MOTORHOME TRAVELLERS' DIARY FOR OCTOBER 2001

ITALY, GREECE

Barry and Margaret Williamson

01 OCTOBER 2001 I CAMPING INTERNAZIONALE, ASSISI

Yesterday's rain has passed, leaving a veil of mist. We spent the morning on the word processor and the phone, doing more admin. B wrote to the bank in Huddersfield, about transferring the Jersey account and opening a new one, and to the Retirement Pensions Forecasting Agency in Newcastle (the latter to be posted in the UK by Mum). M phoned a storage place advertised in the MMM (more expensive than Milton Farm), the BA Travel Clinic in Cambridge about rabies injection boosters (£25 each, ring 2 weeks before for appointment), Minoan Lines for ferry times to Greece and the Motorhome Ticket Club about our cross-channel return.

After lunch the sun burnt the mist away and we rode up into Assisi, starting with the Basilica di San Francesco, the magnificent monastery and church which reigns over the medieval walled town. Entry to the basilica complex was free and we enjoyed the light, colour and joy inside, more reminiscent of Greek Orthodox churches than sombre Spanish-Inquisition-type Catholic cathedrals. Two churches had been built on top of each other, the lower dating from 1228, the upper from 1230, with a crypt dug below the main altar in 1818 for the saint's remains. We saw the votive offerings by the tomb, in the shape of hearts, feet, babies, etc, again like those in Greek churches today. The lower church had lovely stained glass windows, with walls and ceilings painted by the 13-14thC masters. The upper church had a series of frescos by Giotto illustrating the life of St Francis, friend of animals and founder of the Franciscan Order of Friars, who died in 1226, aged 44 and barely able to walk because of the pain of the stigmata.

We saw no sign of the serious damage caused by the 1997 earthquake (when a man assessing the damage to the dome was killed by falling plaster in the after-shock), though there was a sign pointing to guided tours of the art restoration workshop. The church can obviously afford the best. But it had a nice atmosphere, brothers dressed like Sean Connery in the 'Name of the Rose', and not too many tourists. We overheard 2 American women wondering which way the saint's tomb was. 'It won't be up the staircase' said one, 'they always put tombs in the basement'.

Next we rode the steep road to the remains of the medieval castle, the Rocca Maggiore, to give our col-climbing legs a work-out and see the breathtaking view down over the Basilica, the town, encircled by walls and towers, and the plain below. The arrow-straight road back to the campsite and the basilica at San Maria Angeli 3 miles away (incorporating the chapel where St Francis died) were both clearly visible. Downhill all the way then, dropping into the lovely town, where builders and cranes were still busy restoring cracked houses and churches, tucked along narrow cobbled streets. We passed the Cathedral of San Rafino (1140), with its Roman cistern and the font where both St Francis and his follower St Clare were baptised. There were more Roman remains in the Piazza del Comune, the central square on the site of the ancient forum, where the foundations and columns of a Temple to Minerva had been incorporated into the entrance of a Baroque church. Just below the square was another, the Chiesa Nuova (1615), on the site of St Francis's family home. We could well imagine our Canadian minstrel friends busking here when the pageants were taking place.

We also managed to find a post office and a bank before riding back, after a good visit.

A rest day, planning and talking. Mum had left 2 messages on the Vodafone and M rang her after tea. We'd received quotations for World Discovery flight tickets from Travelbag and Trailfinders, both advising to fly after 14 January when prices come down (but hopefully not planes). With so long to wait, it's Greece next stop.

After shopping at the hypermarket in Santa Maria Angeli, we followed the dual carriageway S75 to Foligno, then turned north-east along S77 aiming to meet the Via Adriatica (S16) at Civitanova Marche. For 30 miles, the S77 was a narrow road, twisting its way up the Chienti valley to reach a height of 826 m (2,725 ft) at Colfiorito, the border of Umbria and Marche. We passed many small villages still bearing signs of damage from the 1997 earthquake, whose epicentre had been along this valley rather than in Assisi. Their recovery was much slower, presumably unaided by the wealth of the RC church. Cranes were poised above the rooftops, scaffolding shrouded many buildings and there were still clusters of temporary housing, with portakabin shops and bars, but at least the tents and shacks which Martin described a year ago had gone. We parked for lunch on the col and bought a string of onions from a roadside stall, the first of several selling spuds, onions and lentils, harvested locally.

For its final 40 miles the S77 became a free motorway, with several short tunnels. Roadworks showed it might some day meet Foligno, providing a rare fast route over the spine of Italy. Civitanova Marche was large and busy in the teatime rush (or was it the going back to work after Siesta rush?) The camper parking place listed in the French book, by the motorway exit, had ceased to be, so we drove up the Via Adriatica towards Ancona, cut off from the sea by the railway line and its low bridges. Just after Porto Recanati we turned inland a few miles to Loreto, a little medieval town with a camper park (down a narrow road which we couldn't take) and a few more miles to Recanati, another little medieval town in the hills with a very well signposted camper park just outside the old centre. We followed countless signs in circles round the one-way system but were finally rewarded with an area provided free of charge by the Camping Club of Recanati, with water, waste point and even electrical hook-ups. (A voluntary contribution could be left in an envelope.) We joined 4 Italian vans under the horsechestnut trees, right next to another Ford E350, a 23-ft Holiday Rambler flying the Stars & Stripes! Rolf & Erica Düpe from Münster soon emerged for a chat and explained they were showing the flag 'in solidarity'.

110 miles. Free parking.

Our calendar tells us it is St Francis of Assisi's day, so just as well we're not queueing for the Basilica today. After breakfast we talked to Rolf & Erica while they inspected Rosie and admired her Taylormade windscreen covers, which they took a pattern off to copy! Their E350 is 7 years old but they've just ordered a new Rockwood with the later E450 engine at the recent Düsseldorf show, to be built to their own internal design. They live near Wettringen and invited us to phone if we go to Ardelt for service again, though they also recommended Müller near Frankfurt and gave us a Reisemobil magazine with the address (and some interesting articles for M to translate).

But we had a ferry to catch, and left without exploring medieval Recanati - next time. We didn't even stop at the Lidl shop in Loreto (the first we've noticed in Italy), but headed along the motorway for one junction to Ancona, then through 10 miles of chaotic traffic to the port. At least we were allowed in without a ticket this time, though parking was difficult. M compared prices for the 4 ferries running today - Blue Star Line at 1 pm, Minoan Lines at 3 pm, Anek at 6 pm or Superfast at 7 pm, all offering camping on board and all calling at Igoumenitsa before Patras. Blue Star (with 2 brand new ships) at £50 less than Superfast, won our business. B was found talking to a retired couple from Peterborough, driving a small camper to Cyprus for their grand-daughter's wedding, because they were afraid to fly there! They had only driven in France and Spain previously and we reassured them that Cyprus wasn't about to be invaded in a Muslim crusade, that Greece wouldn't have snow at this time of year - and tried to persuade them that it deserved more than one week on their way back to Spain for the winter. Why do people with all the time in the world rush so?

