[2019, October]
Early October. It’s a late summer, the days are still long and warm and I’ve got an itch in my boots :) I feel I can take another portion of sun this year and the right place to get it seems to be Sicily and Southern Italy implicitly. I thoroughly study the map and weather forecasts, analyze different route options and eventually conclude that the fastest and most rainproof way to get there is crossing the Adriatic by ferry, which means I’ll have to transit the Western Balkans first all the way to the Albanian port of Durres.
That’s it, and as I don’t use to prepare a trip extensively in order to let some sort of adventure possibilities open, once I’ve broadly decided the route I buy the ferry ticket to Bari, pack lightly – no camping gear because hotels are cheap during this time of year – and I’m ready to go!
Following Bayezid’s trail. 420 miles
More than 600 years ago, Bayezid Yildirim – which stands for “The Lightning”, one of the greatest leaders of the Ottoman Empire and the entire Islamic world, had mounted his horse and started a campaign to rapidly conquer the whole Balkan peninsula, from the Black Sea to the shores of the Adriatic, which he successfully ended in 1395 by occupying the city of Skopje.
As far as I’m concerned my ambitions are less hostile, but somehow similarly, in a sunny autumn morning I mount the saddle of my hard tried motorcycle and I set off on the trail of the Great Sultan’s army, willing to cross almost all of Bulgaria and nearly half of Northern Macedonia until the fall of dark, in order to conquer a hotel situated in the heart of Skopje’s historical center. I don’t know much about traffic values in the streets of the medieval Constantinople / Istanbul, but unlike my historical predecessors I have to fight the first battle of my campaign as soon as I leave home, my enemy being the maleficent morning traffic in the streets of Bucharest (the world’s third most crowded city, according to some Garmin statistics), which I need to cross from north to south. My trusted counsellor Google Maps advices me not to assault the city’s impregnable fortress, but rather to apply a besieging strategy using the surrounding rural roads. Therefore, I head west passing through several relatively calm villages then unexpectedly I drift towards the city, only to end in a terrible traffic jam close to the ring road; I crawl painfully slow past it using some close call lane filtering, getting help from both most of the drivers and the policemen who are trying to put some order into this mayhem, then I gain some speed on a surprisingly free segment and almost two hours after I left home I reach the national road heading to the Danube and the Bulgarian border. No more than 25 miles in a couple of hours – that’s unbelievable!
From this point on things are back to normal – I get to the Danube bridge at Giurgiu in about half an hour, I cross the border without any complications then I plunge on the road towards Sofia, the one that I’ve ridden so many times that I’ve got to know its every curve, bump or pothole. I have the first break today about 30 miles after passing by the small town of Byala and, while checking the map to see my progress, I get a funny idea: what if I leave the main road, whose segment between Pleven and Yablanitsa I really hate, and try a new route, through Lovech and the foothills of the Balkan range up to the tip of the A2 motorway leading further south? Usually I don’t need too much thinking to venture on an unknown road so a few miles farther I turn left following the course of the Osam river towards the small town of Levski. Here the transit route bypasses the center, leading me through the industrial outskirts where I meet the same post-apocalyptic scenery common to most of the Bulgarian small towns, featuring abandoned factories and decrepit communist-era buildings and monuments. Away from the town though the landscape is charming, cultivated fields being gradually replaced by gentle rounded hills covered with forests, their trees’ leaves forming an amazing mix of colors turning from green to bright yellow and deep purple. The road is narrow, curvy and bumpy but luckily there’s not much traffic, so I have a rather relaxed ride up to the neat and lively city of Lovech.
Further on I merge onto the intensely trafficked main road connecting Varna on the Black Sea coast to Sofia, winding loosely along a large valley just beyond the high peaks of the Balkan range. I resist the temptation to turn left once more in order to take an alpine road crossing the mountains at the altitude of almost 5,000 ft. in the Beklemeto or Troyan Pass, which is standing by in my to-do list for a too long time, and in merely half an hour I get to the A2 motorway, which I find as busy as always, with its tunnels and viaducts strained in never ending road-works. Later on I have a prolonged lunch break in a roadside gas station so I pass by Sofia without stopping and then I take the A3 motorway up to Dupnica, about 30 miles further more. One hour later, after riding on an absolutely deserted road climbing slowly up the Osogovo mountain, part of the Belasica range, I come to the North Macedonian border; neither one of the border police officers show too much interest in me or my bike so at exactly four o’clock I’m already in North Macedonia.
It’s still early and I’ve got no more than 70 miles to go up to my tonight’s destination in Skopje, which means I’ll have enough time to explore both the ottoman historical center Stara Charshija / Old Bazaar and the modern one around the Makedonija Square. Still as I advance I learn that the main carriageway to Kumanovo, emphatically named A2, looks more as a country road, narrow, busy and passing through an endless series of villages, therefore my average speed sits well below 30 mph. Otherwise I like what I see, it’s a calm, almost idyllic area, the densely forested mountains descending slowly into green gentle hills along the banks of the Kriva river. Another hour later I bypass the dusty industrial town of Kumanovo, avoid entering the toll motorway and continue on the regional road heading to Skopje. This area is mostly inhabited by ethnic Albanian population and the scenery has dramatically worsened – the villages are full of poor looking houses surrounded by lots of piles of garbage and scrap iron, which reminds me the way my host Stevche Donevski in Kratovo from a couple of years ago had been dividing the country between the desirable Orthodox Christian south-eastern part and the avoidable Islamic north-western one (being himself an Orthodox Christian, at that time I thought his opinion might have been somehow biased, but nevertheless now I see he was about right, at least from the visitor’s point of view). Eventually I reach the capital’s outskirts and the GPS leads me onto the suggestively named boulevard Alexander the Great only to fail me in a parking lot behind the side apartment blocks; there’s no sight of my chosen hotel Old Konak, whose address on booking.com is a vague 191 Old Bazaar (this is the district, not a street name). I park the motorcycle and start walking in the quest for the hotel, which I find few minutes later in the pedestrian only area, even though it should have a secure parking lot according to its online description. Luckily the guy at the hotel’s reception is speaking pretty good English and we agree I may park my bike right next to the main entrance, which is easier to say than actually do it, because the alleys are extremely narrow and twisted. I eventually succeed in bringing it on, I get a tiny but reasonably cheap room and then I’m ready to go for a walk.
