This is the second part of my account of my trip in April and May 2019 through Greece and Albania on the first leg of my planned multi-year ride from the southernmost town in Europe to the northernmost.
Day 7. Wednesday 24 April 2019. Kissamos – Mavrovouni Beach 8k
Up at the crack of dawn to catch the ferry after a typically tortured nights sleep. The poor old hotel manager at the Galini Beach Hotel up at 6.15 to make me breakfast and check me out – what a star. And then over to the ferry by around 7, only to be told that I could not board for another hour. And indeed could have easily turned up an hour later. The kindly manager would have known this but still humored me, which makes me even more grateful.
The ferry itself is smallish but solid. Inside most of the rooms have the windows blacked out and TVs blaring. The choice is that or going on deck with the chain smokers and wind. I alternate, watching Crete sadly and slowly retreat into the mist.
I meet my first bike tourist, an Oregonian called Bill, cycling from Crete to Barcelona by mid-June, doing a mixture of camping and hotels with a trailer dragging behind. A bit stand-offish though we had plenty of chats during the trip. He reminded me of the way that Brits abroad used to be before June 2016 and The Thing: aloof and vaguely threatened by the sight of another Brit as if that threatened their unique selling point as “the British person”. (These days meeting another Brit abroad is like a funeral wake: “Were you close to the deceased?”, “Yes, very, though you know he was a total shit”.)
Despite Bill’s disdain for wild camping “What’s the point if you don’t get to meet people?” I wondered whether he was really touring to get away from other people and to resolve some demons. As the ferry docked in Gythio and we spotted a pair of cyclists about to board for the next sailing, we reflected on the slightly odd mindset it took to be a bike tourist especially in the less bike-friendly countries.
Into Gythio and our paths part. I head over the headland for the delightful Mavrovouni Beach, pretty with the spring flowers and the smell of burning olive wood which infuses much of this trip.
Dinner of Greek salad and the best grilled chicken livers I can remember. No complimentary raki. Things are different on the mainland.
Stats: Distance: 8.2km, Total Distance: 297km, Climb: 76m, Total Climb: 3311m
Day 8. Thursday 25 April. Mavrovouni Beach – Agios Nikolaos – 53k
Back in the saddle. A tougher ride than expected across the Mani. A very steep ride out of the valley – gradient reaching 12-14% at parts – with mercifully hardly any traffic. As with the ride up out of Heraklion, a quiet mountainous beauty once you are up, the fierce rocky slopes of the Taygetus on all sides.
Seemingly deserted towns until I reached the coast again, no sign of the two castles of Passava and Kelefa. I hit the main road again and meet an elderly French couple going south, complaining about the rain and the head wind, envying me having it on my back but warning me of the climb ahead.
And the warning was worth it. I feel out of puff, despite the gentle wind in my back. Mile upon mile of olive trees and the mountains rising away to my right, a steady uphill aggravated by not taking enough water. 870m of climbing in 50k and you fritter it away on the hairpin bends on the way down.
A grey old day, which takes some of the charm out of the otherwise lovely spot of Agios Nikolaos. I have dinner of marinated anchovies and grilled octopus overlooking the water. It almost immediately starts to rain. The awning is pulled out further and further. I persist, as do a family, and the local squad of cats. It is quite delightful though cold enough for me to ask for a glass of tsipouro to end the meal.
Stats: Distance: 52.8 km, Total Distance: 352km, Climb: 862m, Total Climb: 4173m, Average Speed: 15.0 kph
Day 9. Friday 26 April. Agios Nikolaos – Kalamata: 47k
A supposedly easier day but having picked up speed every day in Crete, I am slowing down. Possibly because the climbs get stiffer and stiffer.
