Macedonia - Almost

Macedonia-Almost

DAY 24

A delicious traditional breakfast of Bulgarian soft-cheese-filled-pastry saw us out of Sofia. With Mitko’s advice and plotting on the map, we decided to go south down the hilly highway to a small turn-off which would take us West to the mountains bordering Macedonia. We are going to follow the trail of Alexander the Great (also Evil and Cruel). Macedonia (FYROM= Former Yugoslavian Republic of Macedonia) is not part of the EU. Their currency is the denar. We now have a money collection of Euro, Leva, Lira, and Dollar. We were told to follow the train line. It is unique in that the train line is narrow-gauge and climbs uphill to Bansko at 927m above sea level. Bansko is internationally known for its ski slopes, hosting the World Cup Alpine Ski races and Summer Biathlons. We ride the 174kms following the train track, as it disappears into a tunnel through the mountain , we ride around and meet up again. Higher and higher. There are random wanderers on the road, small bent people dressed in black, wearing headscarves. Where are they going? Everynow and then there would be a roadside stall selling honey and Bulgarian cheese. Where did they come from? We spot some old people sitting on a bench outside their garden walls resting their heads on forked walking sticks. Bulgaria is a land of contrasts in its people and geography. The four generations from great-grandparents to toddlers have all grown up in completely different political situations. Oldest people born into communism, youngest into the open market. The ones in the middle crossing between the two. Multiple generation gaps. We had arranged to stay in a ‘homestay’ and made it just before the rain came down. We treated ourselves to a Bulgarian dinner, complete with violinists and concertina, in a museum-like restaurant.

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I’m known for re-arranging furniture and true to form, re-arranged the guest room by pushing the twin beds together. After a good night’s sleep we went to the burglar-barred shop that the owners’ run to buy our picnic lunch. We noticed that a lot of passers-by were carrying baskets of food and heading down the steep hill. We ask why and the English speaking grandson translates for his Bulgarian parents by explaining that it is Remembrance Day. Every door in the village has a photocopy A4 paper with photos of family members, died but not forgotten.  

We meet the 84 year- old great grandma and again lots of translating goes on. Just as we are about leave the old  lady hands us a packet of doughnuts. It is her Remembrance Day Gift. We pose for photos with this delightful 3-generation family. What a pleasure to have been part of their lives for 24 hours, chatting and sharing. En route out of Bansko, we buy a packet of 100 little bank bags and with a felt tip pen sort out and mark all the different currencies into their own bags. The border post of Delchevo is 92 kms away through magnificent mountain passes, curving roads that bank and swing us from one glorious view to another. We stop at the top, eat our doughnuts and throw the crumbs into the wind, remembering our friends and family, died but not forgotten. 

We get to the Macedonian border. Eezy, peezy, out of Bulgaria. We ride the bike through a hollow of muddy water (just like a sheep-dip) splayed legs held high and landed up at the border post.

Passports presented, white ‘green paper’ presented. A big nod of the head, No! We show the gmail. Another nod of the head, No!. A bit of a discussion with the chief and we are told that we can buy insurance for 55 euros. Not part of the EU, but they take Euros.  We shake our heads, No! Bulgarians nod for No, we shake.

Back through the muddy sheep dip, passports scanned again into Bulgaria. This white ’green paper’ business is a bit of a problem. We find another route to Sofia, 155kms on the fast highway. The aim is to find a print shop that has green ink. We stop for coffee and spot a print shop. They don’t understand what we want and look at our smartphone/gmail request with horror. A very big head nod, No!

On the outskirts of Sofia, we find a Big Mac, pay for coffee in order to charge our  phone’s flat battery and use their wi-fi. We phone Mitko who directs us to the nearest professional print shop. For 4 euros we get a very pale green paper print out. Oh, forget this, we can’t be bothered anymore. It’s getting late so we head for the original campsite that we found on the GARMIN on Day 22 , only 10 kms away on the other side of Sofia.  It’s a big circular route around ¾ ‘s of Sofia and up north to the campsite. Sorry, closed. What now? The next nearest campsite is another 57kms across the border in Serbia. We go.

