26 May - 2 June

Introduction

Turkey

One of the six minarets
of Sultan Ahmed Mosque (the Blue Mosque), Istanbul

My cycling rite of passage is coming to an end. The last stage, as it usually is, becomes the most significant one as well as the hardest. Türkiye --as it is the name of this great country-- represents the climax of my trip, and it is closely associated with my awe for its largest city, Istanbul. 

I arrived in Turkey with a deep sense of inner life. Weird as it may look, during this journey I learnt to speak to Alhamra, the bike, and also to Lady G (the Garmin GPS) and the Huawei phone Mr. Hu. I had great connections with other beings as well, dead and alive. I chatted with trees, rabbits, insects and also with the spirits of the dead. My admiration went to the miraculous rebirth of nature in this springtime season, and to the infinitely perfect order in the universe that can only come from One and Almighty Being. 

Indeed, I speak to God and the angels custodians of rivers, buildings and people. I talk with Israfil, the trumpet-blowing archangel who is a friend of travelers. I ask them all to forgive me for having been such a wild and grumpy fool much of my life.

Is this an overenthusiastic mood ensued from so many soliloquies cycling on isolated paths? Maybe. But religion is not only linking (religare) between humans and God, but also with other beings in the cosmos, even if they are in other time and space. These connections are not just rational. The high light coming through the coloured windows at Narbonne cathedral elevates the spirit to unthinkable heights. The calls to prayer when cycling through a Turkish town prompt an emotional rupture. The peaceful graves at Savina Monastery in Montenegro strike inner chords in unexpected ways.

My interest in religion is not new. A searcher of new horizons navigating in Roman Catholic waters during my first twenty or thirty years, I firstly thought that religion meant belonging to a group. During eight years as a young Opus Dei member in Argentina, I learnt first-hand to experience a strict, dry, reactionary, axiomatic, sectarian and rather boring way of living religion. The reaction came later in the form of practical atheism. How could I identify myself as atheist? Perhaps I suspected that "agnostic" implied a certain lack of courage to search beyond the convenience of easy labels. Then I moved on.

I am opening every possible window to new landscapes. I am wary of the word "true" applied to spiritual value systems, but I do believe in the amazing symbolizing power that humans possess. We need symbols to believe in. 

I see myself cycling towards a new world of spiritual symbols. I am so thankful to God that I was able to experience this powerful challenge. Arriving in Turkey has been the highest point, but not the last one. The sun is up there to warm and light the way. The Road to Life will surely lead to other serendipitous discoveries. 

Sunset at Kale Park, Silivri

Day 85: Alexandroupoli (Greece) - Kesan (Turkey)

26 May         

83.54 km - 5:10 hours - 596 mꜛ

I wake up with a headache. Stratos is also tired but he is up for the Sunday liturgy. We say goodbye and I quickly find the way out of Alexandroupoli. I have the customary coffee in a roadside bar, accompanied by some Greek delicatessen. I am ready for a great day. 

Forest of plane trees near Feres

Out of the highway, I find my way through back roads and sleeping villages. After Feres, a lonely road approaches motorway E90, following the Via Egnatia. I am confused now. Lady G throws me to the motorway but on the direction back to Alexandroupoli. Mr Hu the telephone (whose indications for cyclists finished in Italy) suggests I should go 130 kilometers north to Kastanies and cross the border there to Edirne in Turkey. 

I finally see in the distance someone coming on a tractor. When he arrives I ask for directions. He tells me in broken English that I should get into the motorway. Before leaving he adds, "watch the drones!" It sounds intriguing but later I see why. 

I thus ride on the feared motorway, which is indeed a risky business. Cars run at high speed. There are lots of noisy trucks and some buses. The last seven kilometers require extra concentration. At the end, I see the last trucks of a long queue waiting before the border crossing. I advance until a guard stops me and looks at my passport without interest. I proceed up to another control, still on the Greek side, that is the external border of the European Union and the Schengen area. This is very slow. Waiting for my turn to go on, I read on the phone that in the first twenty years of this century 398 bodies were found on the Greek side of the Maritsa river separating Greece from Turkey. They were migrants trying to enter the European Union.

On the bridge over the Maritsa (which is dry here) fully-armed Greek and Turkish soldiers with their flags are facing each other, like if they were ready to start an attack at any time. I ask to take a photo on the Greek side but I am not allowed, so I take it a few meters beyond, already on Turkish territory. The soldier asks where I am from. Then he replies smiling with the usual "Messi" and "Maradona". The internationally shared values of football mirror the ugly face of nationalism. Professional football, with its commercial principles of monetizing the spirit of athletic activities, becomes an euphemism for military conflict and confrontation between societies. Like Hannah Arendt, I understand the need for "tribes", groups of people living together and sharing cultural values. Also like her, I am suspicious of political tribalism and programmes aiming at ethnic or cultural homogeneity. 