Afraid to 'shop around', they had already booked the Superfast, so we left them to wait and joined the boarding queue for 'Blue Star 2', which sailed on time. We shared the almost-empty camping deck with 1 Swiss + 4 German vans and a couple of lorries, sat on the sun deck reading for a couple of hours after lunch, and are now writing this as dusk falls. It's warm, calm, a perfect crossing so far, apart from the prospect of arriving in Igoumenitsa at 4 am (or 5 am Greek time). It's the same price for the extra 5 hours to Patras, but we want to revisit the north, probably returning from Patras in December, maybe even to Venice as it costs only £7 more and gives a shorter journey across Italy.

29 miles. Free night on Blue Star

5 am and still dark as we drove down the ramp at Igoumenitsa, the lights of Corfu twinkling across the water. We parked and dozed till dawn, vaguely aware of ferries coming and going, calling on their way to or from Patras, as well as the smaller ferries to Corfu. After breakfast we stepped out to find ourselves alongside a German motorhome, unmistakably from Berlin. The whole of the nearside was a beautifully painted scene of the city, with all its landmarks, the Gedächtniskirche, etc, done by some photographic airbrush process. As we admired it, Herr Hinze came out and showed us the other side - an astonishing sepia scene of the Berlin airlift, the sky full of parachute parcels. Pointing to a boy unwrapping a Hershey bar he explained that it was him, aged 8 (3 years younger than Barry, who also remembered things dropping from the sky near his home).

He expressed his gratitude to American/British troops for relieving 6 months of starvation and for saving the whole of Germany from being Communist. He also had a scene from the 50th anniversary celebrations in Berlin in 1998, showing himself meeting a US pilot from the airlift. The decoration of his van had taken 2 months - we showed him what Hassan Chakir could achieve in 2 hours. He owned some guest apartments and a motorhome-caravan business near Berlin, being run by his son while he and his wife toured Europe. They'd driven to Greece via Romania (improving) and Bulgaria (not), and now awaited the Ancona ferry.

After this history lesson, we walked along the waterfront and back through the town, entranced by the sheer Greekness of it all. We changed money, got a phonecard, bought wonderful bread rolls and currant teacakes at the baker's, visited the Tourist Police and bought a road atlas and a calendar at the stationery stall. A cup of coffee, a fill of diesel (43p a litre) and water, and off down the coast towards Parga. The sun shone from the blue Greek sky, reflected from the blue Greek sea, perfect. M, following the route in the new atlas, tried to turn to page 24, to find a whole chunk was missing and another set of pages were in twice! This is the flip side of the Greek way, laid-back but not exactly efficient. So, a few miles back to demand a replacement, found at the 3rd attempt, then off we go again. A new wider road was under construction, perhaps part of the infrastructure for the 2004 Olympics, linking Athens with the ports.

We lunched in a layby overlooking the water, continuing past the turnoff to the little port of Parga with its Venetian castle, then past the 5thC BC Nekromantion, where the ancients consulted with the dead through the necromancy oracle, all visited on our very first journey into Greece. Today, following recommendations (Mick & Flo and Franz & Erika) we turned down to the campsite at Riza Beach, to find a very small and scruffy establishment. The black granny left in charge spoke no English, but signalled to go where we liked. We parked in the only space large enough, in a corner by the pebbly beach, ready for dinner and an early night.

An interesting text message from the Swatman's (in reply to those sent early this morning on board the ferry), saying they had missed us by hours in Ancona according to a Scottish port worker we'd both met! They'll be in Greece again in November, en route to Cyprus.

68 miles. £6.60 inc elec.

M rang Travelbag to clarify the itinerary and fare for our proposed World Discovery ticket, and was relieved to learn that the price quoted in their letter was for the peak period, ending 14 January. We then worked out a new schedule leaving later, to fly Heathrow-Bangkok, Singapore-Darwin, Brisbane-Hawaii-Los Angeles and New York-Heathrow. A 2nd phone call to Travelbag with the new dates and relevant questions had a good outcome, and they will post their new itinerary and fare quotation directly to Gastouni.

In mid-afternoon our peace was interrupted by the arrival of a Greek couple who had come to spend a night at their caravan next to us, complete with noisy radio, barbecue and attitude. After a futile attempt to find an alternative pitch, bumping Rosie's head on the low olive trees, we checked out and drove down to Kalamitsi Beach at Preveza, a much bigger pleasanter (if more expensive) site we stayed on in July 1997. Price isn't everything.

By 5 pm we were resettled, helped by the kindly 81 year old running the site with his daughter, and celebrated our arrival by making a pear and chocolate gateau.

20 miles. £9.72 inc elec.

With the site to ourselves (no Greek statics), the season over, the swimming pool emptied, a sense of space and peace prevails at last. M rang mum and asked for mail at Gastouni. We wrote her a letter to send with the September log, and also wrote to the banks and the CTC Magazine suggesting the club sorts out its priorities. B gave Rosie an all-over wash; she was dusty rather than dirty after many miles on dry Italian and Greek roads. He also sanded and spray-painted the fibreglass patch on Rosie's roof (a memento of a previous, more serious encounter with Greek olives at Sparta) and M worked on the diary.

Another amazing text message from the Swatman's said they had just spent a night at Recanati next to Rolf & Erica, who had shown them the photo they had taken of us 4 days ago, which apparently demonstrated that we hadn't changed in the 3 years since we last met. Coincidence or what! Obviously, we are destined to meet (or perhaps to just keep missing each other - we heard of them in England in the spring, from both Barry Crawshaw and Steve-the-Fridge, but they left as we arrived, and we also had near-misses in Australia and NZ).

At teatime a small British campervan arrived, bearing Nick & Kathy from Greenwich, fresh from the Meteora Monasteries and on their hurried way to the Peloponnese. We invited them in for an evening over their red wine, exchanging books and magazines and giving them copies of our A-Z of Full-timing and our best-of-Greek-campsites list. In their early 40's, they've recently quit office jobs in the City and rented their house for 2 years to explore Europe - starting with a drive to Nordkapp, then via Germany and Italy to Greece, a few days ago.

Listening to the World Service radio over breakfast, we learnt that the offensive against Afghanistan had begun last night, with attacks on Kabul airport and strategic Taliban sites.