After a beautiful ride along the coast to Kardamyli, I turn off down a steep hill and find the house that the great writer Patrick Leigh Fermor built and wrote his books “A Time of Gifts” and “In Between the Woods and the Water” in (and struggled with what became “The Broken Road“). Before his death in 2011, he had bequeathed it to the Benaki Foundation, who set about restoring it. It was initially due to reopen in March 2019 but then got delayed to the summer. I had written to the Foundation, asking if I could stop in on my way. After an initial reply indicating that this might work, I had no reply to my suggestion of a specific time.
So I went there anyway, peered through the door, saw someone inside it and hailed him. He was initially suspicious and said that it was closed, but did not object too strongly when I asked if I could have a look outside for two minutes. “Ok but no photos”.
Two minutes was all it was, but enough to see inside the dining room – completely empty with windows open – and see the two outdoor areas where the Leigh Fermors would sit: both sunken gardens. One looking out to sea. The other abutting the house. It was something magical. I could feel him there. I could also feel him on the beach below, where he would go to swim.
Then off past Kardamyli and up a very long, steep and snaky hill. 500m of climbing. The reward was a stunning view back along the coast. But also another tricky descent, screeching my brakes down a severe farm road to the coast.
On the coast, I hear my phone ringing. While I take the call from the guest rooms that I am heading towards, a small dog behind a fenced garden starts to yap and bark furiously. This goes on throughout the call and while I prepare to get back on the bike. I lose my patience and start to shout back at the dog and aggressively move close to the fence. The dog cowers and starts barking pathetically.
And then the owner comes out.
So I head off quickly… It was heating up. When I reached Kalamata, it was 28C. I grab some meze nearby. A delicious crab salad and an equally delicious aubergine salad.
I walk around the old town. Perfectly nice but nothing extraordinary.
Stats: Distance: 47.4km, Total Distance: 397km, Climb: 775.3m, Total Climb: 4949m, Average Speed: 14.3kph
Day 10. Saturday 27 April. Kalamata – Dimitsana: 93k
The day I had been alternately looking forward to and dreading: 93k to Dimitsana: 1650m in climbing, largely composed of a 600m climb and an 800m climb.
I get going as soon as I can, which thanks to a lazy and inept waitress at the cafe across the road, is 10. It is already hot. A long and flat ride out through the suburbs of Kalamata before the climbing begins 25k in. Again, little traffic but this time the scenery hardly varies as I climb so I am just monitoring the altimeter, stopping every 80-100m of climbing, only enlivened by nearly crushing a tortoise, seeing a large green snake slither across the road ahead of me, and near the top, three boar. But it is beautiful.
While I stop for lunch over the summit at the beautifully named Paradiseia, two elderly Dutch cyclists come over, Garmin, fresh Ortliebs both front and back. Despite the friendly talk of all cyclists about how wonderful it is to be out there, they soon start emphasising their superiority. “Oh yes, we cycled 80km this morning from Dimitsana. Better to go downhill.” I tell them that I take it easy on hills, stopping every 80-100m of climbing. “Oh we don’t need to stop. We just find a steady pace and keep on going.”
Twats.
And off they go, clearly annoyed to have had to stop their relentless progress for a few minutes.
After a leisurely ride downhill and a gentle meander through meadows dominated by two cooling towers, I am about to hit the great hill when I come across another cyclist: a French woman mid thirties going in the opposite direction. Much more friendly. “You have the same colour bags as me!” She exclaims though she has a lot more. We get talking with the annoyed dog in the yard next door barking at us solidly for 15 minutes. She sees the doggy-whacking stick that I carry on the back of my bike in case of problems. I tell her that I have never used it but carry it after some experiences in Serbia. She points to a scar on her left leg. “Tell me about it. I got that last year in Peru. The dogs there are really crazy …”
She has taken a month off, doing a loop from Igoumenitsa round the Mani. She consoles me about the hill to come. “Vous allez vraiment chauffer…”. We linger but I know that I have to get on. So we split and afterwards I wish I could have exchanged contact details. A pretty girl underneath the sweat.