Waiting on the Turkish passport control I see the big drone "looking" at me from the sky. Should I take a photo? I don't dare to. Then my saddle bags are checked for alcohol or drugs. Another control. And still a third one. I am finally off the crossing and I buy a very expensive SIM card at the duty free shop. 

Now there are loaded clouds towards the east. And the wind... The strongest headwind I faced since I left home in Spain. I still have to cycle twenty-seven kilometers to Kesan. A German bikepacker with rotten teeth follows and then overtakes me. The highway is straight and very wide, with unusually long ascents and descents on a hilly terrain. The image of Escher's paradoxical house comes to mind, with people going up and down on the same staircase. 

Wind makes things rather difficult. My weather app says that today's wind speed is on the red segment, with gusts of up to sixty-five kilometers per hour. I am worn out when I arrive in Kesan. I stay at a cheap pansiyon, that formerly functioned as a school. Ghastly-looking but clean.  

With Çetin in his workshop

I meet Çetin. His profile in Warm Showers says he can't host for the night. But he is a bike mechanic and I would like to revise the little leak on the rear tyre. His small workshop is not far from the hostel. It is decorated with awards and trophies from the time he participated in many bicycle competitions. 

He has a contagious love for bikes. His ample smile denotes friendship and openness. We fix the valve while we talk using the phone translator. We share many things, no matter our cultural differences. I like his spiritual view of everyday life. No need to be a theologian to understand that minor, unimportant things may hide deep thoughts and emotions. Later Çetin comes to the hostel and presents me with the Spanish-language version of The Mark, by the Kurdish Sunni Muslim spiritual leader Said Nursî. Nursî inspired a movement that has played a vital role in the revival of Islam in Turkey. At night I read on the first pages of The Mark: "The primary duty of human beings is to know and believe in Allah". I perceive beauty and peace of mind in these words. Çetin is one of the persons who left a deep mark on my spirit during this trip. I am thankful to him for his friendship.

Çamlicent mosque, Kesan

Day 86: Kesan - Tekirdag 

27 May          

81.17 km - 4:30 hours - 685 mꜛ

Out on the highway after coffee and a bite of börek. The highway is boringly straight but has a good safety shoulder. Traffic is constant but not too heavy. There are the usual lengthy going up and down the hills. Weather is ideal, with almost no wind today. 

Fine-sounding place names are links on my way: Yenimuhacir, Kadiköy, Malkara, Alaybey, Mahramli, Nusratfaki. On the shadow of a tree I take a break. A few stray dogs shyly come to see if there is anything for them and I share my sandwich. I noticed that stray dogs are not dangerous. They are so hungry that they are usually too weak to attack. Guard dogs are of a different type. They scare me to death when I am riding and they launch their vicious assaults barking aggressively at a short distance of my feet. I learnt to calmly speak to them, but that is not always possible, especially when cycling on busy highways. I carry a stock of small stones at hand. I gesture throwing the stones, something that I never actually do. In almost all cases it works and they break off. Almost. 

Agricultural fields and the Sea of Marmara near Nusratli

I receive a message from Mehmet. He kindly accepts my request for Couchsurfing hosting, but I realise that he lives very far from Ketirdag and I tell him so. Upon arrival to the city, I find a nice beach hotel that is not very expensive and is almost empty. I have a great Turkish lunch in a nearby family restaurant. I go to the beach. Then I rest in the bedroom. I am thinking on these amazing three months and all the fine people I met on the way. Again and again, الحود لله (thanks God).

Leaving Tekirdag in the morning

Day 87: Tekirdag - Silivri

28 May           

79.20 km - 5:00 hours - 720 mꜛ

Dirt road at Sahpaz

I am tired of straight busy highways. I'm planning a journey of dirt roads for today. Near a köfte joint outside Ketirdag I ride inland on a narrow rural road which quickly becomes unpaved. I cross Türkmenli and continue north up to Sahpaz, and then turn eastwards again. Other villages are Yakuplu, Seymen, Fevzipasa (with a beautiful mosque). It is difficult to find a suitable road here. I bike on a stoney lane towards Çeltik and then pass near a prison to finally arrive again at the main highway along the coast. 

