Cybercafe ClickXL, Tripoli, 07-01-07
Olympia to Sparti (Paleologio) (3 cycle days; 2 rest days; 233km; 2816m)
There is frost on the ground this morning, my teeth chatter and fingers ache as we dive down from the mountains around Olympia. Still, it is beautifully clear and the sun promises some warmth. We weave in and out of small villages, often at the top of a steep hill. Old women clad in black with aprons and scarves confirm that the stereotyped image does exist. Old men saunter up and down the township roads, often stopping at a bench to rest the legs and catch a bit of sun. The countryside up until now, has not been particularly interesting nor exceptionally pretty. It's all very rural. Of course, there are those moments when the sun glistens on the thousands of lemon coloured sour sops in leafy green olive groves and you get that warm kind of fuzzy feeling but it doesn't take long before reality kicks back in. You find yourself in a confusion of dumped cars and messy farmlet frontages. But the negative side stops there because the people in Greece are just so friendly. We are overwhelmed at their humble nature, politeness and absolute sincerity.

It appears to be business as usual on January 1, but the roads are plenty quiet enough. Apart from the early morning hills, it's flat all the way to Filiatra, where we take a minor road that sends us up and down some short, but very steep gradients. We are close to the coast. Apparently there are two campsites open in Gialova (106km; 653m), 6kms north of Pylos. This turns out not to be true; only one is. But it doesn't matter because the search for the beachfront pitch is over. We both feel at home immediately in the friendly surroundings and the rather outdated facilities go unnoticed, when we gaze out across the bay and watch the sun go down.

The next morning the campsite manager brings us a handful of mandarins and they are really good. Citrus fruit is in season and lining the roadsides are farmers with 10kg bags for 6 euros and less of the best navels you've ever sunk you teeth into. Juicy, firm, sweet and full of flavour and a perfect thirst and energy quencher for a hard innings cycling. Today however, we are resting and as per usual there's the all the usual mundane chores to complete. The plan to ride into Pylos is abandoned, due to rain and it's decided that we'll spend another day in this relaxed spot. Out of the blue that evening, we wake to gale force storms and by one o'clock in the morning, Ali is holding the tent in place with all his might. It is immediately concluded that we have to put extra guy ropes out. This proves a very good decision when it buckets down and blows with an intensity that we haven't yet experienced. Thank goodness, we stay warm and dry in the tent and if we may say it again, another pat on the back to Helsport. We both marvel the next day at how sturdy the whole construction is, especially considering only half the lines are out. Can't imagine what sort of force would blow the thing down with all the ropes fastened. Ali heads into town after breakfast, to update the site and do some shopping while I type away and load up the batteries. Tomorrow: Kalamata and by the looks of it we'll be blown the whole way into town.

It's icy cold in the mornings, so we rise a little later today, hoping that the sun will be out when we begin riding. The journey to Kalamata (61km; 611m) looks like a reasonably easy one. We start climbing immediately, which is always a little challenging after a few days of rest. On the minor road, it's tranquil except for a handful of cars, one truck and the occasional sound of chainsaws trimming the olive branches after the picking season. Small smoke plumes can be seen dotted all over the countryside from the fires burning the discarded wood. Goats, very scared of two cyclists, are herded past us by local farmers and the world looks very picturesque today. That is, until we reach Messini, 5 km from Kalamata. There's an airport and lots of factories on one side and gypsy camps on the other. Rubbish is scattered everywhere. We continue on towards our destination, stopping at a Champion store for supplies, and then head out of town along the first touristy beach frontage we have seen on the Peloponnese. Compared with the Europe we have just experienced, everything is such small-scale here. And I can't tell you how pleasant that is.

The campsite in mind turns out to be defunct for at least 2 years, according to a very talkative road worker. We question the reliability of internet and turn back to a possible sighting on the outskirts of town. Luckily, it is open, quaint but somewhat ramshackle. The facilities haven't seen a cleaner in a very long time and it's a good thing that there's no-one around to collect any money for our stay. We want to rise early the next day; need to tackle the Taygetos mountain range as we want to reach a town close to Sparti.

While following Ali through Kalamata, I hope with all my heart that the roads get better. They are really narrow and covered in potholes. Just like the day before, we begin the climb as soon as we leave town and it's all up for more than one and a half hours. As we round a bend at 456 metres high, we sight the hairpinned drop ahead and plummet below to 250 metres, where we eagerly stop for lunch. With energy once again in the legs, we embark on the next 3.5 hours of hard climbing to a peak of 1348m. It is 4 pm and by that stage no more than 3 degrees. Snow has lined the roads for about 5 km or so and we have the warm gloves and fleecy sweaters ready for the descent in store. If we thought the Picos (Spain) were beautiful, this area is ten-fold that. You encounter an almighty force that nature smacks you in the face with. It's stunning. I become conscious to how tiny man is against this amazing grandeur. Breathtaking stuff. Really.

