One of the benefits of unlimited data roaming is that we could use Google maps in addition to our Garmin Camper sat nav for navigation. The disadvantage was that they tended to disagree with each other, often, usually at critical times. “Take the first exit left”, Garmin would instruct just as my mobile phone insisted we should turn right. Whichever one we ignored then went into sulk telling us to make a U-turn at the earliest convenience while the other sounded a little smug, “Continue along the road ahead”. Despite these difficulties, we actually seldom got lost, and when we did, there was usually something unexpected to see or do that made it all worthwhile.

Our drive south through northern France took us passed vivid yellow fields of sunflowers and corn, bowing their heads as they followed the sun trace its diurnal path across the sky. Through small villages with young children splashing in the crystal streams as the sun sparkled on the surface. Down avenues of trees that announced small towns with painted houses and pretty flowers planted along the roadside. Now and then the old national roads that we were on crossed the fast toll roads that we were happy to avoid. We made good time to our second planned stop at the campsite in Bourges, where we were given a pitch surrounded by families who had paddling pools set up to escape the heat. A short walk along cobbled streets took us into the centre of the city, and the park where a live band played, and people danced while others watched and drank wine. Still, within earshot of the music, we wandered through beautiful flower borders to the impressive cathedral famed for its Gothic architecture and stained-glass windows. Stepping inside it was easy to see why it is on the Unesco World Heritage list of outstanding buildings –

“The plan of the cathedral is simple and harmonious. It is a basilica with five naves and chapels surrounding the choir. Double flying buttresses allow for the absence of tribunes and provide equal luminosity throughout the nave and the side aisles.

The most remarkable characteristics of the cathedral are the perspective of the lateral walls and the unity of the interior space. The sculptures on the north and south doors, on the tympanum of the Door of the Last Judgement (at the centre of the west façade) and others like the sculpted rood screen comprise outstanding examples of Gothic art. The following centuries left their mark on the cathedral: the stained-glass windows hence comprise a true encyclopaedia of this art of the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries.”

In awe of the majestic architecture inside, we ventured outside where the stonemasons had surely excelled themselves; flying buttresses elegantly and effortlessly supported towering walls, and the intricate carvings of the arches over the five heavy doors looked as fragile as the icing on a wedding cake. From every angle, the striking beauty of the cathedral displayed the importance of Christianity in medieval France to this day.

Day three, and the warring Garmin and Google devices reached a level of agreement that took us on one of the prettiest drives we had done so far. Leaving behind the flat farmlands of yesterday, we climbed through alpine-like forests and the dense cover of towering fir trees to our planned lakeside overnight stop at Aire du Lac, near Thiers. When we got there, we were disappointed to discover that the Aire was no more than a motorway stop, albeit with what could have been a picturesque lake had it not all the qualities of a mosquito-ridden swamp. Tired, and having assured ourselves of an easy getaway if necessary (French motorway aires are notorious for thieves), we walked around the site to inspect the facilities. The grass was well manicured, there were wooden picnic tables, the toilets and outside washing areas were spotless and even had piped music. It, therefore, was inexcusable that the area was littered with toilet tissue and human excrement; why does anyone behave in this despicable way when there are excellent facilities provided 24/7? To round the day off nicely, we received an email to say that our ferry from Ancona to Patras in a few days would now be stopping at Igoumenitsa instead, leaving us some 170 miles short of our intended itinerary. I spent the evening planning a revised route across mainland Greece to make the most of the new arrangement. Despite the grim surroundings, we had a quiet night and departed early the next morning for Curtelet.