Off up the hill, stopping every 100m. I’d love to say that I enjoyed it but 800m is a lot especially after 65k and an already hard hill. It was one slow grind with very little to show in terms of changing scenery until the end when I am too tired and desperate to care.
A glorious descent through Stemnitsa to Dimitsana in setting sun.
But I am wiped. I nearly fall asleep over dinner. When I arrive at the guest house, the owner shows me to my suite of rooms and spotting the flask of tsipouro, says “but of course you won’t be wanting that”. “Leave that right there” I snap.
I have been told by my colleague Argyro to be up for 11pm for church but I am well in bed. I am woken up around midnight by half an hour of fireworks and explosions. It turns out that a local habit is dynamiting rocks. Actually very few fireworks in the air. Mostly people lighting a cracker and dropping it into the valley below us.
Stats: Distance: 93.3km, Total Distance: 490km, Climb: 1695.4m, Total Climb: 6644m, Average Speed: 13.6kph
Day 11. Sunday 28 April. Dimitsana
Orthodox Easter Sunday. A much needed proper rest day, enjoying the luxury of the Xenios Tower, where I am staying. It might be a bit expensive but it follows the philosophy of BB&W: enjoying a bit of well-earned comfort after a hard trek and is really terrific, helped by the great hospitality of George.
But I am tired. I feel out of puff the whole day.
Delicious breakfast at the bottom of the tower. Pastries, bread, fried pies. A nice Greek-Swedish couple living in London. both economists working for the EBRD. Again The Thing goes unsaid. Again I think “what a waste”.
I tell the Greek husband the rest of my route. “Agrinion? That’s the ugliest town in Greece…”
I have a few brief walks around the town. Lamb being roasted on spits everywhere, everything on show.
I spend a large part of the afternoon in bed and happier for it. A lovely room.
Day 12. Monday 29 April. Dimitsana – Ancient Olympia: 69k
Back on the road delayed but fuelled by another delicious power breakfast from George. A steep climb for 4km to wake me up before the most glorious downhill imaginable, floating along the side of the mountain, with the blue mountains stretched away from me in the distance. Sunny but a bit chilly on the descent.
Gradually down into the valley albeit with the usual collection of hairpin bends. And some truly awful potholed roads.
A long ride through the valley before I stop for a brief lunch over the river. A mistake because the ride up from the valley floor involves an average 14% grade. And then more. It is always a bad sign when you sweat your way up a horrible slope only to find that it is not the horrible slope, it is the foothill before the horrible slope.
I finally hit beautiful road and know that I am on the tourist road to Olympia. Freshly tarmaced and painted, a joy to ride on. I sweep along it. All is well until I reach a tunnel and then another and then another. And then a really long one. Luckily they are wide and illuminated. I still put my rear light on and pedal like Mark Cavendish.
The tourist hole of Olympia. The main road is one long tourist drag but by the time I get to the site, the crowds have gone and I have the place almost to myself on a wonderful sunny evening. Magical.
A nice dinner disrupted by the woman at the neighbouring table who talks loudly throughout, dominating the conversation. I hope that the food will shut her up but she is master of that, taking small mouthfuls and talking through them.
Stats: Distance: 69.3km, Total Distance: 561km, Climb: 872m, Total Climb: 7,516m, Average Speed: 16.6m
Day 13. Tuesday 30 APril. Ancient Olympia – Arkoudi: 81k
A quick visit to the archaeological museum. Magnificent stuff. A sense of how amazing it must have been.
Then back on the road. Supposedly an easier day. Along the main road for an hour and then another 14% climb into the hills, snaking up to the village of Chimadiou, or Chlamydia as I thought of it. All good. Beautiful hills and vineyards.
Then I reached a moment that I had known would be tricky. A decision between whether to turn left off the main road and off Google Street View territory, cutting off a large chunk of riding but possibly along rutted farm roads for 3km and with another 50m of climbing and a possibly crazy descent, or to take the long route along the main road, adding possibly another 10km.