A road fountain with the inscription asking
for a Fatiha prayer for its donor

I am now arriving at Silivri's suburbs. Close compounds, North American-style urbanization, malls (the Swiss supermarkets Migros are ubiquitous in Turkey, even if they are now separate companies). I finally take the road to the center of Silivri. Today I will stay with Ihsan, who accepted my request for hosting. He lives in a nice apartment but it takes me some time to find the entrance. 

Ihsan at Kale Park

This is a final surprise in my trip. Ihsan is downstairs waiting for me. He hears that I arrive near him but he cannot see me. He sees through the eyes of his mind and his heart. It is an incredible experience sharing his place, learning how he lives. He prepares lunch for me. Then we go out to visit Silivri. He is guiding me! And I am very happy to be guided by him.

I don't speak Turkish and he doesn't speak English. The communication mediated by the phone translator is awkward but we can manage. We get lost and we ask someone on the street to help us. The three of us arrive at a beautiful seafront park. Those are magic moments, with the sun setting and twilight descending on us. We keep silent for a long inspiring moment. 

I cannot but feel overcome by Ihsan's courage and generosity. 

Day 88: Silivri - Istanbul

29 May                     

92.60 km - 7:25 hours - 889 mꜛ

The last day of my journey! After breakfast with Ishan I leave his apartment with a warm heart. 

In the beginning I take a few country back roads. Then I run through increasingly busy highways. Most of the day the traffic is dreadful. Like a magnet, the big city attracts thousands to its heart. 

Approaching Istanbul near Çatalca

Istanbul is huge. It is the most populated European city and the second largest one after Moscow. In fact, it is a city of cities. Forty-two kilometers before arriving to the hostel in downtown Istanbul, I am already immersed in the hyper-dynamic maze of urban highways, large avenues, tortuous streets, buildings (several in construction), parks, malls, street markets and incredibly busy traffic. 

Basaksehir

Not surprisingly, my itinerary through this immense jungle turns out to be very difficult. I hardly advance when I realise that I need to go back. Lady G gives the best of herself until her battery-soul is exhausted. Twice I see myself in extremely risky situations, especially on a slip road at a junction trying to cross the motorway with the traffic at very high speed. 

I finally arrive at the Mimar Kadir Topbas seaside park. From here I can relax and look at Haga Sophia mosque in the distance and other emblematic buildings on both sides of the Bosphorus. It is a great moment. I feel elated. This experience humbles me and I am so thankful. 

Istanbul from Mimar Kadir Topbas park

After a while I find my way through the small streets of Sultanahmet in Fatih quarter. I am very tired when I arrive at the Sultan Hostel. Going from the bright sunny street into the dark entrance hall I hear with delight, "Edmundo!". Yesterday the receptionist received my reservation call and now recognizes me with the bike. I am so tired that I can hardly climb the stairs to my bedroom on the second floor. I sleep the whole afternoon. 

Days 89-92: Istanbul 

30 May - 2 June

Hagia Sophia mosque

I love this city. I enjoy its parks, buildings, historic places, restaurants and monuments. Most people here have a distant and polite attitude that becomes friendly when I use the few words I know in Turkish. A waiter brings coffee. He smiles and touches my hand lightly when I tell him "tesekkür" (thank you). A stern travel agency employee half greets me in English but he amply smiles when I reply "günaydin" (good morning). 

Istanbul has its own life and a strong personality. Its contribution to European cultural life is significant, even if seldom reckoned with. Turkey is one of the European Union's main trade partners. It has been an applicant to accede to the EU since 1987. The Union would hugely benefit having this nation as one of its most distinguished members. 

Gülhane Park

I buy the airline ticket back home. I find a bike shop to pack Alhamra following the specifications of the airline. I walk up and down the city until I am tired. I have great breakfasts with menemen (a tomato and eggs dish similar to Middle Eastern shakshouka). I have countless coffees. I would not live again in a city like Buenos Aires. But I could live here.

Sultan Ahmed III Fountain

On Sunday, 2 June I take the flight back to Spain. In Málaga I take the bus to Granada. My friend Paco comes to pick me up. I arrive home. 

Home, that wonderful four-letter word that has so many meanings. I love being back home!

Greece            Introduction

20-25 May

Introduction 

Greece

A shepherd and his flock near Kella

 

What must have thy nature, oh Greece! 
                when marvellous-lovely  
As it now is, it is the only tomb of an ancient

                existence? 

 

 Richard Monckton Milnes (Baron Houghton)

Memorials of a Tour in Some Parts of Greece (1834)

Day 79: Bitola (North Macedonia) - Edessa (Greece)

20 May       

87.51 km - 8:10 hours - 790 mꜛ

I'm happy to be back in Greece. Everything changes from the previous countries: the roads, the architecture, the machines and technology in the agricultural fields. The driving behaviour on the highways changes too: faster, closer, pushy.

