in trouble. My map has lied to me... well, maybe it didn’t lie: maybe when it indicated campsites in Tripoli it meant in a 15-mile radius of the town, which included that one up in the mountains that I had passed. At any rate, I wasn’t going back there. The man at the supermarket said there are campsites at Nafplio and south, down the east coast from there. That’s good since that was the direction I wanted to head; the downside was that there were 42 km (26 miles) between me and the coast... and it was 8pm. I could only hope I passed something suitable along the way.
The road started off pretty flat with only gentle ascents. I was riding faster than I had all day, about 14 mph. The uphills were no bother, my speed remaining above 10 mph. As the darkness slowly set in, my adrenaline was pumping and I was blitzing this road. The lights went on and the man upstairs was more alert than ever... well, for today, at least.
I cruised along a nice flat section and came across a little shelter by the roadside. Next to it was a little shrine with a candle burning. I’d seen many of these throughout Greece. The best I can figure is that they are there to commemorate the lives of people who have died in a car accident at that spot: some have photos of people in them; yet others have pictures of Jesus, so I’m still not completely sure. Anyway, bivvying in the shelter could be a good call, despite it being right beside the road... I could just hope for the best, like usual.
But it was too late. Whilst I was trying to decide, Ol’ Betsy kept rolling forwards, down the hill and far away. I couldn’t be bothered to turn back.
It was past 9.30pm, it was as dark as it was going to get and I found myself flying down a major descent. The road is reminiscent of the Alps: tight bends and lots of speed. Except this time I could only see about 3 metres in front. A little LED bike light does not make a very good headlamp: it allows others to see me, but does not allow me to see where I’m going. The point was well made as I sped round a hairpin and hit a pothole. The rack on the back took a jolt and one of the panniers took a hit to the spokes of the rear wheel. I had to stop.
My lovely needlework I did back in Avallon (O Avallon!) had ripped apart. It’s a miracle the rack was still attached: the little bolts holding it on at the base had slowly been bending under the weight. In fact, when we arrived at Kallithea I noticed one side had snapped off. I have no idea when it happened (it could have been the cobbled roads in Rome, the ferry crossing, or even taking it on the bike rack on the back of the car... I can only speculate) but with some help from Nassos we managed to replace it. Even so, it was slowly bending, and by the grace of God it was still hanging on! Everything else seemed ok, so I carried on down. If I’m lucky, I could get to the coast by 10pm... do I factor in a break to let the wheel rims cool down? No, I’ll risk it.
At 10.05pm I pulled up to a restaurant. “Is there a ‘camping’ here?” (Greek people seem to get a little confused at “campsite”, but “camping” is their equivalent, and it helps.)
The couple in the restaurant talked amongst themselves. It turns out that there is no campsite in this village, the nearest one is in Nafplio, over 10 km away. After more talking in Greek, the man said I could take the next right, follow the road round behind the buildings and camp in the trees, well out of sight of anyone. Wild camping is technically illegal in Greece but apparently people still do it (according to me little phrasebook – thanks mum!).
The man said that what I could do instead is to take the right turn, but then turn left and I would come to a restaurant which used to be part of the old campsite. He said that perhaps if I told them that I saw on the map that there was a campsite here and that I’m a little confused, they might let me pitch in the trees for one night.
I thanked the man and decided to buy a can of coke off him for his trouble... but he took pity on me and gave it to me for free!
I decided to ask at the restaurant first.
“This campsite closed 10 years ago! If you go up the coast 10 km, there is one there.”
That was no good. It was late, I was tired and I really didn’t want to cycle that far, especially if it ended up closed like all the others. I headed the other way to wild camp in the trees.
I got to where I thought I was in the middle of nowhere and took a left turn down a dirt track... with an abrupt halt. There was a car parked there! There were no buildings around, so it was blatantly a couple enjoying a bit of Smooch Club.
I went a bit further on and found a bunch of trees that looked overgrown and wild enough. It looked like an old orchard, but where the orchards either side of this patch were nicely kept, this part had trees with branches almost to the floor and longer grass in between them. I went deep in so I was completely off the road. Someone would have to come looking to find me.
I was still a little uneasy about it: I was only at the back of a village, not in the middle of the mountains. As such, I decided not to put the tent up. It’s bivvy time!