Basically the city of Skopje is divided by the Vardar river in two very different areas – the northern one where I stand now is mostly Albanian and it preserves the original ottoman scenery, with old small houses, narrow and busy streets overlooked by the mosques’ minarets; here are most of the historical landmarks as well, like the bazaar, the medieval fortress and the Turkish bath, and most of the people in the streets are dressed in Islamic style. The Orthodox southern area is more modern and elegant, with most of the government buildings and expensive hotels, but sadly many of the recent built monuments are grotesque and kitsch, unnaturally forcing the pretended historical heritage of the Alexander the Great’s ancient empire to the current Slavic-Albanian state. As far as I’m concerned I limit myself to wandering the streets of the Old Bazaar up to the rebuilt stone bridge over the Vardar, then I find a traditional restaurant where I unnaturally as well join the tasty sheep kebab with the excellent local beer Skopsko!
Skopje, Old Bazaar
Skopje, the Ottoman fortress
Skopje, Makedonija Square
Discovering the profound Albania. 200 miles
Today’s itinerary will be a short one which I deliberately planned this way because of two great variables: the road conditions in central-eastern Albania – an area somehow remote among the mountain ranges, out of the main commercial and touristic routes – and the rigor of the embarking procedure on the ferry to Italy – as I’m used to the Greek maritime transport know-how I don’t trust the Italian one as much. Yet exploring the unknown is part of the travel charm, so after a halal breakfast at this Ottoman inspired hotel I confidently start my journey towards western North Macedonia.
The first part of this route, between the capital and the Mavrovo National Park, I ride on the “Mother Teresa” motorway – named after the famous nun and missionary born here in Skopje in a family of Albanian descent, passing by the towns of Tetovo and Gostivar in an hot area until not so long ago, the place of ethnic Albanian armed riots against the Slavic led state. Furthermore, the Albanian and Kosovo borders are very close to both these towns, just beyond the inaccessible ridge of Mount Korab which rises at more than 9,000 ft. above the sea level and proudly displays on its Macedonian slope a huge Albanian flag with its black bicephalous eagle on a bright red background. I think that’s straightforward about who’s the boss around here! :) As I reach the national park’s limits I leave the main road leading to Lake Ohrid and I start climbing through the dense fir forest towards the Mavrovo reservoir. I pass right through the small resort of Anovi featuring excellent lakeside views, then I continue for another 50 miles along the deep and narrow valley of river Radika, every now and then catching short glimpses of the tiny villages hanging high on the steep mountain slopes, until I finally reach the Debar reservoir and the small town bearing the same name. This is the last North Macedonian stronghold, so I have to refuel, buy some coffee and cigarettes, before I plunge into the unknown!
As I have already mentioned above, this area of Albania isn’t much visited by tourists and this means the Maqellare border crossing is being used almost exclusively by locals; that may also be the cause of the Albanian border policemen’s surprise at seeing me, but nevertheless, unlike other remote border crossings I’ve been to in this part of the Balkans, their attitude is kind and friendly, despite the language barrier; luckily I speak a little bit of Italian, which seems to be the only foreign language more or less spoken by the vast majority of Albanians, and we manage to understand each other while I carefully make sure they apply the entrance stamp into my passport – earlier this spring I entered Albania using a similar remote newly opened border crossing where the policemen forgot to apply that stamp, causing me a lot of trouble getting out of the country by making me an illegal immigrant suspect! :)
I ride along the SH6 road, one of the very few paved ones in the area, which is in such a bad condition as I expected it to be but I’m really stunned by the fabulous surrounding landscape. First I go down to the bottom of the deep valley of the Black Drin, then I climb steep and bald mountain slopes towards the mining town of Bulqize and the Bualli / Buffalo Pass at the altitude of 3,300 ft. Further on I continue along the valley of the Mat river facing the impregnable slopes of Mount Dajti which separates it from the capital city of Tirana; sadly the spectacular but unpaved Arber Road crossing this range is passable only on off-road or dual-sport bikes, therefore I have to make a detour to the north, through the town of Burell and along the shores of the Ulza and Shkopet reservoirs. This road segment has been so hardly destroyed by landslides that I’m forced to ride as slow as 20 mph and due to the lack of speed induced fresh air flow I’m literally melting in the heat. Later on both me and the tarmac recover to a much normal state in the cool shadow of a long rocky canyon breaking through the Skanderbeg range, along an incredible emerald green wide river. Once I get close to the town of Milot the valley gradually broadens and I finally reach civilization in the form of the A1 motorway connecting Kosovo to the Adriatic coast. It’s only half past one and I’ve got left to ride less than 50 miles to the port of Durres so I even afford to have a prolonged break in a roadside café somewhere close to the Tirana airport.
I’ve already been to Durres twice in the recent years so I easily get to the port gate where I find an AdriaFerries agency, but I learn I’ll have to wait until five o’clock in order to check-in so I’ve got at least two more hours to spend in the city. I head first to the wide sandy beach lined by newly built hotels, where I find a lot of people bathing into the sea, making me to look weird wearing heavy leather jacket and boots; then I go the elegant city center, wandering through the impressive marble paved Shatervani Square and the palm trees lined Epidamn Boulevard. Eventually I go back to the port and the surprisingly modern passenger terminal where I find a loud crowd queuing at the check-in counter and I have nothing else to do than join the line. Later I find out the chaos has been created by the fact that the two ferries which were to sail to Italy tonight are being merged into a single one due to a technical malfunction, with some people being left ashore only to cross the sea just tomorrow evening. Luckily for me they are those driving extra-large cars, so it’s not my case and after a painfully long wait I’m waved through to the border checkpoint, where the policeman on duty gave me a long suspicious look and couldn’t restrain himself from asking me if I bought any drugs in Albania :) I didn’t, so I embark the huge ship, get my cabin, have a late dinner then I go to sleep. Useless to say that the ferry was scheduled to set sail at ten o’clock but it left the port several minutes after midnight!
Albania, Arber road
Albania, the Skanderbeg mountains
The Adriatic beach at Durres
Caressing Italy’s delicate ankle. 230 miles
Early in the morning, under an absolutely clear blue sky the ferry slowly enters the port of Bari. I hurry to the bike so that I’ll be among the first passengers to disembark the ship, but I still have to wait until I can effectively set my feet on the Italian ground, due to the very serious border and customs check. I get to be checked by a very meticulous guy who asks me to open both my saddlebags and starts to dig thoroughly into them, showing great interest about my several packs of cigarettes and medicine case. I think I know what he’s looking for :) but he’s out of luck and finally he gets it too and I’m free to go on my route.
I reckon I’ll be able to get around Naples and the Tyrrhenian Sea coast by tonight, taking mostly the state and provincial roads to the detriment of the toll motorways. Therefore first I head south towards the medieval city of Altamura, whose historical center I’d like to visit but I can’t because there is restricted access inside and the surrounding streets are so crowded that I don’t find even a narrow parking space for my bike. I continue then westwards to Potenza and I choose the old country road which is super-winding and passing through a lot of compact villages situated each on top of its steep hill. After I bypass the city I head towards Naples on a road which goes somewhat parallel to the motorway, therefore I’ve got almost all of it only for myself. I still have to pay sharp attention to every curve, because it’s poorly maintained and every now and then I have to avoid a pothole or a sandy patch, besides the local traffic which is often slow and careless.