After sharing the news with Nick & Kathy over coffee, we rode a couple of miles down the coast and into the town. Preveza is situated at the entrance to the Amvrakikos Gulf opposite Aktio, scene of the naval battle in 31 BC when Octavian (later Emperor Augustus) defeated the fleet of Anthony and Cleopatra, securing the Roman Empire. A small ferry crosses the gulf to Aktio, but this morning we had business. We found a place to photocopy the September log (no mean task), spent 200 Drx on 2P's, posted the letters, raided a bank and shopped at the Atlantik supermarket.

Back at the campsite some Germans and Italians had arrived; since we are at war (although not with them this time) we hoisted our Union Jack from the radio aerial! We walked down the track to Kalamitsi Beach ('This Beach Is Not Rocky') to paddle and fly the kite before dinner, then another evening with Nick & Kathy. They brought in some beer and lemonade to make shandy; we gave them a small piece of Berlin wall, as they had been disappointed to see so little of it standing when they came through in September.

Dry and warm again, a good day for dhobi, bicycle cleaning and maintenance and washing Rosie's inner ceiling. We also wrote to P&O and the Motorhome Ticket Club, updated the diary, rang Alan and talked some more with Nick & Kathy.

Farewell to Nick & Kathy, then a ride north along the coast into the wind. We detoured to Nikopolis to see how restoration work was progressing on the site we visited in July 97 (little sign, but workmen were still repointing stonework on the massive early Christian walls near the Roman Odeon). The coast road towards Igoumenitsa had glorious views of the sea and light traffic. Greek lorries are much kinder than most, accustomed as they are to mopeds, tractors, donkeys and bikes, giving a wide berth and a friendly wave. At the top of a long climb we found picnic tables on the cliff-tops, had our sardine sarnies and lemonade, then dropped down and up again to Riza village, a mile inland from Riza Beach (of Camping Acrogiali).

The village was far enough from the main road to be lost in its own rural world - a little church and square, a simple taverna doubling as the only shop. We gradually remembered enough Greek to order 2 large hot coffees with milk and - the hardest bit - one with, one without sugar. We sat under the obligatory spreading tree, enjoying them with cold water on the side, watched by a little girl who'd come to buy bread from the old couple who tried a few words of Italian on us. Chickens clucked around, the cat stalked a wagtail, all the flowers are still in bloom. The homeward ride, with back wind, was a joy.

Later Barry worked on updating his various schedules and forecasts on the spreadsheet programme - the timing and costs of the forthcoming round-the-world journey, a schedule for the time in Greece and on return to the UK, routes in Thailand, Malaysia, Australia and USA, jobs to be done in anticipation of all this. We also maintain and update spreadsheets on cols climbed (58 so far), batteries used (nearly 40 different devices), future income forecasts, rental income and expenditure, daily expenditure, monthly analysis of expenditure, all Rosie's journeys and mileages since March 1995, all Rosie's diesel consumption and costs since March 1995. And this diary!

Before leaving we rode into Preveza to post the P&O letters and buy bread, etc. We found the Tourist Police with a view to complaining about the refusal to give a receipt at Camping Kalamitsi but they were closed till 8 am tomorrow, so we reluctantly let it go. (But won't be returning.)

A hot afternoon (38°C seen on a display), driving through the dry rocky mountains and gorges of Epiros to its capital, once Ali Pasha's stronghold, at Ioannina. After a few narrow squeaks driving through the old town down by the lake, we found the narrow entrance road to the campsite by the sailing club on Lake Pamvotis, memorable for Barry's head injury, hospital visit and stitches in July 97. We noted that the low beam on the corner of the toilet block which caused the gash had been removed, with a new roof in place. It was almost empty and we found an excellent level pitch in a private corner by the lake, easy to drive in and out. It's beautiful and quiet this time, with a price reduction because there is no hot water off-season. As darkness fell we had a marvellous view of the lights of Perama village, across the lake, and all the coloured lights of Ioannina a mile along the shore.

66 miles. £7.55 inc elec (10 amp but low voltage).

There are 22 TV channels here including, perhaps because it's a University town, CNN, Euro News, RAI Uno and Cyprus TV. All this gives us a chance to see what is happening in George Bush's America and the Taliban's Afghanistan; our Tony is slowly emerging as a more sincere, cleaner cut, slightly more believable version of George W. He also seems to have more time - a man with time to read the Koran can't be all that busy.

M cleaned out the fridge and microwave (which wouldn't with this low voltage hook-up, but did later) and cycled to the nearby supermarket. B checked and cleaned Rosie's wheels and tyres (there's a very slow leak on the inner rear right-hand tyre, perhaps from the valve). Having finished the disgusting Liar by Stephen Fry, he made a start on Vera Brittain's Testament of Friendhsip, the story of Vera and Winifred Holtby of Rudston on the Yorkshire Wolds, near Bridlington (well enough described to evoke nostalgia). Both books describe same-sex relationships, it seems, one delicately, one as crude as a butcher's manual.

Another text message from Stan & Celia, Down Under, now in Darwin. He reports the temperature is 35°C, just like here, but with tropical humidity. We inferred that they had the camper, it was equipped, it was working, they had got it the 2,500 miles to Darwin already. Great stuff. We texted (is that a verb?) back, equalling their temperature and promising a letter soon.

After dark the wind gathered strength across the lake, the waves washing over the path like high tide at Blackpool in a gale. Towards midnight Barry brought the awning and everything in, put the bicycles up on their rack and removed the windscreen covers, in case we needed to evacuate in a hurry, but it calmed down a bit by midnight. Our German neighbours were also out watching the situation, but the only other occupants, Austrians in a camper on the waterfront, appeared to sleep through it all.

A fine morning, the lake much calmer. We decided on a ride to Dodona before lunch, only 15 miles each way. In July 97 we'd used Alf to get there, which explains why we'd forgotten the climb involved! We rode along the lakeside promenade and then a cycle path out towards the university before joining the main road towards Arta. We turned off after 8 miles onto the quieter Dodona road, climbing steadily through the hills and woods for over 5 miles, passing vineyards, shepherds moving their flocks, isolated farms. A new dual carriageway, part of the Odos Egnatia which links Italy to Turkey, was being built, crossing our lane on a bridge.

We had climbed at least 1,000 ft (starting at 1,700 ft at the lake), then dropped steeply down for the last couple of miles to Dodona, at 2,067 ft. We had toured the remains of Greece's oldest sanctuary (to Zeus) and first oracle, and the 3rdC BC theatre (larger than Epidavros and later used by the Romans) on our previous visit. Today we were content to buy a coffee at the site cafe before returning. The wind had got up again, but at least it was behind us for most of the way.

