Greece

Igoumenitsa to Athens to Chios (by bus, by ferry, and a little stressful cycling).

Over the border.

I’d been quite excited about getting to Greece. I hadn’t been before and all the place names sounded to me incredibly evocative and semi-mythical. Korinthos. Paramythia. Cyclades. They conjured images of golden rocks, azure sea, bright sunshine and wind, a huge sky of high clouds and stars. They didn’t sound like they could be home to normal people and houses and supermarkets, but gods and kings and mythical creatures. It didn’t quite live up to my expectations however, perhaps unsurprisingly!

Our first Greek road.

After we crossed the border at Konispol, we had just a few hours’ cycle to reach Igoumenitsa. We’d planned to get a ferry to Patras, and from there cycle to Athens, cutting out a little of the hillier terrain, and ensuring we reached Athens in time to catch the onwards ferry to Turkey (which we thought might stop running at the end of October). When we arrived at the ferry port however, we found out that the Ancona – Igoumenitsa – Patras ferry didn’t take on any passengers at Igoumenitsa, it only let them off. It also started to pour with rain. We decided to catch the bus instead, and were dropped at the port outside Patras in the chilly, damp pre-dawn. We put up the tent outside a closed campsite in the Rio area so we could at least sleep for a few hours. It was terribly windy and rainy in the night, and in the morning, the beach was the most forlorn and miserable place, with closed down or out of season cafes, and leaves and debris strewn all around by the night’s storm. There was nobody else about, just a little gang of stray dogs playing in the sand.

Another stormy camp.

We’d envisaged a few days of pleasant coastal cycling into Athens, but on that cold and rainy morning, after three hours’ sleep, feeling a bit unwell and with a sore knee, it was absolutely the last thing I felt like doing. We opted to take the bus on to Athens, though with two hectic, crowded bus stations to negotiate, this was by no means an easy option with the bikes! As we rumbled along the dreary coast road in the pouring rain, I was very glad not to be cycling. Greece wasn’t quite how I’d imagined to be.

New waterproofs!

We arrived into Athens in a monumental thunderstorm, cycled through rush-hour traffic, huge puddles, thunder and lightning (Zeus was obviously larking about up there) until we found a cafe in which to warm up with strong sweet coffees, and to find ourselves somewhere to stay. While we sat, dripping slightly, a cat shot inside, startled by the thunder, its wet feet slipping on the floor and ran into two glass doors before careering back out into the rain. We booked into the nearest hostel, and were very happy to arrive half an hour later at Hotel Dioskouros, to hot showers and dry clothes.

Odeon of Herodes Atticus.

We spent a few days in Athens, seeing the sights without the bikes. We explored the flea markets at Monastiraki (where Steve narrowly prevented himself being pick-pocketed), drank an awful lot of frappes, went shopping in the army-surplus stalls for waterproofs and warm socks and visited a wonderful hammam. This was quite a treat, and I’d been looking forward to it through all the uncomfortable and shower-less days before. We came out scrubbed clean and smelling of almonds.

The old Temple of Athena.

We tried a few bike shops, still looking for a replacement fork for Steve, but had no luck again. A man in one shop tried to sell Steve a suspension fork for 40 EUR that was clearly the wrong size in every way, insisting ‘It fits, it’s good’. We found this sales technique (of sorts) a few times in Greece: when Steve was looking for some gloves, he tried a pair on that were plainly too small. The man in the shop put them on his own, smaller hands and declared ‘they fit, they fit’.

Funkyride bikes, with the most helpful bicycle man in town (not the blue man, the man who worked there).

After four days in the city, it was time to head on to our next ferry (I love getting ferries!) The short route to the port at Piraeus was one of the worst we’ve cycled yet, with four lanes of fast moving traffic and frequent hair-raising lane changes. It was very stressful, but we made it in time to catch the 4pm boat which would get us into Chios at 5.30 the next morning. There was then another ferry to take us over to Çeşme in Turkey, just an hour away.

The Temple of Olympian Zeus.

Podgorica to Konispol

Albania

There were just a few miles to cycle into Montenegro before we reached the bus station at Herceg Novi. We had to ask a few drivers before finding one who would take the bikes on; he bundled them into the hold rather roughly, but we were glad to get on the road to Podgorica and potential bike repairs nonetheless. It was a three hour drive along windy roads, the long way round to the capital. We travelled all along by the sea, and as it grew dark, past Kotor’s hill fortresses and the towns under the mountains. It made me wonder what it must be like living at the mountain’s feet, in the shadow of such an immense presence. To have those towering stone walls always looming over you must surely make you feel very small. The road soon climbed upwards and away from the water, around tight bends and into the hills. I was quite glad not be cycling that bit!

We stayed a few days in the city. There wasn’t a lot to see, just grey apartment buildings and wide roads with the damp green hills all around. But Turkish coffee was abundant and we had things to do. We spent half our time there doing a tour of bike shops to try and get Steve’s front fork replaced. It seemed that the bigger and seemingly better-stocked the shop (Tempo Bikes….), the less helpful the staff. We visited five, all of which were no use, before returning to the first where the mechanic had seemed the most helpful. Despite not having the right part, Marko, of Olimpija Sport, roped in his brother Stevan to find a temporary solution to the problem. Stevan went off to find the right tools and then spent a good while grinding down a washer to fit. They were a really nice pair, and chatted to us about places to visit in Montenegro, even giving us a tour of their gym business next door. Stevan got the washer to fit; it wasn’t perfect, but it would do for the time being. Steve was just concerned that it wouldn’t suddenly worsen or break while descending a hill or something disastrous. “So it’s safe to ride?” he asked.