I gradually start climbing the Picentini mountains, the highest range in the province of Campania and the scenery is probably the most spectacular in my today’s itinerary. The icing on this cake is definitely the lovely town of Muro Lucano, its bright colors painted houses being displayed in a huge amphitheater hanging on the mountain’s eastern slopes. Further on I pass through several more small towns – Castelgrande, Pescopagano and Teora – which make me feel as if I’m visiting an open air museum, separated from each other by alluring segments of twisted rural roads. After riding about 80 miles in this bikers’ paradise I’m approaching the city of Avellino and I take a much needed break in a roadside café, in order to decide how I’m going to end this day. It’s past three o’clock and I’m really exhausted due to the almost seven uninterrupted hours I spent in the saddle. I feel I haven’t got the nerves any more to stand the chaotic traffic and frenzy of Naples so instead I choose to book a room in a reasonable hotel in Castellammare di Stabia, very close to the seaside and nearby the ancient town of Pompei and the Vesuvius, so that tomorrow morning I’ll be able to tackle the famous Costiera Amalfitana well rested and refreshed.
In an area within a 30 miles approximate radius located east of the city of Naples there is a terribly huge megalopolis featuring a dense gridline of motorways, roads and narrow streets, which I have to penetrate on my way to the hotel, therefore this time I don’t feel very bad using the GPS even if I usually avoid doing it as I think it’s kind of an adventure breaker. But my route through Mercato San Severino, Nocera Inferiore and Pompei is a real human beehive, with pedestrians, cars and scooters – oh my God, how many scooters! – moving restlessly in every direction and for sure I wouldn’t have managed to find the right way on my own. Sadly neither the technology aid option is bullet-proof because it fails me less than 1,000 feet before reaching my destination, making me miss the right exit out of the causeway heading to Sorrento so I enter an extra-long tunnel which ends only nearby Vico Equense which is about three miles beyond Castellammare di Stabia. On my way back I take the coastal road instead, riding slowly and carefully and eventually I get to the right place; the Elisabetta hotel is standing high on the mountain’s steep rocky slope just above the sea and the room has a balcony offering me a fabulous view over the Gulf of Naples with the sharp cone of Vesuvius and thousands of sparkling city lights in the background. In the evening I miss the opportunity to take a walk on the lively streets of Pompei due to a powerful rainstorm risen suddenly from the sea, so I have to settle with a late dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, enjoying spaghetti and seafood and discovering a future trustful friend: the Birra Moretti :)
Bari
Muro Lucano
Vesuvius
The battle for Amalfi. Just 150 miles
It has been raining all night long and also the morning sky doesn’t look too promising. Today’s weather forecast shows heavy rain for the entire Thyrrenian Sea coast, therefore I find myself in a dilemma: I can stay here until tomorrow morning to wait for this rain front to pass but I’ll be risking to be caught in severe rainstorms in Sicily during the end of the next week or I take my chance today and then enjoy nice riding conditions on the island. Tough choice, but after thinking it thoroughly over breakfast I put on my rain suit, wrap my luggage in waterproof bags and at about half past nine I hit the road heading to Sorrento.
Half an hour later I cruise the town center at low speed, being painfully slowed down by an incredible lot (for this time of year at least) of tourist cars and coaches. Until now the stray raindrops haven’t bothered me too much, but once I pass the ridge of the Sorrentine peninsula they start multiplying, the village of Positano – the starting point of the Costiera Amalfitana – welcoming me covered in heavy pouring rain. The coastal road is extremely narrow and twisty so the never ending row of cars and tourist coaches are driving very slowly, passing each other at incredible close calls and being restlessly guided by local policemen armed with whistles, colorful small flags and walkie-talkies. All this crowded turmoil would have been resulting in a funny chaos if it wasn’t for the apocalyptic rain which at times prevents me of merely seeing farther than 100 feet ahead; moreover, because the road’s side protection over the high seafront is a low stonewall the water coming down from the cliffs in strong torrents cannot spill directly into the sea, but it flows along the road transforming it in an actual several inches deep river bed! I’m caught without escape in this madness’ vortex for almost two long hours until I get to the town of Amalfi and when I park my motorcycle in the piazza next to its touristic port I feel I’ve finally won the battle against the weather – I may be soaked to my skin, but the rain has eventually stopped and the sun is starting to burn through the scattering clouds. I take a long break in a café’s terrace, enjoying an espresso and a nice sea view while drying up my wet clothes.
On the 15 miles I’ve got left to ride to Salerno the road is as twisted as before but much less spectacular and I get to gain a little bit of speed due to the surprisingly low traffic on this segment. Entering the city I want to avoid its crowded center so I’m heading towards the seafront boulevard, descending to the port on a long and impressively high viaduct whose precarious looks betray its age and I shiver remembering the Polcevera viaduct in Genova had collapsed last year during a likewise severe rainstorm. I accelerate instinctively and I gratefully feel relieved when my wheels are finally touching the ground! Out of Salerno I continue along the wide sandy beaches on an absolutely free secondary road passing through the now deserted holiday resorts. The only people I see on the side of the road are somehow suspicious looking, they seem to be waiting for an indefinite something and suddenly I’m hit by the answer: they are actually drug dealers and once again I instinctively increase my speed because I wouldn’t like to be seen by the carabinieri around these guys, particularly that I’ve learned until now that the way I look and the fact I’m travelling alone make me as well look suspicious to the police!
I’m steadily riding along the sea shore until I get to the archeological site of Paestum then, considering it’s already late and I haven’t put too many miles under my wheels since I left the hotel this morning, I take the SS18 causeway which I use to rapidly pass the Lucania’s steep hills up to the town of Sapri, where I’m joining the seaside again. On this segment I live another interesting moment in a gas station where I stop for fuel and coffee. Besides the fact that I have to pay for fuel in advance, they have a cash only policy and both the bartender and the guys hanging around look like they’ve got directly out of the Cosa Nostra and Mafia Calabrese movies. They give me a short curious look at first then they seem to lose interest while I’m smoking a cigarette alongside my espresso. Until I finish the only cars stopping there have dark windows and are carrying some guys on the same stage as the ones inside, but I try to mind my own business. In the end I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or those guys were really mobsters but it seems I’ll have to get used to this sort of things as much as I’m going further south.