And, so is the drop into the valley below. It is a 45 minute, downhill nose-dive and is sadly interrupted buy a couple of loose, annoying canines, who won't let us pass, without suggesting that they will use their teeth. And just as the saying echoes, "once bitten, twice shy"; I'm petrified. Especially at the young aggressive bull massive in front of me. We stop and they stop their advances, though continue to threaten with their barking. Somehow and after several minutes, they veer to the side and appear to let us through. I cycle on, but then they make a dash again for Ali and he has to stop. A passing car sees what's going on and shields him through the danger, though the dogs are still following at full speed. The car remains behind us until all seems safe and we thank them as they move on. We also need to make a move, as it's getting late and we continue our journey through an awe-inspiring landscape of rocks and snow-capped mountains. Upon entering the outskirts of Sparti, we ride alongside the mountain range that we have just come down from. It looks so big and I can hardly believe that I actually made it to the top. There you go, anything is achievable.

We make it into the outskirts of Sparti (66km; 1552m) in enough time to grab a few things for dinner that night. Not long after that we are greeted with a beautiful smile and warmest welcome from the campsite owner as we ride into Camping Paleologio Mystras. He even comes to the door before we've got off our bikes. We can camp anywhere and after a short debate over where to set up camp, we choose a spot close to the amenities block. We are totally alone here. It's very, very cold in the tent and the pub is very, very warm. Goes without saying where we spend the both evenings of our stay. Luckily, the ouzo gives us enough courage to venture back out into the elements each night.

Sonya Run: trying to stay warm in Sparti Greece

On a more general note, although we haven't yet experienced Athens, so far, riding in Greece is sheer pleasure in comparison to what we came up against in Italy and especially Spain. Their major road on the Peloponnese: the dual carriageway, is merely two lanes with very wide shoulders. Slow moving traffic uses the shoulders to allow the faster vehicles to pass. What's more, it's all achieved with a gentlemanly demeanor. We are treated like anyone else on the road and while climbing up some of the not so well maintained streets, traffic sits patiently behind us and waits until there is ample room to overtake. We get nods of admiration, beeps and waves, flashing headlights and even a group of young lads on scooters give us the hand of approval. But the nicest gesture yet, is the man who whizzed passed us, in his little red Renault, wrenched on his handbrake and jumped out of his car to give us a bag of oranges. We are really touched and it's these moments when you know why you are doing this. Most of all, we are glad that the instinctive feeling we both had, when stepping off the boat in Patra, is true. Greece is a rewarding cycling land and the people are fantastic.

Arcade Internet, Athens, 17-01-07
Sparti to Athens (4 cycle days; 4 rest days; 248km; 2399m)
The tent is covered with ice this morning and it is really hard work getting the body started. Consequently, it takes us considerably longer than usual to get moving but nonetheless we are on the road before 10am and are cheerfully waved out by the campsite owner. Have to halt a few kilometres further on to get my winter gloves out because my fingers are truly aching with cold. It doesn't take long though, before we and the world both warm up and then it is off with the long pants, extra layers and recently donned gloves. I find the road to Tripoli to be one of those rather irritating climbs. It seems to never end and while not at all steep, it is still proves hard work. We are a novelty on the road today and everyone toots and waves in the most friendly fashion. The landscape moves from luscious green to barren limestone rock faces. The sand also turns red in places and I imagine that the Greeks that have immigrated to Australia, didn't have much difficulty feeling at home with the countryside. Australia has a large population of Greeks and Italians and prior to this, I could never quite understand the monstrous stone and marble villas they would build in the middle of suburbia, complete with sculptured lions guarding each side of the wrought iron fence. Travelling through Italy and Greece has definitely put this into perspective for me.

We make a fast 5km dive into a valley of completely different nature. It's patch worked with a variety of greens and totally flat. Local produce is for sale the complete length of road into Tripoli (61km; 1007m), but for a change, we don't need to stop for supplies, as we plan to rest in a hotel tonight. There's not a campsite in the region and we consider it time for a lavish splurge.

