Big Fig Pig

Hoorayus Piraeus!

2011-05-04T13:59:00.000-07:00

Pleased to discover how easy it is to take public transit from the airport all the way to the Port of Piraeus with two fully loaded bicycles, we decided to celebrate with a delicious gyro and a look around the Port of Piraeus. Piraeus gets a bad rap, but we both enjoy the ethnic diversity of the area and the many small shops stocking unusual food stuffs. I'm a personal fan of the American House Toast sign. It seems they might give degrees in hamburgers? I'll stick to working on my gyro diploma.

Magical Mountains

2009-08-15T14:40:00.000-07:00

We continue to be amazed at how different the Greeks of the north are. They are simply more rugged people. We are thrilled when, each time we talk about our route, nobody in the room bats an eye -they get it some of them have even done such things. They don't instantly direct us to the major tollway. Instead they steer us well off the beaten track suggesting roads with spectacular views, loads of curves, and little traffic. I can safely say that I love the mountains of Northern Greece. So many treasures are tucked into her folds.

If you keep your eyes peeled when riding from Kastoria to Zahorogoria you might even score a handful of wild strawberries. Windinging our way between the Grammos and Pindos mountain ranges we pedalled away from Kastoria through Konitsa only to end our northern passage with 18 switchbacks on our way to Zahorogoria's Megalo Papigo. This is a must ride destination. Look at those switchbacks! I counted 18 on our ascent. At 3'oclock in the afternoon heat of a Greek summer this was nothing to sneer at. Thanks to the fuel provided by the amazing cookies from the bakery in Konitsa we are finally in the much talked about stone villages of the Zahorogoria.

Greek Indulgences

2009-08-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

What a contrast it was to pedal away from struggling Albania into the sumptuous heart of Greece's most luxurious handicraft centre in Kastoria.Nestled on a peninsula jutting into the placid waters of Lake Orestiada the town of Kastoria has been designing and producing highly sought after top end furs for centuries. Dropping into Kastoria after riding along the wild edge of the Grammos mountains felt entirely unlike a return to Greece.

Having read that accommodations catered mainly to upscale weekenders and people in the fur business we had planned to camp somewhere outside of the area, but after a cruise through twisty back streets lined with traditional 17th and 18th century mansions built by Kastoria's fur-makers at the peak of the regions prosperity, curiosity got the better of us and we asked around for inexpensive lodging.

The deal was sealed over coffee and cake with three of the most effervescent sisters in all of Greece. It was impossible to resist their enthusiasm and their pride in their hometown, not to mention the promise of a second generous slice of homemade cake. Hearing that the Byzantine era had managed to tuck over 70 churches into the backroads of the hilly, but tiny northern end of the peninsula of Lake Orestiada, we set out to see what a town full of furrier's mansions and Byzantine churches was all about. Prettiest town in Northern Greece? Possibly. Prettiest town in Macedonia? Definitely. We stayed two nights.

Kuc i zi

2009-07-11T02:05:00.000-07:00

Meet Anna Hoxha and her mum Leonora:

Trying to imagine what a visit to Basil's pal Abner's ancestral town Kuc i zi might be like, I decided to have a look through my flash drive for any photos I might have that could create a visual link between us and Kuc i zi. Thank goodness I found photos from Abner's wedding including a photo of him and (our strongest link) his father. I shifted the photos to my flash card so that I could easily pull out my camera to share some hopefully familiar faces to any confused villagers while trying to pantomime our reasons for cycling up the dusty road into tiny Kuc i zi.

Of course the villagers were definitely confused by the arrival of two foreigners on heavily loaded bikes. At the t-junction at the end of the road we ran into a group of women and started with our few Albanian pleasantries and then our terrible mispronunciation of Abner's and his father's name . Nothing registered. I pulled out the camera and brought the pictures up on the screen. The camera was passed around and around getting more and more heavily layered with curious fingerprints. Still no recognition. Basil tried his Greek - nothing. A pretty young girl named Anna stepped up and tried out some Italian on us which we attempted to fumble around with by Italianizing our Spanish. Once she realized what we were doing, in perfect Spanish she asked us what it was we wanted. Relieved we explained ourselves and quickly Anna whisked us off to a beautiful stone house on the edge of the village to meet the family we sought.

We were dumbfounded as this was the first time our Spanish had proven useful in Albania and how strange it was to be using it in a tiny, tiny village faraway from any tourist destinations. We asked Anna where she learned her Spanish. Her response further stupified us, "Telenovelas every day between 4 and 7 - I never miss them". Wow. Could it be that there is an entire subculture of Albanian housewives who are fluent in Spanish because of Mexican soap operas? The thought delighted me.

Anna insisted that we spend the night with her and her family and acted as interpreter through a beautiful lunch at Abner's family's home. Much to our amusement, her excellent Spanish only waned over vocabulary that has no real reason to arise in the Mexican soaps.

We toured the town, saw the fancy new hotel and bar (furnished proudly with goods "made in China"), visited the family's orchard and vineyard, met the family cow who slept meters away from our room, enjoyed homemade butter, yogurt, and cheese and felt truly blessed for falling into a level of hospitality that simply doesn't appear often in the world today. We were at a loss for what we could give Anna ad her family in return until, at the last minute, Anna told us about different family member's aches and pains and how difficult it was to find things like aspirin in Albania. We dug out our first aid kits and turned over all the aspirin, advil, and tylenol we could find.

As we pedalled away from Kuc i zi towards the Greek border, we couldn't help but feel puzzled by the restrictions on such an obviously bright young woman as Anna. Because by sheer chance we held the "right" passports we are are able to cross many borders without so much as a second glance. Our dear Anna, on the other hand, would have a difficult time crossing any border. If she were caught slipping through the mountains into Greece she would be chased down by Greek policemen driving fancy new four wheel drives, she might be beaten and who knows what else before being detained and deported back to Albania. From our experience, it would be a gift for any country to have a person like Anna within it's borders andAlbania is very fortunate to have her.

Made in China

2009-07-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

Today Albanians who return from working abroad are building monstrous homes and furnishing them with the latest and greatest “everything from China”. Having seen the quality of stone masonry and wood carving these people are capable of I am frustrated that they don't see what they are losing as they reach for “made in China” instead of “made in Albania”. As I admire the hand woven rugs that are hanging to dry in people's yards, I am saddened when I see these lovely rugs returning to their living spaces with the “made in China” rugs thrown on top. Pretty soon the whole world will be made in China.

Korce is a great city to see the evolution of Albania over 100 years in building styles. The older building is from the early 20th century, then, of course the worker's paradise, and lastly the oversized modern dream houses...

There are a few things that will be a long time changing like long coffee breaks and hospitality.

One of the charming curiosities of hospitality unique to Albania takes the form of slippers. If you are a plastic slipper maker then Albania is a market you definitely want to corner. Shoes in the living quarters just don't happen and bare feet are not tolerated for a single moment. This translates into plastic slipper paradise. No self-respecting hotel room is without them and every household has heaps for family members and guests. Don't you dare try to enter someone's home without borrowing a pair of slippers to laze around in!

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker

2009-07-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

Korce shops.

Korce Market

2009-07-05T04:37:00.000-07:00

We took a few days to relax and enjoy Korce. The market is a wonderful place to lose yourself in a maze of fresh fruit and veg, used clothes, byrek sellers, butchers, fish, coffee shops, hardware, plastics, cleaners, candies, honey, and dairy products. We went home heavily laden with fresh fruit, cheeses, and a massive amount of butter and beeswax. There is no shortage of dairy in Albania. I had no idea how on earth we might finish the huge mound of butter being piled into a plastic bag for us. I had cherries on the brain and this massive lump of butter was threatening to impede my cherry consuming abilities. We had to find some bread and fast...

Getting around Korce

2009-07-05T04:08:00.000-07:00

In the late afternoon after all the chores are finished Albania takes to the streets to visit with neighbours and friends. It is such a different energy from the errands of the day. Relaxed and equally as important. It's something I wish I could take back to Canada with me.

Great Expectations

2009-07-04T23:01:00.000-07:00

Passing through Leskovak, we devoured a kilo of cherries beside a cool mountain spring and then contiued to meader relentlessly up to 1200m, down to 900m, up to 1200m, down to 900m, etc. With each crest my heart filled with anticipation of the first wide open sighting of the jaw droppingly spectacular 1759m Barmash Pass. With every 300 meters lost my mind kept telling me, "if the high point of the pass is at 1759m then it must be surrounded by snowy peaks so beautiful that, seeing the pass from a distance would spur me on to flit my way easily up the final climb in order to take in the raw geography of an Albania made even more vivid by all the exercise induced endorphins pumping through my system".

However, my endorphin filled colour rush was nowhere to be found. Don't get me wrong, the curvaceous ride through pine forests was beautiful, but our climb never cleared 1250m. Barmash Pass came and went quite unheroically. It was just another of countless rolls up to 1200m, down to 900m, up to 1250m. We realized where the pass was while studying the map and eating a most delicious stewed veggies with rice in the restaurant of Hotel Inxhujo in Permet. "Hey, remember the little village of Barmash where that war monument was? I think that was the pass!". Our Lonely Planet guide book was quite off the mark once again. The stew was a fine consolation for the missing 500 meters LP was falsely advertising, besides we would find our high point much later. For now we headed into the territory of Korce and the highlight of our trip in the hometown of Basil's dear friend Abner's family in a small village called Kuc I Zi.

Into the mountains

2009-07-03T09:07:00.000-07:00

Leaving Permet we wound our way along the Vjosa river admiring the seeming impregnability of the mountains beside us. Anyone with the idea of conquering such a place must clearly be out of their minds. Away from the river valleys of Southern Albania it must be some painfully slow going. I can't imagine the effort made to install some of the bunkers in these hard to reach places, but over 400 years ago the Turks swept in and in the 1940's the Greeks did as well so the bunkers weren't created of total paranoia.

Stopping to lube our chains, we are approached by some greek speaking Albanian farmers who are curious about our ride and are eager to share tales of their mountains. I am in awe that they harvest their hay by hand with a sickle. It gives new meaning to the impressive haystacks we see piled up alongside the road.

Turning away from the narrow valley we begin to make our way inland toward the famed Barmash Pass. A few kilometers from the town of Leskoviak we camp by a fountain well hidden from the meandering road. Below us an impressive chorus of frogs croak without tiring and the tingle of sheep bells puts us to sleep with dreams of fresh milk.