Bivvy bag, roll mat and sleeping bad. I put the handlebar bag (with all the important stuff) down at the bottom of the bivvy bag, pulled the drawstring and enjoy a nice warm night, trying to keep one eye open just in case.
With all the hard work of hills, annoyances of not being able to find a campsite and blitzing over 25 miles at 8pm, I can look back on it all and confidently say:
This is the stuff adventures are made of!
Stats
Mileage = 90.04 miles
Riding time = 9 hours 22 minutes
Average speed = 9.6 mph
Top speed = 38.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 949.0
Day 20 – Sunday 12th June 2011
Breakfast consisted of a nice big fry up: 4 rashers of bacon, 4 eggs, 4 pieces of fried bread and a fried tomato. Absolutely gorgeous! Staying with people makes a nice, welcome change to camping by myself. I could get some washing done, the bike is safe and I can relax and enjoy being looked after.
Not a lot happened today. I had breakfast, caught up on diary entries (yes, I’d fallen behind...), we had lunch and then took a siesta. After siesta, we planned to go to the village where Nassos grew up – Kallithea – since they have a house there.
Carolyn was cooking some beans to take with us and left a few for George’s dinner. Nassos saw them in the fridge and said, “No, no, no. These are my favourite, I’ll have them now!” So it was that we ate George’s dinner (although Carolyn left some more for him), I found that black-eyed beans and olive oil with a sprinkling of lemon juice is actually rather nice, and we got to Kallithea a bit later than planned.
But it was worth it. We got to Kallithea as the sun was setting, making the fantastic view even better. Carolyn and I took a stroll into the village to get some supplies, getting back to find Nassos comfortably tucked into the bag of oranges and apricots.
Although I hadn’t planned to cycle through Kallithea (I intended to go along the more major road through Olympia, further north), we found a bike rack that Elene uses, I hooked it up to the car (something which I’d never actually done before, but I knew the principle behind it...) and it would make tomorrow’s cycling easier as Kallithea is at an altitude of 400 metres. I’m not complaining!
Stats
Mileage = 0 miles
Total mileage since start = 859.0
Day 19 – Saturday 11th June 2011
Fried egg and bacon sandwiches for breakfast – this is the life! After a marvellous night’s sleep in a proper bed, I feel well rested after all the camping and bunking at train stations.
Carolyn comes over to take me to Olympia, where the Olympic Games originated. We park up and walk over a stunning bridge (I couldn’t get the right angle for a photo – gutted!) to get to the entrance. She has some card which gets her free entrance and I wonder if I’m going to have to pay. The man waves her forward.
“And what about the nephew?” she asks. A bit of communication in Greek and I’m allowed in too. Nice!
So Olympia is basically a bunch of ruins, but what ruins! Parts of the huge pillars which lined the various temples are laid across the grass. One pillar on the Temple of Zeus has been reconstructed, standing tall in its glory. Other pillars which form part of the gymnasium still stand and the outline of many buildings can still be seen. On the edge of this little collection of buildings is the Olympic Stadium, 192 metres in length! Some tourists run up and down it as runners would have in the first Olympic Games in 776 BC. The ceremony of lighting the Olympic torch still takes place here.
After a couple of hours of walking around in the sunshine, we head to the museum. Carolyn tries the same trick and it works again, although this time I did have to take out my passport as proof of my age.
The museum is also a sight to be seen. One room is lined with various statues: gods, people, animals, etc. Another room is to do with pottery, another with craft tools. In Olympia there was this big pyre into which people would cast little statuettes and figures of animals and people as an offering to the gods. Because they were made of metal, they didn’t burn up and many of them have been recovered. 
It looks like an ancient toy figures set! Another room contained shields and helmets and other war equipment. I’m not usually one for looking around museums, but this one was fascinating and well worth it.
We head back to Pyrgos for some lunch and a siesta. With the morning’s heat, I fall asleep almost instantaneously. I was probably still trying to catch up on lost sleep from the ferry and train stations.
As late afternoon and early evening comes, Carolyn takes me to a nice seaside village called Katakolo. There are some good views, nice little fishing boats and a plethora of seaside restaurants looking out over the calm water. A very nice place, but not a huge amount to do there.
We get back to the house where George, the youngest of the kids (ages 22) is practising for a gig in the evening with a friend. The music they are playing is fantastic, apparently of Turkish origin. His sister, Elene, is also there, packing to go away camping for the weekend. Chatting with them, albeit briefly, is good and I really feel part of the family. Apparently that’s just Greek culture – and it’s great.
