Going Greek

Day 171

Mileage 16,349 (26,158km)

Cappadocia sunrise

Leaving Cappadocia proved difficult, we’d found a quiet campsite overlooking the surreal town, perfect for capturing the spectacular sunrise. Parked next to us were fellow travelers from California, Scotland and Ireland who offered good advice and welcome company. Our explorations of the region had left us wanting for more but on our last morning a storm rolled in and with a light rain and strong, dusty winds we packed our tent and made final preparations to move on. Throughout the day the weather worsened and our intentions to camp near the capital, Ankara, became less appealing as the cold, damp conditions penetrated our motorcycle suits. By the time we reached our destination our determination had weakened and we booked a room at a hotel overlooking a cold, grey lake. We spent a much warmer night enjoying the shelter and purging our bodies of the deep chill that had set in. Rested and refreshed the following morning we donned our dry gear and took to the road hoping to make the long ride to Istanbul. By mid-afternoon it became apparent we had overestimated our resolve and a long day of being buffeted by strong, wet winds on the high, open plains of central Turkey had us questioning our plans to spend another night under canvas. Our gear is good, excellent in fact, but as the Autumn weather takes hold, finding a room feels like a more sensible option after a long day in the saddle. Reaching the Black Sea coast, many hours short of our intended destination, as the light began to fade, we gave each other the unspoken signals for ‘if you’re okay getting a room then so am I’, neither of wanting to appear weak. Approaching the chaotic traffic of Istanbul at the end of such an arduous day would have only compounded the difficulties of navigating the daunting city so we pulled over at the resort town of Akcakoca and searched for a place to spend the night. After pricing several hotels we opted for a much more affordable pension, a small room in an apartment building over looking the waterfront from which we could easily see our bikes parked in the street below. As darkness fell we walked along the boardwalk as huge waves pounding the shoreline.

The Black Sea

Our new friend, Alpasan, a resident of Istanbul whom we first met at Moto Camp in Bulgaria had invited us to stay if ever we were passing through so as blue skies broke through the dark clouds we made our way towards the sprawling metropolis excited by the challenge of it’s infamous congestion. Long before we expected to enter Istanbul we were engulfed by Turkey’s most populous city with an estimated 14 million inhabitants its scale is truly impressive. Sticking to the highways, where traffic was most predictable, we pushed further in to the heart until we had no choice but to enter the city streets. Suddenly the rhythm of the road changed dramatically as cars, buses, heavy trucks and motorcycles all competed for the limited opportunity to move forward. Initially overwhelmed we quickly became accustomed to the chaos and joined in the fun. Our motorcycles made it a little easier but loaded as they are we couldn’t keep up with the local bikers. We made good progress as we tried to follow rough directions, reading foreign signs while trying to anticipate the next assault on our immediate vicinity, other motorists oblivious to our presence. Before we knew it a warm smile and a waving hand were beckoning to us from the sidewalk, we had made it to Alpy’s.

Istanbul evening

Alpy, a seasoned motorcycle traveller himself, quickly made us feel at home, pulling our bikes into his covered garage alongside his own, we stripped off a few essentials and made our way up to his apartment. Our introduction to Istanbul began with an evening cycle around the Kardikoy district on the Asian side of the city, a lively, bustling centre of tea houses, street stalls, restaurants and food courts all surprisingly busy despite the late hour. We dined on Lahmacun, a kind of Turkish pizza, and a refreshing salted yoghurt drink known as Ayran while we watched the locals go by. The following morning we caught the ferry into the European side of the city with the intention of exploring the historical centre. On the way to Taksim Square, the site of the recent anti-government protests, we stumbled upon the hardware district where we spent several hours sourcing various additions for Beth’s motorcycle. The city’s older commercial districts appear to have become rather specialized in what they sell and we discovered many streets dedicated to one particular item. One street sold nothing but nuts and bolts while another was entirely dedicated to buttons and so it went. With a combination of our very limited Turkish and some simple drawings we were able to find everything we needed within walking distance so we spent the rest of the day wandering through the Grand Bazaar, the world’s first indoor mall, and around the numerous enormous mosques that dot the old city. Established by the Greeks as ‘Byzantium’ in 660BC the transcontinental city has served as capital to the Roman, Byzantine, Latin and Ottoman empires each leaving its indelible mark upon the city’s architectural heritage. Modern tower blocks share the skyline with pencil thin minarets that pierce the horizon in a seemingly endless panorama. 

Sultanahmet Mosque (The Blue Mosque) Istanbul

On our third day in the city we decided to explore our local surroundings determined to track down a mechanic with a chain breaker so we could replace Beth’s tired chain and sprockets. Within a few streets of Alpy’s apartment we found more than we were looking for, a bike cleaning service adjoined a friendly mechanic’s workshop all next door to a cheap hairdresser’s salon. While we cleaned our filthy bikes we met many other local bikers who offered good advice and overwhelming hospitality, including Sertan, who kindly insisted on taking us out for a delicious lunch. With clean bikes we felt much better about approaching the mechanic who  dropped everything and immediately set to work on Beth’s bike while allowing me to use his tools to make some alterations to her luggage system. Beth even ventured inside the salon and had her hair roughly cut by someone we assumed was the resident hairstylist. Overall it turned out to be a most productive day and all at a very affordable cost. We often prefer to fumble our way through our own maintenance procedures but it is nice to sometimes pay a local expert and avoid all the frustration. With the bikes looking and performing much better we returned to Alpy’s and made arrangements to leave the following day.