“No dangerous!” Marko replied ambiguously. It’s held up so far! The brothers wouldn’t even accept any money for their time so we got them some drinks and snacks from the shop. If any other cyclists are planning to pass through Podgorica and need bicycle repairs, they should definitely drop in.

We left Podgorica on a nice flat road but with the mountains all around, skirting around the low marshy end of Lake Shkodra. There were pomegranates growing all along the roadside, some tiny as rosehips, other the size of grapefruits. We crossed into Albania at Bozaj and immediately the verges were full of rubbish. The mountains were huge and imposing, indigo and charcoal coloured against the lighter greys of the sky. There were stray dogs, a few unfortunate dead dogs, and then a huge dead boar by the side of the road; with its shaggy brown fur I momentarily mistook it for a bear.

Almost everyone we saw along the way shouted ‘hello!’ and asked where we were from. Drivers and motorcyclists beeped and waved. A man set off down the road leading a cow by a rope, a scythe over his shoulder. With the dark mountains, the clashing pinks and greens of the houses, the Eastern music coming from every shop and cafe it felt a hundred miles away from Mediterranean Croatia.

I’d been a little apprehensive about cycling in Albania after reading a guide which emphasised the poor conditions of the roads, the high number of road deaths and the dangerous driving. But Albania has actually been one of my favourite parts of the trip, and I would recommend it to anyone thinking of visiting or cycling there. Everyone we met was friendly and helpful and we had no problems camping anywhere. Also, I saw my first glow worm.

A workman by the road handed me a pomegranate as we cycled past.

Although the smaller roads could certainly be bad, we stuck largely to State Highways 1 and 4 which had been recently resurfaced so were lovely and smooth. There was always a wide hard shoulder for us to cycle in (though often shared with horses and carts, cows and other people). We were even allowed to cycle on the motorway (though the signs said ‘no’, the policemen said ‘yes’!). The driving was a little erratic, but people were generally patient and considerate to us cyclists, probably because they are accustomed to sharing the road with slower moving vehicles or animals. If someone parked in a roundabout to chat to his friend, or a cow needed to cross the road, people might beep a bit but they’d calmly drive around or wait.

Lunch!

There were petrol stations every few kilometres where we could fill up our water, get cheap coffees and even pitch the tent. We spent one night camping behind a petrol station with a field of turkeys on one side, chickens on the other, a noisy dog and a little gang of tame rabbits. Every now and then the dog would bark, setting off the turkeys with their ridiculous gabbling. In the morning, one had got loose and was cruising around, trying to impress the chickens.

Petrol station camp. Real dog and plaster dog.

I did have my first fall of the trip on an Albanian road; coming to a stop on a downhill, my wheel slipped on the wet oily road and I skidded onto my side. I got a big scrape on my knee and a few bruises, but I was otherwise fine. I always wear my helmet, and for good reason – it suffered a few dents, but better that than my head!

We met Yury, the first cycle tourer we’d seen for ages, at a roadside cafe. He had spent a while cycling around Albania, in and out of the mountains; he wasn’t in a hurry and he wasn’t afraid of hills. He knew a good camping spot a little way from the road so we cycled off together, Steve and I admittedly struggling to keep up. As soon as we left the highway the road became full of holes and rocks. The sun was starting to go down and people were bringing their flocks of sheep and goats in for the night. A wedding procession came by, a fleet of beeping cars and vans, with spectacularly dressed children waving from the windows. A man leaned from the back of a truck, dangling a string of tin cans. Next to him was a sheep, spray painted red and blue.

Cycle tourers ready!

The three of us cycled on to Durres the next day before going our separate ways, on the road to which Steve suffered his next bicycle mishap. Going over a bump in the road, his front rack gave out, got caught in the spokes and tangled in the wheel. He managed not to topple off, and after prising the mangled aluminium from the spokes (only one slightly bent), he carried on with the pannier on his back. “Should have got a steel rack.” Yury said. Poor Steve – two flats, a split tyre, worn bottom bracket, threads gone on the headset, broken rack, bent spoke. Maybe there’s a good bike shop in Athens…?*

Durres

We spent a few more days in Albania after that. We cycled past fields of sage, where the leaves were being harvested and the scent was strong in the air. The road ran along by the hills with numerous little waterfalls cascading over the stone. There were taps in the rock pouring water onto the road, there were little honey stalls and men selling carp from murky tanks. Leaving the flat of SH4 for the winding road to Konispol, we met a couple of French cyclists on their way to Greece, coming down the mountain road we were heading up.

It’s a steep one!

There were cows with jangling bells in the steep sided valley which would sometimes wander into the road. They didn’t mind us cycling around them. The land dropped off sharply beside the road, and as we rounded a bend, a huge cloud of starlings flew right over us. We stopped for a night in Gyrokaster, a town sitting in the bottom of a great bowl of mountains. We had to push our bikes up the cobbled streets, which were extremely, preposterously steep. I don’t think it can be possible to make a steeper hill which can still actually be walked up. But the view from the top was worth it (just about).

Gyrokaster

Breakfast with a mountain view.

Despite our best efforts, on our last night in Albania, the Autumn finally caught up with us. We stopped to pitch our tent just as a storm broke, not quite in time to prevent the rain getting inside. We slept in our bivvy bags as the roof dripped (only a little) and the wind whipped and howled all around. It was strong enough to push a fine spray of water through both layers of the tent walls. The thunderstorm was awesome; it sounded as though a huge sheet of ice was cracking just overhead, and the lightning was the brightest and most far reaching I’ve ever seen.

The calm after the storm.

Everything was puddles in the morning and the sky was still dark and threatening though the storm had ceased. We cycled off between the mountains through the last few miles of Albania. Before we crossed into Greece, a rainbow appeared behind us over the mountains. Nice try Albania, but we’re off!

Why such a threatening flag, Albania?

*There isn’t.