Serbia is not part of the EU, but has been a candidate since 2012. At the border, our passports are scanned,  the white ‘green paper’ is barely glanced at. “Welcome”. They take euros. We arrive at the campsite as night falls, pitch tent and are surrounded by a gaggle of very inquisitive turkeys, peacocks and peahens and a goat.  Supper was left over spaghetti dinner out of a glass jar. We sleep well.

We toured Macedonia- Almost!

What will Day 25 bring?

Bulgaria, The Worst and the Best

Bulgaria, The Worst and the Best

Turkey is not part of the EU, but has applied to be part of the EU. The currency in Turkey is Lira, with an exchange rate of one Euro equal 4 Turkish Lira, and they take Euros, sometimes. Turkey has applied to be part of the EU and has been refused entry. Britain is part of the EU, doesn’t use Euros

and doesn’t want to be part of the EU anymore. Bulgaria has been part of the EU, since 2007. One euro is equal to 2 Bulgarian Leva and they do not take Euros, ever. We cross the border from  Turkey into Bulgaria and the change in scenery is immediate. At the border post there is a queue for 20kms of trucks wanting to enter Turkey. Bulgaria seems to be the through-route from west to East. 

Our satnav keeps insisting we have to buy a toll sticker and cannot go off Toll. We cannot even select ‘avoid Toll’. We ask at the border about a sticker and with raised eyebrows are told to go to the garage. We cannot have a repeat of the Turkish Toll thingy. We type in ‘petrol station’ and ignoring our stubborn GPS go off Toll down a very neglected, abandoned road. At a T-junction, turn left and get stopped by some Army chaps who understandably don’t speak English. Hand signalling about a sticker/fuel we get waved on to the old original disused border post where there is a service station. On the door is a big sign and inside a big man. He nods  

“Ne”. Does that means yes or no? He points to the sign outside and says “Ne”. That means No.

We now understand that motorbikes are excluded from the Toll vignette system, but the GPS doesn’t. 

 It’s a very frustrating ride as we really want to go on the rural roads but cannot seem to get off the Toll. I type in Haskovo in an attempt to see more of the south of Bulgaria. Once we are off the Toll, which is a super-highway, super tarmac, super speed limit 140kms/hr, we realize why we need to stay on it. The roads are appalling. Properly shaken up we get to Haskovo and find a shady place to park up the bike and eat some lunch. It is a whopping 38degrees and windless. A charming stone sculpture commemorates the inhabitants of Haskovo and the museum offers excursions to the 4^th C Thracian period Alexandrovo tomb where well preserved frescoes of hunting boars are to be seen. We decline but read up on the population and religious mixtures (approximately Bulgarians 79%, Turks 20% and about 1% Roma with 80% Orthodox Christians and 20% Muslim).

This small town is probably a good indicator of the long and war-filled history of Bulgaria. From being invaded by Alexander the Great from Macedonia, Persians, then the Greeks, Celts, Romans, Goths, Huns, Crusaders and Turks, until their ‘liberation’ from the Ottoman Empire in the 19^th Century by the Russian Army. Then the Balkan Wars, both World Wars, Russian rule and now a member of the European Union. May their future be more peaceful than their past.

We notice the storks settling in on specially built platforms, and young chicks peeping out of their nests. There’s a whole eco system up there as other birds and bugs fly around and share the nests.

We criss-cross the super highway, up to Stara Zagrov, down to Chirpan, ignoring the GPS and just using our tiny little map  and picking out place names. Chirpan was interesting. The houses are built of a rough red-brick (like fire-bricks) piled on top of each other with almost no mortar between, then painted with a white wash. The outskirts of the town was surrounded by these buildings and also hay bales and horses and carts.

We ventured down a narrow lane to another town looking for a café and came to an abrupt halt at a barrier which enclosed a children’s play park. As we were turning around a few people came out of a door carrying bread and other shopping. I left B at the bike and ventured into this burglar-barred shop to ask about a cup of coffee. “Ne” , no coffee, “ne”, no euros, “Ne” no ATM. When I returned B was surrounded by a bunch of shy/curious/enthusiastic 12-13year old school children with their teacher. A complicated conversation ensued about ages and origins and destinations, with the teacher translating and the youngsters trying to speak English.   No coffee so back on the highway to Plovdiv, selected to be European Capital of Culture in 2019. By now the long boring highway had changed to green rolling hilsides and we spotted that the capital, Sofia, was not far away. 

