Introduction
Greece
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| 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 ancientexistence?
Day 79: Bitola (North Macedonia) - Edessa (Greece)
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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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).
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| 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).
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| 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.
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| 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
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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
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| Kavala |
Day 83: Kavala - Komotini
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| 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).
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Crowded Peace Square cafés |
Day 84: Komotini - Alexandroupoli
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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