Let me tell you: an Albanians can bellow. We awaken early to a startling holler from the driver of the milk truck calling for milk collection from the shepherds in the valley below us. Minutes later fresh milk is sauntering by our front door. Basil scores some for his pet.

Pretty Permet

2009-07-01T00:25:00.000-07:00

Up against the beautiful Trebeshine-Dhembel-Nemercke mountains, the apartment blocks of communist Permet sit above the mighty Vjosa river like a hastily executed Mondrian painting. Seemingly ugly in their simplified functionality, I can't help but find myself searching for beauty amongst these mounuments to communist utilitarianism. I remember a line I liked from a display of everyday household items in the Byzantine museum in Thessaloniki commenting on the attempts of the church to restrain female vanity, “ ...despite the polemics of the church, women continued to make themselves pretty”. I know this universal female need extends beyond physical adornment and into the home. Squinting a little harder at the worker's paradise before me I discerned the presence of lacy curtains behind the flimsy single panes of glass, an unfinished balcony is decorated with a ledge of flowers in plastic pots.

The contrast and quantity of satellite dishes adorning these blocks has it's own beauty too. Isolated for so long, the whole world has finally arrived in Albania shrunk down to the size of a dish and it makes a 24 hour appearance in everybody's living room.

We wander into the upper part of Permet to see what remains of the older part of town which is made of stone from the mountain behind. Although in disrepair, the cobbled streets, stone walls, and handmade doors have weathered the storm of neglect better than the newer and much more dismal communist blocks will and has. I can't help but wonder if tourism will ever be drawn to these bleak quarters as curious vestiges of a communist era long gone by. I already can't help myself from gawking in mystified disbelief. I much prefer the old stone houses, but it seems that I am alone in this amongst the Albanians.

Berat or Barmash?

2009-06-29T15:14:00.000-07:00

Reluctantly leaving beautiful Gjirokastra we continued along the Drinos valley, marvelling at its impressive number of gas stations and sigh inducing mountain backdrops. As drizzle turned to downpour we decided to escape the rain and satisfy our hunger. An ugly little restaurant with a TV full of Albanian music videos had hairy mutton ribs and homemade yogurt on offer. Somewhat disabled by our lack of Albanian language skills, we ended up with sizeable orders of each. We munched on greasy ribs and yogurt while waiting for the rain to pass.

Further down the road, just past the gushing spring of Tepelene, we were long at last off the gas station lined freeway and into the more humble Albania we expected. Cars dropped away to a mere trickle. The number of shepherds doubled and road quality, while still generally good, varied considerably. The mountainscapes closed in around us as we cycled into the Kelcyre gorge.

In the town of Kelcyre we stopped to inquire about the road to Berat which appeared on our map as well as on a road sign in the centre. We were met with confused looks and through a mixture of Albanian, Greek, Italian, French, and traveller's charades we were told that the road was impassable. I pointed to a nearby dirt side street asking if it was like that – yo, non, no, oxi. Big boulders lay in our way (described with a pantomime of a man clumsily picking up and carrying a very large boulder on his belly and hips), so we either had to go back to the main road or find a different destination. Later reading of the Lonely Cyclist's blog of cycling adventures in Albania, we learned that it has been done by cyclists, and it was indeed very difficult going, In the end, we opted for a turn that took us to Korce and over the highly talked of spectacular Barmash Pass.

Alongside the fields of hay we raced the rain that chased us into nearby Permet.

Bonkers for bunkers

2009-06-27T07:55:00.000-07:00

A shepherd overlooking a flock of sheep and bunkers is an entirely common Albanian sight. These indestructible cement domes are a communist legacy left over from Albania's reaction to the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. Abandoning the Warsaw pact, Albania developed their own defensive strategy and today an enduring reminder of this lay scattered in fields, city squares, and remote mountain sides all across Albania. Built to withstand full on tank attacks, they say 700,000 of these were installed, but a more conservative estimate is more like 60,000 – which still makes quite an impression on Albania's landscape.

Mercedes a National Obsession

2009-06-26T02:39:00.000-07:00

There are many things that overwhelm a pair of fresh eyes in Albania. The first thing is definitely the incredible geography, but the second thing has to be the national obsession with the Mercedes Benz. It seems that, as soon as communism crumbled, the whole country chose the Mercedes as the luxury item to reach for and today everyone seems to have one be it old, new, stolen or fake. It's the number one car of choice for Albania.

Gjirokastra

2009-06-25T07:10:00.000-07:00

“It was a strange city, and seemed to have been cast up in a valley one winter's night like some prehistoric creature that was now clawing its way up the mountainside. Everything in the city was old and made of stone, from the streets and fountains to the the roofs of the sprawling age-old houses, covered with grey slates like gigantic scales.” This is how award winning author Ismail Kadare describes Gjirokastra in his 1971 novel called Chronicle in Stone. It is amazing to meander through the chaotic cobbled streets of this solid reminder of a time when building materials came from just down the road and were so much more permanent than they are today.

Standing in the town's handicraft shop in Gjirokastra we fingered through an impressive collection of Kadare's translated novels. Unfortunately Chronicle in Stone was only available in hardcover, and I, trying to cut back on my travelling library, already had 5 other books, so I opted for the lighter and less expensive but still fascinating Three Arched Bridge. Kadare's writing is so exquisite that, during a rainy afternoon nestled inside the heavy stone walls of Kotoni B&B, I devoured his tale of the role of the building of a bridge in Albania's transition from the the Venetian to the Ottoman empire.

So, with it's own three arched bridge, Gjirokastra stands today, a testimony to the uniqueness of Turkish tower architecture and home to the largest castle in the Balkans. In 2005 it was made a UNESCO world heritage site and today the city struggles with the expense of the restoration of its maintenance starved old town. For us it is like a step back in time to a Europe of old that today is simply non-existent in such a genuine, inexpensive, and relatively tourist-free form.

Entering Albania

2009-06-24T01:18:00.000-07:00

Uncertain of how things would be in Albania, we bought some rice and lentils and canned foods to carry in our panniers in case we found ourselves stranded for food. We also stocked up on water because we heard the water was unfit for drinking and we had no idea how often we would be able to buy water. There was also the question of money. We read that money changers in the street are perfectly legal, but given that we were all returning to Greece nobody wanted to change their euros especially since the towns on the borders aren't big enough for ATMs. So, we needed a bank machine to pull out some leke - on we rode into the Albanian Drinos valley...

...and a more beautiful highway than anything we had seen yet in Greece. Beautifully paved, big shoulder, with a downward grade just gentle enough that you still have to do a little work to move ahead, but you are left feeling like you are powerful enough to ride clear across Albania in a single day. Of course that feeling may have also come from the giant view we were moving through. A beautiful wide valley lined on either side with a mixture of fierce stony mountains and their accompanying stone villages clinging to the folds leaping away from both sides of the river valley. Down the Drinos valley we slid into a much more modern Albania than we expected.

When we stopped to fill our wallets with Albanian leke from an ATM at one of the very modern and overabundant roadside gas stations, we were invited to an espresso by the manager. In Albania, the Greek affection for Nescafe frappe has yet to beat out the influence of the Italian tradition of the espresso. I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but the Greek frappe is a phenomenon that has me entirely bewildered. The insta-frappe is simply criminal in a culture with such a long history of coffee appreciation.

With espresso, a tailwind, and a lovely downward slope we were in Gjirokastra negotiating the cobbled gravity defying climes of the city's Ottoman quarter in no time. Naturally, between the violent rush of Mercedes' and the slippery cobbles, the hotel we were directed to proved difficult to find. We were all too focused on staying upright to notice the Kotoni B&B sign until the third pass.

Green, Green Epirus

2009-06-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

Epirus is green, mountainous, and underpopulated. Distances between taps are longer than in the Pelponnese and opportunities for buying food are longer still. The people are also a good deal more amused to see us show up in their town. Many roads though this region follow river valleys which means grades are generally mild although one of the smaller roads between Agios Pandes and Kefalohori, had a mentionable and unexpected stretch of rough dirt road.

An unsettling sight for us was the overwhelming presence of police trucks and vans out rounding up Albanians entering the country illegally through the mountains. The police seem to think we should feel safer with their presence, but I can't help but feel uncomfortable about the mentality of a person who would choose such a line of work. I certainly fear them more than an Albanian looking to improve their future. I will however say that in conversation with the police, they didn't discourage us from cycling in Albania. So, after a long day, we settled into our sleeping bags above the town of Ktismata and we dreamt about what lay ahead of us in Albania. From our campsite's view the transition was surprising. Along the border we could see the mountains changing from thick with green to bare naked right where Albania began.

Other ways to travel in Greece

2009-06-10T13:17:00.000-07:00

People are often very surprised that we are travelling by bicycle around Greece. With the quantity of mountains it is physically daunting to most, but we too have seen some other modes of transport that truly baffle us. The first is a sailboat completely covered in mirror mosaic tile, the last two are German “end of the world” vehicles. They are the German version of an RV. I'm not sure what they expect to find in Greece, but their approach seems a little over the top. Maybe they're driving to Africa for a safari? I dunno.

How to Get RICH in Greece

2009-06-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

While Greek tavern meals are great they can run up the cost of our trip pretty fast, so one of our favourite ways to eat is to have a little picnic somewhere along the road, preferably with some delicious shade and/or a fantastic view. With such excellent bread, cheese, olives, nuts, fruit, veg, honey, tahini, and yogurt available everywhere it is an easy way to makeup for the shocking cost of the 43 Euro fish we shared at the tavern before our trip to the entrance to Hades. And, with that, I'd like to note that we have uncovered one of the craziest food scams in Greece.

Our 43 euro fish (that's euros, right?) had us reeling, but considering the number of fish we see when we snorkel in the seas around here ,we reasoned, well, perhaps fish are so expensive because there aren't any. They should be expensive, right?

Yeah, right.

Some days before the "Hades Tavern 43 euro fish highway robbery escapade", we ordered ourselves grilled octopus with one of our meals. I've since learned that in Greece, an order like this is routinely one tentacle and costs at least 10 euros. It is quite standard. A few days after the 10 euro tentacle, I was standing by the harbour in one of the many towns we've passed through and I decided to do a little math (brace yourself for this is truly rare) I counted the number of octopi artfully hanging on the line across the street from a nearby tavern – sinisterly whetting the appetites of passersby. I counted 13 octopi with 8 legs each, that's 1040 euros, 1040 EUROS! artfully hanging out in the street unsupervised! Fishy? I was furious and determined to get to the bottom of this standardized greek thievery, so the next time we were in a market I took a closer look at the octopi. How much?
12 Euros for the whole critter.