I visited Greece a few times before. Last August we went with Estelle and the boys to the great Pindos mountains, approximately 200 kilometers south of Bitola. This is a very different landscape from the plains of northern Italy and south-eastern France. Cycling requires great effort to cover serpentine roads, always going down the valley and up the mountain pass. My plan is to move eastwards through Greece and Turkey in order to reach Istanbul. 

I start from Bitola surprisingly in fine weather. There are some trucks and buses on the highway but the traffic is rather quiet. The road runs southwards up to the Greek border. Once in Greece, I change the SIM card again. After the village of Niki, I am back to the quiet back roads along agricultural fields. Headwind is sometimes annoying. In Meliti the highway starts an ascent through a desolated landscape. 

Western Macedonia map showing
the four regional units: Florina, Grevena, Kastoria and Kozani

I arrive in Kella and enter the village to buy bread and cheese. I use the telephone application to translate into Greek but the attendant says: "No Greek!". Later I learn that many in this region speak Aromanian (also called Vlach) or Bulgarian, but little Greek. The region of Western Macedonia has one of the highest unemployment rates in the European Union.

The sun is strong. On the outskirts of Kella there are some shadowed tables and benches and I take my snack there. There is a nice couple of bikepackers from Zurich, Manuel and Sarah, and we share the table. 

With Manuel and Sarah, bikepackers from Zurich

I am tired now. The total rise has been steep but then comes a great downhill on the road north of Lake Vegoritida. There are more trees and sometimes the terrain looks like the Swiss Jura mountains, near Geneva. Down in the valley, at more or less twenty kilometers from Edessa, I have to take the loaded highway, which is quite wild. 

Edessa's camp site is closed. I am now confronted with the expensive costs of Greece, second only to northern Italy in my journey. I pay forty-six euros for a downcast hotel bedroom and make a decision to shorten as much as possible the Greek leg of my trip (and to eat mostly Greek pizza...). 

Day 80: Edessa - Thessaloniki

21 May

92.06 km - 4:12 hours - 186 mꜛ

Thessaloniki seafront

I wake up at 5.30 A.M., which will be the norm during the rest of the trip to avoid the heat at midday. But the weather is weird, sometimes with black clouds on the horizon. 

I just follow the highway more or less straight to Thessaloniki. The road is great, first going down and then almost flat all the way to the big city. There is a nice road shoulder (sometimes two-meter wide) and few sections with traffic. Some dogs bark at me but I tell them that I am not dangerous and they leave me in peace. I arrive rapidly to Thessaloniki with just one stop for coffee and only one mistake of a few kilometers.

The Rotunda and its minaret

Campgrounds are closed until June. I stay at RentRooms, a sort of expensive hostel. I have to wait more than three hours because the rooms are not ready. The receptionist says that I am the only one to blame because when I made the reservation I said that I was arriving in the afternoon, and did not specify that it was in the early afternoon. The other employee, Ioanna, feels bad and offers a coffee while I am waiting. She tells me that she would also like to bike travel but she is afraid of stray dogs.

Sometimes people working with tourists in Greece (of course not all of them) have the ugly custom of considering travelers like a commodity. Visitors come and go, and there will always be another one spending money here. The communication is fairly good --most speak good English-- but the attitude is awkward. I have mixed feelings from this staying in Greece. 

I visit the old Rotunda, a few steps from the hostel. The Rotunda has successively been a Roman mausoleum, a Byzantine church, an Ottoman mosque and a Greek Orthodox church, Agios Georgios. There is still a minaret adjacent to the monument. Then I walk up to the seaside White Tower, a symbol of the city that has been a notorious prison and the scene of numerous mass executions under Ottoman rule.

Street art in Thessaloniki

Thessaloniki is a beautiful coastal city with smart avenues and elegant people. On the waterfront families and friends walk and play. It is too late to visit the Jewish Museum. I sit at a café and read the online information. 

A homeless woman wanders from table to table asking for money. People pretend not to see her, but they look at me when I say hello and give her something. It is always difficult to know how to manage this situation. 

There are a few thousand homeless people in Thessaloniki. The number is increasing due to inflation, precarious job conditions and lack of affordable housing. Some government-funded networks and NGOs try to provide hostel services and to promote social inclusion. Growing demand of public services is a problem in the urban area. While Athens is usually ranked lower in health infrastructure and sanitation, the problems in Thessaloniki are acute and may have future consequences for the environment. Even though I reckon that all the cities and villages I visited during this cycling trip are cleaner than my own city, Granada.