We discover that the cheapest double room is 50 euros. It does have an en-suite bathroom though and we take it. We spend hours in the shower, watch some not very stimulating television, get heat exhaustion from the abnormally high set central heating system and itchy feet, so we venture outside to see what the town has on offer. We do a complete circle, pass hoards of packed, show-off lounge bars (not somewhere to venture in with our clothing and anyway, totally not our scene); oodles of very up to date fashion shops; some not so modern varieties; mouthwatering bread and cake fare; and then we eventually find ourselves back at the square we first started. There is an ouzo bar with a larger selection of scotch and bourbon than anything else but it does have a few boutique beers from Belgium. That suits us and we relax over a couple, before making our way to the local restaurant next to the massive donut and coffee bar across the street from our hotel. American tradition has made it's way this far inland. We order several vegetarian meze dishes and are pleasantly surprised by some and a little disappointed by the ones that came out of a tin. Still, it was quite delicious and reasonably priced; 30 euros including drinks and besides, our stomachs were satisfied. We amble the 50 metres back to the hotel and prepare everything for another update at an earlier spotted internet cafe in the "soho" of Tripoli. Ali ventures out and I lay in a sleepy daze until he returns.

The next morning the "up and down" the elevator with bags confirms that we actually like camping better than staying in a hotel room. We are on the road as early as possible and only have a short trip to Mykines (69km; 426m). Getting out of town was flat and easy. We start climbing and then dive the distance back down again. The views are spectacular over an olive-groved valley with train tracks and roads winding through it. Limestone rock faces guide us further as we ascend and bit by bit, we can see the valley we will soon enter with exhilaration below. It is well and truly a drop and half way down we stop to rest the fingers and enjoy the magnificent view. As we bask delightfully in the sun, munch on cracked pepper, cream cheese and sundried tomato sandwiches, we watch a truck painstakingly lumber up the pass we have just fallen from. We can see exactly where we need to go and after a stop at a Dia Discount Store in Argos, it is plain sailing to Mykines.

The campsite Mycanae is open all year round. It would have to be the most bizarre, eclectic, and friendliest campsites yet. While they owners treat you like special guests, with continual fruit and produce from their farm, there is a considerable lack of hot water and the plastic flower arrangements in the eighties erected amenities block don't hide the fact that have yet to see their first renovation. Still, it didn't stop us from spending 4 nights there. I even had an ice cold shower while washing my hair on one sunny afternoon, which is really pushing the "Sonya Irritability Factor". I think I mentioned that it was sunny!

We visited the archeological site with the Lion Gate, which brags being Europe's oldest monumental sculpture (3500 years old). It was all quite amazing to see and the museum was full of wonderful specimens and explanation. Conversely, it looks as if they haven't moved a tool in sections, cordoned off areas have fallen posts and it is in quite a disarray. Additionally, the toilet facilities are an absolute disgrace. Not because they are filthy; that is a foregone conclusion in Greece, but the evidence that someone has replaced the run-out toilet paper and done absolutely nothing else!

We retreat back to a similarly run campsite that afternoon and discuss our plans for the next couple of days. Ali really wants to go to Stefani, which is 857m up a hill. It's a place that he visited for a family wedding in 1973 and again in 1974. He longs to know if the memories that he has are true or not and with a little egg on from me, he decides he'll make the journey. The next day, after a good breakfast, thanks to the delicious bread in Greece, he ventures the 55 kilometres and 1100 altimeters without me. In total contrast, I sit peacefully by the tent with the laptop, after doing the washing and a few sewing chores. He arrives back earlier than I expect; full of stories and energy of the days events. The telescope his astronomer cousin worked with, still exists, though now in poor condition; the rock faces weren't as high as he had imagined; the cobbled roads, that only donkeys could tackle are now bituminous; several herders dogs threatened him along the way and an old man who is apparently related to the wife of his cousin invited him in the local pub for an iced coffee. We had already planned to visit to Nafplio, while descending to the coast a few days prior. So, on our last day we venture out into a sea of orange groves. I have never heard of the Greek Orange, but I tell you it exists. And in an abundance like I've never seen. Furthermore, they are delicious! We climb the 910 steps to the castle in the township and our calves are still aching 3 days later. All that exercise on a bike and still there are muscles that you don't use. Unbelievable!

We leave the campsite with extra large oranges, a barrage of goodbyes and best wishes from the owners and Gilles, the French artist, also on bicycle, but going in the other direction. The night before last we looked through his curiously and personally perspectived water paintings of his travels so far. Makes me want to do something more as far as my artwork is concerned. Hopefully the time and the headspace soon in Istanbul.