Now, that is some mark up if you ask me. Wanna get rich quick? Open a seafood restaurant in Greece.

Life after the Peloponnese

2009-06-08T03:49:00.000-07:00

Getting itchy to explore Epirus and Thessaly in the northwest of Greece. We made a beeline from Dhimitsana to the north of the Peloponnese. Passing through Klitoria and Kastria we arrive at Kalyvrita where, in 1943, the German army massacred every male above the age of 15 in retaliation for the resistance movement that was bubbling there. Today the town is a popular weekend ski getaway for wealthy Athenians and the end point for the Vouraikos Gorge which cleaves an impressive rift in the Peloponnese from Diakopto in the north to Kalyvrita at its southern point. Climbing 15km up the side of the gorge to be greeted by the view out over the Gulf of Corinth and beyond to Sterea Ellada is a very rewarding finish to so much time in the Peloponnese.

Reenergized about getting into a Greece unknown to us. I couldn't wait to hit the North to learn why it is that the folks from the Mani feel such kinship with the people from Epirus, but the whole of Sterea Ellada lay between us and it. So we found a pretty little church tucked well off the road with an excellent view over the gulf and on to Delphi and Sterea Ellada and we began to set up camp.

...I love those decision making moments that take you completely off your original intended course...

In passing, after we had finished our laundry and while Paul was preparing a delicious pasta dish for dinner, Basil mentioned that we could always take a ferry to the north of Greece. I had been reading for days and plotting a route through Sterea Ellada to Ioannina, Zagorohoria, and Meteora. We had also been entertaining the thought of popping in for a 'peek' at Albania. It was a favourite amongst Greeks for bad-mouthing, and Abner, a good friend of Basil's, had us intrigued about his family's home country for years. A ferry! Que va! I hadn't even considered such a short cut. A ferry would make Albania a sure thing and allow us a good amount of free time off the bike as well. I mulled this over all night and then the whole way down the gorge the next morning and I continued mulling ight into the early afternoon on the Egio ferry that carried us to Agios Nicholaos on the other side of the Gulf of Corinth. Finally the maps came out and court was held.

While undoubtedly the riding north through Sterea Ellada would have been phenomenal, we went for the ferry ride short cut, making misrepresented Albania a definite option. Fortunately for us, there was an overnight ferry out of Patra to Igoumenitsa the next night. Between now and then, lay an unexpected stay at untalked about city of Nafpaktos a lively little former Venetian holding across the gulf from Patra, and a ride back to the Peloponnese over Greek engineering point of pride the Rio-Andirio suspension bridge. And so that is how we came to land so quickly in the north of Greece. Whoo hoo! Happily back in Bougatsalandia.

Dhimitsana

2009-06-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

The mountain towns of Arcadia Andritsena, Karitena, Stemnitsa, and Dhimitsana are spectacularly set little gemstones that hang above the southern half of the Peloponnese peninsula and ar home to quiet mountain getaways filled with tightly packed cobbled streets and lazy street side cafes. Whiling away a few days in Dhimitsana, I can't help but wonder what it is that the locals do for money. Surely they aren't all shepherds and bee keepers. It would be easy to think they are given the amount of honey being sold and the quantity of distant goat bells heard when cycling this route. Lined with yellow broom blossoms, the road from Karitena to Dhimitsana is easily the most civilized uphill grade in all the Peloponnese.

Set It Free!

2009-06-01T12:43:00.000-07:00

Greece is littered with countless archaeological sites. On the roadsides we constantly see signs telling us of archaeological points of interests just off the road. There are so many of them that mostly we just ignore them for fear of getting nowhere. However, there are a few things one must stop for and the Temple of Apollo Epikourios on the beautiful meandering road between coastal Tholo and mountainous Karitena is described as one of them.

Built by Iktinos the architect of the Parthenon and the beautifully preserved Temple of Hephaestus in Athens, this temple had the promise of a remote mountain-top location to add to the impact. Being the second best preserved temple in Greece and coupled with an arduous mountain climb it sounded like a cycling must see.

The ride was terrific, the road from Tholos runs a gentle uphill course along the edge of the burn of the forest fires that devastated the region around Olympia 2 years ago. It gradually pulls away from this zone and sharply heads upward through intensely shepherded mountains to a stark mountain top where for several kilometers you watch a white circus tent growing as you approach your destination. The visual reward for all your hard work is disappointing. The temple, which has survived in terrific condition due to it's distance from any sizable population has been shrink wrapped to protect it from the elements. The effect is absurd and impossible to appreciate.

The brief write up at the sight extolling the usefulness of the protective tent points out that the impact is only aesthetic, which, to me, seems pretty damn important given that aesthetics was one of the main reasons for choosing an architect like Iktinos to design and build such an impressive temple in such a visually incredible place. In it's current state it is impossible to get any kind of feel for the feat that was accomplished here. I'm sad to say that the Greeks have really blundered on this one. Please free the Temple of Vasses!

The View From Nestor's Palace

2009-05-31T14:50:00.000-07:00

4000 years ago Pylos was established and, under King Nestor, became one of the leading cities of the Mycenean Empire. Pylos' impressive natural harbour is a natural place to establish a kingdom and a visit to Nestor's Palace is a terrific way to appreciate how a King might rule such a place. Most impressive of all at this site is the 3300 year old terracotta tub that still sits in it's original position. Nestor, famed argonaut, and a battle advisor in the Trojan war lived to be quite an old man and so no doubt enjoyed many a soak in his beautiully painted tub. There is something strangely surreal in standing so close to the bathtub of such a legendary man.

The palace is an impressive size and was discovered with a staggering cache of pottery.

We pop in to visit a neighbouring tholos tomb before we wind our way back down to the coast through countless olive groves...

Olive dusting

2009-05-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

And just when we thought our allergies can get no worse, we sleep in the thick of an aged olive grove. Irresistably beautiful, but equally torturous for all the ear, nose, and thoat rubbing deemed necessary by the billions of invasive bits of olive pollen that coat our gear and invade our bodies come morning. Ah, but it was every bit worth it for the tuscan-like views, the outdoor olive tree shower, and the charm of sleeping by a very old church in an olive grove.

achoo! sniffle sniffle

2009-05-28T05:48:00.000-07:00

Spring in the Peloponnese is full of wild flowers. Everything is in bloom! A feast for the eyes, a nose full of aromathrapy

and allergens. Yikes! Everything is coated in a hazy dusting of gentle olive green and that'd be because olives have blossoms too - millions and millions of them. They tickle your nose and web up your eyes and could just about make you craaaazzy! Camping provides no refuge fom them especially because olives cover every cultivatable piece of land. Allergy sufferers: beware the olive stuffed state of Messinia home to the beloved Kalamata olive. Achoo! Achoo!

Tower Living

2009-05-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

Leaving the Deep Mani the road winds up the Messinian Coast towards the port of Kalamata, but before we get there a few impressive climbs stand in our way. The town of Kardamyli also stands in our way at the base of the first 12km climb to Kambos. Last year we had some of our best swims in the warm Ionian sea that laps the shores of Kardamyli. So we take a break to relax a bit before our final climb away from stark and dramatic Mani. The last of the impressive tower settlements on our route has been nicely preserved here. Tourists can freely ramble around the grounds of the old Troupakides-Mourtzinoi tower complex imagining what life must have been like trapped in this self-sufficient fortress. I ponder Mani tower life and then go for a swim

Unforgiving Mani

2009-05-26T05:19:00.000-07:00

Unforgiving Mani is described as being at the height of it's beauty when cold winter winds howl through it's barren tower settlements sounding the forgotten song of melancholic byzantine church bells. Many of these medieval gems contain frescos many centuries old that still cling hapazardly to their neglected walls.

Bavarian Cyclist

2009-05-20T14:46:00.000-07:00

Meet Chris Wagner Bavarian cyclist whom we bumped into while lazily making our way away from Hades. He has been bike touring since 2000 and was killing time waiting for the ferry to make his way to Georgia via Crete, Rhodes, and Turkey. We joined his camp on the side of the road to gleen some knowledge, hear some stories, and share a Maniot sunset.

Highway to Hades

2009-05-19T01:17:00.000-07:00

Over the Langada pass to the parched, thorny, and infertile Mani was where Spartans seeking asylum from the cruelty of the tyrant Nabis fled. Isolated by geography they were left alone for centuries to eek out an existance amongst the rocks and thorns. They also held onto their pagan roots for the longest of anywhere in Greece only being taken in by the Orthodoxy at the end of the 9th century. The pride of the maniots is that they were one of very few regions to resist Turkish domination. With the incursion of Cretans and Epirotes in the 17th cetury the region began to take on quite a different flavour. Arable land was already scarce but the growing population created a good amount of squabbling. This squabbling gave rise to a tribal system and spectacular vendettas between villages, families, and clans. The character of the warring Maniots gave birth to the word mania.

Generations later these maniac vendettas have still left their mark. Tower settlements bristle like porcupine quills at the tops of surrounding hills. Each tower is a family fortress designed to sustain itself when under seige of the neighbours. We wind our way through the Mani's eastern settlements to the end of the road at Kokinoghia where we share a 42 Euro fish (!) and a boat ride to the mouth of Hades which plunges mostly below water and hides under an impossibly rocky cliff to the northwest of treacherous Cape Matapan famous for devouring Greek ships. I still have a very hard time imagining Orpheus making his way to this place to seek out Eurydice. He must have been a very good swimmer.

Taking in the Taygetos

2009-05-17T06:55:00.000-07:00

On the outskirts of the village of Olive is a small church that sits atop a hill beside the sea. This church of Saint Nicholas, is surrounded by good pasture for grazing sheep and looks towards the forbidding snowy peaks of the the twisted and wild range of mountains responsible for forging the legendary character of the ancient Spartans. From our perch on the patio of our little church we study the spiny Taygetos range as it meanders it's way down the third finger of the Peloponese. Severe and isolated this peninsula known as the Mani is the most southerly point in continental Europe and really couldn't be a more poetic place to house Taenarus the ancient entrance to Hades.

As we take this all in the sun eventually bores a hole between the clouds and the peaks of the Taygetos and blazes before us like a giant demonic eye. We all watch as the sun's spectacular gaze sinks below the distant purple range. Putting it all together, Paul turns to us and ponders, "we're riding the highway to Hell, aren't we?".