Back at the campsite for a late lunch, reading and writing. Putting breadcrumbs out for the birds, M surprised a basking snake outside our door!

The Saturday night movie on Star Channel was 'The French Lieutenant's Woman'.

A peaceful morning, just the odd German van coming and going. We rang P&O to establish the period when fares are higher over the Xmas holiday, in order to decide on a return date, though it proved an impossible question, as they operate 8 different price tariffs according to day, time of sailing and how many have already booked. It made Greek ferry schedules simple. Also rang Travelbag but Sasha was not in today and apparently only she can discuss our proposed itinerary.

After lunch we cycled into town, along the lake front below the ramparts, where the moat has been filled in to provide a quayside and promenade. Greeks were strolling in the Sunday afternoon sunshine or waiting for the little ferry boats across to the small island of Nissi. The village there was founded by refugees from the Mani in the 16thC and has 5 monasteries, one of which was the site of Ali Pasha's assassination in 1822.

We went through one of the gates into the Frourio, Ali Pasha's citadel built on the old acropolis. Among a maze of narrow cobbled alleys and nicely restored residences, we climbed up to the Popular Art Museum. The collection of Epirot costumes, jewellery, furniture, etc, is displayed in the recesses of the well preserved Aslan Pasha mosque. In one of the cells of the Ottoman seminary or medreses (1618) opposite the mosque is a strange private collection of guns and other weapons, gathered by an eccentric Greek over the last 30 years. His leaflet says other cells will contain art, pottery and so on. In the south-eastern corner of the ramparts is the walled inner citadel, with the extensive ruins of Ali Pasha's fortress. By the Fethiye Tzami (Victory Mosque), closed but still complete with minaret, is an old stone slab covered by a new wrought iron cage,

believed to be the tomb of the tyrant (shot and beheaded after he was betrayed to the Turks). We didn't bother with the Byzantine Museum, in a new building on the site of Ali's Palace, or the cafe-bar, full of young Greeks, but wandered down through the old bazaar area, where copper, tin and silversmiths had worked in Ottoman times. A few shops still sold copperware, old and new.

Back at the campsite we found a newly arrived tent and tandem near Rosie and met Richard & Penny from Winchester, a couple in their mid-twenties. They'd ridden across France and down Italy to Brindisi, arriving in Igoumenitsa 2 days ago. Over lots of tea and biscuits, they told us of their plan to cycle overland to Australia, via Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, China, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia (and maybe on to South and North America) taking 18 months or so! We were impressed, though worried that they had no idea what they were taking on, given that this was their first cycle tour and they'd no experience whatever of 3rd world countries. It would have been hard enough in the past, but with the present situation in Afghanistan, decidedly unadvisable. But they're keeping in touch with events via the World Service, newspapers and Emails and will probably have to change course and take a plane over Iran and Pakistan, to mention but a few. When they went, to walk into town for a meal, they left the tandem unlocked and their bags scattered about outside the tent, so we kept an anxious eye on it until they returned at 10.30 pm. They have plenty to learn!

Penny & Richard came in for a tea and toast breakfast before setting out for Metsovo at 10 am, delayed by yet more good talk. We left a bit later, after ringing P&O and shopping at the nearby AB supermarket, then followed them up the same road, past Perama (the village with Greece's largest underground caverns, seen on our previous visit) with great views over Lake Pamvotis. After half an hour, 10 miles and 1400 ft of climbing, we spotted the tandem resting at a viewpoint and pulled in for tea, talk and digestives. Then we left them to it and enjoyed our own climb through the folds of the mountains, Rosie going very well, sometimes dropping to cross a river on a narrow bridge then up again - wild empty country along Greece's highest road, separating the North and South Pindhos ranges. As the main route from Igoumenitsa to Turkey, the road is kept open in all but the worst blizzards but a tunnel is under construction, scarring the valley bottom with dozens of bulldozer tracks. This was already underway last time we passed in summer 1997, our elderly Rough Guide says 'due to open in 1999' and it still looks far from completion - perhaps in time for the Olympics in 2004? It will be another part of the new Via Egnatia (the old Roman road linked their port, in modern Albania, to Constantinople).

The mountain village of Metsovo spills down the side of the ravine about 9 miles before the pass. As we'd bypassed it last time (a wise decision), we turned right and dropped into it, thinking that if tourist coaches can enter and park we could too. It must once have been delightful, the remote capital of the transhumant Vlach shepherds of the northern Pindhos who speak a Latin-based language, with its traditional architecture (stone houses with stone slab roofs and wooden balconies). Now, though, they all house souvenir shops, restaurants and hotels (13 of them in a row). The road became narrower and cobbled as we descended and it was with great relief that we reached a square large enough to turn round and escape back up the steep hill, hindered only by a truck unloading logs at the dentist's. The only parking area was already full with only 3 small coaches and a few cars. Back on the main road and a couple of miles further along towards the pass, we stopped for lunch at the parking area in front of the winter ski station, where lorries break their journey across the montains. A small restaurant was open, a stall sold fruit, a sad old dog sat hopefully at our door.

Then on to the Katara Pass, the highest in Greece at 1700 m or 5,610 ft, dry and clear today, 42 miles from Ioannina. The 35-mile and 5,000 ft descent to Kalambaka passed through pine forests and just 3 small villages offering food and drink along the way. We noted where they were in case we cycle back from Kalambaka to the Pass. By 5 pm the amazing rock pinnacles of Meteora stood out against the blue sky and we were soon settled on our usual campsite, empty, neglected and overgrown as usual - the cheapest and most splendidly situated of several round the town. As darkness fell the rock faces above us were floodlit, topped by the illuminated cross of St Stephen's convent, and the tiny lamps of the graveyard flickered below. Magic.

79 miles. £5.66 inc elec.

A fine day, with the road loop of the Meteora monasteries almost to ourselves, the tourist season over. The top gate of the campsite was padlocked but we managed to scale it and lift the bicycles over, rather than dropping down to the bottom gate. Then a stiff 4 km climb to the road junction with the circuit. We rode up to the entrance of each of the 6 restored monasteries, pausing at each one to take in the views of Kalambaka spread on the plain below, and seeing each one from below, then above, at different angles in the sunlight. Free of the obligation to go inside them, take photographs or buy souvenirs (having done all that before, see Diary for August 1997), we could just enjoy the magnificent ride. First we paused opposite the Holy Trinity, home of the one-eyed monk who we heard is still in residence, then at St Stephen's, the large convent, where a couple of cars and a souvenirs/drinks van were parked. Taking in the view, over its gardens and tiny vineyard, we picked out the Ikon workshops and the lane up to our campsite and finally made out Rosie, parked among the trees in splendid isolation, a thousand feet below.