Anyway back to the cycling thing: today, the sun is with us yet again, which makes the trip pleasant enough and especially if you don't look down. The rubbish is abominable here and it beats me, why anyone would want to irreparably foul-up such a beautiful countryside with all this plastic. Also, we frequently have to stop due to the increasing number of stray dogs. Even the beasts with an owner can't be trusted. In and around Athens they are lurking in packs at every intersection, abandoned petrol station or car park. Very, very annoying. Still, we arrive at Kineta (64km; 525m) safe and sound and even after inhaling the not so enjoyable fumes from the oil refineries lining the coast around Sousaki. It's 2.30 and we contemplate doing the extra 55km or so into Athens but choose to sit here. The winds have just picked up enough to put extra guy ropes on the tent and besides it is Friday afternoon.

Looking forward to a hot shower after Mycanae, I am bitterley disappointed to learn that the ablution blocks are the worst maintained I have ever seen and are on a par with those in Mazagon in Spain that I warned you about in earlier chapters. I definitely don't consider washing my hair here. Rather distressed, I don't know where to stand and apprehensively pick the slime covered shampoo container and soap wrapper and hurl them outside the cubicle. Two hooks are supplied on a tiled wall that has never seen the right side of a scrubbing brush in it's life. Only my towel and underwear can hang here. The rosette is totally rusted and clogged so that the random spurts from the eight freed holes have the tendency to wet not only you but everything else inside as well. Still it's better than the cubicle next door in the gents that has no rosette at all! I do most of my undressing next to the tent and the other clothing I shed in public and drop on a patch of floor I deem cleaner than the rest. I swear and curse during the whole ordeal and Ali thinks I'm over-exaggerating (which, I admit, I am able to do quite competently) However, I have to laugh when I see him gingerly step out from the Ladies shower area. On perusal of the Gents, it is perfectly apparent, why.

We leave a little disgruntled at having to pay 12 euros for basically sod-all, but it is verified that the words hygiene and maintenance are not regularly exercised here in Greece. Luckily the campsite owner in Athens is of a completely different character. He is meticulous in keeping the grounds clean and tidy and I have to strongly disagree with Lonely Planet's comments about "reasonable facilities but nothing else going for it". I can't imagine what more you could ask for from a campsite so conveniently situated; 7 km and a 50 cent bus ride from the centre of 4 million head population. The place is the cleanest and houses the best amenities we have come across yet in Greece. While you can't deter from the fact that it's right on the main road, but then name a capital city campsite that isn't, you can still enjoy sitting amongst the olive trees, palms and other evergreens inhabited by various species of birds and insects. Not bad at all!

The ride into Athens (54km; 441m) reminds me of the ride into Barcelona. Winding coastal roads amidst industry. The night before we had stormy winds and light rains and today is not much better. There's no telling which way the wind will blow. If it comes from behind, then you can ride like the clappers without using a muscle. In contrast, it's difficult keeping you and your bike on the road when being blown head-on. The Agean Sea is steel-grey, as are the clouds in the sky. The darkness is broken occasionally by a few rays of sunshine managing their way through the dense cover. It's cold. We enter Elefsina, a town north-west of Athens and notice the traffic is getting busier. It is fronted with very modern shops and remarkably clean compared with the last kilometres. I hope it's a sign of things to come. We soon find ourselves on a six and sometimes eight laned highway with a decent shoulder for most of the way into Athens. Traffic is congested but not too bad. Trucks divert round us and we literally have the first lane to ourselves. The biggest hiccup of the day is crossing the road to get to the campsite. There is an obvious lack of traffic lights and motorists do not recognize pedestrian crossings in Greece, so it took a while venturing out over eight lanes.

We venture the city in the next day; to do the Acropolis thing. We decide to walk from the bus-stop through town and take a street that ends up leading us through the junkie and prostitute area. If the grimey sights of a disregarded and broken down city from the bus window weren't enough to depress you, then this would. I just can't believe that there are so many down and strung out people congregated in one area. I don't feel threatened but totally uncomfortable and incredibly sad. As we make our way to the tourist area, everything starts to clean itself up and if you stay in the centre, you could leave Athens never knowing what chaos awaits in the outskirts. The Parthenon is now probably better viewed from a history book as scaffolding covers a large percentage of it. The monumental size is obviously something you can only experience in the flesh. We cover a bit of mileage before retreating to the tent in the late afternoon.

Two days of rest have followed. Well I say rest, but I actually mean bike and general maintenance, site updates, translations and all this in our shorts and sandals. At long last, the days are getting warmer and longer and that's just fine by us. A campers life is so much easier when the sun shines.

This will be our last long stop until Istanbul; which we hope to reach within 3 weeks. (1st week of February) Then a new chapter will really start.