408kms from our start point in Turkey at Edirne we landed up in Sofia, capital of Bulgaria, by teatime, ready to look for a campsite.Tired, hungry and thirsty the Garmin tells us that the nearest campsite is 10kms on the other side of town. Oh dear, we sigh. This is not going well. As we pull up at a set of traffic lights to stop, we nod at a fellow rider on a Honda in full bike gear. He nods back.  

Lifting up my visor  ”Hi, “ I call “we’re looking for a campsite”. Pulling out his music earphones, he indicates one about 10 kms away on the other side of the city. Talking through a full face helmet is never easy, but we nod to each other and we get a head start as he is still fiddling with his earphones.  At the next traffic light we stop again and this time our biker friend pulls up behind us. How did he get there? The traffic light turns green, we go, he overtakes and indicates for us to pullover. He spotted our ‘HORIZONS UNLIMITED ‘sticker on the back box and invites us to couch-surf. How amazing this dreadful day is turning out to be. It’s a very quick whizzy ride through the strrets of Sofia, us lumbering on our laden Sertao, following speedy Honda man. We get to the apartment, take off our helmets, introduce ourselves and are immediately welcomed into the wonderful world of Mitko and his fun-loving fabulous friends. The next four hours are a magical tour of Sofia and the parks and the history and the bar and the buildings. We greet the Eagle statues where revolutions and protests

take place, easy now to call up your mates on Whatsapp. We meet and greet the great statues of heroes and villians that abound in the huge central park. We stop and stroke the beautiful sculpture of a stone elephant, rubbed smooth by more than 60 years of sliding. We walk down the Original ‘Yellow Brick Road’ and admire the Yello Brick Palace built for the King. We land up at ‘The Wrong Bar’ for a mixed grill to beat all mixed grills and tumble onto Mitko’s couch at pumpkin hour. 

Exhausted and delighted. Bulgaria, the worst and the best of days all rolled into one. And how has being part of the EU changed Bulgaria? AWESOME, says Mitko. A whole new world awaits this generation and they’re keen to grab it with both hands. GOOD LUCK, we say. If being part of the EU keeps the Peace, then it’s the right way to go .

www.horizonsunlimited.com

Turkey Take Two

Day 21: Leaving Greece

We’ve admired the majesty of Mount Olympus and the ruins of Dion. We’ve been introduced to the exploits of Alexander the Great and have camped in the grounds of a hotel in Alexandropoulis.  Our Sertao is packed and resplendent with new Back tyre and new Brake pads. We are at the Eastern border of Greece. “Where to now? North or East?”  One look at our little map shows us that Istanbul is 380 kms away. Let’s go there.”

 But first we telephone our nice insurance lady in Nice and ask if we are covered because Turkey is not part of the EU. She kindly explains that if we look on our ‘Green Paper’ that came with the little sticker on our windscreen we could see all the countries that are included in the bike cover. “Oops, we forgot that at home. Sorry”. “Never mind,” she says. “I will email you a copy. BUT ALWAYS CARRY IT WITH YOU” she commands assertively. “Oh, Yes, Definitely, Thank you” we respond sheepishly. The ‘green paper’ pops up on the screen and there it is. We can go to Turkey, insurance on the bike covered. √

We had discussed with our personal insurance broker before we left about Medical cover and that had been confirmed. √

