CYCLING IN THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTHERN GREECE

OCTOBER 2001

Using our motorhome to travel through northern Greece, we took the opportunity to make a number of day rides, cycling high into the hills. We climbed in the areas of Kalambaka and then Delphi in northern Greece, and above Diakofto on the southern shore of the Gulf of Corinth.

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 monastery 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 of Thessaly below, and seeing each one first 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), we could just enjoy the magnificent ride. First we paused opposite the Holy Trinity (Ag Triados), home of the one-eyed monk who we heard is still in residence, then at St Stephen's (Ag Stefanou), a 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 the motorhome, 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 (Megalou Meteorou), the oldest and highest (closed today - they each have a different rest day), then back past Barlaam for the glorious descent into Kastraki village, passing the last 2, the tiny convent of St Barbara (Roussanou), perched on its much-photographed pinnacle, and the recently restored St Nicholas (Ag Nikolaou).

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 tandemists Penny and Richard (met on the campsite in Ioannina 2 days ago) had come to join us. 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 Katara Pass. We showed them our 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 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 suggested they fly from Turkey to India, at least).

Armed with Dog Dazer, 4 bottles of home-made lemonade and a stack of Spam sandwiches, we slipped off the campsite at 9 am past the sleeping tandemists. We needed to make good time to reach the top of the Katara Pass and get back before dark, deciding to turn back at 3 pm whether we'd made it or not.

The road north-west towards Metsovo 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 (29 km), 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-clad granny sitting outside her cottage across 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 (8 km), through the tiny hamlet of Analipsi and on to Karydallos, the last village on our road. Then we 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 3˝ 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 (1,700 m or 5,610 ft) at 3.05 pm, after 5 hours' riding with only 2 breaks. We'd done a slow 35 miles.

Turning back, 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-clad 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 cycled onto the campsite at 5.45 pm, having ridden for 7 hrs 37 mins out of a total of 8 hrs 45 mins - 70.3 miles (112 km) and 5,300 ft (1,600 m) of climbing at an average speed of 9.2 mph (15 kph). We were impressed with ourselves, as were Richard and Penny, who came in later to tell us about their ride round the monasteries.

Kirra, now a tiny fishing harbour on the north coast of the Gulf of Corinth, 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. Today, cruise ships still moor in nearby Itea to visit Delphi by coach.

Cycling from the campsite, we began by following the pilgrim route north, along the signposted 'Ancient Road, Kirra-Delphi, 3,000 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 (= 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 1995, newly arrived in Greece after our first few months of motorhoming. 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 Japanese, 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 lemonade 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 detail on previous visits.

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), then made our way along the quiet seafront. Back for a late lunch, baking and supper - home-made Lentil & Carrot-burgers were surprisingly good, and no 'Mad Carrot Disease'! (Beefburgers had a bad press at the time, due to 'Mad Cow Disease')

A splendid ride up (and up) on the minor road running east from Itea up the side of the high coastal cliffs - mountain sides dipping into the sea. Our road would eventually join the main road to Athens after Delphi and Arahova, but we cycled only as far as the first village, a steady 8-mile (13 km) ascent, hairpinning high above the sea, then a 2-mile (3 km) 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: modern pilgrims.

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 colour of 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 foreign 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 narrow and crowded 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. Barry filled and emptied water tanks of differing hues and recharged the water accumulator. Margaret filled us with vegetable curry.

Having ferried the motorhome across the Gulf of Corinth to Egio on the south side, we had settled at Krioneri (= Cold Water) near Akrata, a few miles along the coast to the east.

The wind had dropped a bit but still cool and perfect for a hard day's ride. We went west along the Old National Road for 5 miles to the turning inland (south) for Kalavrita onto a road which began climbing at once, following the gorge of a small river, winding its way up the hillside through pine forest, 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 (19 km) of stiff climbing, with one Kit Kat break, we reached the highpoint at 3,700 ft or 1,121 m (and we started at sea level), then dropped 400 ft (120 m) over the next 2 miles (3 km) to the turn-off for Mega Spileo (= Big Cave), Greece's oldest monastery. The monastic buildings were closed between 1-3 pm, but we had visited before and seen St Luke's miraculous icon of the Mother of God and the cave where it was found. (We'd even bought Margaret's 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 towering 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 (10 km) to Kalavrita, mostly downhill, joining the railway line and following it into the village, 1,000 ft (303 m) 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 or 1,420m!). 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 our motorbike 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.

Our last cycling ambition from Krioneri was a route we'd once completed on the motorbike (March 1997) in winter snow. The road, going nowhere in particular, wound steeply south 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 (18 km) of hard climbing to about 3,000 ft (910 m), 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 café doorway but we resisted, determined to reach Zarouchla.

Now the road dropped and rose again, about 300 ft (90 m) down and up, dipping in and out of the gorge. This happened 3 times, tantalisingly falling and climbing. After another 4 miles (6 km), at the bottom of the second dip at Potamos, a sign reminded us that Zarouchla was still 7 miles (11 km) 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 4 hrs 45 mins each way, so we left that for another day. The Road to Hell is not paved, after all (though our intentions are good)!

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 (50 km) at 2,800 ft (850 m), 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 (he was more impressed by our cycling than by our Greek). The 26 miles (42 km) 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). We prepared to move the motorhome tomorrow, back to the west coast of the Peloponnese.