It hasn’t been a particularly long day, but the hot sun has drained my energy. As I’m getting ready to turn in, I suddenly get a big shock: some insect flies past. But this is no ordinary insect like I’ve seen before – it’s huge! Its body is at least 3 or 4 centimetres long, fat, and when it flies past it sounds like a small aeroplane. Imagine a fly about 10 times bigger and you might be getting close to what this is. Anyway, I’m not having it there whilst I’m trying to sleep... a shoe to the head and – Thud! – it’s dead.
I can sleep easy now the bug is gone...
Stats
Mileage = 0 miles
Total mileage since start = 859.0
Day 18 – Friday 10th June 2011
As the day dawns, people slowly wake to the sound of an announcement that we are about to dock. We’re not yet at Patras, just another stop along the way: Igoumenítsa, I believe. There’s a lot of movement as many people make ready to leave. It’s not my stop, so I find somewhere else to keep snoozing.
A short while later I get up and take a look out the windows. Greek mountains tower above us as we head between mainland Greece and some islands. I can’t believe I’m actually here.
Cycling through France seems like a lifetime ago; the Grand-St-Bernard pass a dream. All the hassle of Italy fades away as I gaze on the beauty of Greece.
A bit of breakfast before we dock and I get myself ready. The white long-sleeved t-shirt I bought in France makes its first appearance in the hope that I can protect my arms from the sun’s burning rays.
Ol’ Betsy is still bungeed up, waiting patiently for me to tend to her. It’s all go. Lorries and cars make their way past me and onto land. I have no idea where the exit is: some vehicles are turning left; others right. I choose left. Passing the American lads, I bid them farewell and find an exit gate.
Road signs in Greek lettering, now that’s a little weird! As I cycle past signs and shops, I try pronouncing the words to myself, no clue as to whether I’m right or wrong.
I don’t see much of Patras. It’s 1.30pm and I want to cycle 60 miles if I can. The cool breeze makes the hot sun bearable and the long sleeves are working a treat. I decide to stick to the main road, the E-55, as it’s flat and without many cracks and potholes.
Cars zip past me. I’m cycling on the hard shoulder, but many cars have their right wheels in that lane, allowing others to overtake them. It’s understandable (and helpful – I wish more people would move over to let others pass in the UK) but some barely give me any room as they pass. My time in Niger has taught me that the UK is one of the few countries where people don’t know the size of their car. “I’ve only one metre of space each side, can I really fit through that gap without scratching my wing mirrors?” Certainly in Niger the drivers are confident of the size of their vehicle and will only give a few inches of space. But it’s ok because they won’t actually hit you! Greece seems much like that.
After 20 miles I take a break. Firstly I want a cold drink (Greece does this amazing, slightly sparkling, blackcurrant drink!) and also I want to find a telephone. Athena, a friend from university, lives near Olympia and said that I should visit. It’s a little weird as she’s still in Aberystwyth at the moment, so I’ll be staying with her family who I’ve never met or spoken to. I have 2 phone numbers: a landline and a mobile, but no address.
So, I’m at this little roadside café, enjoying my cold drinks, and I think, “It’s time I tried to ask to use a telephone.” Greek phrasebook at the ready (thanks mum for that – very useful!)...
“pouv mporwv na... to thlevfwvv;”
(“Where can I... telephone?”)
The lady looks confused. Oh dear... I show her the phrasebook and point out what I’m trying to say, with a few gestures thrown in for good measure. She puts on her glasses and takes a look. Then she says something in Greek and I have no idea what’s going on! She gets up and walks into a back room, takes out a loaf of bread and shows me.
With lots of gestures, I ask, “If I buy the bread, I can use telephone?”
The bread costs €0.90 and I gesticulate “telephone” again. More Greek. She goes into the back room and pulls out some sausage and then some cheese. This is getting silly. I’m not buying all this stuff that I don’t need. I smile and gesture, “No, telephone.” I must have misunderstood her with the bread, I don’t think she has a telephone. Certainly not one she’s prepared to let me use. I try to thank her and leave.
The miles fly by and it’s not long before I’m on the outskirts of Pyrgos, a big town south of Patras. The only telephone I’ve seen so far have needed a special card, so I head into town in the hope of more luck.
