Petrolium Powered Travel of Greece, Italy and Austria

Our original plan was to travel through the Greek islands, but after our failed attempt at flight we had to rethink our approach. After an all-night ferry ride from Italy we arrived on the north-western coast of Greece, with the plan of travelling over land to the Aegean. We were not to be disappointed. But first we first spent a few days in the small city of Ioaninna, which didn’t actually have that much to offer us. Even the lake we camped beside was unswimmable, having received an unimaginable volume of untreated you-know-what from the city over the years. The water was green with algae, although the locals had no problem serving ‘fresh lake fish’ at some tourist restaurants.

The area does have one of the most ancient sites in Greece – Dodona – which is the home to an amphitheatre, an oracle that predates Delphi, and several ruined temples. On the morning we planned to visit the site, Zeus himself woke us up. Five minutes before my alarm went off (5:30 am) an enormous storm broke above us and pulled us from sleep with hammering rain and explosions of thunder that drowned out my alarm. It was quite dramatic. Luckily the storm wore down before we had to walk into town to catch our bus. As it happened, there was only one bus coming back that day, at 3:30, so we had plenty of time to kill. We explored everything twice, and then hunkered down for a nap. Dad slept in the temple devoted to Gaia, while I napped under an oak tree in the sanctuary of Hercules.

We next made out way to a region called Meteora. This small section of Greece is characterized by massive pillars of rock which jut up from the ground to spectacular heights. A result of sediments from an inland sea having been uplifted through tectonic movement and then weathered for hundreds of thousands of years, these thrusting pinnacles are just screaming out to be climbed and/or photographed. Although I tried desperately, I couldn't find a guide to take me out, so I had to settle on the later activity, even though the former was what really drew me. And I haven't even mentioned the monasteries yet. During the occupation by the Turks, Greek Orthodox monks spend who knows how long building secret monasteries on top of these isolated rock towers. The place would be magical even without these striking examples of human ingenuity, but with them its like another world. I will let my pictures attempt to do the scene justice, since my words cannot.

We spent three days in Meteora, hiking our time away in the thick brush around the colossal spires. All I wanted to do was go up one but common sense dictated otherwise (so don't worry Mom). We found terrestrial tortoise crawling though the underbrush, dried stream beds that we used as paths, the ancient hidden ruins of abandoned monasteries, and magical viewscapes from the top of cliffs. We didn't even bother going into any of the monasteries, since we felt we had already been to church by walking through the landscape. Surprisingly, we didn't pass a single other walker in the whole time we spent out. What is wrong with people? Must they always be subject to air conditioned interiors of sports cars? Don't they understand the beauty of getting scratched up in the underbrush as you forge a new trail, getting lost and found again, navigotiating your way up a mountain?

Sad that I hadnt been able to climb the pinnacles, we headed further eastward to the Aegean city of Volos, where I had arranged couchsurfing for the night. Volos is known as the Tsipouro Capital of Greece… Tsipouro being a slightly stronger version of Ouzo. It is served at special restaurants called Tsipouria (sp?) where, every time you order a round of the strong anise-flavoured alcohol, they bring you several ‘free’ plates of seafood. We knew we needed to try this way of eating but our host, George (a true Greek name if ever I have heard one) had to study for exams that night, so couldn’t show is around. Attempting a long shot, I wrote a message to almost every couchsurfer in Volos to see if anyone wanted to join us that evening, not expecting anyone to reply with such short notice. One hour later the phone rang! A lovely local named Phaedra had received my request and was keen on taking us out to show us the town. By the end of the night we had been joined by several other CSer and had a wonderful time… eat, drink, talk, repeat.

Dad and I really hit it off with fiery Phaedra, and she volunteered to take us to the beach the next day. She came to pick us up along with her sister Electra and their friend George (told you it was a Greek name). We had a great day swimming in the crystal-clear Aegean and hurling ourselves off of the highest cliffs we could find… after I climbed up the things of course… you can take the boy out of the country, but you cant take the country out of the boy! Our new Greek friends even brought us to the campsite where we would spend the final days of Dads vacation. We ended up spending a good deal of time with the sisters, since they didn’t seem to get tired of us and they kept coming back and taking us to new beaches. I cant imagine what our trip to the Aegean would’ve been like without them!

On the 22nd, Phaedra drove us back into Volos and we bid adieu to my dear father as he boarded a bus to Athens, where he would catch his flight at 4:00 the next morning. I have since heard from him, so I guess he made it ok! That night, we again pulled together a couchsurfing party and went out for more tsipouro. Even more surfers came this time, and I admit to feeling a tidbit of pride for being the catalyst for relationships that will endure even in my absence. Once we closed the Tsipouria I insisted that we go to the local Bazouki Bar. This is another Greek tradition. Bazouki, made famous by Zorba the Greek, is a round-backed string instrument that sounds like the result of a mandolin mating with a guitar. These bars are characterized by extremely sappy live music (the lyrics of which inevitably have to do with love, drinking, or love of drinking), flashing lights, flowers hurled at the performers, inebriated patrons that regularly get up on stage and do that funny twirling Greek dance, and really expensive drinks (I found out when the bill came). It was terrible, but really quite fun. We just don’t have stuff like that in Canada.

The next day, feeling like I had maybe stuck a bottle of tsipouro into my brain through my left ear, I jumped... ok, hobbled... on a bus heading back the way I had come. It was actually kind of sad for me: leaving behind my new Greek friends, and without Dad. It felt awfully lonely. I arrived in Meteora that afternoon and, even though I was feeling down, I realized it was up to me to get myself out of my funk. So I went to see if I could find a climbing guide. This time it worked! The next morning, I met up with a local named Sakis and we headed for the pinnacles. I cannot describe how good it felt to climb one of these things… the realization of such a strong desire. It filled me up and sent me off with new vigour. Which was good because that same afternoon I began the 24 hour trip back to Pescara, Italy. Two busses, a ferry, and a train ride later I arrived at the station and was greeted by Francesco – one of the local CSers.

Before we had left Pescara the first time, I had arranged to tag along with Francesco and some of his buddies back to Vienna for the Euro Cup Final between Spain and Germany (soccer, for those that don’t know). It was such an unexpected treat to return to Vienna and see the family I had made there! Not to mention the excitement of the huge party that is always associated with such a football event. Literally, the whole city is a party, with chanting in the squares, drinking in the streets, and dancing in the fountains. Everyone has their face painted with their team colours. There is a (mostly) good-natured hatred of everyone else cheering for the opposite team. I was rooting for Germany so, inevitably, they lost. Please accept my apologies Deutschland.

After we had washed the paint from our faces the next morning, the crazy Italians and I hit the road back to their home country. The whole situation worked out well because they had to pass by Treviso, where my bike was stored, so they just dropped me off there. The crappy thing about making friends when you travel is constantly saying goodbye to them.

And now I am back in the saddle. I have been surfing here in Treviso for the past several days with a wonderful host names Chiara, doing day trips on my bike to see if my muscles still work after so many weeks without the push of the peddle. They do. Yesterday, I rode all the way to Venice, and it felt like flying. Chiara met me in Venice with her friend Daniela, and we walked through the twisting avenues, stopping occasionally for a glass of wine and food. I’m glad I had them with me, because otherwise I would still be there, walking around trying to figure out where I left my bike. And tomorrow I leave, again loaded down with everything I need to survive, but light of heart. I am excited by what comes next… the lake region of northern Italy… and apprehensive of what comes after that… The Alps. Wish me luck.