On top of Mt Olympus

Another sad farewell and an inevitable departure saw us back on the road early the following morning. We had hoped to avoid the worst of Istanbul’s rush hour traffic but in a city so huge every hour of the day feels like it is at its busiest. We made good progress but it still took over one and a half hours to clear the western edges of the city. Avoiding the major highways we followed the coast along the Sea of Marmara before turning inland to the border with Greece. By midday we were beginning to notice an escalation of military activity alongside the road, there is still tension between Turkey and Greece but in recent years it has eased considerably. It is rare for us to encounter issues while leaving a country but as soon as I handed over my documents to the border guard on the Turkish side his furrowed brow suggested we may have a problem. Although we are still uncertain as to why, it would appear as though my bike was incorrectly logged into the system when we entered the country, my license plate contains the letter ‘O’ twice and this may have been confused with a zero. It took the first border official several attempts to enter my details before he called his superior, meanwhile a long line of traffic began to form behind us. In the end it took four border officials, who consumed many cups of tea while smoking multiple cigarettes, over half an hour to enter all possible combinations of my license plate into the system before they allowed us through. We waved, apologetically, to the patient drivers in the line behind us before opening our throttles and powering into Greek territory. Well armed soldiers from both sides wearily watched our bikes as we slipped across yet another invisible boundary.

Tricky descent

We had hoped the Greek border guards would not look too closely at Beth’s passport as it could be construed, depending on how you read her stamps, that she had overstayed her welcome in Schengen territory, thankfully they gave us little more than a cursory glance before waving us through. We were immediately impressed by the Greek roads and as we rode through the first few kilometers of the heavily militarized border zone, the smooth surfaces and clear road markings came as a pleasant surprise. Our delight lasted for approximately thirty kilometers before the surface deteriorated and the road markings vanished. Not sure how long the border crossing would take we had set or sights on the nearby town of Alexandroupolis and by late afternoon we were pitching our tent and preparing dinner. From Alexandroupolis we continued east hugging the Aegean coast before detouring south onto the Halkidiki peninsulas and along the impressive coastal roads. As evening fell the lonely Mount Athos appeared on the hazy horizon and each campsite we passed appeared closed for the winter. As we pulled into the tranquil bay by Paralia Sikias we noticed a camp with an open gate so we pulled in and talked to the owner. He hadn’t been expecting campers until next season but agreed to let us use the facilities for a minimal fee, it was late in the day and he seemed reluctant to turn us away. With the region so deserted we’ve had the roads almost entirely to ourselves and the empty camp allowed us to sleep to the sound of gentle waves as they rolled against the soft sandy beach.

The following day we continued our journey around the peninsula through small towns preparing for a quiet winter without tourists, soon our road turned north and wound its way back towards the mainland  and into Thessaloniki where preparations were under way for the festival of Demetrius, traffic police lined the streets and barricades were being put in place to cope with the large crowds arriving to take part in the celebrations. We stopped briefly in the city before continuing along the coast towards Mt Olympus National Park searching for a campsite to use as a base for a few days while we attempted to hike Greece’s highest peak. To our dismay, all the campgrounds we found were clearly closed for the winter but driving along the coastal road we discovered a small hostel on the waterfront in the tiny village of Port Litochoro. Summit Zero hostel proved to be a very lucky find, Pericles, the owner, was an avid mountain runner who had plenty of advice on routes up to the summit. From the shoreline the mountain’s impressive silhouette would occasionally break through the cloud and as the sun set behind it an ominous shadow would fall over the quiet village. The tranquil hostel had few guests at this time of year so we had room to spread our gear out and take care of a few outstanding chores before rising early on our second day and driving to the base of the mountain.  We knew we would be in for a long day so we woke before sunrise and quietly slipped out of the hostel in the early morning mist. Our road took us part way up the eastern side of the mountain’s flank and we soon broke through the cloud into a spectacular sunny morning. As the sun breached the blanket of cloud that lay over the ocean below its orange glow caught the misty white undulations setting the horizon on fire. It was still chilly when we reached the trailhead so we wasted little time securing our bikes and donning our hiking gear. With multiple routes to the summit we’s agreed beforehand to split up and meet at the top. We had gained a little by driving to the trail head but at 2,917 meters (9,570 ft) we knew we would be in for a long day. 

Still descending

Months in the saddle has taken it’s toll on our overall fitness and we both felt it as we reached the top, hearts pounding and legs burning. It was well worth it as the views were astounding and the weather perfect. We spent a long time on the summit, enjoying a well deserved break and a light lunch before making our descent. The last few hundred meters before the top involve a rock scramble which felt significantly more exposed on the way down. Multiple plaques were attached to the rock face all in indecipherable Greek but the recognizable dates seemed to indicate they may have been commemorating less fortunate climbers. Returning to the hostel, invigorated but exhausted we had an early night after a delicious dinner. 

Ooops!

From the coast we turned inland having chosen a more adventurous route towards the region of Meteora. Our road twisted south of Olympus and onto the plateau behind, gradually becoming smaller and smaller. Before long we were on dirt and into deep golden forest, the road coated with colorful Autumn leaves. When we eventually broke through the tree line our ‘road’ deteriorated further and soon we had to pull over and re-assess our plan. Heavily rutted and barely visible in places we were unsure whether it would connect with a more viable route or vanish altogether. We decided to err on the side of caution, with limited fuel and unreliable maps it seemed like the smart thing to do, so we turned back and found a slightly better road. We turned a two hour drive into a 5 hour adventure but we finished the day unscathed with big smiles and a cold beer.