I get to what I think might be the middle of town and find a couple of policemen. As I pull up, they watch as if in awe. I’d noticed that a bit: lots of people seem to have taken an interest in me and the overloaded bike. As I think about it, I’ve seen hardly any cyclists (I could count the number I’d seen on one hand!)... there must be something about it. Never mind, phrasebook out and I ask the policemen:
“milavte agglikav;”
(“Do you speak English?”)
“A little. What do you want?”
“Is there a Tourist Information?” I figure that might be my best bet for finding a better English speaker and a telephone. He asks the other policeman in Greek and they both shake their heads.
“No tourist information. What do you want?”
“I’m trying to find a telephone, but I have no card.”
He understands me and points towards a little kiosk where I can buy a phone card and says there’s a telephone down the road. I get the card and head off. Not wanting to get lost in town, I make my way back to the main road – public phones are fairly frequent there.
I try to figure out what to do. The first number doesn’t seem to work. Neither does the second. Maybe it’s because I’ve been given the numbers with the country’s prefix (as if I was calling from abroad). I drop the prefix and try again. Still nothing. On the plus side, it was a different tone, so maybe I’m getting somewhere. I try the house number again and I get an answer. Now, what on earth am I meant to say? I don’t know Athena’s family, I don’t know if they can speak English (I know her mother can, but this was a male voice!), and I don’t even know if this is the right number. Oh well...
“Hi. Is that Athena’s family?”
“Who is this?”
Well, at least he can speak English! “My name’s Mike...”
“Oh, the man with the bicycle?”
Success! “Yes, that’s me!”
We agree to meet in the car park of a Lidl supermarket and I follow him home.
Despite his Greek accent, it turns out he can speak English, French, German, Italian and is learning Turkish! He cooks me a bit of food – 4 boiled potatoes (complete with skin!) which are home-grown, so really nice. His wife, who is Australian, arrives later and it is great to get to know them.
Nassos and Carolyn (Athena’s parents) look after me well and I stay in another house they own in Pyrgos, not far from them. The main living area is on the first floor (which seems common in Greece) and the view is spectacular!
Stats
Mileage = 65.06 miles
Riding time = 4 hours 43 minutes
Average speed = 13.7 mph
Top speed = 36.9 mph
Total mileage since start = 859.0
Day 17 – Thursday 9th June 2011
Bari at 5.40am. Not even the toilets are open. Just outside the train station is a map. The ferry port shouldn’t be hard to find: head to the sea and turn left or right. I decide to turn left, after all, there is a sign saying “Port” in that direction... and it even has a picture of a boat!
I must have cycled a mile and a half before the next “Port” sign reassures me that I’m still on the right track. I eventually get to the entrance: no cyclists and no pedestrians. That’s a bit off since the ferry I’m after takes foot passengers. This must be the wrong port. It’s the only explanation. I find a little petrol station and use their facilities to freshen up before heading back into town and going the other way along the seafront.
This time the port is dead easy to find! I ask the gate guard where I can buy a ticket and he directs me to a blue building. It’s 8am. Although the building is open, none of the ticket kiosks are.
After sitting for 20 minutes I go outside to a little snack bar for a coke and some crisps – what a healthy breakfast! I sit there for as long as I can before heading over to the ticket kiosks again. A few Americans are talking to each other, but I like my own company so I leave them to it. A very impatient man is strutting around as if his very presence should demand the kiosk to open. Some official-looking people walk past and tell him to wait. He takes it like a slap in the face. I wonder why he thinks he’s so important?
The kiosk opens. I sit back and watch as everyone else rushes forward. Of course the impatient man is there first. “Thanks matey, why don’t you put the ticket lady in a bad mood for the rest of us? What a lovely start to her day you’re going to bring!” Obviously I keep those thoughts to myself...!
After a while I get up and join the queue. One of the Americans is in front of me so I start chatting to him. It turns out he’s actually Canadian. He’s hitch-hiking and couch surfing his way across Europe. He seems nice enough and we take a stroll into town since the ferry doesn’t leave until 8pm and doesn’t allow boarding until 5pm.
After lots of, “Let’s go this way!” we eventually find an internet café and then afterwards find a very reasonable pizzeria for some lunch. I go for a bit of pot luck with the menu and end up with a seafood pizza. They shouldn’t be allowed... or at least come with a warning message. I had a slice of seafood pizza before and it’s like licking a beach. Not fun! I eat it anyway since I paid for it, saving a bit of coke to try to take away the taste afterwards.