E-Global, Thessaloniki, 27-01-07
Athens to Thessaloniki (6 cycle days; 1 rest day; 583km; 5595m)
We stay an extra day in Athens after arriving at the National Archeological Museum early in the afternoon, only to find that it shuts at 3pm. Trusty guide book once again wrong! Still, it was worth the early rise the next day. An amazing collection of monumental carving and treasures and my love of sculpture is rekindled. I stand open-mouthed in awe at the beauty and craftsmanship of each piece I see.

Athens to Aliartos (88km; 1180m) is one of those horrendously draining rides. We first battle the road out of the city in early morning peak hour, contend with a few mongrels along the way and when we finally find ourselves in a more country-like landscape, the winds begin to blow. And boy, do they blow. I am thrown across the road a couple of times and then almost completely over, that I believe it is safer to push the bike along the side of the road. I am pissed off that, yet again, I am defeated. Just not strong enough, but then I see Ali being pushed around as well and I don't feel so inadequate. He also gets off and pushes. We travel like this, up a highway, for numerous kilometres. Our speedometre measures 26% gradients due to the blustery conditions and although this is not true we still had an average climb of 4% that day, with a maximum of 13%. To make matters worse, I have these annoying cramps in my stomach and it doesn't dawn on us until later that it was probably the tap water in Athens. That night we ditch it and buy some quality mineral stuff and the cramps subside by the next day.

We have pushed our way through many a different landscape today and at around 3pm, we call it a day. Exhausted, we take a simple (the only) hotel room for 45 euros and before showering, Ali dances around the room a little; as you do when you have a hotel bed after camping for so long. I notice that his body is looking similar to that of a hellenic god and with my renewed passion for sculpture, I almost tell him to hold that pose while I find a lump of clay from somewhere. I'm totally beat though and the moment passes without action. After a cold dinner, we snuggle into our separate beds for a night of mind-numbing television. The news is that the whole of Europe is under a storm and the winds that we experienced were not half as bad as in The Netherlands, England or Germany. We count our lucky stars that we weren't travelling there, where up to 200km winds were recorded. The quiz shows keep us amused for a short time while we try and figure out how the game works and what the dickens they are saying. Not long before we are both sound asleep.

It is 6.30am; dark and cold outside; warm inside; and I really don't want to get out of bed. Ali neither. But we do. My legs are still shattered from the day before and it takes its toll on my riding capabilities today. I have no push left in me what so ever. Ali thinks I'm putting it on. He even gets off and rather sarcastically, pushes his bike in front of me at one stage. To rub salt into my wounds, I could only just keep up and it is only gradients of 3% or so. I'm totally deflated and feel like giving this whole thing up. The only consolation is the amazingly beautiful weather and stunning countryside. Gives me something else to concentrate on while Ali becomes increasing frustrated with my lack of riding ability. We arrive at the campsite just outside of Delphi (74km; 1117m), early enough to enjoy the warm sun for a few hours and to call a truce over the days events. Directly after dinner, I can't keep my eyes open and lie down for an intended couple of minutes. It's only 8.30pm. My next conscious thought is at 9.30am the following day and I am totally oblivious to what has happened in the in between hours.

Today, we take advantage of the 23 degree weather and wander around the Delphi ruins. It's more beautiful than anything we have seen so far. If you are intending to visit any archeological sites, then this one is a must. The museum also attractively displays the treasures and sculptural marvels in a spacious and well lit environment. Unlike the overwhelming expansiveness of the Athens Museum, it's well chosen pieces give a great overview of Greek cultural antiquity. A little tip: Sunday is the day to visit as it costs you nothing to get into most places.

We wander back towards to campsite, to find the neighbours leaving. They stop the car, wave furiously and "chow" enthusiastically as they drive away. We never even met them officially and apart from the lady in the supermarket in Delphi, people really are friendly and extremely social here.

Late that afternoon and in line with the weather, we have a spring-clean of our bags and a few kilos are discarded. Night falls with the most spectacular skies and there must be at least a trillion visible stars. An owl is hooting in a not too distant tree and Ali mimics him to a tee. As I walk back from doing the dishes, I can't tell the difference between the real thing and the impersonator, until the latter puts his arms around me and hugs me.