August 2^nd would prove to be an auspicious day with the birth of my third grandchild, Jacob. Reassured to hear that both mother and son were well, our drive up the steep, twisty mountain roads was all the more enjoyable, until both sat navs directed us unnecessarily through the outskirts of Lyons instead of around. The road ran past rundown industrial estates, countless roundabouts, empty shops, and none of the nicer-looking parts that the city is renowned for. After one hour we gratefully left Lyons behind, and we were soon back on picturesque roads, climbing higher into the mountains of the Massif de Chartreuse. The region was verdant and the air fresh, it was easy to see why the area attracted summer visitors to the lakes and snow-skiers in the winter. It was therefore little surprise to find our chosen campsite was full and no amount of coaxing would elicit a pitch. It was the same story at the next three sites we tried, so we started to look for somewhere to wild camp for the night. We had driven three-quarters of the way around the lake and discovered that most of the shoreline is considered private by some who attempt a four-euro charge just to go down to the water’s edge. So we were happy when we found a suitable quiet sosta with free access to the water, and we could raise a glass to celebrate the safe arrival of Jacob.

Italy –

We opted for the toll road to cross from France into Italy, meaning that we would cross the border somewhere in the middle of the Frejus tunnel. Extraordinarily this transition is only noticeable because the road signs change from French to Italian, and we were soon enjoying the descent from the mountains towards our next planned overnight stop near Turin. The urban campsite did not appeal, and we agreed to find somewhere else. Park4Night made a few suggestions, but it was quite by chance that we stumbled across Camping Avigliana, a rundown-looking site set in trees overlooking the lake but with no access to it which is perhaps why they still had spaces. Despite its appearance, we checked at reception and received such a friendly welcome that we both felt more comfortable about staying the night. We were told we could park anywhere, unlike so many regimented sites nowadays, and we managed to tuck tidily amongst the trees as other vans continued to arrive. A Dutch couple, clearly sharing our earlier reservations, asked if the site was okay as they planned to stay a couple of nights, we explained we had felt the same but we were comfortable now and they were soon manoeuvring their van between the trees nearby. As we contemplated what to eat that evening, the gorgeous aroma of home cooking wafted down to our van from the small site restaurant. Following our noses, we enquired from the same man who we had seen at the reception earlier, and who was now eating his dinner, if they had a table free, and we were ushered into the empty outside restaurant with a rickety handrail and paper table clothes. Shortly, an elderly Super Mario lookalike brought us the menus and asked us what we would like to eat. Eating out is one of our holiday luxuries, but not being fluent in all the different languages means that it is often an adventure when it comes to choosing from the menu. We looked blankly at the Italian words, we looked at each other for support, and then Super Mario took the menus off us and incomprehensibly told us what we would have. We quickly explained that Linn is a vegetarian, to which he replied “No worry, I make something special”, and disappeared into the kitchen. A younger man appeared, took our order for drinks, and explained that Super Mario was his 84-year-old Papi who refused to retire and did all the cooking himself. It turned out there were three sons, all of them shared their father’s passion for the campsite, all of them cheerful and chatty. The Dutch couple joined us, perused the menu and asked if we understood any of it, we replied that we had not but we had put our trust in Super Mario, they ordered burgers. Next to arrive was a softly spoken Egyptian/Italian gentleman who politely introduced himself before sitting down and then engaged us all in a comprehensive history of the different regions of Italy. We amicably discussed the royal family (the Queen had just died), religion, and politics, all the taboo subjects for informal conversation. It was interesting to hear that while all of our campmates supported leaving the EU, they felt that, unlike their own countries, the UK would struggle being such a small island We not only enjoyed great food, but also entertaining and informative conversation with our new friends. At the end of the meal, our hosts insisted that we try liquors made from the different herbs of the lake and it was a somewhat wobbly short walk back to the van after a most memorable evening.   