Tonight I stop in Acquafredda, a small village on the spectacular coast around the more famous Sapri, in a hotel way above my usual standards which is full of classy customers, definitely not the usual traveler kind. In the excellent on-site restaurant I have a delectable supper featuring traditional local cheese and cold cuts, during which I’m amusing myself noticing I’m the only one having beer instead of noble and expensive wines and I bet at least one of the waiters gave me an empathic look about that. I fall asleep rather early with my window open, in the repetitive sound of wind blowing gently through the palm trees’ long leaves and waves breaking on the white pebbles beach.
Sorrento
Amalfi
Acquafredda
My “Operation Husky” – the invasion of Sicily. 220 miles
It’s a cold morning but at least the sky is absolutely clear and it seems I’ll be off the rain threat today. I want to ride southwards along the coast up to the very tip of the Italian boot, then cross the Messina strait into Sicily by tonight. First I linger on over breakfast and a short walk beside the beach hoping the temperature will rise a bit until I leave, so that my fingers won’t freeze inside my summer gloves on the handlebars. At about ten o’clock I set off on the straight, wide and surprisingly free road heading south, making good progress during an hour’s ride until I start feeling the sun is burning through my thick leather jacket. I take a break in a village which I’m choosing by chance, Acquappesa, on a nice looking and deserted promenade overlooking the deep blue sea then I continue in a rather relaxed mood my route through Paola and Amantea towards the region of Calabria’s southern half. My only concern are the signposts warning about the speed monitoring system which are obsessively repeating every few miles – I generally ignore them but I can’t help noticing most of the drivers are slowing down while passing by the roadside cameras and I reckon they may know certain things about these; still I hope that the fact the system is being managed by the local police, not the national traffic one, means they won’t be able to track down my foreign license plate so I’ve got some sort of immunity to this rule! :)
At noon I reach the town of Lamezia Terme, where the road I’ve been following since I left the hotel in the morning meets the Autostrada del Mediterraneo connecting Naples to Reggio Calabria. I know that’s not exactly my style, but I got really bored riding along the coast in the same monotonous landscape of the narrow strip of land stranded between the mountains and the sea, so I plunge myself on the motorway increasing my speed to 80+ mph. Besides this, I’m a bit nervous about the timetable of the Messina strait ferry which it’s really impossible to figure out online – that’s a quite similar resemblance between the Italian and Greek communication skills :) – so I think it would be wiser to get there as early as possible. Well, the motorway conveniently plays its part into achieving this goal, even if it also prevents me from seeing too much of the area I’m passing through, and at about two o’clock in the afternoon I come to the tiny town of Villa San Giovanni where the ferry terminal is located. Here I find out that I didn’t have any reason to worry because the ships are leaving for Sicily every half an hour all day long, therefore one hour later I victoriously disembark in the crowded and cramped port of Messina!
On the first sight the city doesn’t attract me too much, at least not for now, so exiting the port I decide I’ll maybe find some time to visit it on my way back to the mainland, therefore I turn right directly to Torre Faro, the sharp fingertip stretching out into the sea in Sicily’s north-easternmost point. I pass by a calm lake full of kayaks and other kinds of sports boats, then I make my way through a dense grid of narrow cobbled streets where the locals are mostly dozing in the shade of tiny cafes and eventually I reach the edge of a wonderful wide sandy beach sided by huge cactuses, surrounding the lighthouse which borrows its name to the adjacent village. I park my bike, I struggle walking in the deep sand with my heavy boots until I find a large rock where I can sit in the sun and contemplate the azure water of the strait in its narrowest point; the mainland seems so close as if I could reach it by stretching out my hand, in fact this is exactly the famous maritime gap “between Scylla and Charybdis” and I cannot help making a bit of a philosophical digression from my routinely travelling concerns: as the minimal width of the strait is only 2 miles with a depth of merely 70 feet, I reckon only the starkly different mentalities, that is the Mediterranean laziness versus the Scandinavian rigor, may explain the striking absence of a bridge easing the road and rail connection between Sicily and the mainland Italy, as the likes of the 11 miles long Øresund Bridge and tunnel connecting Copenhagen to Malmö!
During the last part of the day I ride quite relaxed on the road alongside Sicily’s northern coast, passing by several villages where I don’t see many people in the streets, until I get to the town of Milazzo which is nicely located on both sides of a narrow promontory stretching out into the Thyrrenian Sea. Here I find a reasonable priced room in a remarkable four-stars hotel occupying an 18th century aristocratic palace right on the town’s fashionably promenade and I spend my evening walking back and forth beyond the enormous palm trees and ficuses between the yachts port and the historical Santa Maria Maggiore cathedral. I have the feeling I’m going to joyfully enjoy my time in Sicily!
Messina
Between Scylla and Charybdis
Milazzo
The two opposite faces of Sicily. 200 miles
In the morning I’m leaving Milazzo regretting I didn’t have enough time to explore the two twin beaches and the remains of the medieval fortress overlooking the town from the top of the promontory and I continue riding along the northern coast towards western Sicily and the city of Palermo.
As scarce the traffic was yesterday afternoon, as busy it is now; the first town I encounter, Barcellona Pozzo di Gotto, welcomes me with narrow straight streets sided by all kind of noisy and colorful shops, packed with customers who are creating an unspeakable frenzy generating traffic jams which slow me down to advancing no more than 6 miles in almost half an hour! Things are not going much better even after I exit the town, because all this part of the northern coast seems to be an endless row of smaller or bigger settlements, each of them having its own crowded area, forcing me to ride quite slowly and with my attention raised at maximum levels. Otherwise the scenery is really enchanting, large bays sided by sandy beaches alternating with steep cliffs plunging into the azure sea, which are compelling the winding road to dangerously overhang the stone walls or penetrate them through short and dark tunnels. After about a couple of hours of riding in this conditions I feel I need to gain some speed and for about 30 miles I take the motorway which is built higher on the mountain’s slope, featuring a lot of long tunnels and dizzily high viaducts, up to the picturesque town of Cefalu. This one has been from the beginning on my list of the must-see places in Sicily, due to its renowned 12th century cathedral and the ruins of a Byzantine and Normand ages fortress. Sadly and as everywhere else the narrow streets and the tourist port area are suffocated by tourists even at this time of year and as a logical consequence the motorized traffic in the town’s center is restricted; however, I try to deceive the restriction taking advantage of the exception made for the local owned motorcycles and scooters, but a good willing by passer promptly warns me that the police is lurking around the corner so I give up and, not feeling able to walk for a mile or two in the sun wearing all my heavy equipment, I roll on to the open road.