Back past Holy Trinity and round to St Barlaam (pronounced Varlaam), which is more touristy with plenty of stalls and a bus or two. A new entrance had been built since our last visit, giving slightly easier access to the many steps. On to Grand Meteora, the oldest and highest (closed today - they all have a different day off), then back past Barlaam, then the glorious descent into Kastraki village, passing the last 2, the tiny convent of St Barbara Roussanou, perched on its much-photographed pinnacle, and recently restored St Nicholas. Down past the huge outcrops of rock, used by climbers (we saw 3 standing triumphant on top of one pillar), and through Kastraki village, home to 2 other campsites. A slight climb to Kalambaka, where we shopped at the supermarket in the old cinema. There was also a brand new Dia store, unfortunately closed.

Back at the campsite we found Penny, Richard and their tandem, come to join us as invited. They'd ridden as far as Metsovo yesterday, taken a room at the Acropolis Hotel, and continued today with no problems other than being chased by 2 separate groups of dogs either side of the pass. We showed them the Dog Dazer and they at once decided to have one sent out. They came in for the rest of the afternoon/evening, enjoying our tea, biscuits and subsequently a pasta supper, and sharing knowledge of the road ahead. Oddly, we'll probably be in Thailand, Malaysia and Australia before them, since they intend to go overland rather than courtesy of Qantas (though we're working on them to change their plan and at least fly from Turkey to India).

Penny & Richard joined us for a late breakfast and more information exchanging and travellers' tales before they went into town to shop and play with their Emails.

M walked down to the phone by the Ikon Workshops to phone the Motorhome Ticket Club and book our return to Portsmouth from Cherbourg, repeating the process after lunch to confirm it.

Our new friends offered Ouzo on their return and joined us for an hour before bedtime, poring over maps and planning onward routes, though they are beginning to accept the need to fly from Turkey to India rather than risk the 'Stans'.

Armed with dog dazer, 4 bottles of lemonade and a stack of Spam sandwiches, we slipped off the campsite at 9 am, past the comatose tandemists. We needed to make good time to reach the top of the pass towards Metsovo and get back before dark, deciding to turn back at 3 pm.

It began gently enough, through Kalambaka (at 240 m or 792 ft) and Kastraki, past Camping Meteora Garden and the Clinic where Barry once had stitches removed from his head. Women were beginning to set up fruit stalls along the roadside, complete with the big hanging scales. Then well-graded climbing up the side of a valley, to take our first break in the village of Trigona after 18 miles, about half way to the pass, and now at 780 m or 2,574 ft. We sat on the balcony of a cafe-restaurant with coffees and glasses of water, ignored by the 4 old lads drinking at the next table but watched intently by a black granny sitting outside her cottage over the road - the main road from Igoumenitsa to Turkey, with no pavement, lorries brushing past our bicycles leaning on the wall below! The road dropped 120 m (400 ft) over the next 5 miles, through the tiny hamlet of Analipsi and on to Karydallos, the last village on our road. Then it climbed more seriously, zigzagging up through pine forest, the trees laden with pupating processional caterpillars. Two more villages, Panagia and Malakassi, lay below down side roads and were soon spread out beneath us.

We saw the odd shepherd but no wild dogs. A lone restaurant-souvenir shop stood 3½ miles before the pass and we stopped to eat our lunch and buy another coffee, at exactly 2 pm. We shared the crusts with 2 pathetic bitches who sat sadly by, and succeeded in dazing a dominant well-fed dog away. Precision zapping! Refreshed, we reached the col (1700 m or 5,610 ft) at 3.05 pm, after 5 hours' riding and only 2 breaks. The sun was losing its heat as we descended, into a light head wind, but we had the 5-mile uphill between the villages to warm us. At Trigona, the black granny still sat outside her cottage and greeted us like old friends as we rode by! The traffic was light, lorries giving plenty of space, a perfect hard day's ride, all on middle chain ring. We rode onto the campsite at 5.45 pm, having ridden 7 hrs 37 mins out of 8¾ hours total, 70.3 miles and 5,300 ft of climbing at an average speed of 9.2 mph. We were impressed with ourselves, as were Richard & Penny, who came in later to tell us about their ride round the monasteries.

Richard & Penny came in for a farewell coffee and then we cycled with them to the main road, waving them off on their long journey to Turkey and beyond. We turned right for Kalambaka, with the fun of its weekly market as well as the bank, post office, baker's and Dia supermarket. Back to the campground for lunch and a nice interaction with the owner (much friendlier than his missus), who liked the photo of Rosie on his site in the MMM and gave us a suitable discount.

Then a long flat drive across the Thessaly plain, through cotton fields harvesting the last of the crop. We were held up by tractors towing impossibly laden cotton cages and saw several warehouses where it was being baled. The road bypassed the agricultural towns of Trikala, Karditsa and Sofades, then suddenly began to climb to Domokos at 530 m (1,750 ft), the huge plain spreading below us like the great flat lake it once was. A second pass at 1200 m (3,960 ft) preceded the long winding drop to the coast, past Lamia, to join the Athens-Thessalonika 'coastal highway'.

We followed this death-trap of a road south-eastwards, 10 miles to Thermopylae and another 16 to the little resort of Kamena Vourla, where we'd free-camped outside the closed EOT campsite on our previous visit (early December 1997). Luckily, it was closed again and we had a quiet night on the large parking area outside its locked gates, accompanied only by the occasional howl of the 2 resident dogs, with a lovely view of the lights of Kamena Vourla harbour round the bay, opposite the western tip of the large island of Evvia.

108 miles. Free parking.

Back down the 4-lane (2 of them shoulders of varying width and quality) death-trap to Thermopylae, where we drank coffee and telephoned 'Visas Australia' in Nantwich to discover how to get a long-stay tourist (up to 6 months) visa, all under the gaze of a huge statue of Leonidas, clad only in helmet and shield. Here, the King of Sparta and 300 men defended the Pass of Thermopylae to the death against Xerxes' 30,000 Persian force in 480 BC. ('Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, that here obedient to their laws we lie'.) The failed attempt to turn back an invading horde was repeated in 1941 when the British Army, called in too late, left its own monument in a small cemetery, high on the hill.