Surprisingly, after the excesses of the previous night, we awoke the following morning with clear heads. Having driven a few extra miles yesterday I set a new destination with our quarrelsome travel companions that would best divide up the remaining miles. By mid-morning, we had already passed our originally planned stop at Modena, and we sped along the hot motorway in a convoy of large lorries and traffic fumes. The overcrowded Italian motorways are never much fun, but they serve the purpose of getting from A to B relatively quickly when the smaller roads are often so poorly kept that they are often not suitable for covering long distances. The demanding journey meant we were a little bit frazzled by the time we reached the picturesque medieval commune of Bagnara di Romagna and our overnight stop in the sosta by the playing fields. The town is surrounded by imposing walls that provide welcome shade to the pretty inner quadrant and small back streets. Here, after a brief walk, we found a choice of restaurants offering good Italian food having first enjoyed gelato in a quaint little pavement bar.

The next day we set off for the mountainous drive south, but both sat navs were adamant that we should not follow that route and concerned that the road may be blocked, we allowed them to take us down the congested Adriatic Road. Nose-to-tail traffic, stop/start driving, roundabouts, and fumes that meant we could not have our windows open despite the heat made this an uncomfortable drive. At the first opportunity, I found a side road that took us along more pastoral roads towards our next sosta at Corinaldo. Set high on a hill, this 14^th-century walled commune can be seen from miles away and is always a welcome sight after the long drive south. The sosta is set just outside the town, relatively flat, fully serviced and free, and we were relieved to find plenty of spaces. We stocked up with food at the nearby supermarket before walking into town to enjoy the medieval architecture, the centrepiece of which is the famed La Piaggia Staircase and the Polenta Well. Another sight not to be missed is la casa di Scuretto, Scuretto’s house. This house only has a facade and the number. Nothing else. No windows, no floors, nothing. The story is explained in a nearby sign –

“This is the house of Scuretto, born Gaetano, cobbler, simple man and excellent drinker. His son, emigrated to America, used to send him money regularly in order for him to build a house, in Corinaldo, where he intended to go back one day. But Scuretto used the money to drink at the local taverns. When the son, suspicious, asked him for a photo of the house, Scuretto built only the facade with house number and asked a friend to take a picture of him at the window. The house is still here, incomplete, because no more money arrived.”  

Our newly confirmed ferry from Ancona to Igoumenitsa was due to leave at four-thirty in the afternoon which left plenty of time for a leisurely start the next morning. We filled the water tanks, packed overnight bags and bought meals for our twenty-three-hour crossing, all before we left Corinaldo. The drive to the port was only thirty miles, so we took the beautiful country roads that meandered through the sleepy villages and grassy hills of the Marche region. This area is very picturesque and well worth savouring. Despite our tranquil drive, we still arrived in plenty of time, but as a precaution, I went to collect our tickets straight away. The queues were horrendous, two lines that stretched far outside the building, but strangely I was ushered straight in and after only a short while I handed our paperwork to the clerk who shuffled through it. He handed it back and demanded the vehicle logbook, not having ever been asked for this before I had left it back in the van. Despite my remonstrations, he simply waved me away and told me to return with the logbook. I was not so lucky the second time I tried to enter the building and I had to join the snaking queues outside for thirty minutes before finding myself in front of the same clerk again. He took our passports and returned them with our tickets without so much as looking at the logbook he had sent me back for. I walked back to the van frustrated at the unnecessary hindrance. But things only got worse. As we entered the dockside a smiley girl in uniform instructed that we should turn left and queue with the other vehicles, which we did. After about thirty minutes a man, also in uniform, walked between the vehicles checking the tickets and on getting to us said we were in the wrong queue and that we needed to get quickly to another gate where our ferry was already loading. We managed to extricate ourselves from the queue, turn around, and join the other vehicles that were on the right as we came in. The cars were loaded first, then the camper vans and finally the motorhomes. We found ourselves being loaded with the lorries until we were sent up one of the steep rattly iron ramps where there were other vans, and a diminutive deck hand grabbed our door mirror shouting “Left, left, left” or “Reet, reet, reet” while not even looking. After several near misses and nearly crushing his colleague, he told us to stop inches from the vehicle in front and turn off the engine.