As I’m getting closer to Palermo the traffic becomes more and more annoying, several industrial areas are prejudicing the beauty of the coastline, therefore I take the motorway once again planning to spend some extra time into the city. About 10 miles before I get there I take a break in a crowded rest area and I’m literally shocked at the sight of a huge pile of all kinds of garbage – domestic and construction waste, used tyres and so on; I mean ok, it’s not like I’ve never seen roadside garbage elsewhere until now, but here the quantity and sizes are really incredible, there are mountains of sacks and bags which obviously had been brought from certain places. I leave this place as soon as I can and I try to remove that image from my mind like a bad dream but I can’t do this because the same scene is repeating itself here and there along the motorway and when I enter Palermo’s peripheral neighborhoods it actually overwhelms me! Over here the strong wind has scattered the garbage bags all over the streets so that I’m effectively forced to dodge them on my way towards the city center. It’s really horrible and it kind of chases away my touristy mood and it also makes me change my mind about spending the night here in Palermo. I settle with visiting the historical part of city by riding slowly along its main streets then I decide I’ll continue my route up to the town of Trapani, about 60 miles farther away.
Leaving Palermo I circumvent the imposing dome of Monte Pellegrino steeply standing by the northern side of the city and I get quite soon to the superb beach of Mondello which is packed with people even it’s already the first days of October. I hardly get out of the ubiquitous traffic jam, I wander a bit on some streets due to taking a wrong turn but I eventually manage to get to the motorway, which I follow for the next 40 miles winding on the successive bays’ contours up to a panoramic parking lot overlooking the wide sandy beaches stretching all the way from Alcamo Marina to the medieval town of Castellammare del Golfo. I could use a little bit of rest but there are threatening dark clouds gathering on the horizon and I feel I wouldn’t like to end this day soaked to my skin by a sudden heavy rain, so I roll on between the mountains’ rocky ridges until about six in the afternoon when I get down again on the seaside right at Trapani.
After I check-in to the hotel, I’ve got left more than an hour of daylight so I wander the pedestrian streets enclosed within the medieval walls of the old town, then I walk to the tip of the narrow peninsula to watch the sun setting beyond the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea. While I’m standing here I’m thinking about the merely 60 miles separating this place from Cap Bon in Tunisia; no, these are unworthy thoughts which I have to get out of my mind, there’s really not the right time for them!
Cefalu
Castellammare del Golfo
Trapani
A venture into the history of the past centuries. 240 miles
Today I start early in the morning heading to Marsala, only 15 miles away from Trapani. I’m not interested in the town itself but especially in its seafront, because that is the westernmost point of Sicily and of my trip as well; I stop at Capo Boeo where I go down to the sea and also take a few photos of the monument marking both the geographical point as well as its historical significance – among the events which took place here are the ancient Carthaginian army’s landing during the 2nd century Punic Wars and also Giuseppe Garibaldi’s landing 1,500 years later, starting the reunification of modern Italy. I take my time more than usually because this place basically marks the maximal amplitude of my journey; I’ve ridden so far about 1,500 miles heading mainly south and west, welcoming every day eager to start and get farther and farther. From now on all these get reversed, although there are still a lot of other interesting things and new places for me to discover; I’ll set my direction to the north-east and I know I’ll wish the hours to pass slower and days to last longer, as I know that each mile I’ll ride will inexorably bring the end of my journey closer.
I get out of Marsala and take the road following the island’s southern coast along the Mediterranean Sea. I pass without stopping by Mazara del Vallo, the place where the Arabic invasion of Sicily had started – both the 9th century historical and the present time one too :) – this town has the highest number of Maghreb based immigrants officially registered within the whole Italy. The road is fine and clear, the villages are few, therefore I ride quite fast; the surrounding landscape is far less spectacular than the northern one, there are green hills descending slowly into the sea, but the beaches are long, wide and alluring, featuring golden sand and clear azure water turning to turquoise from place to place. About noon I arrive in Agrigento, the first on the list of medieval towns I’d like to visit today. Its historical center overlooks the port and the newer districts from a steep high hill and the streets leading there are so devious that I cannot make it without help from the GPS. Eventually I succeed in reaching the town’s highest point, in the square facing the San Gerlando cathedral, where I park my bike and start wandering on foot in the maze of the 5 feet wide streets sided by one or two stories high old houses, with open doors and windows and drying laundry hanging from the balconies – so typically Italian! Although there are a lot of tiny Fiats and scooters around, many of these streets are only for pedestrian use because they are so steep that they are made only of steps as if they were in fact stairways; most of them are painted in bright colors which are enlivening the scenery, in strong contrast with the state of the buildings which seem to imminently crash over their inhabitants. Hidden among these I discover a small jewel: Santa Maria dei Greci – a tiny old church having the looks of a Byzantine basilica, featuring a transparent glass floor revealing the walls of an antique temple on top of which it had ben built almost 2,000 years ago!
I leave Agrigento and the sea shore in order to make an incursion into Sicily’s mountainous inland, studded with old towns keeping each one of them a small part of its agitated history. This starts in the Roman era, continues with the Byzantine period after the empire’s partition, then the island has been subsequently conquered by the Arabs, the Normans and the Crusaders, belonging over the course of centuries to the Angevin, Aragonese, Savoy and Habsburg dynasties before serving as the foundation for the Kingdom of Italy. Each of these periods left more or less intact traces, especially churches, fortresses and palaces mainly grouped in the island’s central and southern parts, which I intend to visit during my last two days before I get back to the mainland.
My second stop is in Caltanisetta, whose historical center is as well located on top of a hill overlooking the deep and dry valleys around it; sadly here I don’t find any reason to spend too much time because except for the central square in front of the Santa Maria La Nova cathedral the rest of the streets form a mix of decrepit buildings and insipid blocks hosting offices and stores which are all closed for the weekend. Eventually that’s all for the better because now I have more spare time to thoroughly explore the next town, Enna, one of the old capitals of Sicily. Only 20 miles away and also built on the ridge of a lofty hill overlooking the valley of Dittaino – one of the few rivers in Sicily which actually flows all year long – the town has a historical center packed with monumental and rather well preserved buildings, but its main attraction is Castello di Lombardia, the Norman built fortress during the 12th century, whose thick walls offer an impressive view far away over the surroundings.
I leave Enna late in the afternoon and I have to ride a long twisty road up to Ragusa where I’ve already booked a room in a small hotel situated right in the heart of the historical center. I feel already tired and I don’t want to grope for my route through this densely populated area so I enter the address into Google Maps and let the GPS lead the way instead. That works well for most of the distance but it predictably fails me right in the end, leaving me clueless on the side of a street with no hotel in sight. I partially solve the riddle by making a phone call to the owner, who luckily is one of the few Italians I met speaking quite good English, and I find out that the entrance is hidden in a pedestrian alley close to the place where I am. There’s more difficult to get there with my bike, because I have to follow a true maze of narrow alleys and inner yards which is accessible only from a parallel street, but I get this done too with a little help from the same guy. After I get my room I start exploring the town which is actually an open air baroque museum and a UNESCO site as well, consisting of two distinct parts located on neighboring steep hills; I can freely walk around the San Giovanni Battista cathedral and the streets of the newer part my hotel is located in, but I have to ride my motorcycle to the older half of the town, Ragusa Ibla, which I find so crowded that I can barely find a parking spot. I don’t have too much time left to spend there because it’s already getting late in the evening, but I think I had enough tourism for today so I’m heading back to the hotel without any regrets.