The rest day was apparently well received because the trip to Stylida (107km; 1231m) was relatively easy. Admittedly it wasn't steep and there weren't the winds we had recently experienced. We initially drop 10 kms from Delphi into the valley before having to climb again for a good couple of hours. It was mountain terrain, with breathtaking views; very warm going up, but coming down required a zipped up jacket with a couple of layers underneath. We are beeped at, saluted and even the police put their siren on for a second or two while waving us encouragingly on. The attention always puts a smile on your face. The 5-6km drop into Gravia is nothing compared to the 14km downhill glide into the golden patch worked valley on the outskirts of Lamia. Mind you, we have to ascend out of Gravia for a while before reaping this reward. The roads, up until now, have been pleasant enough to cycle on and in really good condition. Unfortunately, the last kilometres of the day are along highway madness and the roadworks don't help the situation at all. You become completely brain-dead from concentrating so hard at staying on or close to the white line on the side of the road, dodging blown truck tyres and vehicle debris, fallen witches hats, dead animals and inconveniently placed cat-eyes. There is the constant drone of trucks braking and frantically shifting down through their gears as they close in behind you and wait until there is room to pass. And, of course, there is the fleeting moment of ambiguity while secretly hoping they have timed it alright. We diverge from the unremitting flow and stop for supplies at a supermarket in Stylida. I wander aimlessly around the supermarket in a total daze for a number of minutes before realizing where I am and what I'm supposed to be doing. Campsite is a few kilometres on and the substandard facilities a real disappointment. Our potato and broccoli curry that evening was not.

The comfort of the sleeping bags is hard to leave today. It's very cold and the mist has set in around us. Tent is sopping wet and is packed that way. After yesterday, we opt for some country lanes and the trip develops into another climbing adventure. We plan to camp at a site 17 kilometres further on from Volos, but our plans are ditched, when the road sign distances don't match that of our map. We are using a Road Editions Greece (complete) 1: 500,000 after discovering we would need to buy four 1: 250,000 maps at 8 euros a pop to complete an approximately 10 cycle day tour through to Turkey. It is not the first time that the map's inaccuracies have had unwished for consequences. Anyway, it is 1.30 pm, we have done 50 km and the 42km we thought we needed to complete, has now become 72km. There's not a hope in the world of reaching our destination and especially when we gaze at the 250m pass in store for us. Looks as though another hotel room is on the cards tonight.

Proud of myself: cycling accident without too much damage

We slip down into Sourpi unharmed, thanks to the timely passing of a dark blue Audi, and not into the jaws of the three aggressive farmyard dogs. We venture on a bit further into Almyros (76km; 921m) and find a somewhat luxurious hotel for the bargain price of 40 euros. There's room on the balcony to dry the tent and we find ourselves watching the same quiz-show from two days ago. It soon finishes and a desperate last zap of the remote control results in shouts of glee from both of us as we sing along to the Simpson's theme song. We sit back to enjoy an episode we have not yet seen.

The owner shakes Ali's hand on departure the next day and waves us goodbye with genuine sincerity from the hotel's back door. Pretty overcome from the last couple of days riding, it's a hard start for me. There's a service road almost as wide as and running the complete length of the highway. It's a welcomed change and makes for plain sailing. We are both warmed up by lunchtime and a tailwind helps us coast along in fine form. As we turn it becomes more of a side wind and I find it incredibly hard to stay on the road. For Ali, it's not as difficult and he becomes once again, exasperated at my inability to keep up. Although I'm sure it hasn't slipped his attention, I explain that I am a girl and even though I wish it was the contrary, my strength cannot rival his. After fighting my way into Larissa, we turn and the wind is advantageous once more. We pass along unforgotten factories and buildings which lead us straight onto a major highway. No-one seems to mind and there are no signs to say we can't cycle here. You can really make some mileage on this sort of road. The shoulder is super wide and no-one comes near us. They don't have to; there's another three lanes for them to use. It ends after 10 kms or so at Tembi and we are waved on through a toll point by the same police that whizzed passed us a couple kilometres back. We don't have to pay anything. It's a bit of a climb ahead and the road is narrow and frequent traffic, especially trucks. Still everyone is considerably patient and it is not much of an ordeal. As we head towards the coast, winds pick up and so does our speed. At some stages we reach a record 40kms/hour on the flat. It is like being on one of those fast rides at the Royal Show and just as thrilling. Though, thrilling it is not when it changes direction. Laughter then turns into screams as you lose all control of your bike.

We are only a few kilometres from the supposed campsite but as we enter a ghost town tourist resort, we know in our hearts that there won't be a campsite open here. And we are right. On a more positive point, it is a sad, gloomy and totally uninviting area, so it wouldn't have been much fun anyway. We move on further, but still no luck. We pass hotel, after guesthouse, after campsite but everything is shut. No-one in sight either. The desolation makes us feel a little desperate, coupled with the fact that there is a really full-on storm brewing. Cycling against the wind is almost impossible. The sun is well and truly going down as we enter Leptokaria (140km; 779m). We ask several locals before eventually landing on the doorstep of a hotel that is open. This, staying in hotels, is getting to be a bit of a habit.