Thessaloniki has been styled "La Madre de Israel" for its famous Sephardic community. After the Alhambra Decree that ruled the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, many immigrated in Thessaloniki (known then as Salonika). The community experienced a golden age in the sixteenth century and later attracted Jewish intellectuals and businessmen from Western Europe. Many spoke Judeo-Spanish, also known as Ladino. At that time, it was the only city in Europe in which the Jews were a majority of the total population.

In 1941, the Nazi German forces and its allies started persecuting the Salonican Jews. The majority of the 72,000 in the community were murdered in the concentration and labour camps. Today there are less than 1,000 Jews in the city. 

Day 81: Thessaloniki - Stavros

22 May               

86.23 km - 4:35 hours - 511 mꜛ

Immediately after leaving the hostel I get lost in the big city. I find the way but miss it again after having a coffee, and still again after the 437-meter ascent ends near Seih Sou. Then everything goes smoothly. I just need to cross the entire Chalkidiki peninsula eastwards. The highway runs north of two lakes, Langadas and Volvi. The sun is strong now and there are few trees until the end of the road before arriving in Stavros (where there is a beautiful forest). 

Lake Volvi

There are a few road cyclists. They don't answer to my greetings. It seems that saying (or gesturing) hello to other bikers is not usual here. The same happened to me in other places, in great contrast with Italy, France and, especially, Spain. In Italy there is a Ciclabile del Saluto (Greeting Cycleway) in Vicenza, with signs explaining why and how greeting others is a socially great custom. Saying hello is the first form of contact with others, an expression of acceptance and inclusion. Taking away the greeting from someone is an eloquent gesture, capable of expressing contempt much than many words. It means "you don't exist". Some associations are taking the absence of greetings among cyclists seriously, such as the Global Cycling Network in Britain. I understand cultural differences in various countries and also between rural and urban contexts. Personally, I keep greeting everybody in some way or another (even if my son Jerry considers that my stopping the bike altogether just to say hi is too much). 

Street art in Profitis

I arrive at Rita's apartment in Stavros. She is a young mother of three. She asks about my cycling journey and recommends to apply cucumber on the skin for my sunburn. She has a nice smile and the children are formal and well-behaved. I buy some groceries and have lunch with cheese, tomatoes and vegetables (including the cucumber).

Stavros is a small nice town on the coast of the Strymonian Gulf. The sea is of an intense blue. I have a Greek (or Turkish?) coffee at a beach bar. It is windy and sunny outside. There are a few tourists sunbathing on the beach. The family in the bar is working on the summer season preparations. They are replacing the terrace roof and some equipment in the kitchen. I see them struggling with the materials and I offer to help. They look at me but they don't answer. I pay the coffee and leave, to the relief of the family. 

The arcane standing rocks at Nymfopetra. The legend wants
that some hunters were petrified by the goddess Artemis 
after their inappropriate behaviour with a group of nymphs.

Day 82: Stavros - Kavala

23 May            

88.69 km - 4:46 hours - 688 mꜛ

I am quite tired today. I didn't sleep well, in part because the owner at Kavala's Sweet Rooms, where I booked a bedroom, phone called at midnight to say that I made a mistake with the reservation dates. Actually, he misunderstood the dates. 

On the other side of the gulf there are heavy black clouds. But later the sun becomes king of the sea and the mountains. The road goes along the sea coast until it turns into the continent through a beautiful valley, with the Pangaion mountains to the left. Everything is bright green, with vineyards and fruit orchards. 

Vineyards and Pangaion mountains

I stop in Eleftheroupoli to have a snack in a coffe-shop full of high school students reviewing their notes for a test. There are more Greek flags in this region than usual, and also military barracks and vehicles. Twice I cross a war tank and military trucks. In addition, kandylakia, the routine small roadside shrines with the shape of Byzantine churches, are newer and more frequent here than in other places I visited in Greece. Could this be the result of the proximity with Turkey? 

Religious and national identities
represented by flags and roadside shrines 

Closer to the end, the road goes up 552 meters and finally descends into sea-level Kavala. Before arriving, there is a large outdoor sign on the roadside: "Remember Cyprus", with the outline of the northern part of the island tainted in blood. With the ubiquitous nationalist and religious symbols and the military presence, it seems that fear and hatred increase as long as one approaches the border with Turkey. 

In Kavala I stay at the Sweet Rooms, very quiet and with a beautiful garden. Sophia lives there and keeps the place. She excuses herself for her son's untimely call yesterday night (he doesn't). 

I walk down to the old town. It is quite warm today. I have a great moussaka at a seaside restaurant. Service is rather poor but the food is delicious. Then I have a double coffee. On the way back I swim in the sea. 