Marsala, Capo Boeo
Agrigento
Agrigento
Caltanisetta
Enna
Ragusa Ibla
Between the two seas. 130 miles
I leave Ragusa quite early hoping to avoid the Monday morning imminent heavy traffic and I descent in sharp hairpins to the Irminio river deep dry valley, along I ride about 30 miles up to the Mediterranean Sea shore, which welcomes me with azure clear waters and rolling sand dunes. I take the coastal local road covered on long segments in a thin layer of fine sand which is constantly blown by the strong southern wind, trying to handle my bike as gently as possible in order to avoid any chance of an unwanted side sliding. As I’m advancing eastwards the holiday cottages and vegetable greenhouses gradually thin out until I reach the end of the road materialized in a large deserted parking lot located at the side of a huge beach. I leave my bike and I walk for about 1,000 feet up to the sharp tip of the sandy peninsula, where stands a miniature replica of the famous Rio de Janeiro statue of Christ the Redeemer in front of a tiny rocky island, Isola delle Correnti, which is a geographical landmark with double significance: this is the southernmost point of the whole of Italy and also the place where the waters of the Mediterranean and the Ionian Seas collide. As well as yesterday morning at Capo Boeo I’m feeling a little sad because this is another turning point for my journey, beyond which I’ll be just looking for my way home.
My next goal for today is Syracuse – a town with a more than 2,700 years long history, bearing an equal rank to Athens during the ancient times, as well as being the most important town in Sicily until the beginning of the modern industrial era – where I’d like to explore its historical center located within the Isola di Ortigia. The 50 miles long road there takes me beside a suggestively named beach, Spiaggia dei Due Mari, then through the wild nature of the Vendicari natural preserve, before sidling itself beyond the Cavagrande karstic hills to reach the town’s industrial outskirts where I hardly manage to filter my way towards the bridge connecting the center to the mainland. I leave my bike in a dedicated parking lot and I start wandering on foot in the tourists packed cobbled streets. Unlike everything I’ve seen yesterday, here the baroque palaces, the metropolitan cathedral della Nativita di Maria Santissima and even the Castello Maniace stronghold are in a surprisingly good state and there’s a real pleasure to walk beside all of them. Unfortunately, because the sun is burning as in the middle of the summer months I find it very difficult to stand the heat dressed up in my riding gear, so I have to take a lot of breaks in the shade, which extend my tour until late in the afternoon.
In order to gain some time I take the motorway towards Catania, planning to climb the southern slope of the Etna volcano up to the limits of the wildlife preserve then get back to the city where I’d spend my last night in Sicily. But while I’m approaching the mountain it seems that I’ve run out of luck, because dark clouds are coming from the north and stray raindrops are already starting to fall; the weather forecast is quite grim, heavy rain is expected since this afternoon until tomorrow evening, so I have to change my plan: I quit the ascension and I’ll ride directly to the hotel, hoping that next morning I’ll be able to benefit from a short break in the rain in order to arrive with dry clothes to the ferry.
The hotel I’m staying in is a rather modest one but at least it has a secure inner yard where I can safely park my bike while I’m taking a walking tour of the city center. I barely get to visit about half of it – the Sant’Agata cathedral, the Fontana dell’Elefante and the 13th century medieval fortress of Castello Ursino – before I’m forced to hurry back to the hotel by a violent pouring rain which doesn’t stop until late in the night.
Isola delle Correnti
Syracuse
Catania
Wandering through the mountains of Calabria. 230 miles
At nine in the morning the sky is still grey but for the moment the rain has paused so I’m hurrying towards the port of Messina. At least that’s what I’m trying to do, but first I have to cross Catania’s modern center and I find myself stuck in the traffic for more than half an hour before I manage to get to the motorway running along Sicily’s eastern coast. I ride the 60 miles distance to Messina at speed, then I go straight to the port and luckily I can embark right on the first ferry departing for the mainland. From the ship’s open deck I can see the sky is clearing ahead so I’m trustfully looking forward to the rest of the day. It’s been really nice in Sicily but now it’s time to move on!
My route back to Bari will follow the Ionian sea shore up to Taranto, but instead of passing by the crowded city of Reggio Calabria I’d like to take a detour into the mountains, through the Aspromonte National Park. The secondary road I’m steeply climbing eastwards from Villa San Giovanni is poorly maintained and it’s full of broken tree branches and loose rocks fallen during last night’s rainstorm. As I’m reaching higher altitudes the temperature is gradually dropping, it’s foggy and a steady drizzle is dampening my spirits; moreover, the absolute bleakness of the area creates a creepy feeling which is amplified by my phone’s lack of GSM and internet signal, which means I’m also out of a map to guide my route. After an endless string of turns and hairpins, even before I get to cross the mountain’s ridge and start descending towards the coast, I get the dreaded surprise of the fuel gauge starting to blink, meaning I’m already running on the reserve. With no gas station in sight, I try to ride as thrifty as I’m able to, without excessive acceleration or braking. To even worsen the situation, in a certain point along the route I see a road sign stating that the road is closed somewhere ahead; I refuse to think about turning back, because I’m sure I don’t have enough fuel left to get back to Villa San Giovanni, so I continue to follow the landslides affected road in front of me. Later on I meet a car coming from the opposite direction and this enlivens a bit my hopes, but right when I reach the mountain’s ridge and start the redeeming descent towards the village of Bovalino I meet another road sign clearly warning about the road closure a few miles ahead! My phone still hasn’t got any signal so I have to follow my instincts and turn onto an extremely narrow strip of tarmac running along the ridge, hoping I’ll eventually find a way to go down the steep slope which is separating me from the populated area I can already see below but I’m still not able to reach. I ride a few more miles through a dense and dark forest, praying that my tank still has a little bit of fuel left inside, then I see an only 6 feet wide poorly paved road to the right which I wouldn’t have turned onto unless it didn’t have a road sign pointing to a village called Antonimina – a name that doesn’t say anything to me but which can’t be anywhere else than down on the sea shore. The view to the sea which is revealing itself to me at the edge of the forest is fabulous and the descent is absolutely extreme: the road monstrously plunges in the abyss in incredibly tight hairpins to the extent that I’m only able to ride using the engine braking and both the front and back brakes almost completely pulled! In exchange it takes me no more than ten minutes to get to the village and then another ten to find a much desired gas station somewhere in the outskirts of Marina di Gioiosa Ionica. This one was close, but luckily I made it to the end!