This Canadian guy (I think his name was Henrik – going by his Facebook profile when I glanced over at the internet café) decides to take a nap before getting on the ferry. He finds a nice spot and I go back to the port to check on Ol’ Betsy and then to try to find a supermarket.
I know that in France the shops tend to shut from 1-2pm for lunch. It’s 3pm and I head to a Tourist Information to ask where a supermarket is. “Everywhere is shut until 4.30pm.” That’s a bit of an extreme lunch hour! It turns out they take a break for a siesta in Italy. They direct me to a supermarket anyway and I head off in the hope that it might be open.
This is at least the third Tourist Information centre I’ve been to in Italy where what I’ve asked for hasn’t been where they’ve said. They seem so knowledgeable, but maybe they just make it up to get rid of people.
The town of Bari is like a giant grid, a few square miles in every direction. The roads are all one-way with all the parallel roads alternating the direction as you go along. Again, traffic lights seem optional. I eventually locate a supermarket, this one not opening until 4.45pm. Great. I find a place to sit down in the shade to wait.
Where I sit just happens to be outside a church where a van pulls up and 3 men in suits jump out with a bunch of flowers. 5 minutes later a hearse pulls up and these men pull out a coffin. They are obviously funeral directors and the youngest of the suited men (he could only be in his twenties) seems to enjoy the job far too much.
4.30pm comes and I head over to the supermarket, out of the way of the funeral. It opens, and I get some supplies for the ferry, which includes a tub of ice cream which I hope will cool me down after a day in the heat.
It’s just after 5pm and I cycle fast to the ferry, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the ice cream melts. I flash my tickets, padlock Ol’ Betsy (well, actually I don’t padlock her, I just strap a bungee between her and some railings so she doesn’t move), and get on deck. One of the crew asks if I want a drink. “Not yet.” As he walks off I take out the ice cream and one of my little plastic spoons. With all the cycling around Bari with the heat, I’m pretty hot and the whole tub goes in about 10 minutes. Man, now I’m stuffed, but oh, it was good!
On deck there’s a TV nearby which screens the film Forever Young in English with Greek subtitles. I can barely hear it, but I’ve seen it before and it’s a bit of entertainment.
Henrik the Canadian finds me and brings his other two American friends – Josh and John – to join us.
Fairly soon the conversation turns to Jesus, the Bible and why some Christians are just plain idiots (e.g. for believing the world was going to end on May 21st 2011). Whenever Henrik mentions the name of a prophet he always adds, “Peace be upon him.” It turns out he converted to Islam just over a year ago. From the way he talks about it, it seems more like a fashion statement than actual religiosity. He seems so in awe of it all, like a little kid with the cardboard box of what should be his favourite toy. Until he gets deeper into it and starts to question it, there’ll be no reasoning with him. As someone once said to me, “You’ve got to go there in order to come back.”
Well, the boat gets underway and these Americans decide to find somewhere inside where Henrik can serenade them with his guitar (or should I say, “gee-tar”!). I join them for a bit, then head off to get some time to myself before sleeping on some of the boat’s seats.
Stats
Mileage = 21.04 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 33 minutes
Average speed = 8.2 mph
Top speed = 16.8 mph
Total mileage since start = 793.9
Day 16 – Wednesday 8th June 2011
Rome in rush hour is certainly an experience! At side roads cars are pushing their way into the main flow of traffic. At traffic lights all the motorbikes and scooters filter to the front. Some of them have no regard for the red light and go anyway, most can’t even see the lights to know when they turn green... but that’s ok because there are 2 ways of knowing: cars behind will beep their horn if you don’t move within half a second of green; and the pedestrian lights are still visible... after a good 10 or 15 second wait on amber (Italian pedestrian lights have an amber as well), they turn red and the green light for cars is usually only 1 or 2 seconds after.
Things get a little more tricky as I get further in. Cars are double parked, taking up one of the two lanes, and the cobbled road is about to begin. I barely have time to check the direction I’m travelling, then I shoot up a side street. The scooter coming the other way clearly doesn’t care that this is a one-way, single lane, narrow street. He flies past me.
I get to a square. It’s pedestrianised but there are still a few cars and scooters around. I know the road I need to take, but it’s one-way... the wrong way. I stop to think what to do as a scooter buzzes past me and down the street. Oh well, when in Rome...