We have previously tried unsuccessfully to book ‘camping on board’, which means that you can stay in your van for the crossing but have access to the decks, bars and toilets throughout your time onboard. You have an electric hook-up so you can keep your fridge going, and because you pay less than if you have a cabin it seemed like a good deal. Having now seen the cramped conditions, the noise and the heat on these camping onboard garage decks, we were glad that we had not managed to get those tickets. Instead, we had treated ourselves to a luxury en-suite cabin that only worked out about eighty pounds more, and that offered so much more comfort for the day and night that we would be onboard. It was so comfortable, and the provisions we had bought earlier so adequate, that we hardly left the cabin until it was time to disembark.

Mainland Greece –

Arriving at Igoumenitsa we were unloaded in the now familiar chaotic manner into the heat and herby smells of Greece that we love so much. It looked to be a pleasant town as we drove through headed for a beach stop only a couple of miles to the north. Drepano Beach is an isthmus with a sandy beach some four and a half miles long, dipping its toes into shallow sparkling waters under the shade of giant eucalyptus trees. It is understandably very popular with the locals, but we managed to park away from the crowds and enjoyed a swim for a couple of hours as we watched storm clouds roll in overhead. We were safely in the van when a short but violent storm of thunder and lightning sent people scurrying quickly back to their vehicles, their mass departure left only a handful of vans that were parked for the night. After the storm had passed, we wandered down to a small cantina where we enjoyed a surprisingly good meal before turning in for the night.

We were now following my hastily revamped route resulting from the cancellation of our original ferry to Patras. Leaving Drepano, we took the scenic coast road to the harbour town of Parga, renowned for its pretty multi-coloured houses wrapped in pine-clad mountains. It did not disappoint although we were unable to stop and explore due to the crowds of locals visiting that day. Every conceivable space had a vehicle wedged in, and more were arriving, so we carried on to our next stop at Lake Kalodiki (also known as The Lake of Water Lillies). This protected biotope is home to many species of birds and animals. We enjoyed a picnic lunch on the shore overlooking the luxuriant flora, looking out for beavers and otters.

Later, while driving down the coast road, the sandy beaches and turquoise water became too much of a temptation in the sweltering heat, so we stopped and enjoyed a leisurely swim before carrying on for our next overnighter.

I had last visited Lefkas nearly forty years before, and as it was near to our route we decided to overnight on the island. It is connected to the mainland by a causeway and lifting bridge; we parked up under the nearby massive turrets of the fortress of Agia Maura that looks out over the sand bars and smaller islands. Where once Lefkas was renowned for the Meltemi wind and the windsurfers that it enticed, it is now a yacht haven, and the marinas are full of charter boats and super yachts. With the boats came the money, and the once relatively quiet working town of Lefkada is now a bustling tourist attraction that lights up like a fairground at night.

The following day, Garmin and Google were at it again and took us for a tortuous drive into the mountains where we could look down onto the much easier road far below that meandered around lakes that we should have taken. It was frustrating, but we did pass through some remote pretty villages that we would otherwise have missed, which we reasoned is what this kind of travelling is all about. Eventually, we started the descent down to Riza Beach where we would spend the night looking across the sea at the graceful curves of the Rion Antirion Bridge. We parked up under a giant eucalyptus tree for shade and enjoyed a long swim with a few locals as the sunset. Later that night our idyllic peace was disturbed by three local louts noisily hanging out on the beach, they tried to set fire to one of the straw-thatched sunshades that earlier their parents had probably been sheltering under. This once unusual behaviour by Greek youngsters sadly seems to be getting more common, and we would witness more of it when we got to Rhodes.