It’s three in the afternoon now and I’m going to ride as many miles as I can until tonight, without leaving the main road any more. The traffic is reasonable, the neat and elegant villages I’m passing by have a quiet and calm holiday atmosphere which is enhanced by the long beaches stretching along the seaside and I’m riding relaxed beyond the city of Catanzaro up to the summer resort of Capo Rizzuto. As the season is long over, a strange image is welcoming me as most of the hotels, bars and fancy restaurants are deserted and closed for the winter; furthermore, I am the only guest in the hotel I chose to stay in and for that reason I benefit from its owner’s full attention, whom by the way is the only staff present :) Sadly he speaks little to no English while my Italian resumes itself at few basic words, so we aren’t able to communicate much and as a consequence of this situation I get to eat spaghetti and oysters, which is one of my least favorite dishes. At least the beer is as good as usual and I put an end to this evening admiring the spectacular sunset over the Ionian Sea laying in an armchair on the huge terrace overlooking the deserted beach.
Aspromonte National Park
Aspromonte National Park
The sunset at Capo Rizzuto
The province of Apulia between ruins and opulence. 240 miles
This is my last day in Italy. I want to reach the northern end of Costa Ionica at Taranto, whose historical center built on the tiny island Borgo Antico is more than 3,000 years old, then cross the heel of the boot to the Adriatic Sea shore and end my day in the city of Bari where I’ll embark the ferry back to the Balkans.
Therefore, during the first half of the day I ride almost without stopping on the main road alongside the sea shore, alternating the crowded areas neighboring several larger towns – Crotone, Corigliano Calabro – with relatively free segments which are pushing me to carelessly speeding way over the limit. Anyway, on one of these I make the only stupid thing during this journey: taking advantage of the road’s generous width and the drivers’ general attention to motorbikes and scooters I start overtaking right on the lanes separating line, at 65+ mph, a long row of cars moving slowly behind a truck, even if I could clearly see that cars were also constantly coming from the opposite direction as well; well, exactly when I get parallel to the foregoing truck its driver slowly drifts to his left, without looking in the rear mirror, in order to prepare to turn right. As a consequence, I’m forced to dodge also to the left, getting in the middle of the opposite lane! My mere chance is that I’m doing this right in a sufficiently long gap in the incoming traffic so I’m able to get back on my lane before something really bad would happen. Obviously, after I get away with this folly I accelerate on the open road ahead of me just to put some distance between me and the occasional witnesses, then I find a somehow secluded parking lot where I take a break long enough to get back to my senses.
In an overwhelming heat around noon I finally reach Taranto, where I cross the Ponte di Porta Napoli stone bridge connecting the old city to the industrial area and I take a slow tour of the island before parking my bike close to the fishermen’s pier. Then I enter the maze of the pedestrian narrow streets between the compact block of centuries old buildings, many of which are marked as historical monuments. Sadly, even if it looked interesting and attractive from the distance, in fact it appears really stark and creepy inside – most of the palaces and smaller houses are deserted, ruined and full of garbage, featuring missing windows which had been boarded up with planks. I don’t see many people in these streets except for several groups of dubious looking guys gathered in shaded alleys who seem to be squinting around. I’ve been walking a lot of times during my travels around different places out of the tourist or commercial routes and I’ve met all kinds of people there, but here for the first time I’m actually scared! I hurry my steps trying to leave the impression I’m going somewhere with a certain business instead of being just a careless tourist, while instinctively squeezing the hilt of the Smith&Wesson hunting knife I’m always carrying inside my pocket, and I eventually find my way beside the San Cataldo cathedral and the medieval mill on the Via Cava until I safely get back to the pier. I’m not sure if that thing was for real or maybe I’ve been watching too many gangster movies but the experience I’ve just lived here wasn’t exactly pleasant and this is the reason why I’m wanting to get out of Taranto as soon as possible.
The road towards the Adriatic Sea shore leads me first through the small town of Martina Franca where I get a bit stuck in its center due to a local harvest festival, then close to Locorotondo – a circular shaped white walls medieval city, located in the middle of the region of Murgia dei Trulli, whose landmark are the tiny white houses with a conical stone roof which are scattered everywhere around the karstic hills separating the two seas. After riding about 30 miles I finally come to Monopoli, a superbly fortified town situated on the sea shore. Here I park my bike in the historical center main square then I lazily walk around its white marble paved streets and on top of the thick walls facing the sea, among groups of tourists who are speaking all the planet’s languages. What a striking difference compared to the nightmare I’ve experienced only an hour ago in Taranto!
Unwillingly I leave Monopoli close to four in the afternoon and I’m heading to Bari, where the first place I’m going to is the port, in order to check-in for the tonight’s ferry to Durres. I’ve got at least three hours left until the boarding time so then I head to the historical center where I merge the stream of tourists continuously flowing into its narrow streets sided by countless cathedrals, palaces and souvenir shops. It looks nice and attractive, but still it quite doesn’t match the Monopoli citadel’s elegance and serenity; that definitely has to be my number one among all the places I’ve seen during this journey! I spend my last half an hour in Italy in a fancy café, over an espresso and a chocolate cake, then I’m first in the line for embarking the ferry. Late, much after the darkness has fallen, the Italian ship’s cheaper all-Albanian crew starts loading the cars, trucks and passengers and they predictably finish their job long after the scheduled sailing time, but it’s not like I wouldn’t be used to this. But the most striking thing to me is the huge difference between this ageing and unkemptly looking ship and the Greek ferries I mostly sailed on until now – for obvious reasons, the Scandlines ferry has to be excepted from this comparison :)
Taranto
Murgia dei Trulli
Monopoli
Alone in the mountains of Northern Epirus. 260 miles
The ship has docked in the port of Durres later than expected and when I go down to its hold I’m surprised to see that the crew has blocked my bike with a tractor less trailer which is the last to be disembarked. Therefore I have to wait for more than an hour until I can effectively enter Albania and set off on my route and then I lose another half hour stopping for fuel, coffee and some cash from an ATM before I even get out of the city. Normally this delay wouldn’t have bothered me too much, but this is a special situation, because crossing Albania in any other direction than north- or southwards on the coastal highway is an incursion into the unknown, due mainly to the poor state of the roads but also to the seclusion of certain areas between steep and inaccessible mountains. That’s the reason why I’m also not able to make a precise plan for today, all I know at this moment being the fact that I’m going to ride through the Tomorri southeastern mountain range and try to cross the border into North Macedonia until the fall of dark.