We then turned south, a much quieter pleasanter road skirting Mounts Parnassos, Giona and Iti, over an 850 m (2,805 ft) pass to Amfissa. We lunched in a layby with a view of Herakles Road, once explored on Alf, but this road was new to us, passing only a metal and silver mine and a few lonely goatherds. After Amfissa (famous for its olives, stretching all the way to the coast) we continued past the Delphi turning to the north shore of the Gulf of Corinth, meeting the sea at the little port of Itea. Two miles east, at Kirra, were 3 campsites and we found the last one open (just). With no space for Rosie among the olive trees and the owner out, we installed ourselves on the parking area just inside the entrance and talked to the only other campers, a family of 3 plus 2 friends in a motorhome from Sheffield, leaving for Athens tomorrow. Armed with a length of 12-amp fuse wire and a blunt screwdriver, the owner fixed us a hook-up on his return and told us the bar was open (no thanks, we'd met the semi-resident German and his dog already!)

61 miles. £8.15 inc 12-amp elec.

A lie-in after talking and planning until the early hours; there was a whole mess of arrangements, scheduling and cost controls to fix if we were to make a second round-the-world ride. The site has a good washing machine (amazing, considering the state of the other facilities) and we did 2 loads, ready after a few minutes on the line in this wonderful climate (75-80° and extremely dry).

No charge was made for the laundry, so we warmed a bit more to the forgetful owner, who, among other virtues, left us alone.

In the afternoon we walked as far as we could along the shingle beach below the site, the coast of the Peloponnese shimmering in the haze on the far side of the Gulf of Corinth. We rang Ionion Beach to let them know we were heading their way - Kein Problem said Pa Fligos.

A friendly Scottish voice on the mobile phone - a message from Isobel at the Willingham campsite to say she had our letter and we were welcome to stay when we were back in the UK. Another slot filled in the burgeoning list of 'arrangements'.

Kirra, now a tiny fishing harbour, was the ancient port for pilgrims on their way to Delphi. For well over a thousand years they worked their way up 10 miles of dangerous mountain paths to the sanctuary of Apollo, to make offerings and consult the famous oracle until it was closed down by the (Christian) Roman Emperor Theodosius in 390 AD. At first we followed their route, along the signposted 'Ancient Road, Kirra-Delphi, 3000 years old', through olive groves. The tarmac path gave way to a rough track, then turned up the hillside, where it could only be followed on foot. We found our way onto the main road, turning off again to zig-zag up through Chrissa where we crossed the pilgrims' way several times.

Chrissa (meaning Gold) was once a city which owned the territory of the sanctuary and grew rich by charging tolls, until a series of Sacred Wars made Delphi an autonomous state. Now, it's just a small village with a bare hill marked 'Ancient Acropolis'. The road climbed steeply, looping its way up to Delphi, and we wondered if the pilgrims actually carried all those votive offerings, marble statues and such, with them or if they bought them at the top. We passed the 3 Delphi campsites on our way, but only Camping Apollo was open, where we'd stayed over Christmas in 1995, newly arrived in Greece after our first few months on the road. Happy memories. The silver-green groves of the 'Sea of Olives' spread below, right to the clustered white houses of the port of Itea-Kirra and the blue gulf beyond.

We didn't revisit the Museum or the Sacred Precinct, leaving them to the coach-loads of Germans and Japs, but rode on to the corner of the Castalian Spring, tucked below the cliffs of Mount Parnassos. Access was now forbidden because of falling rocks but we found a good place to drink our drink and eat our biscuits under a sign advising 'No Picnics'. We turned back by the Marmaria (site of the round Tholos and Temple of Athena), all explored in 1995.

We enjoyed the swoop down to the coast, cooled by a light head wind, and paused in Itea to locate the post office and a photocopier (in a small bookshop). We rang the Thai Consulate in Hull to check out the rules for tourist visas (no problems), then made our way along the quiet seafront. Back for a late lunch, updating the accounts, baking and supper - home-made Lentil & Carrot-burgers, surprisingly good (and no Mad Carrot Disease)!

A splendid ride up (and up) on the minor road running east up the side of the high coastal cliffs - mountain sides dipping into the sea. Our road eventually joined the main road to Athens after Delphi and Arahova, but we rode only as far as the first village, a steady 8-mile ascent, hairpinning high above the sea, then a 2-mile drop to Desfina. We had a splendid view back over our campsite and the harbours of Kirra and Itea, watching a small cruise ship sail in from the Gulf of Corinth to moor at Itea for a shore excursion to Delphi.

Desfina was a warren of steep narrow streets, with no apparent shops or cafes until we found the well-hidden central plateia surrounded by kafenions, each with its own coloured chairs under the plane trees in the square and with its own contingent of old lads, clicking their worry beads under the shady trees. The church clock struck 12. We had the usual coffees and water, the excess profit enabling the kind woman serving us to buy herself a paper at the corner shop. As we left we passed 2 small children playing on the pavement, watched by 3 generations of women on straw-seated wooden chairs. Mum was peeling potatoes, grandma crocheted a tablecloth (perhaps for the gift shops in Delphi), while great-granny just leant on her stick and stared at the passing scene and cyclists, well past household chores.

The descent was wonderful, the road quiet except for a number of lorries labouring up, whose hot breath we felt as we passed them. We assume they use this minor road to bypass the main streets of Delphi and Arahova.

Back home by 1 pm, we spent the afternoon updating the travel-log, writing and sorting papers to send to John at Visas Australia Ltd and wrapping Alan's birthday calendar. Barry filled and emptied water tanks of differing hues and recharged the water accumulator. M filled us with vegetable curry.

Before leaving we rode along the sea-front into Itea to photocopy and post the various papers to Visas Australia Ltd, send Alan's calendar, find a bakery and bank. A nice sight in the village schoolyard, where the children were practising marching round the yard to the blaring music of a tape recorder - getting ready for 28 October! Then we drove round the coast, passing Itea's large bauxite quarry, and on past the little port of Galaxidi, the road keeping low close to the shore, with barren hills rising immediately behind it. Lunch in a layby with a wonderful view across the Gulf to the greener hills of the Peloponnese on the southern side.

We arrived at the quiet tiny harbour of Agios Nikolaos (patron saint of sailors), from where a ferry crosses to Egio every couple of hours. The bar-cafe doubled as a ticket office and we found the next sailing was at 3.30 pm - an hour's wait in the beautiful sunshine, strolling round the quay, watching shoals of tiny striped fish in the crystal-clear water. Then Barry reversed expertly onto the landing craft with half a dozen lorries and cars and we sat up on the sun-deck for the 40 minute journey. (Total price £14, saving an 80-mile drive round for the 15-minute crossing AntiRion/Rion at the entrance to the Gulf.) Landing in Egio, we passed a Lidl store and stopped to shop before making our way onto our favourite, the Old Nat Rd, which we followed for about 10 miles eastwards to Diakofto. We made for the private car park near the railway station in Diakofto which, in the past, had offered secure overnight parking for motorhomes (with water, toilets and hook-up) for a small charge. Sadly, it was no longer in use, but further along past the new supermarket was a simple free car park. Ignoring the 'No Camping' sign we tucked ourselves in the far corner behind an empty lorry and had a quiet night apart from the infrequent passing trains (on the main line to Corinth-Athens, as well as the magnificent rack & pinion track up the Vouraikos Gorge to Kalavrita).

