Thessaloniki (More Postal Banditry)

Vergina (Phil the Greek woz 'ere)

Meteora (Monky Business))

To Karpenissi ("Should we stop for petrol dear?")

To The Centre Of The World (Oracle Version One)

Nafplion (Short Changed on the Steps)

Thessaloniki suffers from being a thriving city in a country that people expect to be full of bazouki playing skirt-wearing geezers. To be fair, they have tried to maintain a reasonable culture base surrounded by the modernity of a concrete city. The old city walls are intact, as are many churches and even a mosque or two that have had a variety of uses over the years. I am not sure how the Taliban would take the grand central mosque being converted into a multiplex!

In keeping with the modernity of the city, there were several orthodox priests plying the streets with mobile phones to their ears. Maybe there is a new hotline to the great chief that we are unaware of. Ridiculous though it looked, I guess we all move with the times.

We eventually shipped the maps of to Hippy's mum although..... We had now rejoined the two packages together, which apparently isn't allowed. So we went off and got another envelope. Next problem was that apparently packages of this type and size could only be sent by airmail (or so the robber behind the counter claimed) and so the parcel tipped the scales at 1013 grams which in post terms costs six quid - outrageous. To be fair, we were let off the 13 grams.

Dawn broke and we slept. When we got up and packed, it was about nine and the traffic seemed to be at a navigable level.

Our first success in leaving a city. No false turns at all. We had to stop a couple of times to check, as it all seemed too easy. Cracked across quality Euro-funded pavement in the direction of Pella. This archaeological site is Hippy's first and the museum contained sufficient artefacts to whet her appetite for all things Greek and old. She had not had to suffer in the summer heat as a six year old round all and sundry of the monuments and as museum legs is a condition known only to brats, she came away as delighted as I. To be fair, many of these 'family' jokes will be lost on the general audience. Suffice to say that Big Al expanded our horizons at an early age with an Odyssey of our own in these parts. I confess to not remembering too much and so cannot say whether we visited this one or not. I am sure I will be reminded soon that this is where I sulked in the Landrover or somesuch....

Vergina (oops vicar) was certainly not on the Alan's itinerary, uncovered as it was in the 80's. Here is the claimed tomb of Phil the second of Macedonia (papa to Alex the great don't you know) A very fine claim it is too. Judging by the quality and quantity of gold, silver and ivory bits and bobs and the attached historical references, it could hardly be anything than. The presentation of the finds was most excellent. We came away reasonably happy that our daily food budget was well spent.

The rain began in earnest while we were ensconced in the museum and we had to dash to the nearest purveyor of coffee to watch the water splashes. Here Hippy had her next bite of Greek culture (literally). Honey soaked, nutty pastries were pretty much all that was left in the food department. It was hard to believe that there had been a huge rush that morning as we were the only grockles in earshot. Still, we had our fill of baklava and so on.

Adventure took us over again and we decided to sample Greek 'white' roads. The map seemed fairly straightforward and we were now getting confident with the script and so......... we got lost in the rain high on the hills on tight windy roads. This is what it's all about. We eventually found signs that mentioned things on our map and we discovered that we were kind of in the right place. But the road turned to mud and we were several hundred feet up the side of a cliff. The major plus point (or worry) was that there was no other traffic and so I could pick and chose my line down the ravine to safety. Reading other bikers stories of falling off all over the place, I can only surmise that they are not as wussy as me.

Evening found us dripping on the floor of a simple hotel in Servia (directional note for the web master - this is west of Vergina along the south shore of what is now a reservoir but is on our map a river).

Hippy has been given free reign to chose sights in Greece as I do not want to be accused of failing memory or childhood bias. So our destination was the region known as Meteora. This would have been my choice also, so everything is good.

Departing from the hotel, the proprietress came over all Greek on us and almost broke into tears as if her only son and daughter were departing forever. After shaking my hand, she grappled Hippy into a bear hug and started all that cheek kissing business. All rather charming. We decided that we may well have been the only November visitors that they had seen in years. We soon realised why as the rain began again. There is something somehow more acceptable about Greek rain vs Belgian rain. Although one does not expect it when dreaming of Greek sunsets and ouzo, it does at least come with a slightly higher ambient temperature.

Our route was again for the most part off the main drag, but we did at least have a full compliment of paving at our disposal.

The first glimpse of the plugs that make up the Meteora landscape was fantastic. The benefit of travel at this time of year is that you can have the effect of the landforms piercing rain clouds in a dramatic and mystical way.

We find ourselves housed in a nice room in a complex giving off-season rates. The heating is first class and we have adorned the room with dripping clothes. Oh yes, our location - Kalambaka and the mileage 40,460.

