Back To Greece And Another Stunner
Thursday 2nd October 2014
I am up early in the Grand Eceabat Hotel. Breakfast is on the roof. By 8am I am on my way. I stop to photograph the Akbas Martyrs Memorial. Beautifully kept, it reminds me of the War Cemetary Mick and I visited in Paschendaele earlier this year.
I have no idea where Charly and K-H are, I assume they are ahead of me, and maybe stayed near the border at the flea pit where we stayed on the way here.
It's an easy 170km run up the Gallipoli peninsula to Ipsala and the border with Greece. I arrive at 10am and transit through without problems. There are 4 checkpoints on the Turkish side. First at the entrance, passport, visa and bike registration document. Next police check, just passport and visa this time. Then customs and all three docs again. Finally the exit point and all three again. It's a process.
It's much simpler re-entering Greece, passport only then away onto the wonderful A2.
I realise I forgot to withdraw euros at the border so ride into Alexandropolis and find a cash machine. The town is notably more wealthy than anything on the Turkish side since Kusadasi.
The A2 invites fast riding and the kilometres whizz by. I start to count tunnels, and by the time I turn off for Meteora, some 400 km into Greece, I have traversed 24 so far.
At one point I am passed by a GS ridden very fast. A little farther on I see him stopped on the hard shoulder so I pull up to see if assistance is required. As it turns out Gordon, a Scot though long time resident in Greece, has just stopped to clean his visor.
We chat about this and that. He calls a friend who works for the shipping line to ask when the ferries leave for Ancona. Looks like we'll be on a midnight sailing tomorrow.
I receive a text from Charly. He thinks they are behind me.
I come to a halt behind a nasty looking accident that must have occurred only minutes before. No police or ambulance yet on scene. A badly dinged blue van is skewed across the road and a small white car, massively battered, lies on its side. A crowd of people are dealing with it.
It looks like there were 3 women in the white car. Two are sitting on the shoulder looking shocked, one is being carefully lifted from within the car. No fatalities as far as I can see. There is nothing I can do so I return to the bike and wait for the outer carriageway to be cleared of debris.
Then on to Meteora. The road from the highway is lovely. I ride over a mountain pass with multiple hairpins and down into the plain below. I have no idea what to expect of Meteora, it is just a place that K-H said we should visit.
I ride through the small town of Kalabaka. It's after 6pm and I have ridden around 700km since leaving the Dardanelles this morning. I look around for a likely hotel, there are plenty to choose from, and follow the navi up the Meteora road. On the way up I spy the Pension Arsenis. It looks a likely place so I mentally log it before riding on up and getting my first glimpse of the monasteries of Meteora that make this place so unique in the world.
I'll save the superlatives for tomorrow. As darkness falls I turn back to the Pension Arsenis. And introduce myself to the owner, the irrepressible Kosta. More of him later as well.
As if by magic half an hour later I hear bike engines and in rolls Karl-Heinz, soon followed Charly. I only texted the GPS co-ordinates 5 minutes ago, so WTF? As it turns out they have both been here before and in tune with that serendipity meme that has followed me all summer, I came here too.
It turns out that the dozy buggers took the wrong ferry from Canakkale, crossing directly over to Kilitbahir instead of the longer and more diagonal route north to Eceabat. There is nothing at Kilitbahir so they rode up the coast and stopped at the first hotel they came to.
So all's well that ends well. We enjoy Kosta's mother's sausages, have a few drinks and get off to bed. Tomorrow I will find out what all the fuss over Meteora is about.
I am up early in the Grand Eceabat Hotel. Breakfast is on the roof. By 8am I am on my way. I stop to photograph the Akbas Martyrs Memorial. Beautifully kept, it reminds me of the War Cemetary Mick and I visited in Paschendaele earlier this year.
 |
| At the Gallipoli War Cemetery |
 |
| Tidy war graves at Gallipoli |
I have no idea where Charly and K-H are, I assume they are ahead of me, and maybe stayed near the border at the flea pit where we stayed on the way here.
It's an easy 170km run up the Gallipoli peninsula to Ipsala and the border with Greece. I arrive at 10am and transit through without problems. There are 4 checkpoints on the Turkish side. First at the entrance, passport, visa and bike registration document. Next police check, just passport and visa this time. Then customs and all three docs again. Finally the exit point and all three again. It's a process.
 |
| At Turkish border control |
It's much simpler re-entering Greece, passport only then away onto the wonderful A2.
I realise I forgot to withdraw euros at the border so ride into Alexandropolis and find a cash machine. The town is notably more wealthy than anything on the Turkish side since Kusadasi.
 |
| and back into Greece and the EU |
The A2 invites fast riding and the kilometres whizz by. I start to count tunnels, and by the time I turn off for Meteora, some 400 km into Greece, I have traversed 24 so far.
At one point I am passed by a GS ridden very fast. A little farther on I see him stopped on the hard shoulder so I pull up to see if assistance is required. As it turns out Gordon, a Scot though long time resident in Greece, has just stopped to clean his visor.
 |
| Gordon and his new GS |
We chat about this and that. He calls a friend who works for the shipping line to ask when the ferries leave for Ancona. Looks like we'll be on a midnight sailing tomorrow.
I receive a text from Charly. He thinks they are behind me.
I come to a halt behind a nasty looking accident that must have occurred only minutes before. No police or ambulance yet on scene. A badly dinged blue van is skewed across the road and a small white car, massively battered, lies on its side. A crowd of people are dealing with it.
 |
| Suddenly there is debris all over the road |
It looks like there were 3 women in the white car. Two are sitting on the shoulder looking shocked, one is being carefully lifted from within the car. No fatalities as far as I can see. There is nothing I can do so I return to the bike and wait for the outer carriageway to be cleared of debris.
 |
| Very nasty |
Then on to Meteora. The road from the highway is lovely. I ride over a mountain pass with multiple hairpins and down into the plain below. I have no idea what to expect of Meteora, it is just a place that K-H said we should visit.
I ride through the small town of Kalabaka. It's after 6pm and I have ridden around 700km since leaving the Dardanelles this morning. I look around for a likely hotel, there are plenty to choose from, and follow the navi up the Meteora road. On the way up I spy the Pension Arsenis. It looks a likely place so I mentally log it before riding on up and getting my first glimpse of the monasteries of Meteora that make this place so unique in the world.
I'll save the superlatives for tomorrow. As darkness falls I turn back to the Pension Arsenis. And introduce myself to the owner, the irrepressible Kosta. More of him later as well.
 |
| Arriving at Pension Arsenis |
As if by magic half an hour later I hear bike engines and in rolls Karl-Heinz, soon followed Charly. I only texted the GPS co-ordinates 5 minutes ago, so WTF? As it turns out they have both been here before and in tune with that serendipity meme that has followed me all summer, I came here too.
It turns out that the dozy buggers took the wrong ferry from Canakkale, crossing directly over to Kilitbahir instead of the longer and more diagonal route north to Eceabat. There is nothing at Kilitbahir so they rode up the coast and stopped at the first hotel they came to.
 |
| The irrepressible Kosta, proprietor at Pension Arsenis |
So all's well that ends well. We enjoy Kosta's mother's sausages, have a few drinks and get off to bed. Tomorrow I will find out what all the fuss over Meteora is about.
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