42 miles. Free parking.

We woke to a most unusual sight - it was raining! Only lightly, but the sun and blue sky had given way to clouds, a cold wind, a hint of autumn. M walked across the railway track to the tiny bakery and bought chicken legs and fish at the supermarket. Both card-phones at the station were out of order, but the Chris Paul Hotel let her use the one in their lobby to check if Camping Krioneri was open for business. 'Not really (pause), but we live here, so you can stay' - that lovely Greek compromise. A few miles along the Old Nat Rd, sharing the narrow ledge between sea and mountains with the New Nat (toll) Rd and the railway, to the campsite once recommended by Mick & Flo and Franz & Erika, about a mile before the little resort of Akrata.

Walking in, it seemed deserted, just an elderly British motorhome, well-settled, with no-one around and an awkward narrow lane and sharp turn to the gate. As Barry manoeuvred in, Nikos Theodorou soon appeared to welcome us and we were installed in a corner, facing the sea under the tamarisk trees. We also met Russell & Anne (Mick & Flo clones), owners of the motorhome, who have lived here for 18 months, doing odd jobs. They'd recently been to Patras and passed on a couple of week-old English newspapers, so we're more or less up to date on empty gossip. Nikos gave us a bag of oranges from their trees (just in time - we're out of squash and down to our last jar of marmalade).

After lunch we met Canadian Linda, once a teacher of Eng Lit but for 30 years Nikos' wife. She was the co-author (with a Greek female friend) of the Cadogan Guide to the Peloponnese and is currently updating it, as well as writing another guide to the whole of Greece and the islands. She came in to talk furiously to us about Greek history (from ancient through Byzantine), a passion even Nikos cannot understand, and lent us a copy of the book she is updating. It's not a series we know, written for the American market, like a Rough Guide with more history and legends (which she doesn't seem able to separate).

For the rest of the day we sheltered from the rain, with plenty to read. The evening's TV highlight was Part 1 of an excellent film about Mussolini (well played by a young Bob Hoskins, with Anthony Hopkins as his son-in-law and Foreign Minister, Count Galeazzo Ciano). We look forward to Part 2 tomorrow.

8 miles. £7.55 inc elec.

The rain has passed but a strong cold wind from the north-east did not bode well for cycling up into the hills. Instead we got busy with housework, reading the papers and guide book acquired yesterday, writing at length to Stan & Celia and updating the travel-log. On the radio, horrific news of the fire in the St Gotthard Tunnel, where 2 lorries collided and the death toll is still unknown (it turned out to be only 9 after scare stories of up to 100). The Mont Blanc Tunnel is still closed after its fire 2 years ago. That leaves us the Fréjus for our return journey in December.

In the afternoon we wrapped up for a short walk along the shore directly below the campsite. There is hardly a beach, just a pebbly seaweed-strewn edge to the Gulf and a tiny harbour with a few small fishing boats. It's too windy for them to go out today, the waves splashing us over the rocks as we scrambled along the foot of low cliffs

Having enjoyed and finished Testament to Friendship, Barry moved on to Ivan Turgenev's Fathers and Sons, looking forward to following the development of his namesake, the nihilist Son Bazarov. The film about Mussolini and Ciano ended sadly, as it must. A very well portrayed bit of history. After dark, in a moment of inspiration, Barry connected Rosie's water supply directly to a nearby tap, bypassing the pump and giving us a continuous and limitless water supply.

The wind had dropped a bit but still cool and perfect for a hard day's ride. We went west along the Old Nat Rd for 5 miles to the turning for Kalavrita, onto a road which began climbing at once, following the gorge of a small river, winding its way up the hillside through pineforest, much of it still sparse and blackened after the huge fire in 1998. A stretch of new road (wider and smoother) bypassed the hamlet of Ano (Upper) Diakofto, then rejoined the old road to climb yet more steeply, crossing to the edge of Vouraikos Gorge, high above the river and railway line. After 12 miles of stiff climbing, with one Kitkat break, we reached the highpoint at 3,700 ft (and we started at sea level), then dropped 400 ft over the next 2 miles to the turnoff for Mega Spileo ('Big Cave'), Greece's oldest monastery. The monastic buildings were closed between 1-3 pm, but we'd visited before on Alf and seen St Luke's miraculous icon of the Mother of God and the cave where it was found. (We'd even bought Mum a copy in the gift shop.)

Today we sat in the courtyard, with a wonderful view of the gorge below, the monks' quarters above and a magnificent rock face above that, ate our sardine and jam sandwiches and agreed with the old granny selling walnuts and mountain herbs at the gate that it was Krio (cold). Cold enough to need coats and gloves for the final 6 miles to Kalavrita, mostly downhill, joining the railway line and following it into the village, 1,000 ft below the top of the pass (meaning a 1,000 ft climb again on our way back, giving an unanticipated total of 4,700 ft!) We crossed the main square, where the church clock still stands at 2.34, the time when the Germans shot all 1,436 men and boys on 12 December 1943 before burning the town. We didn't revisit the poignant memorial at the execution site above, we'd paid homage there on foot and on Alf in the past. Now we needed a warming cup of coffee before the return ride (and 'warm' it was, if not downright tepid).

The climb back past Mega Spileo to the top had us removing layers of clothing, then putting them all back on for the 12-mile descent to the coast, this time turning off through the steep narrow lanes of Ano Diakofto. (The higher summer base for transhumants, who would descend to coastal Diakofto in winter - village names often go in such pairs.)

We were back home by 5.30 pm, somewhat cold, hungry and tired, but nothing that pots of tea, hot showers and a fish dinner couldn't cure.

Today is a national holiday (probably taken tomorrow, as it falls on a Sunday) known as Oxi (No) Day - Greece's famous one-word answer to Mussolini's ultimatum in 1940. It's also the day the clocks have gone back an hour throughout Europe. And it's calmer and sunnier again, though still a nip in the east wind. We did some cleaning (bikes and kitchen) and talked to our host Nikos, who is much more interesting than his Canadian wife. He is the same age as Barry, with a mother who came to the Peloponnese from Asia Minor (as they call Turkey) in the population exchange in 1922. He was off on his 'mountain bike' to Akrata, his Sunday morning exercise (an excuse to escape Linda and join his mates for an ouzo or two!) Russell and Anne talked to us too, opening up a bit as they get to know us. They rented out their bungalow near Chichester, came to Greece in their motorhome 18 months ago and here they are still (sounds familiar, except they're not yet of pensionable age - about 50 - so do odd jobs round the campsite to earn their keep). They knew both the MMM and our A-Z series well, hated Spain, couldn't imagine living in the UK again, plenty in common. The skittish young black & white cat is theirs (a rescued stray), watched by the staid old grey cat of the site.