Laconian Oranges

2009-05-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

Citrus is full-blown right now in the Southern Peloponnese. The whole valley that spills south of Sparti towards the Gulf of Lakonikos is ordered with olives and fruit trees. The orange trees that line the coastline are doubled over under their bounty of oranges and blossoms. The fruit is so plentiful that it almost seems there could never be an end to the season. Could this be why the only fresh juice available in Greece is orange juice? They're one step ahead of Belize where every orange grown in the country goes straight to concentrate and then straight to flavourless English breakfast tables.

Under the cool presence of Lakonia's snow capped Taygetos range, we take a pause from our pedalling to quench our lazy thirst with sun-ripened oranges fresh from the tree . As we near the port of Gythio we understand why this region gave birth to Helen's epic love affair that led Mycenae to 10 years of war with Troy. The contrast between the harsh and craggy interior where Helen lived and this gentle green seaside destination could loosen up the sternest of Mycenaeans.

Village Life

2009-05-11T10:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's nice to just stop and enjoy village life. When offered coffee by hospitable strangers this is the best opportunity to do just that. In the village of Finiki we stopped at a shop to resupply to eat further down the road. Curiosity got the better of the locals s we had seriously strayed of the beaten path. "Where are you from?" "Here have some bread!" "Do you know about our church?" "Hey Gianni come over here and meet these people from Canada!" "I'm giving you some peanuts from Kalamta." "Can I offer you a coffee?"

As we slowly drank our cold frappes we learned that the shop we were sitting in front of got it's start as a crate of candies sold in the street. The business eventually grew into the main shop in Finiki. The founder, now 74, is still spritely and still goes out to work in his orange and olive groves. He never sits still.

While drinking our coffee I observed a troop of children coming and going from the house on the corner in front of us. They had beautiful dark skin and looked different from most Greeks. I was curious about why they weren't in school. We were told: "They're the children of migrant workers from Bulgaria - Gypsies." "They don't go to school because they don't have their shots."

I thought to myself, or because they're gypsies. I was fascinated by these beautiful and delightfully happy kids. One of the girls spoke some virtually accentless words of English. Amazed at where such English might be coming from without going to school in such a tiny village, Basil learned that she had a relative who spoke some English. The conversation was going along quite nicely until the pretty little thing rendered Basil completely speechless by innocently and quite clearly asking him, "What is...........Motherfuckingsonofabitch?" I guess there is no Greek equivalent for that.

Watch out for Honey Bees!

2009-05-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

Greek bees can't rest as no stretch of untilled land is untouched by Greek wild flowers right now. Wild flowers creep out of the most unlikely places creating a surprisingly beautiful palette of colours.

Seductive Monemvasia

2009-05-08T15:36:00.000-07:00

There is one entrance to this living Byzantine town on a rock. Lovingly restored by merchants, hoteliers, and the very rare resident, this gem, which is well hidden from view on land, only has 8 residents. In the 6th century, the town began it's life as a Byzantine settlement and as the port to Mystras. It remained under Byzantine rule for 700 years. After this it was occupied very briefly by the Franks, the Papacy, and then for longer by the Venetians, the Turks, and again briefly by the Germans. The town has never been without residents and today has a population of 8 people and at least 200 cats. Winding your way over cobbled streets through tasteful shops and cafes or tumbling your way through the weedy ruins of the upper town to take in a spectacular sunset feels like living in a storybook. This is probably why it is considered one of the most romantic places in Greece. We went for one day and stayed for three.

What's on in Greece

2009-05-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

The wildflowers this time of year continuously stop me dead in my tracks. It seems that the higher we get in the mountains, the more spectacular the display. Here are just a few close ups of some of the daily dazzlers

Sleepless in Greece

2009-05-01T00:30:00.000-07:00

If there was any swine flu in me then the winds that whipped the Arkadian coastline yesterday have surely blown it right out of me. Mounting our heavily laden steeds to wheel away from the hospitality of our beloved friends Helen and Christopher in Xiropigado, the wind that welcomed us was even more defeating than relearning to push an impressively loaded bike up a mountain. So,we rode to the next town for a looong lunch.

Pork chops were a popular choice amongst the local diners. Clearly the fear of swine flu had not struck nearly as hard as CNN would like or as deeply as it had stung me. I'm not usually one to jump on board with global paranoia, but having just spent the better part of the last month getting from Mexico to Greece in one of the most circuitous routes I've ever travelled, I was a smidge concerned. Seven airports, 6 buses, a ferry, and a handful of NYC subway trips I had quite the potential to either infect or be infected by a lot of people. My last day in an airport and on a bus was the day the WHO announcement went out. Miraculously I felt fine which is rare after anything more than one flight or one long bus ride. Since I met Mexico my immune system has become such that I will pick up any lurking, cold, flu, salmonella, e coli, amebiasis, or typhoid that crosses my path.

So, several days have passed and I haven't been taken by swine flu. Therefore, Atlanta, Denver, Salt Lake City, San Francisco, Victoria, Vancouver, Seattle, New York, Athens, and Xiropigado are free of Swine Flu a la Alix.

And now on to more important things...

I have been reminded that one of my favourite rides in Greece is along the coast between Xiropigado and Leonidio. Here the stony mountains of coastal Arkadia plunge dramatically into the Argholikos Gulf. Settlements nestle themselves onto any narrow slip of land afforded by the tight relationship between mountains and sea. Greek fishing boats have been replaced by apartments and homes tacked into impossible places with the hopes of luring the dollars that come with holiday getaways. Our road hugs the water dazzling us with precipitous drops and smooth curves. I am thrilled to be sleeping outside again even if my EXPED mattress has failed me for the fifth time and my new MONTBELL down sleeping bag seems to be missing some strategic down. Fortunately, the night my EXPED mattress failed, it was warm enough for my flimsy MONTBELL Down Hugger #5 sleeping bag and all my clothes to allow me to catch barely a few winks. I can't say the same for when overnight temps get down to 8C. The mattress still holds but the threat of another seam blowout is unsettling and the sleeping bag....grr@*!#RR!

Delicious thistle buds

2009-04-28T14:19:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the passenger seat of Christofer's car I squint to make out what the familiar shapes were that were nearly bursting out of the back of the rickety old pick up in front of us. Artichokes! A whole truck full of artichokes! I can't believe my eyes. I remembered seeing these spartan looking plants in Kevin's garden years back, but to see so many spilling out of the back of an old pickup seemed absurd to me. 2 Euros buys me about 15 massive artichokes and a lot more work than I anticipate, but well worth every second.

Seeing Athens

2009-04-26T23:24:00.000-07:00

No trip to Athens is complete without a trip downtown for a little taste of thens across the ages. I especially like the old lady in black lighting a cigarette with the boys in the background. The quantity of smoking here is downright medieval. It seems they have only just barely left behind the medievl philosophy of putting their newborns in smoky cubby holes next to the fireplace to protect them from evil spirits. What I am meaning to say is that the first thing that overwhelms you about Greece is how much these people smoke

A plateful of Koukia

2009-04-24T09:56:00.000-07:00

Koukia, or the fava bean, I had no idea how tasty this Mediterranean symbol of spring harvest could be. We were fortunate enough to arrive at George and Sandra's just in time to enjoy a fava and potato stew fresh from George's garden.

Originally from North Africa, fava beans in a dish known as ful medames is Egypt's number one breakfast item. In Southern Europe, the lowly fava, which grows heartily between early spring and late summer, has saved many a region from famine.

Having had George's fava stew I know that fava will definitely feature in my future dream garden.

Lemons, I've got lemons

2009-04-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned in the past the whole lemon and lime debacle in Mexico. Now, Mexico calls limes lemons which in my mind is criminal because a lime is a lime and a lemon is a lemon and they both have their own magic - so stop trying to pass one off as the other! With one taste of the lemons that come fresh off the tree hanging in Helen's garden in Xiropigado, no self-respecting Mexican could ever go back to calling a lime a lemon. And when that day comes Christofer is ready to build a lemon empire in lemon deprived Mexico. For now I propose, simple breakfast of fresh squeezed lemonade with a bowl of strained yogurt smothered in fir honey and topped with almonds and a squeeze of lemon? So simple. So delightful! A natural accompaniment would be a little side dish of Zorba.

Arriving Xiropigado

2009-04-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

What a lovely thing it is, after nearly a month of mishap filled travel, to arrive at Helen's Apartments in Xiropigado and to discover that there is still a little bit of Greek Easter left in Helen's ceramic bunny basket. A double surprise were the Easter dinner leftovers on my plate. Thanks to Helen and Christopher for hosting me in my obscenely sleep deprived and jet lagged state.

Not so sweet spot

2009-03-23T20:25:00.000-07:00

It was evening and I was pretty sure we had located the sweet spot for travelling deck on the ferry from Iraklio to Athens. We had arrived an hour and some before departure and so we had plenty of time to scope out the ship and find the perfect sleeping cove. Sofas, sheltered benches, and soft carpeted areas underneath stairwells, in quiet alcoves, and in unobtrusive sections are snatched up fast - so we had to act decisively.

Basil located a nice, quiet, dim spot under the two staircases in the main lobby. We rolled out our sleeping bags and mattresses to claim our place and we retired to a couch upstairs with a view of our gear. In no time, territorial Basil was sprinting down the stairs to hurl Greek insults at a burly group of young men who were standing on our stuff and looking like they might get comfortable. Basil snarled the intruders away and having reclaimed our turf, we sat and waited. Word circulated that the ship would be a hour late in it's departure because a football match had gone overtime and we were waiting for the team.

A little peeved, I settled in with an eye on the door and prepared to at least have the pleasure of feasting my eyes on the arrival of a pack of athletic bodies.

I was not to be satisfied. As the numbers crossing through the doors increased, so did the size of the waistlines bound in tasteless red football wear. I was confused and angered. I'm not sure where my head was, but, of course we weren't waiting for the athletes, we were waiting for the fans, the spectators! Now, while Greeks are no English hooligans, let me assure you, the arrival of the spectators of a Greek football game is no feast for the eyes - or the ears.

Our pleasant ship turned unpredictably rowdy, we were now an hour and a half late for departure, the lobby was full of loud, drunken, macho men dropping food wrappers and looking to bed down a little too close to us for my comfort. I was not happy that this was eating in to the early morningness of our bike ride across traffic congested Athens. So, I snapped at a particularly surly gang who decided that "next to my pillow" was a better location for their shoes than "next to their own pillow". Having defended our home, I slept well and then charged across Athens in record time - even with traffic.