I get to the train station. Trains to Ancona are still cancelled due to strikes. I decide to cut my losses and buy the ticket to Bari (well, actually it’s 3 tickets: Rome to Napoli; Napoli to Taranto; Taranto to Bari). Anything to get out of Rome!
The train comes and I go. Ahh, it’s good to relax!
I have a 3 hour wait at Napoli. I decide to use the time to see if I can get a refund for the ticket to Ancona, especially as the queues here are much shorter. Customer Care sends me to the ticket queue. The ticket people send me to Customer Care. Back to the ticket queue, then Customer Care... then one of the Customer Care people walks over with me and gets it sorted. All that effort and they still didn’t give me a full refund. I get a measly €12.60. Well, it’s better than a kick in the teeth.
There’s still a bit of time so I get a couple of slices of pizza (yum!) and pop across the road for a drink and a bar of chocolate. I hadn’t bought a bar of chocolate on this trip yet and just felt like treating myself.
I get back to the bike where there are 2 cleaning trolleys around it. I go to take it away and one of the cleaners tells me something along the lines of not leaving it like that because of the police... either they’ll go through all the luggage or treat it as a bomb (I didn’t quite understand his hand gestures). I apologise and move on. Really, I knew that anyway, but I just didn’t want to drag an overloaded bike with me to all the places. Nothing was stolen and no one else cared.
The train to Taranto is 5 hours. I manage to get a bit of kip as I’m going to need it: the train from Taranto to Bari leaves at 4.18am and I need to decide whether it’s worth sleeping at the station (risking sleeping past the time and missing the train) or trying to stay awake.
After more essential snoozing on the train, I decide to try to stay awake. There are a number of homeless people sleeping at this station (just like at the others), including 3 dogs. Every so often the dogs would get excited about something and chase each other out and down the street. At one point a police car came and they got all excited again. The police car deliberately raced off and the dogs all followed!
2am comes and there’s an announcement that the train to Bari is waiting at the station. I take the opportunity: bike on; me on. Now I can sleep!
Stats
Mileage = 7.00 miles
Riding time = 48 minutes
Average speed = 8.7 mph
Top speed = 25.0 mph
Total mileage since start = 772.9
The action comes thick and fast and emotions soar and plummet like a yo-yo. When I arrived at the campsite, the lady in reception told me all about the bus services to get to the main tourist attractions. She could see that I had a bike but commented that the roads are very dangerous.
If the traffic isn’t moving, scooters may just pop onto the pavement to get past cars. When roads are 2, 3 or 4 lanes wide (in each direction) with a raised curb and grass down the middle, sometimes scooters or motorbikes will just hop over it to get where they want to go. A “no right turn” sign (or “no left turn”) is optional if what you’re after is down there, and even the subways get used by scooters or motorbikes! It’s as if the road rules only apply to cars or large vehicles.
You see, riding a bike (as with any vehicle really, and to some extent even walking) is all about confidence. It’s about saying, “I’m in charge of this, the vehicle does not control me and I will make it do what I want it to.” Going slower than the rest of the traffic, not having the courage to poke your nose out of a side road and always waiting for a gap that’s “just a little bigger” are all signs of nervousness and timidity. It just won’t do. Especially in Athens. Even if I’m unsure of where I’m going, I still act like I know what I’m doing until I can find a quiet place to check the map.
I’ve cycled all this way and I can’t even see the major attraction of Athens. I check at a little kiosk to make sure the strike is off tomorrow and I’m in luck.
The Zappeion is rather impressive as a building, even though I’m not entirely sure what it is. Up the road a bit is the Parliament building and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Off I go!
More explosions come from behind the police line. Riots are clearly breaking out everywhere. The camera’s out – I’m not missing this! More objects get thrown and the police take ground as they march towards us. People move back, others start to run. A tear gas grenade is launched at the trouble makers. It’s my cue to leave. I love being in the middle of action but I’m not stupid: I value my life as well!
There’s a church and a café. I see an open door and a sign that says, “Tickets.” I don’t really want to pay to see whatever is up here so I try to get as far as I can without paying.
Two skateboarders are coming towards me fairly fast, the nearest one not looking where he’s going. The pedestrians in front of me move out of his way and I try to move the bike aside otherwise this is going to hurt.