Tomorrow depends on the weather, but hope fully Hippy gets the monk - in the nicest possible way.

I got Hippy out of bed early as I'd seen good weather for viewing the monasteries......

I (hippy) struggled with a mild ouzo hangover and grumped my way onto the bike. The views of the monastries were equalled by the stunning formations and the backdrop of the mountain ranges behind. The day was looking good and we made a minor detour on the way to Karpenissi to see a little church snuggled in a river valley at Pyli. Quite unassuming in appearance the mosaics and frescoes on the inside made it worth getting the nice little man to open up for us. The Turks (apparently) had done their best to maim the frescoes, but an amazing amout remained intact.

Off by the back route to Trikala and the day was looking so good that Pat felt that he could trust my navigation judgement. The most direct route to Karpenissi was via a bunch of increasingly minor roads, but the alternative was a huge detour on main roads and we had managed before on these kinds of roads and today was dry! I suspected that there may not be too many opportunities to fill up so hinted to Pat 'do we need petrol?'

I (Pat) replied in the negative, as I wanted to drain off the right hand side of the tank to get rid of all vestiges of Eastern European gas. We'd done about 350 miles and the bike had done about 430 miles on a full tank previously. No problem. Hippy's route wound up an up an up from the valley of Trikala but the road was excellent apart from the rocks in the road that had fallen presumably from the recent rains washing at the verges. I began to have doubts that this road was used very often as the amount of detritus increased. Bits of tree joined the other rubbish. At the top of the climb, I got the GPS out to check out our altitude 3,650 feet straight from sea level. The views were spectacular.

Descending the other side, the hunters were out doing what they do, bearing rifles for that purpose. Not many of them though!

Road signing began to dwindle and we began to wonder if we had the navigation right as the quality of road diminished. We had been a bit cheap-skaty in Thessaloniki when we got the map. Given a choice of one for a fiver or a slightly smaller scale one for two-fifty, we went with the latter as it would fit in our map cover more easily. Now we were rather short of detail. I switched the tank on to reserve when it began to cough and splutter a bit. No problem, still the reserve from one side of the tank and the top and bottom of the other side of the tank to go.

Eventually, we reached a slightly tricky bit. The tarmac gave way to forest roads and there was a fork with equal priority exits. There were no signs so we decided to go a little up each to see what was what. Having done so, we found a sign on one road to a place that did not seem much help to us. The other direction led to a ford, the other side of which was somewhat muddy with no sign of improvement. Following road A, we wound further and further up the hill and the track varied from rain-washed-away to just muddy to newly compacted hardcore. The changing surface needed 100% attention and there were a couple of times when the front wheel "dug in". In normal circumstances, when off-roading, one gives it a bit off gas at times like this to lift the front wheel and get back in shape. This does not work quite so well on a two up fully loaded BMW! Nearly drifting off the edge a couple of times sharpened up my reactions and Hippy's nerves.

We arrived at a village with no signs at all - sorry, there was one that had been uprooted and leant against the church wall. Fortunately, Johnny local was unloading a pick-up load of logs and soon pointed us in the right direction. An old lady, who was interested in our route, confirmed this. Excellent. The concrete road stopped being concrete very shortly and we were back to the rough stuff again. The engine started coughing quite quickly, which seemed odd. Switching the next fuel section on, not a lot changed. Finally, I switched on both reserve tanks to extract what little I could. Now, Hippy and I have read plenty of bike travel stories before we set off and in every one there is a "I ran out of petrol at the brow of the hill and coasted for 150 miles" type anecdote. This is of course bollocks. It never happens.

Except in our case. Regrettably, the down hill coasting was down an un-compacted hardcore road with hairpin bends. As I said, the BMW does tend to dig itself in a bit and so I had to keep speed up to maintain steerage and momentum around the corners.

About 3 miles later, we came across a flat-bed lorry loaded with logs and a couple of chain saws. I prayed that these guys mixed their two-stroke as required and had supplies we could blag. Finding them deep in the woods, I was overjoyed when chief lumberjack spoke halting but effective English. He explained that we would be able to coast all the way to a village and the mechanic would sort us out. Hippy in the meantime had flagged down the day's other road user. With the help of the lumberjack, we came to an arrangement where he would take Hips and I would follow on the bike.

Hippy's report of the journey - I have found that the easiest way to cope is to trust Pat. And when he says he has petrol believe him and when we hit bad roads to trust him to get us down safely. My only worry was the lack of other road users and general signs of habitation. I had calculated that we had food and a tent if push came to shove but this would not help us move the bike. I was most relieved when we caught sight of the lorry ... we were not alone up here.