Gastronomical Goodbye

2009-03-21T08:32:00.000-07:00

There is no better way to say goodbye to a place than to have a fantastic meal and that was exactly what we were looking for in Iraklio. After stocking up on gifts for home a very friendly Kostas Dandalis a silversmith\cycle nut recommended a great final eatery away from the dreaded turit hubbub. The meats and the salads are extraordinary. Thanks Kostas for the recommendation! and double thanks for our lovely bike jewellery.

Mighty Knossos

2009-03-20T17:53:00.000-07:00

No trip to Crete would be complete without the all too obligatory visit to Knossos. As tempting as it is to stay away from all those painful bus loads of package tourists, who in their right mind can say no to a visit to King Midas's palace? Birthplace of such myths as: Jason and the Minotaur, King Midas and his golden touch, Icarus and Daedalus. My childhood fantasies refused to hold me back. Schliemann's restoration is, well: imaginative. It certainly doesn't leave much to the imagination of the rest of the world, which given the hordes of tourists who literally tromp through this place, and given the general lack of the average person's imagination - perhaps this is better? In a Disney kind of way? Maybe?

Regardless, it is always interesting to visit the setting of historically significant places. They almost never are the way you imagine. For example, I never imagined Knossos to be packed with wealthy young Russian people. For that matter, I never imagined Greece to be packed with wealthy young Russian people, but they kept showing up everywhere. “Money laundering”, “Russian Mob” are the words that most commonly fly off the tongues of locals whenever a crowd of expensive looking Russians saunter by.

I have to say that the most delightful part of Knossos is the whimsical artwork that has been liberated from her rubble. Frescoes and pottery focus on nature, animals, and people's relationship with them. Flowing lines echo beauty, motion, and joy. There is an uplifting quality to what filled the imaginations of these ancient Minoans. The best window into this imagination is in the museum in Iraklio.

Messara Plain

2008-10-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Our favourite days on the bike are always in the mountains. There is simply no beating the crispness of the air, the vividness of the landscapes, or the sheer variety of scenery that slides by as you ride. The lowlands have their charm, but they are rarely as richly layered as life in the mountains. And this was exactly our initial reaction when we dropped out of the Psiloriti mountains and onto the Mesara plain to visit the famous wall of Gortys Law and the end point for Zeus's abduction of Europa at the ruins of Gortys. As in any of the more highly touristed areas of the world, the shabby quality of people clamouring half-heartedly for easy tourist bucks prevailed. Agriculture is also much larger scale here. Both cars and life in general seemed a little faster than it should be.

Whenever we hit an area devoted to commercial agriculture we always have a hard time finding a place to sleep. In such places it seems that, at the end of the day, there is no time or space for building the little churches we have grown to love over our months sleeping out of doors in Greece. For one last time we put our faith in the directions of our Anavasi GPS maps program which sent us through barren fields, vineyards, and olive groves to a very well hidden Agios Nikolaos. We shared our new home with a good number of snails and together we enjoyed what was our last night on this trip sleeping under a blanket of Greek inspired constellations.

Behind Rethymno

2008-10-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

A few days spent hiding out from the rain in the old quarter of Rethymno allowed us to really savour the strange mix of real and tourist Crete that live together there. I thoroughly enjoyed watching little old kerchiefed ladies, burdened with the days shopping, waddle by disoriented groups of beefy German tourists. Glancing sideways through open dooways while walking the narrow streets of Rethymno one can still catch a glimpse of how the city may have been before mass tourism poured in.

As the clouds cleared out, so did we. Few cars disturbed us as we quietly picked our way through village after village in the mountains behind Rethymno. In spite of Basil's fluent Greek, the locals still insisted on trying out their german on us. One lady, overly concerned with our matrimonial state, proclaimed that we would soon be married. I guess she figured that any halfway normal looking woman following a man around a place like Greece on a bicycle should really be married to the guy. More concerned with where we might sleep, we smiled akwardly and pedalled on. "You'll see!" she hollered after us, "you heard it in Crete and everything you hear in Crete comes true!!"

Losing Mainstream Crete

2008-10-03T13:37:00.000-07:00

As the surrounding olive filled hillsides prepared to be harvested, we meandered our way east from Hania and south into the mountains choosing increasingly steeper routes and praying the rain would hold off. As always, the quest for milk was on and Basil wandered in to a few small tavernas with the hopes of finding some. Unfortunately, the region was fresh out of fresh milk. All the sheep were either pregnant or nursing, therefore - no milk. We were surprised and pleased to learn that these guys were so serious about their milk that commercially farmed milk is not even available. One taste of their local cheese would fully and proudly allow you to understand why.

So, off we went with our milk starved kefir to find a place to set up camp and dream of a world just like the one we were already in. A world where the men favour camoflague clothing, drive black pick up trucks, eat salad, and homemade unprocessed sheep's milk yogurt, and where the lady in black who bakes your bread, has a beard, and remembers the days when women did the family's laundry at the water starved fountain you can still barely drink from in the middle of town.

My Favourite Greek Ferry

2008-09-30T04:21:00.000-07:00

The walk through Samaria gorge is much talked about, but what you don't hear about is the ferry ride you must take from Agia Roumeli. The mountains are so fierce on this southern stretch of Crete that no roads connect the area to the rest of the island. To make the connection you must ferry either east to Sfakion or west to Paleohora. For me this was the best part. The coastline is completely wild, the colour of the Libian sea is electrifiying, and the ferryboat staff are absolute cowboys.

"So, where do we catch the boat?"

"Down on the beach."

"Okay, thanks."

"No, seriously right from the sand"

I tried to imagine how a ferry the size we would need to carry all the hikers milling aound me would beach in such an angry sea, but the boat pulled in and dropped its ramp on the beach and hundreds of us streamed on to watch the scenery float by. Arriving in Sfakion the ramp yawned open again spitting us rather terrifyingly onto a sea beaten pier.

Stamp through Samaria

2008-09-29T11:45:00.000-07:00

Just below the Omalos Plateau in western Crete lies the longest gorge in Europe. Made a national park in 1992 to protect the endangered Kri Kri wild goats, Samaria is 16k long and every day hundreds (up to 3000 on peak days) of visitors tromp through. If you don't fancy a stroll surrounded by sun burned tourists get there first thing or don't go at all. If you like to gloat about your fitness level then this is definitely the place for you! Many people undertake this trail who shouldn't. The path does require good balance, sturdy shoes, and a little bit of endurance.

Scrambling over the dry and nameless river bed, the 300 meter walls of the gorge narrow from 150 to just 3.5 meters apart creating a memorable passage through the "iron gates". The walk ends shortly thereafter at Agia Roumeli where, restaurants, sandy beaches, precipitous cliffs, and your ferry back to civilization awaits.

Hello Hania

2008-09-29T01:45:00.000-07:00

2 overnight trips and a day in Athens and we awoke to find ourselves in the beautiful Venetian belle - Hania, Crete.

On an aside, if you're ever touring with your bike and gear and you find yourselves stuck in Piraeus for the day. Check your bike into one of the many secure parking garages. You can't take your bike onto the public transit and cycling in Athens is just tiresome, but for 12 E you can be comfortably unencumbered and confident that your worldly possessions and beloved bicycle are safe. The only folks with access to your stuff are the parking attendants.

The three main big cities in Crete are Hania, Rethymno, and Iraklio. All three are bursting with the worst kind of tourism. Iraklio is a must see as she is home to Knossos. Hania, however, is the belle of the ball. Visually stunning, tasty, and full of interesting and varied shops. But Rethymno...Rethymno wears a tourist mask, but one turn off the main corridor hobbles an old lady dressed in black carrying florina peppers, fresh bread and butchered lamb from her local shops. The old quarter is still very much alive and in between the tourist tripe you'll still find the local butcher, cheese maker, and fruit and veg shop. Rethymno touts itself as bike friendly as well. This means: keep your eyes on your bike! Apparently bike theft is hot here.

M.C. Escher meets Dr Seuss

2008-09-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time M.C. Escher and Dr Seuss got together and decided to build a stairway up the side of a cliff that led to a delightful waterfall in Potami on Samos Island in Greece. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but seriously that's the only way to explain how this staircase came to and continues to be - it bafflingly defies all odds. The great thing is that it isn't even the main event! The main event is playing in the pools of magical Potami.

It's worth the ride to Manolates

2008-09-28T02:00:00.000-07:00

Through the Valley of the Nightingales and up the mountain from Agios Konstantinos is a village filled with pottery, quaint cottages, and delicious grub. To say "up the mountain" really doesn't do justice to this ride. The forest is every level of green and life teems all around you. It feels more like the backdrop of a fairy tale than it does a Greek island. The road switchbacks severely and climbs at an angle that is definitely inappropriate for a FULLY loaded bike tourist. The only thing that kept me going was the desire to see what the forest could do next and as rewarding as the forest was the true reward was in the gem that lay at the end of the road - the village of Manolates. It was worth the climb and I'd do it again - shhh don't tell Basil.

Grape Harvest

2008-09-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

The vines are heavy with grapes, the smell of fermentation is in the air, Greece is busily producing this years harvest of tasty wines. Samena Golden is the pride and joy of Samos. It continually graced my glass and will be sorely missed on future dinner tables.

Ride around Kerkes

2008-09-26T09:55:00.000-07:00

The best paved road in Samos takes you to Drakei. Rising up from the beach at Limionas the road winds steadily up the side of Mt. Kerkes. At pretty St Nicolas church the ride turns drastically to offer up breathtaking views of Fourni Islands and Ikaria and some of the most isolated and rewarding traffic free pavement on the island. Passing through Kalithea the road rolls through beautiful thick pine forests that bend over the road and fill your lungs with deliciously clean air. My only lament is that this road should go on forever, but of course it doesn't- it ends abruptly in Drakei. The good news is that the ride back is twice as lovely especially when accompanied by an overnight in the pine forest - you might even hear some jackals.

Call of the Wild

2008-09-25T08:28:00.000-07:00

Finally off to do some extended exploring around Samos by bicycle our first night found us tucked away from civilization under the above rock. So well tucked away were we that we went completely undetected by the pack of jackals that couldn't resist the hypnotic call of the waxing moon. Startled by their unearthly crooning some 10 meters from our feet, we both sat straight up unsure of what we should be feeling...danger, awe, honour.

Blamed for attacks on livestock, the golden jackal has been hunted to near extinction in most of Greece, but they are still heard and occasionally even seen in Samos. Unfortunately, the startled sounds of well-equipped Canadians jolted out of a dead slumber is even more scary than a pack of baying jackals and so our jackal friends scurried away as smoothly as they gave in to their call of the wild. In the end what we felt was deep regret that we didn't catch a glimpse of these increasingly rare critters that were so unwittingly close to us.