It was not hard to sleep well this evening and we reluctantly crawl out of bed again the next day. Thessaloniki (98km; 367m) is the destination today and I wonder how I will actually make it. My backside and thighs are still sore from yesterday. The turning point comes, when Ali stops at a Kantina (like the ozzie pie cart or hamburger stand) and orders two coffees. It was only Nescafe, but it did the trick and we zoom on into town, miraculously end up on the right street which leads directly to our hotel: Akropol. Rooms okay, facilities not that clean but it's comfortable, we have a weak internet connection and a plentiful supply of electricity. That'll keep us occupied for a few days.

On the dog front...
Just as my last wound finally disappears from my ankle, a loose doberman, (still can't get my head around that concept), in Thessaloniki, lashes out at my calf. Luckily, the bus behind me is a bigger threat to him and he stops midway. And this is not the only dog incident of the day. Along the service road about 50km into the trip, another canine won't let us pass on foot or on bike. In my recent experience, the saying "a barking dog never bites" is a total load of hogwash and this beast looks really aggressive. We soon realize that even the owner can't control his pet, (if you can call that a pet) and much to his distaste we resort to stone throwing. "Control your dog old man and we won't throw stones!". Besides, it appears to be a measure that works with this particular animal. I make up my mind, right there and then, to purchase a Dazer. And oh boy, I can't wait to use the Ctr-Alt-Delete button on all breeds, all sizes, and all ferocities.

Mavi Guesthouse [website], Istanbul, 08-02-07
Thessaloniki to Alexandroupoli (4 cycle days; 343km; 2198m)
Winds are blowing furiously as we leave Thessaloniki, after a relaxing few days. It's icy cold and a few hundred metres down, or I should say up, the road, I have to stop and put the winter gloves on. Ali seems to have no difficulty but I battle my way on and thank goodness we soon take the turn off to greener and quieter pastures. The side wind is now in our favour and we storm past iced puddles and lots of barking dogs; mostly chained up which pleases me immensely. A welcomed bus stop in the sun, shelters us from the winds while we eat our lunch, but it is still bitterly cold and immediately the sustenance is inside we are on the bikes again.

There are two very large lakes (Koronia and Volvi) on our left side and in front of some quite spectacular mountains. The alternate route, the highway runs precisely along the bottom. The cold gets the better of us and we stop at a Kantina near Peristeronas for a hot coffee. English is not the owners forte, but with hands and feet and the help of big world map taped to the wall of the pot-belly warmed cabin, we communicate our travel plans. "Krio. Krio" is all the woman can keep saying and she is right. It's very cold and although it's difficult leaving the cosy environment we hit the road again. Our destination today is uncertain. The campsite may not be open and as we enter Asprovolta (91km; 480m), we begin to question as to whether we'll get a warm shower tonight or not. It's Sunday, and one small supermarket is open, but we decide that it's better to try and find the campsite first. At least 6km out of town, we approach a seemingly deserted camping area. It's full of cats sunning themselves and chained dogs going bananas at us. To my amusement, they go so beserk that they almost hang themselves on their tethers.

No-one appears to be home and we search for a flat spot somewhere in the sun. Ali ventures back into town for supplies and I protect the tent from all the curious and hungry cats and dogs. The owner suddenly appears and I'm told it's 12 euros/night. I give her my passport as bond. Shortly, Ali returns with bare minimum as the supermarket is now closed, but It's enough for today and breakfast tomorrow. Our earlier question about a hot shower is soon answered; even after inquiring about the lack of hot water and then waiting a further hour for it to warm up, I still freeze to what I deem as almost death, as I wash myself. I make a teeth chattering dash from the showers, followed by a survival dive into the tent for warm relief. Besides being on a bit of a slope, we are kept awake all night long, with the incessant barking of the strays in the paddock next to us. Between them and the dogs on the campsite, Camping Achilles must have a total of fifteen or so of these not at all friendly beasts chained to trees twenty-four-seven.

The next morning is cold but the sun is out again. We leave around nine to a symphony of barking canines. Following the coast line, we are entertained by an overwhelming abundance of bird life as well as the beauty of the sheer drop rock faces that lead directly down to an aqua Aegean Sea. The roads are in particularly good shape, though busy at times, due to an unfinished section of highway. We have our sights set on reaching Near Karvali (93km; 556m) today and apart from the cold winds, it's not a difficult ride into Kavala which is approximately 12km before our pitching place. What is more of a problem, is our increasing frustration with one and others personal goals. I want to stop regularly to film and just take in the atmosphere and Ali wants to keep on moving. My pace is slower than his and my choice of image differs from what he would choose, hence we want to pause in different places. I understand fully, that it's frustrating for him. Almost an under-achievement in a way and I try to compensate as best I can but I can't completely curb my urge to capture what intrigues me most. Reality and the mundane interest me, even if it means catching hold of the darker side of life. That's just me. Ali, on the other hand is the eternal optimist. They say opposites attract, don't they?