Kavala

Day 83: Kavala - Komotini

24 May              

107.60 km - 4:57 hours - 342 mꜛ

Leaving Kavala in the early hours

I leave my room and swiftly ride down to the sea level. Then I take the already busy national highway. While the sun is shining on the sea the road goes up and then runs through a nice agricultural plain. 

Unexpectedly, the sunglasses I purchased in Italy break. It is an unfortunate loss because the sun is quite strong now and there are a few insects. Cycling without eye protection may be dangerous. I think on asking drivers if I can buy their sunglasses, but nobody stops. Then I remember some useful stuff I added to the baggage before leaving home: Loctite strong glue. I am able to fix the sunglasses in a delicate roadside operation. I don't know what made me take this amazing product, but it certainly saved my day. الحمد لله!!! (thanks God). 

Street sign in Kavala -
Istanbul is still known as "Constantinople" in Greece

In Genisea (locally known as Yenidje) I pause to take a coffee. From the café, a derelict mosque is visible between the trees. I try to order my coffee but it becomes a linguistic challenge. I use my phone translator into Greek. As in Kella, the person says, "No Greek", and I understand that the language here is Turkish. Thanks to the automatic translator I can finally have my good coffee with milk. 

Then I stop at the Folk and Customs Museum of the Balkans. There is a young man outside and he tells me in English, "Today is Friday, the museum is closed". I ask him why and he tells me that in this village there is a large Muslim population. I ask him if they are they recent immigrants and he replies that immigration from Turkey is not allowed now. "There are many old families that used to work with oriental tobacco plantations". "The famous Yenidje cigarette tobacco is from here". My ignorance on tobacco matters is obvious. He adds, "People are Muslim Greeks here". He avoids using the word "Turkish". He smiles politely and says goodbye. On the outskirts of Genisea there is a Muslim cemetery. I have a sense of tantalizing life in this peaceful place. 

Muslim cemetery in Genisea

I wonder how many Turkish villages from the Ottoman period are still here in this part of Greece. The Treaty of Lausanne (1922) mandated a compulsory exchange of populations. More than a million ethnically Greek persons left Turkey and thousands of Turks departed from Greek Macedonia. But the Muslim population of Western Thrace was excluded, together with the Greek Orthodox of Istanbul and other areas in Turkey. At that time, two thirds of the Western Thrace population were Muslims, and they owned more than eighty per cent of the land. I can perceive that the animosity between Turks and Greeks has many fronts that are still open in the twenty-first century. Surely it is encouraged by power-hungry politicians and community leaders. 

The sun is really strong now. I still feel the sunburn allergy on my legs and arms. On the Kompsatos river I see an old bridge reminiscent of Mostar old bridge. There are minarets in some villages. I arrive in Komotini under the sun, and I stay at the Orpheus hotel. From my room on the sixth floor I can see an Orthodox church at a short distance of a mosque. They are calling to prayers at the nearby mosque. 

Orthodox church and mosque in Komotini

I buy a pair of long trousers to protect my legs from the sun when cycling. I also buy delicious peaches and oranges. Incidentally, the orange has similar names in Greek, Turkish, Arabic and other languages, all of them sounding as the country Portugal (seemingly, oranges were imported from Portugal in the past). 

There is an excited crowd in the bars and terraces on the central Peace Square. Two Greek basketball teams, Olympiacos and Panathinaikos, are playing today in the EuroLeague. Panathinaikos plays versus Fenerbahçe of Turkey. 

I have a very good chicken souvlaki dinner and go to sleep trying to ignore the noisy crowd downstairs. 

Crowded Peace Square cafés

Day 84: Komotini - Alexandroupoli 

25 May                             

65.29 km - 3:56 hours - 703 mꜛ

I couldn't sleep well with my legs and arms itching. I was up at 4.00 A.M. 

The highway is rather quiet at this early time. I stop for a coffee and boureki. Later in a petrol station I pump a bit the tyres. A few kilometers later I notice a leak in the rear wheel. I use the CO2 cartridge to inflate it and it works well. In the next station I see that the valve is not in the right position and I fix it. It works, at least for now. 

The road up to Sicocharri

The national highway runs through agricultural fields and plantations. Then I take a secondary narrow road at Sapes that connects with Sicocharri (that's what I can make out of the Greek writing on the signs). From there a long ascent goes through a fabulous wild oak forest up to Kirki. 

However, a dreadful view awaits me. On the roadside trees there are the signs of a past wildfire. It becomes a desolate landscape, with the black trunks and branches of charred dead trees imploring to the sky. I can hear there voices in the wind. Their cries for help. 