Distant Arki

2008-09-23T04:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just need to get away from it all, and, if you do, you can hideaway in a solitary place like Arki afloat in the chain of islands known as the Dodecanese. With 3 restaurants, 41 local residents, and perhaps as many trees, there is little to occupy your time except clambering around the goat paths, swimming in the perfectly untouristed waters, and eating at Nicolaos Taverna. I highly recommend all three.

Billionaire Destination

2008-09-22T05:21:00.000-07:00

If tiny Arki seems just too big then pop over to Marathi where there are only two families, two tavernas (with rooms), some goats, and a beach. We went over to snorkle her super clean waters and collect sea shells. We'd heard that George Bush Sr had visited only days before. Somehow I have a hard time imagining that. I wonder if he got in the water and stared any octopi in the eye?

Walk through Ano Vathy

2008-09-22T04:14:00.000-07:00

A stroll revealed the most charming quarter of Vathy. Ano Vathy twists up the mountainside that rises up away from the port and main town. 19th century turkish style buildings tottered dangerously overhead while we meandered over the cobblestones, and steps, and twists, and turns dodging motorcyles, scooters, and occasionally even cars.

With so much to look at in such a cramped place I always feel like I have to catch my breath when I make it out of these piled up chaotic old places.

Chalky Church

2008-09-21T03:18:00.000-07:00

I love the chalky layers of whitewash on this pretty little church. Every time I ride by I can't take my eyes off it. For some reason I just want to sink my teeth in to discover the buttery shortbread cookie that must lay below, but I already have one chipped tooth and the door is locked so I can't go in to see the guilded gems that glitter away beneath this chalky exterior. Instead I settle into a bench and enjoy the whitewashed floral walkway that leads back up to the main road. What a delicious spot for a little rest.

3km to Turkey

2008-09-21T02:15:00.000-07:00

I sit on the beach a few minutes from where we are staying and I think...I could swim to Turkey from here. It almost seems crazy that this is Greece and that is Turkey and they are so completely different, but not all that different in so many ways. Looking at borders in this part of the world is just absurd, talking about them is even more absurd. At the turn af the last century when nationalism was just being born, people in the fields of modern day Greece identified themselves as Christian or Muslim or Jewish and not Greek, or Bulgarian, or Turkish. The trouble in this region comes from the fact that the lines are so blurry and the people such a historical migrating hodge podge of things. This migrating hodge podge continues just the same as it always has.

I can't count the number of times a local has leaned in to us and told us that the place is being taken over by Albanians. Yet I have seen a little of everything working behind the scenes in Greece, legals and illegals alike - Poles, Bulgarians, Albanians, Ethiopians, Pakistanis, Iraqis, Afghanis...

Almost every day when we ride down the beautiful switchbacks into Vathy, we pass two or three young men who are clearly making their way up from where they beached in Murtia to register as refugees with the Samos police. I can't help but wonder what they've left behind and what mix of hope and despair must reside in their bellies as they make that walk over the island and a little closer to the next chapter of their lives. As I see them walking into their new lives with just one small plastic bag of "stuff" and the clothes on their back, I feel trivial riding past them with my perfectly planned bike with all the right technical gear that allows me to play adventurer in just the smartest way.

King Kouros

2008-09-21T01:21:00.000-07:00

In green, green Samos between 538 and 522 BC there reigned a man named Polycrates. Now good ol' Polycrates was a bit of a megalomaniac. On the sight of Hera's rumoured birthplace he built a temple 4 times the size of the parthenon and adorned it's road with at least 6 of the largest kouros statues known in Archaic Greece. These were no regular statues, they stood 5.5m high.

The kouros that stands in the archaeological museum of Samos is a massive sight to behold, but most remarkable for me was how beautifully the veins of the marble cooperated to highlight the contours of the hamstrings, glutes, lower back, and elbow of the statue. If this guy was ever painted, it must have been a sad day when that beautiful veining was covered up, not to mention the sadness of the day these colossal fellas were knocked down, broken up, and carried away to incorporate into the walls and steps of people's homes and public works. imagine that! this guy's parts were found all over the hellenic ruins of Pythagorio. Back then, people were a little better with the whole reduce, reuse, recycle thing.

Plum Season

2008-09-20T02:03:00.000-07:00

The tiniest Charlie Brown tree bowed heavily under the weight of these lovely damask plums. Wise food wizard Chryssa boiled them down into some of the most deliciously sweet tart jam that begs for the savoury embrace of tahini and bread.

Samian Roots

2008-09-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

I had no idea what was in store for us in Samos. I expected that we would do some visiting, travel around a bit on the bikes and then jet off to the next island, but the like minds, and many excellent dinners and conversations some how magically seduced us into staying too long.

The sad thing about travelling is having to say good bye to the wonderful personalities that cross into your life, but it is even tougher when those wonderful personalities turn out to be your family! I now understand the absence that Basil has been lamenting all of these years and now will share in his lament. Thank you Giannis, Chryssa, Mirto, and Melina for having us in your home for an unexpected extended stay. You have enriched our lives in ways that we are only just beginning to understand. We are truly sad to leave you and Samos, but so proud to have discovered you as part of our family! We look forward to having you more a part of our lives in the years to come.

Green, Green Samos

2008-09-17T08:03:00.000-07:00

"Geez, ya know, Basil - I really like Samothraki. It's so mountainous and so green."

"Well, just wait until you see Samos. Samos is really beautiful and all that too."

I laughed knowing that he had to say that, I mean, he's from there right? There seems to be some unwritten rule in Greece that you must love where ever you are from most of all. Many times I have asked Greek people to tell me about their favourite place in Greece and almost as many times they have told me that their hometown is the best place in Greece. Growing up in a place that most of of my peers thought quite negatively of, I found this to be quite a refreshing change, but after a while it starts to sound a little like brainwashing. However, once again, Basil was right: Samos is really beautiful, and really green, and has a sizeable mountain range.

In ancient times, people believed that anything you planted in Samos would grow to epic proportions and it is clearly still a gardener's paradise. Looking down into nearly any valley the variety of trees is astonishing and unlike any island we have visited yet. Samian wines, especially those from the vathy grapes, are internationally proclaimed.

Samos is a gem of an island from the first sighting.

The WRONG side of the Moon

2008-09-16T08:08:00.000-07:00

We hopped over the painted rock that faintly alluded to the town of Hora being somewhere beyond and we made our way up and down and over and around a trail marked out by a seriously mischievous band of goats. Some five and a half hours later, lacking water, and dead exhausted from keeping my focus on staying upright on a mountain covered in scree, I limped my purple toenails and dehydrated muscles into the capital where we sat down and ate and drank and drank some more. And then we sighed a long sigh about our beautiful walk that turned into an epic scramble and a long term memory about the mysteries of Samothraki.

Moon Mountain

2008-09-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

Mt Fegari shoots 1600m out of the Aegean sea straight into the skies of Eastern Thrace. Homer mentions Poseidon sitting atop this peak to watch the the Trojan war. Spurred on by this we made our way up to the top to see Poseidon's mount, and, although I couldn't see Troy, I definitely felt closer to the gods. The wandering goats, seemingly enchanted forest, fields of wild oregano, and endless rocks for scrambling over made the ascent seem almost simple.

We couldn't see Troy, but we could see Hora, the Island's capital. Nestled into the folds of the mountain, the walk seemed a bit long and unpredictable, but it was such a pleasant walk up, surely the walk to the capital would be equally as beautiful. Heck, I could even make out an arrow and some marks that might represent the letters for Hora faintly painted onto a rock near our picnic stop. It seemed like the logical thing for two people who had just cycled for six days through the backroads of Eastern Macedonia and Thrace to do on their rest day...

Seeing Samothraki

2008-09-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

Home to the Sanctuary of the Great Gods, it is easy to see why such an impressive cult would found itself in Samothraki. The religion was brought to Samothraki by the Thracians in 1000BC and died out in the 4th century AD.

Appearing on the horizon, Samothraki is mostly mountain. The dramatic peak that dominates the island is Mt Fegari and holds the position of highest peak in the Aegean at 1611m. There are no big resorts in Samothraki. People go mainly to hike, soak in thermal springs, visit her many beautiful waterfalls, and relax in an extremely low key environment. We had the good fortune of visiting the Sanctuary of the Great Gods during a full moon. Watching the moon rise over Mt Fegari and spill out over the ruins was pure magic. Only the presence of the island's legendary "Winged Victory of Samothrace" could have made the event more beautiful.

Komboloi

2008-09-15T08:10:00.000-07:00

The Komboloi is a Greek fidget toy. They occupy the hands and pockets of many Greeks. The idea is to absorb worries by rattling these pretty beads through your fingers. Judging by the number of komboloi I see for sale and occupying idle hands, the Greek people are a particularly nervous lot.

Wild Oregano

2008-09-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

What is more Greek than oregano? Wild oregano! The minute I realized that the kilometers of ground cover I was walking over was blossoming wild oregano I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I'm pretty sure this bee is thinking the same thing.

Dadia Forest

2008-09-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

Oh yes you must go to Dadia! SO we went. It was nice to sleep in a grove in the forest and spend some kilometers pedalling through the trees, but, and perhaps I'm spoiled because I'm Canadian, but it was no overwhelming experience. I was pretty excited by the beautiful shape of the bark on the pine trees. It is as if the trees are growing velvety puzzle pieces.

Silk Contents

2008-09-12T06:59:00.000-07:00

Silk is made of mulberry leaves. It is the only thing that silkworms eat and once upon a time the border town of Soufli was covered in Mulberry orchards to feed their huge silk enterprise. Soufli was a major player on the ancient silk road. Today they still produce high quality silk in slightly lower quantities. I spent the afternoon feeling up the silk in the town's many shops. I may have even bought a scarf or two.

Mega Bird in Micro Dirio

2008-09-11T23:53:00.000-07:00

Stork nests are always astonishing to see. I like how the stork and the nest are almost the same size as Basil and his bike. With all the power lines emanating from her nest she looks like the total commander of the village.

Stone Houses of Mega Dirio

2008-09-10T22:55:00.000-07:00

Sampling from the roadside buffet of black raspberries we slowly made our way downhill to stony Megalo Dirio. Curious to see just who lived in these beautiful foundation to roof stone houses we made our way into the overwhelmingly Muslim village.