I get off the bike to take a look. It is indeed rutted farm track. There is a sign to it calling it “The route of truth”. While I am mulling, an older man on a racing bike comes along and stops to help. I try to explain my decision. He looks at the farm track and says “That road not good “
So I take the longer route and for a while, it works spectacularly. I sweep along a well made up road with fantastic views to my right. I congratulate myself for adjusting plans in the light of new information. Until I get to the point where I have to turn off onto another main road to reconnect with the short cut. I remember checking on Google Street View and it does indeed rejoin at a main road.
The problem is that the turning is onto a farm track no better than the one I had scorned. I mull it and decide that it is better than turning back and must clean out.
It does. After about 4km of rutted track and a ruthless descent and then ascent up a track that alternates between vaguely rideable and totally suicidal. Most of which I walk. Cursing myself. These are the moments when you realise that you really should have done further work researching the route and seeing what other riders do.
Finally I hit tarmac. 20% vertical tarmac, which shortly returns to being rutted track and then after a lengthy humming and hahing becomes tarmac again. By the time I pass the point at which the track I would have been on rejoins the road.
And then it is a lengthy descent. With the wind in my face. Conifers followed by ugly towns, followed by farmland.
And just as I am closing in on my destination, the road becomes rutted again. So I turn off and head for the main road, adding more distance.
And then the road gets worse again and I am passing through a camp of travellers. Or whatever one calls them these days. And there is first one unchained dog coming at me and so I am warning him to back off. And then this attracts the attention of children so I am alternating between waving at them in as friendly a way as possible and telling the dog to back off in a very unfriendly way. And then they are coming round the bike and waving beads at me and I see that there are more dogs and more people. And suddenly my synapses are firing and I am fearing trouble.
So I get off the bike and walk it through the encampment, making smiles at the children and adults in a trusting way but desperate to get out of a situation which is almost certainly not dangerous but where I do not feel fully in control. To my relief, nothing goes wrong and I am on the bike and struggling uphill against the wind again. On days like this, there should be a Lowlights reel.
Finally the descent to Arkoudi. And I go out and get a beer and crisps and sit on my balcony. And then a short walk on the beach with a lovely sunset.
And it all ends well in a restaurant where I am the only client, sitting outside under the awnings as a gale goes through and eating anchovies and grilled squid and vinegary wine , but I don’t mind as I feel at home in the sea wind. Such nights have a majesty to them.
Stats: Distance: 80.7km, Total Distance: 642km, Climb: 844m, Total Climb: 8,360m, Average Speed: 16.3kph
Day 14. Wednesday 1 May. Arkoudi
Another day off. Good because I am tired again and the weather is grey and rainy.
Arkoudi is nothing special but the coast around is beautiful.
I cycle over to Glyfa Beach. A pleasant enough spot.
Then back to Arkoudi for a simple but indulgent – and totally deserved – lunch of gyros, chips and beer, followed by a nap. My body is a temple. The gods will be well satisfied at my sacrificial offerings.
Then, having seen others laboriously try to swim in the sea, only to give up quickly, I walk over to Loutro Kyllini and take a swim on a beach full of sun loungers but not a soul around.
Initially it is freezing and reminds me of a Labor Day weekend on the coast of Maine when I foolishly attempted to swim in the entrancing – but bizarrely empty – turquoise waters, ignored the freezing current as just being a sign that I needed to immerse my body fully and start swimming – and lasted less than 60 seconds before fleeing at great speed before I had a heart attack.
But this time the gambit pays off handsomely and it becomes glorious, with the sun glinting off the sea and the island of Zakinthos in the distance. Admittedly afterwards I still feel like I need to stick my knackers in a microwave to defrost them, but that is all part of coastal swimming.
And with the thought of me defrosting my knackers in your mind, I think that this is as good a moment as any to end my account of this part of the trip. Sweet dreams.