A Sunny 52 kms ride later and the Turkish border appears. We get to the first kiosk on the Greek side and are asked to present our visa. No visa? We park the bike and are directed to a square dirty building where a hajibbed lady is cleaning the windows. Inside we follow a tatty hand written sign ‘buy visa here’ . Really?  The bored man behind the glass window barely looks up as he asks for 25 euros.  Well, we had finished all our euros filling up with fuel in Greece. The Turkish currency is Lira and we plan to withdraw some at the nearest ATM. “No, he does not want Lira. Yes, there is an ATM behind the first kiosk on the Turkish side. He needs euros.”  We wander out of the back of the building along the Turkish side into the same building behind the first kiosk, hunting for the ATM. Confused , certainly. Unfortunately, the ATM was not issuing Euros that day. We walk back to the guy, who now said he could take Dollars. Oh, lucky day. We always carry US dollars, these particular ones left over from a trip to Cambodia a few months ago. Smugly we hand over the right amount, get the stamp and the visa and skip back to the bike. All confident now we ride up to the second kiosk, where we present the Visa to a swarthy Turk. This is good. And he needs the Insurance for the bike please. We point out the little sticker on the windscreen. And the ‘Green Paper, please. We explain we left it at home. It’s a Digital World, so proudly show it to him on our smartphone. Not so smart.   Nope. That’s not good enough. The swarthy Turkman wants the original. But you can buy Turkish insurance for 104 euros. It’s another walk back to the ATM building, a path well trodden no doubt by countless other foreigners, to find a man selling  insurance . Oh,dear, we really, really haven’t got the budget for that! and end up chatting to a South African guy travelling in his campervan with wife and four kids on a year’s home schooling/life adventure. What fun.

We decide that we just cannot afford the 104 euros insurance.  Back to the swarthy Turkman. “ Are you sure you cannot accept this, please? “ We show the email on the phone again. Nope, still not good enough. Disappointed, but not yet defeated, we ride the 52kms  back to Greece. The lovely lady at the hotel reception, where we camped in the garden, listens to our predicament. “No problem, forward the email to me, and I will print it.” How kind. A quick coffee break and 52kms later in the sunshine we are back at the Turkish border. Hello, yes,  here is our visa. Yes, here is a  black and white print of our ‘Green Paper’, please? Another swarthy Turk looked at it, nodded and scanned the passports and let us through. It was 3pm and we’d been to Greece/Turkey and back twice. 

We search for the nearest campsite on the Turkish side and after 55 kms, pull into a rather strange place in Tekirdag. I say strange because as we arrived two guys leapt up from a table/bench, guided us in, took eight lira off us and disappeared.” Anywhere” they waved as they departed. We looked around at the higgledy-piggeldy assortment of plastic domes and discarded furniture and burst out laughing. Time for a fag and glass of wine. One curious onlooker passed by, then another and another. Soon we were offered a hammer (note to self: really got to buy one) and shown the loos/showers and where to fetch water.

We secretly ate our Salami sandwiches (made in Greece) for supper and went off to explore this camp, sea on the right and highway on the left. A couple in a car were watching the view (Not) for a long time and our circle of new friends invited us to join them. Average age 60+, combination of German, Turkish and broken English, mostly female, they escape the city for the summer months and come to the beach. A married couple seemed to be the leaders and were getting ready for the summer rush by fixing umbrellas and chairs and doing a general tidy-up. Charming and gracious. We said goodnight in as many languages and hid ourselves and the bike under the tarpaulin/tent for the night. 

Excited to get to Istanbul (180kms) we pack up early. Actually, a bit too early, because an unknown padlocked metal barrier has blocked our exit. We surmise that it must be to stop other sea-viewers in their cars at night. However, there is a neat little motorbike sized gap on the side, if you can avoid the ditch. I dismount and push B around the side gap, the panniers hook up  and over he goes, not quite avoiding the ditch. Well, there is no way we can pick up this overloaded overinverted bike. The elderly leader man from the night before comes running over and the three of us complete the task of righting the bike when a cop car pulls up to help. We wave our thanks, we’re OK.  

We choose the main road and then branch off onto the Toll. I know we have a rule: No Tolls, but the main road is boring. Houses, tower blocks, houses, towerblocks, on and on. When we enter the Toll there is no booth to collect a ticket or pay or anything, just a metal post to signify the ‘start’.  We are astounded by the enormity of Istanbul . The city begins at least 40 kms from the old town centre destination point. There are 6 lane highways, congestion at 100kms/hr, grid lock and reversing and even turning around and driving backwards. Trucks, containers, lowbeds, cars, and bright yellow taxis. The most astounding sights are the millions of trees, most newly planted, that line the grassy banks and the ‘vertical gardens’ growing up the concrete retaining walls. And Rose bushes. Thousands of them. It’s astonishing.