A gaggle of ladies greeted me where I stopped, asking me questions I could only barely understand. Where was I from? Where I was going? and was I married to the fella I came in with? They were as curious about my lycra clothing and kooky rear view mirror as I was about their headscarves, colourful low crotched pants, and cumbersome overcoats. We downed some refreshing pomegranite juice and made our way to overwhelmingly Christian Micro Dirio.

Thraki Mountains

2008-09-09T22:20:00.000-07:00

A late departure on the scenic route to much revered Dadia Forest found us sleeping at 900m perhaps a little too close to yet another windfarm...

The tent held fast in spite of the winds. The bottle of wine we bought from M. Hadley helped with a sound night's sleep.

Rain Day

2008-09-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

And then it did what it had promised to do for days...it rained, and it rained, and it hailed, and it rained some more, and we ate gyros, and drank labneh, and we waited. Then we made the terribly wise decision to stay in a hotel that night. It rained three times as much while we slept. The sunflowers drooped and the tobacco was happy and we got to eat bougatsa one more time.

Profitis Elias

2008-09-08T11:00:00.000-07:00

As we ride along the road we often see beautiful little churches standing defiantly at the top of the highest peaks. These churches always belong to the ancient Prophet Elijah. Likened to Moses, he seems to hold a pretty high status in the hierarchy of Orthodox saints. In Thrace, we found our way to one of his little churches tucked away in a thick grove of trees. We slept well contemplating Elijah's spectacular ascent to heaven from a very distant mountain top.

Mosques, Tobacco, and Sunflowers

2008-09-07T14:54:00.000-07:00

Sauntering out of the Rodophi mountains we took a lengthy break in alien Xanthi. After such underpopulated and densely green cycling, it was quite surprising to find such bustling and alien chaos. Turkish, Bulgarian, Pomac, Greek and who knows what other languages whirled around us in Xanthi's late morning downtown shopping frenzy.

Our first hour was spent stealing glances at the scarved muslim ladies in their dowdy overcoats while they stared back at me in my loud lycra cycling gear. Wheeling past the market, the brightly dressed, gold toothed Bulgarian ladies made me crave a jaunt to the north to explore what seems to be an unexpectedly colourful country. In the streets, we noticed many unusually fair people and later learned that these were Pomacs a very distinct group of non-Turkish muslims with an entirely unique culture and history. The real topper to our anthropological review was to hear the call to prayer as we cycled past Xanthi's mosque and into the heart of Xanthi's wealth, the tobacco fields.

And tobacco there is a plenty. Seeing broad-hipped ladies in long, full skirts and head scarves standing shoulder deep in vast fields of tobacco plants was a very bothersome sight. I hated to think of the harsh chemicals used on these plants and I couldn't help but feel a little sick to see these (mostly female and muslim) people hand-picking these toxic leaves. I also couldn't help but wonder how the growing and harvesting of tobacco factors in to the muslim stance on tobacco given that smoking is haram. Thankfully, my tobacco contemplations were interspersed with vast fields of sprightly and cheerful sunflowers.

Greek Hikers

2008-09-07T14:23:00.000-07:00

Greek Hikers have some VERY distinguishing features. They are a little more jaunty and a lot more pert than Greek walkers.

The Road to Xanthi

2008-09-01T23:53:00.000-07:00

On the plain to the east of the base of Dionysus' sacred Mt Panageum lies the region of Drama. The fertile soils of this region have been producing delicious wine for millennia. We pedalled our way through pretty Drama and detoured into the first vineyard we saw. Here we met M. Hadley's estranged twin brother and left with a lovely bottle of Assyritiko.

The secondary road to Xanthi continues to wind it's way along the route of the ancient Via Egnatia. Nearing the border of Thrace , it was a rare treat to find ourselves surrounded by thick forest spread over gently rolling hills. We were clearly crossing into a much less touristed and distinctly different Greece. After thoroughly and cautiously being inspected by a young shepherd's team of dogs, we set up camp in the mountains outside Stavroupoli.

Via Egnatia

2008-09-01T04:58:00.000-07:00

The road I have been the most thrilled to see was the original Via Egnatia which was built in the second century BC to connect ancient Rome to less ancient Byzantium. This portion shown here was excavated in ancient Phillipi. If you look closely you can see the grooves worn into the stone slabs by chariot wheels.

Standing in the middle of this road one can easily imagine Mark Anthony and Octavian, after the assassination of Julius Caesar, pursuing Cassius and Brutus along the Via Egnatia to their fateful battle at Phillipi in 44 BC.

It is also remarkable to see the mixing of Roman and early Christian motifs. With the arrival of St Paul the apostle on the shores of Macedonia in 49 AD, Phillipi was the first European city to convert to Christianity. To wander the present day site is a historical feast.

Christianity Meets Europe

2008-09-01T04:13:00.000-07:00

Europe first embraced Christianity when Paul touched Greece's shores just outside Ancient Phillipi. Here are some remnants from those early days...

Figapalooza!

2008-08-27T00:54:00.000-07:00

They're here! They're here!! After months of watching these lovely treasure troves of tastiness plump up on the thousands of trees we have cycled past they are finally ready for picking. They are well worth every minute of waiting.

I would have been a maenad

2008-08-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

As we ride along the foot of Dionysus' sacred Mt Panageum, I watch the olives get plumper and anticipate the wine we will sample from this ancient wine producing soil. I also wonder if we are in maenad territory yet. These mad women, who were attendants in the cult of Dionysus, were rumoured to wander somewhere in this region. As I studied my ancient myths, I always enjoyed the image of these ancient Greek women who managed to escape the yoke of their mundane existence (chained to their looms and other household duties) to run about the hills in troops of wild, wine drinking, scantily dressed pleasure seekers. I'm sure that I would have been a maenad if I were a woman born to ancient Greece.

Agia Pareskevi

2008-08-23T22:47:00.000-07:00

The first time Basil came to a halt outside a tiny whitewashed roadside building I was somewhat annoyed at the inconvenience of having my beautiful (and much deserved) wide open mountain descent so suddenly interrupted. I was also puzzled because Basil is not one to drag me around showing me architecture and is even less likely to stop to inspect a building that comes with any crosses attached. Intrigued, I hopped off my bike and followed him in to the most unexpectedly miniature and fully byzantine place of worship.

The rich colours of the gilded interior and the somber faces of the orthodox faith's endless team of saints blazed forth like found treasure when the door to this humble building was opened. It was impossible for me to imagine how such an insignificant and out of the way place could be so lovingly maintained. When Basil told me that Greece is covered with such places I was instantly in love with this aspect of the Greek Orthodox faith.

We have found refuge at dozens of tiny Greek Orthodox churches all over Greece. Opening the doors of such places is like peering in to a stranger's jewelery box. Each one is uniquely beautiful and full of stories and sentimental attachment that will take a lifetime for me to even begin to understand. Slowly I am learning their stories and for now I will begin with the story of Pareskevi - Saint Friday.

Pareskevi was born in Rome in 140 AD to wealthy Greek Christian parents. She was raised in a very loving and charitable home, but her parents died when she was twenty. With this turn of events, she donated most of her parents wealth to the poor, scorned many offers of marriage and devoted herself to teaching the way of Christ. Now, this was not a popular choice at this time as followers of this new faith were heavily persecuted. With this choice, death imminent for young Pareskevi, but on she trudged.

Captured and tortured several times, her seeming immunity to the pain of her torture won many converts. On one such occasion, she was accused of using witchcraft to cool the vat of boiling oil and tar she had been lowered into. Her response was to fling a handful of the boiling liquid at the emperor Antonius blinding him. She stepped out of the vat and proclaimed that only the Christian God could cure him and his sight was instantly returned.

Astounded by the miracle she was freed and Christain persecution ended for the remainder of his life. She was eventually beheaded under the reign of Emperor Marcus Aurelius and today is considered the healer of the blind.

We discovered the small church (pictured above) devoted to her by a poor and elderly woman after having several visions of Pareskevi. She was told that if she dug next to the plane tree at this location she would find water and that she should build a church next to this spot. With it's delicious running water, view of the sea, and quiet setting, for us, it proved to be an irresistible place to stop and spend the night.

glass, smalti, and pebbles

2008-08-22T00:58:00.000-07:00

How Christian mosaics began and where they're at today...Here is a sample of glass mosaic from a village at the foot of Mt Olympus, a modern smalti mosaic mural found outside a church in Kavala, and some lovely early Christian pebble mosaics from Philippi. Lucky dog that gets to wander through the fence and lay on that gorgeous ancient floor.

Unanticipated Amphipolis

2008-08-16T03:53:00.000-07:00

Ever heard of Amphipolis?

The Strimonas river valler threw our map into a tizzy. There were no roads where webs of roads were indicated on our map. For forty extra kilometers we cycled south towards the coast when really we wanted to cross the damn unbridgeable river and get our asses to Kavala. Asking for help we kept being directed to keep straight and turn left at the lion. The lion was where we could cross the river.

Well, some lion it was! Just sitting there being all unexpectedly HUGE! Our guide book made no mention of a gargantuan lion. It stopped mentioning anything at all back in Pella and, in fact, had little to say about the rest of our mainland trip. So, I buried the guide at the bottom of my pannier and we cycled on. Looking for directions we found ourself at the site museum for ancient Amphipolis.

Amphipolis got it's start as a satellite Athenian city. It served as a fortification to block invading Persian troops and, most importantly, to supply Athens with a steady supply of silver and gold from the neighbouring Mt Panageum. Amphipolis later supplied Alexander with many of his commanders (the lion is rumoured to be the tomb of one such commander) and it was also the launching point for Alexander's ships. With the rise of the Romans, the Via Egnatia transportation route passed through here on its way between Rome and Constantinople. The Byzantine Empire also outfitted her with some lovely pebble mosaics which remain buried on-site.

The things you find when you put the guide book away and let fate take you where it may....

Refuelling

2008-08-15T03:38:00.000-07:00

I know I talk a lot about food, but it is my gasoline so I really treasure it. Besides it is so much more interesting than dead dinosaurs. So, this is a particularly lovely snack that Basil and I shared. The fusion of these stewed chick peas, marinated aubergine salad, and lovely grilled local mushrooms was one we will be recalling to our memory tastebuds for a long time. We also added an order of garlicky tzatziki and a jug of retsina to the flavour extravaganza. Marry all of this with some psomi horiatiki and you just won't want the refeulling session to end.

Thorny Snails

2008-08-14T07:24:00.000-07:00

The wild landscape of Greece is a little prickly. You must always watch where you step unless you want to end up with socks full of burrs or calves full of nasty scratches and microscopic thorns. The environment is particulary unfriendly to lycra bike shorts. I tried to imagine the ancient Greeks flitting through the mountains in their strappy leather sandals and their little skirts (yum, think of King Leonidas in the movie 300). I guess the ancient Greeks and these snails had something in common.