Our saviour worried me a little on the route down by crossing himself at every corner thus removing his hands from the wheel. The phrase "God helps those who help themselves" comes to mind.. He patiently waited when he lost sight of Pat in the rear view mirror and from then on travelled at a snails pace to ensure Pat stayed with us. All of us arrived safely at his house after a couple of emergency stops to deliver Xmas trees.

Pat again - We filled the bike up from a dirty looking jerry can and stopped for coffee and inane chat for a while being as how we had a mutual lack of knowledge of the others language. At least we learnt how to make coffee in the frothy cold Greek style. After many effharistos and a photo call for these good people, we headed on. Tarmac all the way, but the fuel again gave way 200 yards short of a petrol station. This time (as it was a steep up hill) I filled up with the petrol from the camping stove and made it to the forecourt.

Filled with gas, we made it to town and a well-deserved expensive hotel for the night. Poor Hippy had an immense headache. I can't imagine why, except for the stress, lack of food etc,etc. And so to bed.

We awoke with weary bones and decided not to repeat the madness of the previous day and so took the main roads down to Delphi. For those of the readers with a shortage in the classical education department, Delphi is the centre of the known world. For explanation, you'll have to do a little research!

The hotel was something of a bargain. We had intended to camp as I always have done in Delphi, but the charges were outrageous. Given the option of a tent at 4,500 drachma or an en suite room with balcony with views of Itea for 5,000....................................

Hippy went to look at the sights while Pat discharged a lot of nasty stuff. This seemed to be a repeat performance from a couple of days before and the passage of time had made matters even more unpleasant.

Hopefully, I'm now empty!

Hippy found the ruins of Delphi to be pretty amazing. She spent her time wandering through the ruins trying to imagine how life must have been way back then. The creation of concrete flats just down the road from these artefacts can hardly have been what the ancients would have expected. With a renewed stomach, we felt comfortable to drink wine and eat olives gazing off the balcony until sunset. Then it got cold!

From Delphi, we were aiming for the Peloponese. There are two options, towards Athens and over at Corinth or west and by ferry. We chose the latter and squiggled our way along the coast to the ferry port - only to find that the ferry would be back in a couple of hours. So we went to the next ferry port where the ferries were queuing up and the lines of cars were fighting to get on. I felt quite vulnerable trying to get a hugely loaded motorbike up quite a big wet slippery step onto the boat. After wobbling on, we were joined by another bike similarly loaded who casually parked up with half of the fuss. I have quite a lot to learn on the riding front it seems.

We ploughed along the coast on the "motorway" which is in fact a toll road of one carriageway for the most part. Still, missing out all of the villages on the way speeded things up somewhat. We had time to climb the hill to AkroCorinth. Another one of my childhood visitations which had absolutely no memory for me. I am sure that mum and dad would inform me that 'that was the one where you whined all the way up and all the way down'. The same can be said for most all sites of great historical importance.

We arrived in Nafplion in reasonable time and found accom with a charming chap called Dimitrio. His pension is located high up in the old town and backs onto the lower castle walls. There can not really a better location in town and he steadfastly refuses to upgrade and charge exorbitant prices. He laughingly told us about an apartment that was next door but two and charges seven times as much. He described it as a place that he would take his girlfriend to but not his wife. Read into that what you will. He also educated us as to the effect of too much Ouzo. Again, we were a trifle confused, but it seemed to be something to do with twelve o' clock combined with a gesture of a hand in line up the face from the bridge of the nose to the forehead.

We decided to find an apartment in town and so went down to the tourist info. The manager was eager to rent his own gaff to us and that left us somewhat suspicious that we were not getting the best deal and he was simply feathering his own nest. We resolved to check out the options in nearby villages. It was just as were setting off that Dimitrio offered us the apartment in his block for a knockdown price. We pondered his offer and headed to Tollo anyway. Tollo, however, was shut and we took this to be sufficient Kismet to point us in the direction of Dimitrio.

The next morning, we moved downstairs to commence a week of being able to unpack, wash our bike gear, cook for ourselves and generally be domesticated and civilised. The week is passing very quickly. We are now clean, we have got our digestive tracts back in order and our shirts are ironed. We have taken the opportunity to visit Tiryns, Mycenae and Epidaurus. We have had daily route marches up the steps to the castle on the hilltop. Apparently, there are 999 steps. We have counted them daily and got a different answer each time, but generally in the region of 869. We feel somewhat ripped off.

We are now plotting our move to the Islamic nations. The first challenge is going to be getting visas. Queuing practice called for.