We duck off the Toll road, via the metalposts, to re-fuel. While B is paying, a chap on a V-Strom cruises up to re-fuel. We get chatting. He’s a travel Agent. Where would we like to go? What would we like to see? “The best and most important”, I reply. “That’s got to be the Blue Mosque” he says and off he goes. Punch  ‘BlueMosque’ into Garmin Zumo 590 and 7 kms later there we are. Istanbul truly is  the place where West meets East and Old meets New. It appears to be a mad mix of   ancientness and modern’ess.

We treat ourselves to a delicious lunch of authentic Turkish delights ( yoghurty salads, aubergines and peppers,spices and skewers, stuffed vine leaves and water) .  I wander off around the tourist places before heading upto the ‘Blue Mosque’ . It’s large, multipledomes and surrounded by camera bearing groups. A few photos later of the outside, I return to B without buying any carpets or baubles. I do try and find a sticker for the bike, but no luck. It’s time to go.  

We ride along the shoreline,  and then get back onto the Tollroad direction north west to the Triangle where Greece, Turkey and Bulgaria meet at Edirne ( 234kms). That is the nearest campsite, according to Zumo 590. Camping is not on the Turkish ‘things to do’   leisure list. As we ride away from the city centre we pass thru the metal posts again, signifying we are exiting the Toll. A big question mark goes off in our heads: We haven’t paid? At about the same time as an siren goes off on the overhead LED screen and a figure of 190 Euros flashes up. Too late, B’s already upped the gears. I shout Go,Go,Go and that’s it. We can’t reverse.  We find the campsite as dusk falls and so does the rain. Run by a very German lady we are shown to marble-floored ablutions and an undercoverpatio complete with kitchen counterand BBQ area. Starting the day by falling over into a ditch, and ending with a braai (BBQ,) we have had a memorable 426 kms ride.  

The night’s rest wasn’t,  as we were a bit nervous about getting out of Turkey because of the Toll incident. No problem. Nothing flashed up on the border control screen.  We smiled and went on our way. Oh, well perhaps there’ll be a fine/letter in the post when we get home. As I write this 5 months later, nothing yet. We’ll pay if you want, honest.  The weather is glorious and we pass many storks settling in for the breeding season. See you in Bulgaria. 

Oleanders, Olives and Alexander the Great

OLD CITY OF MATERA

We are going to Greece 'cos that's where the blue skies are. The ferry leaves tonight and we have about 200kms to go today. The Italian family persuaded us to go via Matera. Why? "because it has HISTORY" they gesticulated dramatically . The wind and the straight roads blew us there fairly quickly with the most wonderful collection of meadow flowers lining the road like a horizontal rainbow. So what is this History of Matera? It is known as Italy's shame. a place left abandoned, impoverished, diseased, and neglected until the 1950's .

     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matera  

 Now, there is a picturesque upper modern town walking and cycling paths, churches and cafes. There are craft shops and restaurants. We stopped briefly for a water-break and a photo session before riding through the industrial heel of the Boot to Brindisi.

I had visited Brindisi Port in the 1960's as a 10year old en route from Trieste to Beira ( now Maputo) on a the 'SS Africa' when travel by ocean liners was in its prime. and here I was nearly 50 years later arriving by motorbike. We weave our way through narrow streets into the old town, always most interesting, bought some 'padkos' ( food for the road) and arrive at the port well ahead of time as the office only opens at 6pm. Some rider-bloke commented that our bike was a bit overloaded," "yes, we know, but the bike doesn't , yet" I joked. He didn't get it. When we arrive in Igumenitsa we have a choice to go north to Albania or South to the most southern tip of Kalamata. Looking up at the sky the choice is made: its Kalamata. 