Big Broad Macedonia

2008-08-13T02:45:00.000-07:00

After watching the grades get increasingly steeper through the Pelloponnese and Evia we found ourselves laughing heartily at the "10%" grades Macedonia alerts drivers to at almost every hill. 10% is for sissies. Okay the 40+ temperatures make it a tad challenging, but 10% grade? Why are they even posting that? Nobody posted the 14, 15, 18 or 22% we have seen up to this point.

A good amount of gently rolling valleys sweep across a large part of Macedonia. I don't usually think of the term "Big Sky" as being characteristic of Greece, but there we were in the middle of Greece's bread basket surrounded by just that. Hills must come as a shock to these people who don't live with the mountains in quite the same way the rest of Greece does. Life in this part of Macedonia is all tractors and large scale agriculture. And it is mighty remarkable just how fast a tractor can go with a Greek farmer at the helm.

I was proudly told that Macedonia is Greece's California. Their agricultural role and use of labour from outside perhaps resembles California, but I think the comparisons stop there. Californians might not unearth the same quantity of Dionysian temples in their fields, Mount Olympus doesn't watch Californian hired Mexicans while they till the soil, and Alexander the Great didn't march across California in his mission to conquer the world.

Ponti Route Feud

2008-08-12T06:24:00.000-07:00

Always looking for the lowest traffic roads we turned north and headed into the town of Palea Agioneri. Our hearts skipped when we saw that it was market day. It is always a treat to scour through local markets to see what new tasty treats might turn up.

We also needed to make some decisions about our route. Basil made the enjoyable mistake of pulling out our map in front of a popular fruit vendor. The helpful citizens of Palea Agioneri almost come to blows discussing which route would be best for us. One man wanted us to take the fastest, another the easiest, another the one that goes through his village. As the volume of the discussion rose, I stood back and watched the arms waving and the insults flying and the speechless Basil in the middle of it all. One of the fruit vendors smiled as he saw me staring in amazement at the route feud we had started by rolling in to town and pulling out our map. At the conclusion he leaned over and whispered, "Now you know how it is in a Ponti town". Sinking my teeth into the delicious local peach from the fruit stand, I couldn't help but wonder, "Why is it that the group that is always at the butt of a culture's jokes is always by far the most enjoyable"?

Alexander's Pella

2008-08-11T15:10:00.000-07:00

Leaving Thessaloniki to make our way east into Thrace, we went a little off course and headed west towards Pella to the birthplace of Alexander the Great. I couldn't resist the chance to see pebble mosaics that were over 2000 years old. The setting of Pella is somewhat unremarkable...flat plain loaded with commercial agriculture and with a very busy highway running right through the middle of it. It seems almost ridiculous that Alexander was born there, but the mosaics are really incredible. I love to imagine little baby Alexander crawling around drooling on them. It was difficult to resist the urge to touch the mosaics displayed in the museum or to jump over the rope to lay on the ones left in their original setting outside, but, alas, I will have to settle for making my own lovely pebble floor mosaic myself one day. Having seen my mosaics, we turned and began our meandering bike ride east towards Turkey.

BOUGATSA!

2008-08-11T10:12:00.000-07:00

Bougatsa! It beckons you from cafe windows as you ride through town. Bougatsa, its layers of crisp pastry and its warm pudding filling call out just begging to be sampled and compared to that first Bougatsa to end all bougatsas. This deliciously hypnotic and flat out addictive treat is Macedonia's king pastry. Thank everyone's Gods that we are cycling and get to guiltlessly sample them in the most random of places.

Hello Mt Olympus

2008-08-10T11:37:00.000-07:00

Okay, so we didn't cycle to Mt. Olympus and I certainly hope to do so one day, but the road from Thessaloniki is entirely unpleasant and I simply could not be so close to the abode of the Olympian gods and not stop in for a "peek". We scored a surprisingly unhazy day that allowed us to witness Greece's tallest peak in all her glory.

MMMMMMarket

2008-08-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

One of the most impressive olive displays I have seen yet could be smelled long before it was seen. The Modiano market sector still carries the name of it's Jewish roots and is hands down the best market we have seen yet in Greece. Yes those'd be the first fresh figs! We'll be picking them off the trees in no time!

Thessaloniki with E

2008-08-07T09:59:00.000-07:00

I can't imagine what I will do if one day Elisabeth gives up her life working for the airlines. Over the years she has jumped into my patchwork life regardless of what strange place I am calling home... everything from my bicycle to Doha, Qatar. She always finds a way to manage a few days to visit and inevitably manages to run some last minute emergency lifesaving or entirely indulgent errand before she comes. I treasure her visits and pray that she continues to be the time management master that she truly is. We were fortunate enough to enjoy a few decent meals and idle coffee breaks between our Thessaloniki meanderings. I hope she'll forgive me for the mastic episode.

Layers of Thessaloniki

2008-08-04T08:38:00.000-07:00

Our ferry slid past the watchful presence of Mt Olympus towards the sprawling white mass of Thessaloniki nestled at the top of the Thermaic gulf and opening into the popular destination of the Halkidiki peninsula. My leg muscles twitched at the thought of cycling what looked to be at least a day or two of relatively "flat" terrain. An entirely different Greece if not just for this. In Thessaloniki waited my pal Elisabeth with a fresh new derailleur hot off the plane from Denver. Thanks Elisabeth!

Up to this point Greece felt to me to be a conflicted place wanting to seem more west than east but somehow more east than west. In Thessaloniki the whole thing blew open and what lies at the heart of what is Greece surged up to confuse me even more than I already was. So much of the western opinion of what is Greece is in her ancient culture, but so much of what is in fact modern Greece is in her Byzantine and Ottoman past and is infinitely more fascinating.

A sizeable and little talked about miracle took place in Thessaloniki, Muslims, Jews, and Christians co-existed in relative harmony from the late 15th century to the early part of the 20th century. The Ottomans welcomed exiled Spanish Jews who were being persecuted under the Spanish Inquisition to Thessaloniki. This trio lived and worked together until the crumbling Ottoman empire lost control of Macedonia and the German invasion of the Second World War sent most of the city's Jews to Auschwitz.

One of my favourite things about travelling in Mexico is unravelling the places where the cultures of Mexico and the culture of Spain meet. I love discovering where they've clashed and where they've fused and where they have created something entirely new. In Greece, Thessaloniki remained a part of the Ottoman empire into the 20th century and the feeling of the co-existance of cultures still remains. Where other areas we've visited have worked hard to erase their Ottoman past, here there remains an undercurrent. As cosmopolitan as Thessaloniki may be, there is a distinctly eastern flare. It forshadows the future of our ride as we head into increasingly muslim Thrace.

Ferry Culture

2008-08-02T17:00:00.000-07:00

We caught a passing ferry on route from Crete to Thessaloniki and 10 hours later we were pulling into an entirely different kind of Greece. I was delighted when the snack bar opened up to reveal not just the usual prepackaged fare, but a window devoted to a cigarette smoking, gyro carving gentleman complete with chefs hat and rembetika music! I tried to imagine the BC ferries having a snack bar where BBQ'd salmon steaks were on offer at an affordable price. And so I revelled in the uniquely Greek spectacle as the overnighters from Crete slept on their benches and the beach goers lounged in the sun.

Ecological Alonnisos

2008-07-31T07:49:00.000-07:00

8 uninhabited islands make up the National Marine Park of Alonnisos. Started in 1992 this park protects primarily the endangered Monk seal which lives and reproduces on Piperi Islet, but it also protects many rare plants and animals. People are forbidden to approach the Piperi area, but may visit many of the other islets. The island of Alonissos boasts the clearest water of the Greek Islands. It is also tiny and relatively untouristed.

Enough said! We were in and decided to include it on our route to Thessaloniki. We quickly discovered that tourists keep mainly to the beaches of the south end and so we headed north to the mountains where the goats definitely out numbered the people. One morning while packing up our things at perhaps the best sleeping spot on the island, we were treated to a visit by a local shepherd heading into the hills to give water to his goats. He appeared at the lookout with his dog on a home-made vehicle not uncommon amongst the locals. I always enjoy our visits with shepherds. They are so eager for conversation, eccentric beyond description, and unfazed by what we are doing.

Keep pedalling!!

2008-07-30T07:41:00.000-07:00

On the hottest of days and the steepest of grades there is an undying rhythm that engulfs you and goads you to keep spinning those pedals through the harshest of Greek landscapes. The impervious sound of summertime: cicadas. They fill the barest of surrounds with their sound. At times deafeningly so.

Fig capital eats deraillers

2008-07-29T06:46:00.000-07:00

"Who are you? I don't know your face." A man on a mule leans in to examine Basil's face where we are setting up camp. The only people that visit these parts are the people who are from here. A quick conversation about Basil's ancestry and we are assured that it is safe to camp where we are already camping.

Our new unplanned route found us in territory so remote that the milk truck doesn't deliver to the villages in this forgotten zone. The demand simply isn't big enough. And so we made our way to Kymi to ride a piece of the northern coast before the ferry arrived a few days later to take us to Alonnisos. I was quite excited to be visiting Kymi as it is legendary for its thin-skinned figs. I would have to settle for dried ones as figs haven't quite kicked off their season yet, but I would get to see and feel and breathe what some consider to be the fig capital and what a delightful surprise the village turned out to be. Like most towns founded in medieval times, pretty Kymi is perched 250 m above her harbour up a 4 km long exquisitely serpentine road. There is an understated dignity to towns that support themselves by means other than the mass tourism that pours into Greece every summer and we were surprised to find this in Kymi. As we cycled through we found ourselves wishing we could spend more time exploring the town. As fate would have it we did just that.

Somewhat tired from a bad night of sleep and still recovering from our exhausting day fighting the winds that greeted us at our landing on Evia, my ceramic pulley imploded while making our way up a particularly steep grade. We found ourselves limping back to Kymi to search for parts and then on to Halkidi 2 hours by bus away to pick the parts up. On our return to Kymi that same evening, the ticket collector confirmed several times that we were actually wanting to go to there. He seemed convinced that we really must have made an error and actually meant to get off in Eretria with all the other resort loving tourists. In Kymi, while looking for a place to eat another man assaults Basil with the question, "Who's are you!?" Really, the only reason you'd be in Kymi is because you or your parents are from there, so, the inquiries into our ancestry continue...