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
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
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