A  GREEK BREAKFAST STOP AT SUNRISE

The 5 am landing greets us with a misty dawn which clears to a majestic vista over the bay and roads lined with oleanders and olives. Its so different to the week we have had in the industrialised southern Italian coast that we are enchanted and revitalised. By 8am we are starving for the few remains of our food and a drink of hot coffee. The sun hasn't quite warmed us through but we find a deserted beach with convenient benches and thaw out quite quickly. the little petrol stove flares up and 2 minutes later the instant coffee does the job. Its the middle of May, so too early for any holiday makers and as we find during our week in  Greece we are usually the only campers. 

On the plus side we can negotiate our camping fees, but on the downside a lot of places are closed. We ride on and on along fabulous coastroads, up and down and around. It's beautiful. The sun is warm and the scenery is delightful. We cross the bridge onto the Peloponnese before midday and 500kms later we are in Kalamata by mid afternoon. What a glorious ride. We see a tortoise on the road and wish him luck in getting to the other side, There a canyons on either side and sheep grazing on yummy thistle bushes. It's so nice here in Kalamata we give ourselves a rest day, enjoying a swim on the pebble beach and a visit to a museum, just like real tourists. The museum turns out to be a military one, not really what we had in mind, but the three soldiers are so keen to show us around we cannot be rude. The younger one is doing all the translating and after a long monologue we pick out his South African accent. He's from Johannesburg, returned to his homeland and fulfilling his nine-month compulsory conscription duties. The military museum suddenly becomes much more interesting with little interjections about SA politics thrown in and we learn a lot about Alexander the Great. He certainly made a very big impact on the middle bit of Europe here, where West meets East. And there I thought The Great Trek was the most important historical event ever!

The first campsite we visited was closed, next one had a fierce barking dog, chained up and scary-looking place. We settled for a family run campsite with one camping car. A lovely couple from Romania. Mmmm, we hadn't thought of going there, but after a  and I pleasant coffee and map-sharing session, it's on the list. We do a bit of coastal road exploring buy a cute insy-winsy witches broom to sweep out the tent.

 The map of Greece is showing up enticing names like Sparta and Korinthos and Athens. We want to see them all. We type in a mountain route to Sparta. It's enthralling and wonderous and pretty damn terrifying. No barriers, some broken walls where the turns were too sharp for some, and I think B and the bike are feeling the load.

 It's baking hot when we get to Sparta, so with waning enthusiasm I plod up a hill to view a 'dig-site'. More Oleanders an Olives along the way to provide a bit of shade. It's a strange coincidence that at the same time our niece (living and working in Japan) has just completed a gruelling Spartan Run there in a team event with her boyfriend and others. The legacy of the Spartans lives on all around the world. The  mountain passes to Sparta and Korinthos have taken the edge of the back brake discs, so the hunt is on for a BMW dealership. Postcodes and highways get all muddled up and we always seem to be on the wrong side of the road, eventually stopping to ask at a chemist where the address is. We are a bit surprised to find that English is not spoken very much, and also that we have the wrong postcode. however at BMW Motorrad, the English and service is impeccable. Coffee, iced water, brake discs fitted and once again we are on our way.

 Athens is packed. we sort of ride/walk with a bike between our legs, to get anywhere, scooters zig-zagging everywhere, even coming towards us in the opposite direction on our side of the road. Bangkok is a breeze after this. We ride nearly all the way  to the Acropolis, then give up. Too many buses, taxis, scooters, people. Interestingly there is a report and a protest in Venice and Madrid the same week about the destructive actions that mass tourism is creating on the environment, local housing, local markets and infrastructure. We too feel the squeeze-out effect from the organised group tours.                                                                                                                                                                                      No wonder the locals get mad.

It's a stressful ride through and out of Athens, then up the highway as quick as we can. Those menacing dark clouds are over us again. We had stop under a toll bridge to escape a passing hailstorm, and having kept our rainsuits on are indulging in a self-made sauna.