After lunch we had a short ride along the shore to the little resort of Akrata, crossing the pebbly mouth of an empty river bed where yet another gorge reaches the coast. Another empty campsite (Camping Akrata Beach), nearer the town, looked bigger and easier to get onto, but no-one was about. Another year, another look round; this area has many advantages over Ionion for a long stay, being much nearer to the mountains as well as to shops, PO and phone box.

A text message from the Swatmans, who are soon arriving in Corfu and want to know where we got our settee reupholstered. We could take them there, in Amaliada, but as for the name and address?

B worked on what will become a lengthy critique of Linda's Cadogan Guide to the Peloponnese to send to the publishers (they offer a free guide to readers writing in with usable comments and amendments) while M made dinner and microwaved a date & walnut cake.

Our last cycling ambition from Krioneri was a route we'd once completed on Alf (March 97) in winter snow (as pictured in the MMM A-Z series). The road, going nowhere in particular, wound up steeply from Akrata Beach to upper Akrata, then on through the empty hillside bordering the gorge of the River Styx, the pines again blackened by extensive forest fires. It was wonderfully quiet (only 3 buses a week up here!) After 11 miles of hard climbing, to about 3,000 ft, we reached the tiny village of Valimi, its 2 cafes on opposite sides of the street both open. A hopeful old granny in black called out from each doorway but we resisted, determined to reach Zarouchla.

Now the road dropped and rose again, about 300 ft down and up, dipping in and out of the gorge. This happened 3 times, tantalisingly falling and climbing. After another 4 miles, at the bottom of the 2nd dip, at Potamos, a sign reminded us that Zarouchla was still 7 miles away, so we stopped to eat our sandwiches. At the top of the next climb, we noticed a side-lane to Solos, a tiny summer-only village from where the Rough Guide describes a walk to the Mavroneri (= Blackwater) Waterfall, where the River Styx drops into its gorge - taking 4¾ hours each way, so we left that for another day. The Road to Hell is not paved, after all!

We could look down into the majestic gorge, its crags and black pines, from our road, recently paved as far as Zarouchla thanks to the EU (75% funded). After 31 miles, at 2,800 ft, a cluster of stone houses and a couple of small tavernas marked the end of the road, a welcome cup of coffee and a halting conversation with a local in fine boots (more impressed by our cycling than our Greek). The 26 miles back were delightful, the sun still shone on the views across the mountains to the Gulf of Corinth, blue on blue. We passed 3 trucks being loaded with sheep and goats, rounded up by a bevy of dogs and men, ready to take to lower pastures - modern transhumance - and they in turn passed us going down. Very little other traffic until Akrata.

We were back by 5.30 pm (or actually 4.30 pm, but we're not changing our clocks in order to take advantage of the daylight) and we prepared to leave tomorrow.

In which we cycle 7 miles to Akrata, then drive through Patras to Kato Achaia

A last ride along the shore to Akrata, to buy bread and pick grapes on the lane (in the garden of an empty house, hanging over the fence and dropping unwanted onto the path). We took our leave of Russell and Anne, and the irritating Linda (rescued from a heated argument, which somehow involved the Falklands, Mad Cow Disease and British universities giving free tuition to foreigners, by the arrival of the much more affable Nikos), then drove along the New Nat Rd, past Diakofto and Egion. Just before Patras, near Rio, roadworks diverted us onto the Old Nat Rd, so we neatly avoided paying the exit toll. We parked by the ferry at Rio for lunch - the bridge across the mouth of the Gulf which will replace the ferry is, of course, still nowhere near finished, though the piers are being put in.

Then the usual chaos of traffic through Patras, a narrow and difficult route to the port, though we followed the one signposted for 'Trucks'. The large ferries bound for Italy were all in harbour - Superfast, Minoan, and Blue Star - a fine sight. We continued along the seafront, parking at the Praktiker DIY store to stock up on WD40, light bulbs, batteries, a hosepipe fitting and a brand new map of the Peloponnese done by the Hellenic Army Geographical Service - which still has the Aginara and Ionion Beach campsites on the wrong side of Glifa, so we'll not take it too seriously.

About 10 miles along the shore, keeping to the Old Nat Rd, we came to Kato Achaia and parked right on the beach, near the summer-only campsite, a quiet spot we found last time we passed by here in January 2000. Now, as then, the only disturbance was a flock of 13 geese being called in, waddling past. The sun set, a bright moon rose, the lights of Patras harbour lined the bay opposite, the sea breathed gently and we slept well.

59 miles. Free parking.

As we ate breakfast by our favourite sea the geese were propelled down the lane by an old man waving a stick, who left them to their own devices once they reached the shore. Ducks and geese are not a common sight here, hens and turkeys being much more popular (in almost every garden). Then we found our way across the single track railway onto the New Nat Rd, to drive the familiar route to Gastouni, spotting the landmarks as we went - Andravida, the turning for Killini, first view of Chlemoutsi Castle - it all looked as if we'd never been gone.

In Gastouni we parked behind the bread shop and walked round town. We posted a letter to Stan and collected our post from mum, Alan and Travelbag; left a year's films at our favourite photographer's (who still remembered our Moroccan sunrise); and shopped at the new Dia discount store by the railway crossing. We ate lunch before driving the final 10 miles to Ionion Beach, through Vartholomio, where the road was up yet again (more new drains?) Pa Fligos welcomed us in German, then Hans and Inger more vociferously in Austro-English, and at last we were left to find a pitch on the sea-front, next to a small group of Germans (the tail-end of the 'autumn people'). The site is still lush and green, the winter tree-pruning yet to come, and we settled in, made tea and began to read our post.

There were 2 letters from Mum, together with stuff from the CTC (at last), Caravan Club, and quotations from Trailfinders and Austravel (both more expensive than Travelbag for the same ticket!) Alan had written too, remembering the Tunnel and Col du Parpaillon, along with a packet of mail including letters from Stan & Celia (with 3 fine photos of the campervan Down Under), Andrew Watson (with the photo he took of us at the top of the Bonette), Andrew Hague (having seen our letter in Rough News) and Patrick Phelan (having seen our letter in the MMM - which is more than we have). How nice of them all. We left the letters from the bank, Turners and the Inland Revenue for tomorrow, and replied to Stan.

40 miles. (Price to be agreed with George!)