I ride the first part of the route on the motorway heading south, then after I pass by the town of Fier I turn left towards Gjirokaster and the Greek border at Kakavia, on a relatively well maintained road which still allows me to cruise at a reasonable speed of about 60 mph; but right after the picturesque town of Tepelene I leave it and turn again left alongside the Aoos river valley on a narrow and bumpy secondary road which penetrates deeply into the mountains, in a scarcely populated area. The green and unspoiled valley is gradually narrowing down, getting closer to the bald surrounding ridges and after about an hour’s ride I climb a series of sharp hairpins before I get to the last human settlement on this side of the mountains, the small town of Leskovik, located in a large saddle below the Melesin summit’s stone walls. From here on, for about 70 miles ahead up to the city of Korce, I have to cross an almost uninhabited mountainous area, through dense fir forests and grassy alpine meadows which here and there are silently overlooked by the famous and now deserted concrete bunkers built during the communist era, on a so-called road which seems to be more appropriate for dirt bikes than any other kind of vehicles. The only human oasis I meet on this segment is Farma Sotira, a rustic guesthouse where I stop for a delicious local dishes lunch, both driven by hunger and also attracted by the shy “Bikers Welcome” board hung beside its entrance.
I return to civilization at about five in the afternoon in the city of Korce, without being spared of the chills provoked by another fuel gauge blinking episode, and it’s time to make a decision concerning the way I’m going to end this day. My most reasonable option is to cross the border into North Macedonia, ride on until the fall of dark, maybe somewhere around the town of Bitola 50 miles ahead from here, then tomorrow continue through Bulgaria towards the Romanian border. The downside of this plan is the fact that I surely won’t be able to cover all that distance in only one day, which means I’ll have to spend the following night in Bulgaria and I’m really not at all excited about that. Then how should I do it? And while inquiringly watching the map, suddenly the rescuing solution comes to my mind! The Greek border is only 20 miles away from here so tonight I can sleep in Kastoria, then tomorrow I’ll ride along the warm and lovely Aegean Sea shore up to the town of Komotini and I’ll cross Bulgaria the next day on the shortest possible route so that until the evening I’ll be able to get home. Overall this would be a real finishing treat for my riding season, also including two bonuses: one more day added to this journey and also another brief incursion into Greece, a country whose nature and culture I really love and I can never get enough!
Therefore at seven in the evening I get to Kastoria, get a hotel room featuring a balcony overlooking the town’s central square, then I lose myself in the crowd sitting over food and drinks on a tavern’s terrace right on the shore of Lake Orestiada. Isn’t life beautiful?
Albania, Zagori
Albania, Tomorri
Lake Orestiada
The never ending attraction of Greece. 360 miles
As today’s route will be quite long and I bet I won’t be able to resist the temptation to spend a few moments beside the beach somewhere on the Aegean, I try to start rather early, despite the biting morning cold. I take the low traffic road which goes around Lake Orestiada then steeply climbs the saddle between the Askio and Verno mountains in straight long segments alternating with large and ideally angled curves, just the perfect setup for speeding. After passing through several still sleeping villages I descent in the large basin around the Petron and Vegoritida lakes and I can see in the distance the dark silhouette of the Kajmakchalan summit on the border with North Macedonia, which is seemingly predicting that winter is coming soon. The traffic starts accumulating gradually while I’m approaching the town of Edessa, becoming really annoying on my way further to Thessaloniki due to an endless row of cars, trucks and agricultural machinery. On the bright side though, the warm and gentle side wind forces the temperature to rise significantly and I unconsciously increase my speed preparing for the motorway heading to the Chalkidiki peninsula.
Over here I’m already running on autopilot because I’ve been riding or driving these roads so many times so that I’ve come to know them as well as the locals, without the need for GPS, road signs or any other help to find my way to wherever I’d like to go. I don’t have time for the city so I bypass it on the ring road and head southwards to Sithonia, the middle finger of the palm shaped Chalkidiki peninsula. I slightly reduce my speed in order to enjoy the large curves alongside the calm small bays lined with golden sandy beaches and cliffy promontories covered by enormous pine trees. I like this area so much, especially now when most of the tourists are already gone, that I’m tempted to ride along the whole peninsula up to the secluded marina of Porto Koufo, but I really don’t have enough time to do it so in its narrowest point I switch to the eastern shore and stop for a frappe at a beachside tavern in the small harbor of Ormos Panagias. I languishingly watch the boats rocking on the foamy swell for almost an entire hour but then I have to break the daydreaming and get myself going, because I’ve got left about 200 more miles to ride until tonight.
Luckily the road back northwards to the Egnatia Odos motorway is completely deserted as if it had been especially reserved for me to run an Isle of Man TT replica, the only living creature I meet and have to dodge being an arm thick and 6 feet long snake carelessly crossing the tarmac. Later on, riding on the motorway is business as usual, forcing me to continuously fight the boredom and the mighty side wind, then I narrowly escape a sudden pouring rain somewhere beyond Xanthi and three hours later I reach the town of Komotini’s outskirts where I’ve found I decent hotel to spend my last night on the road.
Ormos Panagias
Salonikiou beach
Autumn is already here! 320 miles
This is the last day – the road back home cannot bring me anything new as I’ve ridden it so many times. I start early in the morning under a completely clear intense blue sky but the sun is deceiving because I can feel the cold biting my fingers inside the gloves and my helmet’s visor keeps on fogging up. As I’m climbing the gentle slope of the Rodopi mountains the temperature is dropping even more but I’m encouraging myself that later on the sun will start warming the frozen air and I’ll feel better. Well, it turns that I’m wrong! As soon as I cross the border into Bulgaria and the mountain ridge at the same time I enter a compact fog so dense that it prevents me from seeing the road ahead for more than 150 feet in front of me and the excessive humidity is amplifying the discomfort by constantly condensing on my jeans. Nevertheless, while I’m steadily advancing northwards I realize there is nothing abnormal about the weather because it’s past the middle of October and in this part of the continent autumn is already in charge now. Maybe this is also a sign for me that the time of travel is over for this year and I should get the hell back home :)
After a hot coffee during a prolonged break in the first town on my route things start looking better, especially due to the fog gradually dispersing and my clothes drying in the airflow. Until twelve I’ve left behind the city of Stara Zagora and when I’m crossing the Balkan range’s ridge in the Republic pass one hour later I already start feeling close to home. From this point on I pass by the cities of Veliko Turnovo and Ruse, then through the Romanian border crossing on the Danube bridge like in a blink of an eye, and a few minutes after five in the afternoon I finally get home, putting an end to this year’s travels. There is a long winter still to come, during which I’ll have plenty of time not only to relive my road memories, but also to plan and dream about the future adventures just awaiting for me to set on to!
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