In order to get to my starting point, the tiny Island of Poros, I first needed to make it to the main Greek port of Piraeus, stay overnight, then hop on the early morning ferry across the Saronic Gulf.
On the Paros-Piraeus leg I couldn’t help thinking that the ferries may be a prime contributor to the rising Covid cases here. There were stops at Mykonos and Siros, with plenty of passenger mixing, and poor enforcement of the mask rules. You need to complete a Covid declaration form before boarding, but what’s the point when hoards of English and Italian tourists run around with exposed noses? It all felt rather chaotic. I wasn’t impressed, and I was annoyed to be stopped from standing on the outside deck, away from the multitude of Covidiots.
In contrast, the Greeks themselves are all wearing masks, and maintain good physical distancing, even the young, who are being scapegoated elsewhere.
A great thing about the ferries is that they transport bicycles for free. On the big boats you enter the car deck and must lash the bike to a fixing. Pretty painless. On the smaller passenger only boats, you gotta take your chances finding a place amongst the commercial cargo. In both cases you need to be fast, because these guys have a busy schedule and don’t mess around. Thankfully I’m travelling fairly light again, and can rip the bags off the bike in a second. Still, I always feel that I can lose a few extra grams here-and-there. It’s becoming an obsession.
Disembarking at Piraeus around 7.30pm it became immediately obvious that this is not a cycling town. Apart from the heavy car and truck traffic, swarms of mopeds weaved around at crazy speeds. I took my chances initially, but I just wasn’t welcome on the road, being treated with a mixture of bemusement and irritation by passing drivers.
Luckily, I had booked a cheap hotel near the port, so I could walk the bike there in no time. It felt wise to leave my mask affixed, not in fear of the plague, but against the particulate pollution, which quickly dirtied the cloth. After checking-in I went for a walk around to find food. Let’s not beat about the bush: Piraeus is a dirty city, with shocking levels of deprivation for an EU country. The port itself is now owned by the Chinese, a concerning outcome from the recent economic disaster.
The Piraeus Port Hotel was quite nice though, and I had a comfortable sleep followed by an early morning walk which confirmed my observations from the night before. I didn’t see a single bicycle anywhere, only many, many mopeds. In the Netherlands these are called ‘bromfiets‘, literally ‘smoke bikes’, and for good reason.
After breakfast I side-saddled down to the port to buy a ferry ticket. The woman in the travel agent tried to overcharge me by 20 Euro, claiming the extra cost was for the Covid form. I stood my ground and she relented. It’s not a good look for Greeks when they try to pull this shit. Even on Paros, the kiosk owners clearly bumped the prices for tourists, which is disappointing. But I’m a stubborn bastard at the best of times, and I’m not afraid to confront an obvious attempt at ripoff.
Flinging my bike off the boat at Poros, the portside cafes were packed with midday drinkers. Loud Brummie accents dominated, and a few of them sarcastically commented on my setup, without the slightest hint of irony. Enjoy diabetes you fat bastards! I cycled along the waterfront and found a quiet pavement cafe where I had a lovely breakfast and generally sorted my shit.
Behind me was another loudmouth Brit proudly declaring his whacky belief that Coronavirus is a tool of government control, and that the common cold kills more people. I couldn’t help but guffaw loudly, to which he took umbrage. I continued to munch on my toast as he lost his shit, my silence only serving to amplify his stupidity. In the end I told him to mind his own business, leaving his wife looking mortified. Shame she married such a tosser.
Fed and watered, I lashed the bags to the velocipede and trundled over to catch the 10 minute ferry to the mainland, costing just Euro 1.80. Immediately I set off north along the coast road, aiming for Bekas beach where I hope to camp. It’s within spitting distance of the ancient amphitheatre at Epidaurus, where I want to check the acoustics at first light tomorrow.
Pedalling steadily with impressive mountain views to the left, the first thing I noticed was the amount of rubbish – many plastic bags and bottles, tin cans, coffee cups, nappies and bags of crap – strewn along each side of the road. Every few kilometres sat forlorn-looking large wheelie bins that, judging by the smell, have never been emptied. Rodents scurried away as I approached. Not very pleasant. C’mon Greece, surely you can do better than this!? Gorgeous views ruined by an epidemic of littering. Very sad.
Another common site on Greek roads are mini ‘dollhouse’ chapels. I had read about these, but didn’t expect to see so many. I whizzed-by quite a few of them before deciding to stop and take photos. These not only commemorate people who have been killed at these spots, but are also erected by thankful accident survivors, or just people looking for divine intercession. Some are quite ornate, others are very old and decrepit. But, amazingly, ALL of them have a burning candle inside, meaning that they are tended every day, no matter how remote. Sometimes there are pieces of paper stuffed in the doors, presumably prayer notes. I will try to catalogue the more interesting ones when time allows, but they can be easy to miss.
There are also larger chapels along the road that seem to be dedicated by families of young people who died tragically. Some of these are open and, in a few cases, passers-by are welcome to sleep in them for the night (according to Greek cyclist I emailed a few months ago).
Apart from these, there is a glut of unfinished houses strewn across the landscape, usually perched so as to give an unhindered sea view. An ugly side effect of Greek hubris. It seems that planning permission is not a thing here, nor long-term thinking. From my perspective, these will make convenient sleeping spots in a bind, but they do ruin the landscape.
After about 20km the stiff sea breeze began to subside and the route veered inland and up. Very up! Two long and winding climbs made me really sweat in the 35 degree static heat, and some of these were hairy because, although the road traffic was light and the road surface good, there are steel barriers either side which leave little room for error. Sometimes I had to swerve to avoid getting snagged in bushes, and there were frequent fresh rockfalls from the surrounding cliffs. At some points I could hear the rocks cracking above me, which was quite eerie, as was the wind whistling through the road signs, making sounds that would be perfect for a horror movie.
I also ran out of water, which might have been a good thing because I was guzzling way too much, risking hyponatremia, acute sodium deficiency which tends to be the main killer of neurotic people dancing on ecstasy.
Eventually I found the turnoff for Bekas beach and it was a gloriously steep descent to the sea. I cycled straight onto the shingle beach and jumped into the choppy sea, fully clothed and much to the amusement of the parked-up Germans in their ridiculously fancy camper vans. Woosies!
It was a heavenly dip though.
Curious eyes continued to scan me as I pitched my tiny tent and collapsed inside to gulp down some electrolytes. I needed them, as I excreted so much salt that it caked my clothes.
I didn’t see a single cyclist today. People look at me as if I’m crazy, but I’m enjoying the trip already. If I survive this I’ll be fit as a butcher’s dog.
Time for some food and a beer. Tomorrow I attack the mountains up to Epidaurus, only 8 km away but looking like a daunting climb. Then to Nafplion and starting down the coast road of the first of the three ‘fingers’ of Peloponnese.
Today’s Route: