Since the Preveza tunnel, the face of Greece has changed dramatically! Suddenly the tourist settlements have disappeared from the face of the earth and in their place are herds of goats, yapping farm dogs and lonely little roads through grassy landscapes, fields and the obligatory olive groves. The houses are sparse and rather poor and on the amazingly well-built road along the coast we do not encounter a single car for hours. Fish farms can be seen in front of small, spectacular bays and all side roads run as red veins through wild-looking bush land.
The route of the next days is spectacular and almost daily the altitude meters add up to almost 1000 meters.
In the small, quiet village of Mitikas my odometer finally cracks the 3000 km mark.
The rain and thunderstorms are constant companions at the moment. When we reach the long village of Etoliko, it is already getting dark, a thunderstorm is coming up and the large Roma areas on the outskirts of town don’t seem very inviting for wild camping. Our best option seems to be to ask people directly if we can pitch our tent under the canopy for one night. The search turns out to be more difficult today than ever before. We split up and knock on private houses with front gardens including canopies. After we almost give up and drive back to the expensive hotel room, we are still lucky. Nikos has seen us before and invites us spontaneously to his bachelor apartment. “I have no women, so no cleaning”, he says apologetically. We wave him off – “no problem”, and are a bit surprised about the level of dirt. Nicos is unemployed and probably almost penniless and we are a bit shocked by the very sparse furnishings of the apartment. The kitchen is out of order, the water is apparently not clean enough even for cooking and except for a cheap table, two chairs and a couch converted into a shelf, there is no inventory in the room at all. The government is bad, he says. Still no good water in the houses. The many “Black People” are a problem, he says. By the “Black People” he means the large Roma population of the place. They are apparently not very popular here. Nicos Wifi has the nice name “Macedonia is Greece” and confirms our impression that the good Nicos – probably out of a lack of perspective – is very right-wing. When we tell him that we are going from Greece to Turkey, he grimaces in disgust and groans.
When we came in, we noticed the various green stickers with the inscription “Gate 13” on the fuse box in the house entrance. Nico is a die-hard football fan, namely of the Panathinaikos A.O. club. Gate 13 is the gathering place for the (Ultras) fans before the games in Athens and also the name of the fan club.
While Nicos doesn’t have too much good to say about the Greek government, he is at the same time heavily proud of his home country. Alexander the Great is repeatedly mentioned and so is Macedonia is Greece.
During the night it rains cats and dogs and we are extremely grateful to Nicos for his openness towards us and his hospitality.
When I try to cheer Nicos up the next morning with a compliment about the beautiful place during our joint trip to the local duck pond, he sadly says: “For photo- beautiful. For living…. no beautiful.”
Gate 13 accompanies us the whole next day. On street signs, house fronts, stone chunks on the roadside – everywhere the inscription is present. Often in an ongoing battle with the club of the opposing team, who paste over the Gate 13 stickers with their stickers and spray over the tags… We are not quite sure whether this is really only about the football clubs or rather about the supremacy of political attitudes.
After a sultry drive through the lush green hinterland and many meters of altitude, the bridge of Patras comes into view. The car ferry takes us free of charge to Rio and thus to the Peleponnes peninsula. During the next two days we ride with a wonderful tailwind along the Gulf of Corinth towards Athens, always with some thunderclouds in tow.
Suddenly it happens very fast: To save us a drive of several hours through the outskirts of Athens, we board a train in Kiato and drive the remaining 100 km comfortably and quickly to Athens in the evening.
The hubbub and bustle of the big city swallows us up instantly. Athens is a melting pot between all kinds of worlds. Our hostel is located in an extremely multinational neighborhood. It is possible that some of those who try to make their way from their distant homeland to Europe end up here. Indian spice and candy stores next to Chinese electrical appliances, cheap clothing stores, barbecue stalls, broom stores, wholesale halls, and and and. Few people in the stores and streets seem particularly Greek, and the snatches of language confirm this impression.
A first night walk through the city impresses us in many ways. We first stroll through “our” neighborhood and feel like we are in India or Babylon itself. Then we turn off into a dark, deserted side street and after a few hundred meters a completely different side of Athens opens up in front of us: inviting pubs including big-bellied pub yellers, Western, shell-slurping tourists listening to traditional Greek live music, laughter, fairy lights, decorations and a pinch of hipsterism.
We stroll on and soon find ourselves below the illuminated Acropolis in a somewhat peculiar conversation with Theos. Theos is a tall man with curly hair and clear views. The first and most important of these: “Macedonia is Greece. Because of Alexander the Great.”. He is also moderately satisfied with the current government, but at the same time very convinced of his country. “Would you live in Greece your whole life?” he asks us repeatedly. Well. We answer the question with a diplomatic shrug of the shoulders and tell a bit about our travel plans. “Turkey?” He contorts his face and then says, “Don`t go to Turkey! They are Barbarians!” Barbarians? Now this is a bit too much and we can`t stay serious anymore. “I am serious,” Theos adds. “Don`t give them money. Not one Euro. It will support them.” By now we are giggling indignantly at the absurd remarks. “To give them money, it is crime agains humanity!”, Theos now says.
He and Nicos are by no means the only Greeks we meet who make their distrust of their eastern neighbors known even in brief conversations.
These biased statements contribute to our somewhat critical image of the Greeks. Although they draw a clear line between politics and their own nature in their own country, they seem to mix these two things generously for the neighboring people. Even the friendliest people advise us against going to Turkey and seem to be seriously concerned about our welfare in the barbarian country.
We say goodbye to the friendly Theos and his wirden theses, stumble into a great alley concert of Mpalafas and leave Athens the next afternoon by ferry towards Samos.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)