Today was to be an easy one: roll off the ferry and down to Neapoli to pick up bike spares, then head north along the coast to the fishing village of Archangelos.
While packing, a smiling Dutch couple approached to ask about my route. They were also touring – albeit with camper van support. We compared notes and it turned out they had also come through Kyparissi and Monemvasia. They had been where I was headed over the coming days and told me to expect many treats. They had even met Mat a few days back.
I wasn’t sorry to leave Elafonisos, and I was in a jolly mood on the flat over to Neapoli. The bike shop was closed though. I asked around in the neighbouring cafés, but they could only confirm the obvious. So I phoned the listed number. The irritable lady on the line told me that someone might be there at 3pm. I really needed new inner tubes and a puncture repair kit, but didn’t feel like hanging around for 5 hours. I went for a freddo and to consider my options.
The next bike shop would be in Kalamata, and I knew from Mat that thorn punctures were assured before then. But I also had a patched tube ready, and a small amount of resin. I could probably poach some rubber elsewhere. Besides, I didn’t like Neapoli, it had a rather bad vibe about it, with lots of miserable and haggard looking residents milling about aimlessly. So I decided to risk it and set off north.
Luckily there was somebody in the shop as I passed. So I knocked on the window, to be ‘greeted’ by another irritated character. It felt like a huge imposition to purchase two tubes and a repair kit from him. He huffed and fumbled in his pockets for change and gave no receipt. As I was leaving I thought ‘no wonder the Greek economy is in the toilet’.
Onwards I went, safe in the knowledge that Archangelos was only 30km away, and there seemed to be no big mountains on the map, so it would be a short day on the road. What I hadn’t reckoned was that this road would turn out to be the most demanding and dangerous so far.
It threw everything at me: narrow, winding, no hard shoulder, busy with speeding trucks and arsehole drivers, steep climbs, vicious cross-winds, protruding thorn bushes, rockfalls, broken glass. And dogs, big aggressive ones that gave chase. One managed to catch up on me but I quickly dismounted and twatted it with my GoPro boom. It won’t be chasing cyclists again, even if they are certainly a rarity on this road.
The people around these parts seem to be a different breed. Impatient and abusive drivers would try to run me off the road. On the few short downhill sections they would come right up behind me and continuously honk, almost hoping that I would crash and burn. There were frequent insane passing maneuvers in both directions. Really dangerous stuff! Memorial chapels were all along the road. Go figure!
I did my best to ignore all the noise and focus on the latent hazards, but after 20km I was drained and my nerves were shot. Exhausted, I pulled into an olive grove to gather myself for a good hour. The view was specatular, even if my camera couldn’t capture it well.
Setting off again, this time with gritted teeth and a determination not to take any more shit, I soon reached the turnoff for Archangelos. Gliding down to the village was like entering a different world. The first thing I noticed was the Blue flag boldly flying over the beach, with info boards from the local enviromment committee, colourful flowers and neatly arranged recycling bins. Everything was clean and well managed, a really pleasant place to be. What a contrast from yesterday! Clearly the villagers take pride, and I respect that.
I swam at the small village beach – richly deserving of it’s accolade – and went for a really tasty meal nearby.
My plan was to wild camp at the strangely-named Oink Beach a few miles away, but I felt I needed a proper bed, which I found for cheap around the corner. I ensconced myself outside a local bar which obligingly helped me to unwind after a really challenging day.