Απριλ 17, 2008:
"The region of Epirus in the northwest of Greece is the most mountainous region of the country, with mountains accounting for over 70% of the total extension, while valleys account for only 15%." Oops. I suppose it pays to do a little research before devising an itinerary based on a map pulled from the front of a phone book.
We rolled into Larissa early Sunday morning around 05:30. We said our farewells to Mathias (Matt), grabbed our bikes from the luggage car and hung around the train station breakfasting on Coke and potato chips until the sun rose around 07:00. We rode westward up the Pinios river towards Trikala, as the sun chased us from behind. The Thessalian Plain is the largest plain in Greece. It was similar to riding up the Fraser Valley, although not nearly so populated. We breakfasted (again, or shall I say brunched) in a small town called Farkadonas. Glass bottles of Fanta and Coke with hamburger and french fry sandwiches. Not very Greek you say? Oh, they were smothered in Tzatziki.
Having only slept a total of 5 hours over the past 2 nights (a night out on the town with Mathias in Athens, then a poor 1 hour of sleep on the midnight train to Larissa) I was bagged. We found a football stadium on the outskirts of town and fell asleep in amongst the bleachers. We awoke around 16:00 and pressed on to Trikala. Being Sunday, no grocery stores were open and we were in dire need of water and supplies. We found a mini-market (later to find out it was run by a kind middle-aged man who works there every day, even Christmas and "Pasqua") and made our standard purchase of beer, cola, eggs (for soup), water, bread and dolmates. We settled down on a couple of plastic crates outside the shop to sip (chug, rather - it was getting up near 30 C earlier that afternoon) our beer when a woman approached us inquiring about our bikes. Struggling to converse with little more than hand gestures and crude noises, a man came over to translate for us. Pleasantries were exchanged and the lady departed, leaving us with a bag of lettuce. The man was also taken aback upon hearing of our trip, and he invited us back into the shop to watch the Greek football championship with him and the shopkeep. With the ice cream cooler as our table, we feasted on complimentary cakes, beer and dolmates. We watched the sun set out the storefront windows, and suddenly remembered we had nowhere to sleep that night. Through some form of telepathy, Dimitris, our interpreter and beer donor, sensed our apprehension and offered his nearby flat as a place to crash. We graciously accepted.
At half-time we were swarmed by the local "bike gang" of 10 year olds outside the shop. Upon hearing we were Canadian looks of amazement washed over the faces of these kids, none of whom had even been to Larissa (60 odd kilometres down the valley highway). They quizzed us using their impressive, if a little broken, English on the details of our journey - what Canada was like, what kind of music we listen to (their favourites were Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Eminem, 50 Cent and Nate Dogg. I feel comfort in knowing that the gory details of street life in south central Los Angeles has permeated even the smallest corners of the planet), how much the bikes cost, and so on. After the game we retired to Dimitris' pad, met his mother, showered (fresh soap and towels), feasted on salad, broiled pork, mashed potatoes and wine and watched the world swimming championships on T.V. Dimitris was a wealth of information about highway conditions ahead ("very difficult for bike"), border crossings to Albania ("only two in Greece. Very difficult for bike") and local sightseeing ("very beautiful basilica, but very difficult for bike").
The next morning we thanked Dimitris and his mother profusely, and set off for Καλαμπακα (Kalabaka) and the geologic majestry of the Meteora region. It was all just so damn pretty we had to stop and camp, despite being only 30 km into our day. We exited the highway and followed a dirt track along a small river for a kilometre or so, then set up on a grassy spot along the river bank. That night we feasted on meatballs, rice, dolmates and locally home-brewed wine (readily available in plastic 1.5 L bottles at any of the multitude of roadside fruit stands) and had an out and out blazing fire using the bone dry wood snagged in the trees from last season's flooding.
We pedalled onwards the next morning under perfect conditions. The sun was heating up the valley already, and a slight tail wind was blowing. Scarcely having gained 50 m of elevation above sea level, we wondered what all the fuss was about Greece being mountainous. We soon found out. Less than 1 km from our campsite turnoff we started climbing. The tail wind did a 180. We climbed more. More. More, more, more. The Greeks know how to build roads though. They make use of river valleys, gradually grading the highway up the valleyside. Wherever possible, the highway will cut through the mountain peaks using the natural mountain passes. The Italians were funny that way. They built their towns quite literally on the tops of the mountains, then switchbacked the highway up the mountainside, through the town, and switchbacked down the otherside. Then repeat.
Anyway, we knew there was a major mountain pass up ahead, but our phonebook map was of little help in pinpointing its exact location and elevation. The air soon grew thinner. The sun made a hasty retreat. Gone were the verdant grasslands and chirping birds. Enter the pine forest, leafless deciduous and angry black clouds. The road, not one to be intimidated by such trivialities, bravely snaked its way upwards. Slowly and hesitantly we followed. Soon came the rain. Then the hail. Our freshly patched tubes had sprung leaks anew. Onwards we pressed, stopping only to reinflate our bulging tires. Through the hail squall a mirage appeared. A building! Shelter! Oh sweet salvation! We saw a sign that read "snow plow station" and our hopes were crushed. But wait! Another sign! Restaurant!! We abandoned the bikes on the lee side of the building and entered the quiet, warm ταβερνα. Choosing the table closest to the wood burning stove we set up shop to wait our the storm. Scarcely batting an eye at the exorbitant prices (well, okay, I batted an eye and admittedly was outraged) we ordered up. Greek coffee (a hideous concoction, really. Apparently the Greeks have not yet heard of filters. Must be good for digestion though, like those animals that eat pebbles and sand to help grind up the food in their stomachs), spinach pie, cheese pie and bean soup. Outside the hail was busy dimpling the exteriors of passing vehicles. Lo and behold the weather soon grew fair(er). Sated, we made our exit, jumped back on our trusty (if a little peeved at being left out in the cold) steeds and pedalled on.
Seven km up the road from the restaurant we finally caught a glimpse of the pass. We had done it! The GPS showed 1700 m elevation. Essentially all of that gain was over the last 30 km. We emerged into the gap of the pass and were blasted by a vicious cross wind. Then came the hail and the snow. In 5 minutes there was nearly an inch on the ground. The horizontal hail was stinging our faces. A sign read "Welcome to Epirus". Yes, welcome indeed. We pressed on, walking, as the wind was so strong it would blow us over sideways. We made about 20 m headway when an RV driven by a kind-hearted German couple (and their 3 children) pulled over and offered us a lift. Perhaps the cold was numbing my though processes, but I wanted to decline and brave the pass to the end. One look at Ainaz' face and tomato-red cheeks and I caved. We loaded the bikes into the storage compartment and entered the firey warmth of the camper. They drove us 12 km down the highway (past the roadside ski hill) into the beautiful mountain town of Metsovo. We picked up some supplies and rode along the cobbled streets to the outskirts of town, pitched our tent on a knoll behind a small church and called it a day. The hail raged on through the night, and in the morning we were greeted by a healthy blanket of ice on our tent.
From Metsovo the road was pleasant. Lots of ups and downs, but no more white stuff. We find ourselves now on the shores of Lake Pamvotida in the university town of Ιοαννινα (Ya-ninna). We're about 60 km from the border with Albania which we hope to cross tomorrow (?). The goal for today is to find out how, and if, this is possible. We plan to do a train/bike combo tour of Albania and Montenegro before getting back to our original itinerary in Dubrovnik, Croatia. Apparently Albania had a half-million guns go unaccounted for after the Balkan crisis in the mid-nineties - an interesting tidbit of information Ainaz reminds me of hourly. That, and that cross-country trains (to Dubrovnik, for example) are very cheap in this part of the world.
As this may be our last Greek entry, I'll leave a quick summary:
Greece has been amazing. It is everything we wanted from Italy but didn't get. Great food, kind and generous people, challenging but rewarding biking and interesting towns. I guess it's really just the people that have made all the difference. For anyone planning on cycling Italy (southern Italy, anyway), don't bother. Come to Greece instead. You could spend months here.
The Greek alphabet is really fun. Once you learn the basic letters, reading words is like cracking a really simple code. We read like little kids, sounding out the letters one by one. Often, the word that comes out is very similar to english or italian, or is pretty much self explanatory: πιτσα (pitsa, or pizza), ΕΞΟΔΟΣ (exodus, or exit), τοστ (tost, or toast), πατατεσ (patates, potatoes) etc.
Αντιο σας,
Ροβιν
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