Burnt trees in Kirki

The fire was in late August 2023: the largest recorded fire in the European Union. It burned during two weeks and destroyed an area of more than 700 square kilometers. This is a well-trodden migration trail coming from Turkey. The bodies of twenty dead migrants were found following the wildfire. 

What was the cause of the wildfire? Many people falsely blamed the migrants for lighting the fires. In the cities small groups were formed "to protect the homeland - today they will burn the city down", read a message. The stories were shared in the social media and some politicians manipulated the information. The prime minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis told the parliament that "this fire started on routes that are often used by illegal migrants". Migrants were styled as "foreign arsonists". "Burn them before they burn us" commented a TikTok video. 

That August alone, Greece experienced fifty-five fires. Most were impossible to control owing to prolonged drought, high temperatures and strong winds, as well as the very dry previous winter. Climate crisis and migration are popular topics for conspiracy theories. Disinformation spreads faster than fire. 

73,000 hectares of natural forest were lost
in a major wildfire near Alexandroupoli in August 2023

The dead trees look at me and claim for justice. A deep silence is installed in the burned down forest. It is a challenge to our selfish neglect of nature. And it is also a cry for the sufferings of so many people trying to reach western Europe. 

I am now riding down to Alexandroupoli. The scintillating view of the sea is a compensation for the sad views in the scorched mountains. 

Stratos is waiting for me. He is my only host in Greece. A very nice young developer, he works with his brother in their own construction company. He is a Greek Orthodox Christian and is involved in religion and spirituality. He is very open-minded and generous. I like his respectful views of other religions. 

With my Greek host Stratos

His generosity extends to food. He invites me to gyros for lunch followed by a delicious ice cream. Only at dinner I am able to pay for pizza. We have a great conversation while walking on the beautiful seafront avenue. The atmosphere reminds me the summer evenings in Granada and other Spanish cities, with families and friends wandering and greeting each other. In one family group, the imposing figure of the father stands out, an stout elegant Orthodox priest wearing black cassock and bushy beard. 

North Macedonia    Introduction    Turkey

18-19 May

Introduction 

North Macedonia

Fog rising on Lake Ohrid

If I had to choose one country to visit again among those I toured during this trip, I would return to North Macedonia. With its magnificent lakes, forests and mountains, North Macedonia has many secrets to reveal and possibilities both for cycling and hiking. 

Like in most Balkan countries, North Macedonia is home to a culturally-mixed society. The Macedonian language predominates (South Slavic family, similar to Bulgarian), followed by Albanian, Turkish, Romani, Serbian and others. Approximately half of the population is Eastern Orthodox. Muslims constitute 32 per cent. By 2011, there were 1842 churches and 580 mosques in the country. Folk music sounds like Greek traditional songs but lyrics are in Macedonian and some instruments are Bulgarian. I am told that the rhythm of folk songs is extremely complex, such as in Pomnish li libe Todoro, which is written in 22/16 signature. 

A few days before I arrived, on 5 May, Macedonians celebrated the Macedonian Language Day. On that day in 1945 a committee formed after the Yugoslav Partisans took power adopted the Macedonian alphabet, which is an adaptation of the Cyrillic script. 

Road sign in Macedonian, English and Albanian

Since the second half of the eighteenth century the country saw a rise of the modern Macedonian language, although referred to as "Bulgarian" by writers. After World War II, poetry in Macedonian flourished. Kocho Racin (1909-1943) pioneered the way with his collection White Dawns. Racin also prepared two books of Macedonian folklore songs. He was followed by a new generation of poets, including Bogomil Gjuzel, Petko Dabeski, Radovan Pavloski, and others. The national epic is the major theme of their generation of poets. Eftim Kletnikov and his group broke with the nationalist tradition and experimented with conceptual language and philosophical thinking. Later in the 1960s, the subjects become more urban and quotidian. An example of this later period is Zoran Anchevski. 

One afternoon in a central plaza of Ohrid, I listened to the rhythmic declamation of a poet. The words flooded the sun-baked place and filled with magic the subdued conversations around the poet. Most of the people here were tourists who passed by him and continued their visit of the city. I approached and read from a hand-written sign that he was reciting traditional Macedonian poetry. He thanked briefly when I added a couple of coins to his box and looked directly at me. It was an intense gaze as blue as lake Ohrid. I will not forget that moment. 