A conveniently placed garage sheltered us later for another hour while we eat a picnic roll and fill up with petrol slowly to waste some time. Its day 16 and our petrol costs have added up to 200 euros for a total of 3500kms, that's about 5p/km. I'm sure that there is a fancy miles/gallon equation in there somewhere, but this is a chick doing the sums here. By the time we get home, even though we don't know it yet we would have done 15,000 kms ( costing a total of just under 750 euros. )

Lunch is interesting. It's all Greek to me.  So we point to the dishes on display and treat ourselves to something other than another picnic ham roll. The rain comes and goes and then comes again. It's 7pm, we're getting cold and we're tired. All the campsites in the towns are closed so we head out for the beach areas. At last we spot a sign and a red and white stripped boom-type barrier. We call, we shout, we knock on the reception door. Nothing. No response. We try the boom and it lifts up easily. This 'resort' is laid out in a grid pattern with each site occupied by a campervan/caravan arrangement and side patio, under a sun shade canopy. We call again. There's definitely no-one around. (Maybe not even been around since 2008) .We take a chance and pitch our tent on somebody's lovely patio under cover, just as the rain comes down. Whew. By 11pm we are fast asleep, cosy and warm. Half an hour later, in perfect English we hear a deep roar "Come out, Come out" accompanied by a bright light piercing through the tent. "OK, one minute" I call out in my sweetest most feeble female voice. He can see the bike and two helmets and waits patiently while we faff around inside putting on some clothes. Stumbling out we apologise profusely for entering his unguarded campsite, explaining we were desperate to get out of the storm. He  then realises the night reception/watchman had not been at his post and is going to be in a lot of trouble in the morning. We come to an arrangement with him now apologising to us and we are welcome to stay on another site, as this one is private and the owners might arrive early next morning, being the start of the weekend. We move the bike and drag the tent, fully laden with bedding and gear to the other end of the road. An hour later we are back cosy and warm with an invitation to join the manager for morning coffee. It's Day 18, and after a delicious coffee and and a 5 euro campsite fee at 'Salty Beach' we take a mountain road and then a toll to get to 'Scala Beach' . The Greeks here are very handsome in an ancient classical way, with big black beards, short curly black hair and deep voices. must be something to do with Alexander the Great. We spot a sign for a place called Drama, 39kms away. No thank you, we've had enough of that. Toll roads are a bit boring for a pillion, so I amuse myself by trying to decode the Greek alphabet. School science lessons help me recall Alpha, Beta and Delta along with Pi and Theta. It doesn't take long to work most of it out.  We notice a bit of a time-warp where the modern civilisation is along the coast side of the road and the pastoral corrugated iron circular 'kraals' line the rocky inland landscape. Sheep and goats abound, guided by herders, and the storks and cranes are making their appearance for the summer visits. Mount Olympus has disappeared under rain clouds and we stop in an open campsite where the very kind grandpa owner escorts us under his umbrella to a caravan pitch with an awning under which to pitch our tent. This rain is a huge pain! we don't mind wet riding but wet camping is not nice. We consult the Radar on the weather map. Go east. That's the way to go. Istanbul tomorrow! but first the sound of Alexandropoulis catches our attention. The municipal campsite is tatty and expensive. There's a hotel with a 'tent' sign displayed under its name.  kindly rent us a piece of lawn for cash complete with washing line for our wet clothes. Perfect way to end the day

A curious occurence attracted our attention as we stared gazing out to sea, marvelling at the adventures we are having. Something very bright was zipping along the in the dark in a extremely fast vertical and horizontal manouvre. Not a plane. It sped up, then across, then down , then along like a mad giant glow worm. My Superzoom camera captured an image, but we still don't know what it is. Alexandropoulis has a dog problem. There was a pack of 21 on the beach front, guarding their patch from evening strollers, joggers and dogwalkers. Lovely big farm dogs, abandoned and managing to survive in a newly created pack. Shame.

We buy a new back tyre and wander around the buzzing cafe-society of 'bankrupt' Greece whilst it gets fitted. Our tight budget prevents us from joining in and makes us wonder where our EU payments are going? This journey is partly to discover Europe and partly to understand the EU. We still don't.

We're packed, dried out and ready to go to Turkey. It's only 50kms away. Should be in Istanbul for morning coffee. See you there.