Kavala is a pleasant seaside township with a majestic aqua duct at the top of the hill and plenty of modern facilities. Nea Karvali, on the other hand, is unpleasantly industrial and its entrance is lined with a toxic smelling sulphur industry. The township is small and rather ramshackle, as is the campsite in the winter. It costs 10 euros to set up our tent and then we are informed there is no hot water. I ask myself how they have the nerve to ask for any money at all. The owner, somewhat guilty, tries to compensate with two pieces of her town-renouwned pizza wrapped up in alfoil. It has beef on it and sadly, ends up in our rubbish bin. We talk for a long time over the trip in general and Ali is on the verge of giving it up. Surprisingly, I'm more than convinced I want to continue and believe we have to both find a solution to our differences and stubbornness. The debate goes on for a long time and as darkness falls we move discussion to inside the tent. Differences appear to be resolved and the following months will truly tell. The 93 km day and heavy talks help sleep come easily.

Both fresh in mind and with renewed enthousiasm after the last night's conversations, we depart at our usual time of nine o'clock. Everything goes as per normal, packing half the bags, eating breakfast and drinking coffee inside the tent, making sandwiches for the road, packing the rest of the bags, pulling down the tent, loading the bikes, cleaning the teeth and filling the water bottles. We are on the road for just over an hour and as we round a bend at a military camp near Paradisos on the road to Xanthi, we bump into two other cyclists: Simon and Pierre-Yves. They are heading in the same direction as us and so without a word of confirmation we automatically become a band of four for the next few days.

It's really great to cycle in a group. You feel stronger and safer, especially on busy highways and dogs certainly look twice before attacking a convoy of four bikes. But most of all it's just great to have some other company around with the same interests and experiences under the belt as you. I also enjoy the slower pace that these two guys travel at. The day passes really quickly and after a stint of highway, long stretches of nature reserve, Porto Lagos and acres of cotton farming country, we find a perfect camping spot under a bridge near Pagouria (91km; 337m). There's a lot to talk about and despite the cold, we sit outside, chatting in general and exchanging travel stories till sleep takes over.

The next day, it is decided that we'll try out the minor roads. It takes us through farmland and then several dirt roads. We have to stop and ask for directions or at least debate which road to take on a regular basis. I generally stay out of the discussion and use the valuable time to get some filming in. We finally reach bitumen again in Xylagani, where the township men are amused to see four cyclists coming through. A few of them speak German and so Ali has a good ol' chin wag. It's goodbyes and well wishes from everyone as we cycle out and on to the second stint of our journey. It is only up or down, through beautiful scenery and very green hillsides. Roads are really good here. We climb a long, straight hill and all need a rest at the top, so we break for something to eat. A sweet and harmless local dog, nicknamed Bobbie by Simon, keeps us entertained over our lunch. The sun is shining and it's around 18 degrees and that is gloriously absurd for this time of year. No complaints from me.

Ali and Pierre-Yves debate which way is correct and bring a passing local into the discussion as well. All the while, SImon and I wait on the top of the hill for the ultimate decision. They choose the road of rocks, gravel, sand and anything but bitumen. It is really hard work on the legs but as we enter area after area, of amazingly beautiful landscape and all strikingly different, the pain issue subsides. Ali's back pannier snaps from its fastening and a quick repair job allows him to continue. Pierre-Yves has been having problems with his back derailler all day and stops again just before Mesimvria to make some adjustments. Ali and I end up in yet another German conversation with a fisherman, about anything and everything. We still have a fair way to travel if we want to reach Alexandroupoli (68km; 825m) tonight and soldier on through some more unpaved terrain. When we hit normal roads again, it is a steep ascend up coastal cliffs and into Dikela. The views over the water are great. We power on as best we can. Everyone is zapped from the days climbing experiences on dirt roads and the first open campsite we see we all trundle in. It's reasonably priced and according to the owner has plenty of hot water. We are satisfied and pitch tents, shower and then make use of the hotel guest's common room and kitchen. It had several advantages: undercover, warm, comfy armchairs and plenty of company. Beer and red wine flows rather freely that evening. After all, It's the 31st January and Ali and I have been travelling for 6 months. No-one remembers much after hitting the hay at around midnight.

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