Ohrid town

Day 77: Lin (Albania) - Ohrid (North Macedonia)

18 May               

36.71 km - 3:00 hours - 296 mꜛ

Today is a foggy day in Lin. I cannot see Lake Ohrid and cycling would be dangerous without the bike lights. But there is not much traffic and the sun rises over the fog before I arrive at the border crossing in Qafasan. Cycling down to Struga is a delightful experience, with the astounding views of the lake and the dense forests of poplars and oaks at Radohzda Park. 

From the road I see beautiful summer houses at Frangovo. I arrive in Struga, a well-known summer resort. I buy a SIM card, change my Albanian Lek for Macedonian Denar and buy sunscreen at the pharmacy. I have plenty of time today so I sit to have breakfast at one of the coffee-shop terraces near the lake. I am happy to discover a street sign around the corner with the name Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet who was poisoned by the regime of Augusto Pinochet. Neruda has certainly been one of the greatest literary voices of the Western canon and must have also struck a chord among Montenegrins.

Lake Ohrid from Struga

At the terrace I am presented with coffee and byurek, the Bulgarian and Macedonian form of the ever-present Turkish börek. It comes with sirene crumbly cheese (similar to Greek feta) and eggs. All this I learn from the employee who speaks English. North Macedonian language is a Slavic language, and it is close to Bulgarian. It is written with the Cyrillic script. The other official language is Albanian, spoken by a quarter of the North Macedonian population. 

I take up the lakeside road. Some kilometers later I see a familiar figure walking on the highway shoulder, with a guitar on the back. It is Nathan, who I met at Elbasan hostel. Now he is hiking in the Ohrid region. We chat for a few minutes and continue our ways. 

I arrive at Ohrid, the historic town on the Macedonian side of the lake, along the Via Egnatia. It is said that this city, the "Jerusalem of the Balkans", once had 365 churches, one for every day of the year. Ohrid has been a focus of cultural and political struggle since antiquity, with successive invasions by South Slavs, Bulgars, Byzantines, Normans, Serbians, Albanians, Ottomans and others. In the Battle of Ohrid (15 September 1464), the Albanian troops of the Skanderbeg defeated the Ottoman army, which represented a temporary check for the Turkish advances in the Balkans. 

It is warm now. I hire a bed in the Blue Lake Hostel shared room. The placid lake with its crystal-clear water is inviting. I find a nice spot under a big poplar with its leaves dancing to the breeze. I swim, I stay long time lazily in the water, I listen to the children playing around. They look like the poplar leaves. I think, I let time go. 

Visiting Ohrid with Nathan

I visit the busy center of the city and listen to the street musicians and artists. Nathan is now in Ohrid and he calls to meet up. We have a long walk in the Old Town, starting from the Chinar Tree near the Ali Pasha Mosque, on to the Old Bazaar Street, the Robevci Family House museum, the boardwalk on the lake and the Orthodox church of Saint John the Theologian. We end in one of the Turkish places and have a great dinner. Suddenly it starts raining and both of us part running under the shower. 

Boardwalk on the lake, Ohrid

Day 78: Ohrid - Bitola

19 May             

5.54 km - 5:00 hours - 695 mꜛ

The weather is unstable. It rains at times and everything is wet, with lots of puddles on the road. I stop to have a coffee in a bakery. When I start riding there is a thin drizzle that stops while I advance. 

The first section, about a half of the total distance, runs on the north-east direction up to a col and then southwards down to Resen through a very nice forest. The highway is rather calm and during long periods I am the only one riding on it. The narrow road runs along a stream with exquisite creeks joining it from time to time. The ascent is not so steep and I enjoy the views. 

On the way to Bitola

After Resen, near Lake Prespa, the highway is busier and is flanked by many apple orchards. The road goes up again, now to the east. After a hard pass in the forest the downhill gives a good break up to the plains of Bitola in the Pelagonia Valley. 

In Bitola I find a very nice apartment for a good price at Bogo's house. It is very quiet here, with trees and vineyards. Bogo is a young employee at an outsourcing company in Bitola with American companies as clients. He is married and they have an eight-month baby. He is well versed in the national literature and traditional music.

I am writing on the outside table. It is now a fine sunny afternoon even if there are still some threatening clouds coming from the west. I ask Bogo if I can share their dinner. He is going out to a concert and his father-in-law comes later carrying a tray with a great chicken with rice dinner. They don't want to accept my payment. 

I read that in the Ottoman period Bitola was known as the City of Consuls. By the early twentieth century there were consulates from twelve countries in this city. Its commercial and political importance attracted people from Greece, Bulgaria and Romania. The Turkish leader Mustafa Kemal Ataturk attended Bitola's prestigious military academy. 

I am eager to continue my way towards Greece.

Albania            Introduction            Greece