Our plan to stop overnight at Kapsia Cave was thwarted because it was closed when we arrived and the car park was being set up for use for a rock concert. Nonetheless, the drive had been awesome, taking us high into the mountains again, alongside bottomless tree-lined gorges, and passing beautiful terracotta-roofed houses built on impossible slopes. We carried on with the new intention of parking overnight at Nafplion, but since our last visit, the town had become very motorhome unfriendly with ‘no parking’ signs everywhere. We stopped just long enough for me to repair a fault with our solar charging system and then moved back to the attractive little harbour at Nea Kios where we parked on a shady riverbank. While dining out later that evening, two incredibly loud bangs made everyone look up; we never did find out what they were, even the locals had no idea.

The temperature was now in the forties, and with no air conditioning, we struggled to keep comfortable. We could have the windows open when driving which was not too bad, but when we were parked up our two fans simply moved the warm air around. Where possible we spent as much time as we could near or in the sea. With a couple of spare days in hand before our next ferry, we topped up the water and provisions and headed for the isolated Lampagianna Beach. Situated near the seaside settlements of Lazes and Fourni, the beach is opposite the island of Koronida, an exclusive spa resort owned by a Lebanese shipping magnate. On the beach, we enjoyed a few days snorkelling and searching for the submerged 18,000-year-old castle and city, sunbathing, beautiful sunsets, and walking the coast path. The path south took us to the nearby Franchthi Cave which was occupied in one way or another from the Upper Palaeolithic period right up to the 20^th century. During the Palaeolithic (40,000 – 10,000 BC) and Mesolithic (9,000 – 7,000 BC) periods, the cave was inhabited seasonally by mobile hunter-gatherers and fishermen who used tools made of hard and sharp stones such as flint. In the Neolithic period (7,000 – 3,000 BC) occupation by farmers and herders was year-round and extended along the seashore that is now submerged due to rising sea levels. For most of the 20^th century, the cave was used as a seasonal animal pen. One night we enjoyed a moonlit walk to the north and the settlements of Fourni and Salanti, where locals relaxed on the beaches playing guitars, whiling away the summer. All too soon it was time for us to leave and make our way to the final stop before catching the ferry to Rhodes.  

The road north to Corinth is always enjoyable, on the right, the turquoise sea, and on the left, the pine-clad mountains soared above us until they levelled the nearer to the Gulf of Corinth we got. We had to wait for a large ship to pass before we crossed the canal on the submersible bridge at the southern end of the famous canal, but then we were soon driving along the busy urban roads of Isthmia and Kalamaki. There was a carnival-like atmosphere with stalls, bunting, and whole pigs sizzling on spits over hot coals. The traffic was manic, scooters weaved in and out, horns blaring, and cars parked on the road in an abandoned fashion. Policemen sat on their motorbikes at junctions chatting to the local girls, seemingly oblivious to the mayhem around them. We emerged unscathed and dropped down the steep entrance to Glaros Campsite where I made the schoolboy error of paying for the night before we had looked around. The campsite was rundown, overcrowded, and noisy. We were shown a choice of two pitches, even if we had been given both I would not have been able to get the van into them. We were shown another end pitch, easier to get onto once she got someone else to move their car. It was still cramped, but we had a sea view of sorts and an electric hook-up so it would do for one night.

We made an early start the next day so that we could fill the water tank while on-site with the least inconvenience to anyone, the tap was positioned such that it blocked the only road in and out. As we drove towards Pireaus where we had to catch the ferry, we passed many nice overnight stops that would have suited us much better than the campsite. However, the road soon became very industrial as it meandered past huge oil refineries and shipyards before merging with the more familiar inland route we have used previously. Checking in at the port was easy and the dockside was nothing like the chaos of our previous ferry, so we were boarded and checked into our cabin well before departure time. We enjoyed a beer in the bar as the ferry pulled out for the twenty-three-hour crossing to Rhodes.   

Rhodes –     

Rhodes is often referred to as the Island of the Sun, the Pearl Island, or the Island of the Knights. We refer to it simply as our second home. We disembarked and were on the familiar road south within eight minutes of the first mooring rope being thrown around a bollard on the harbour wall. And had it not been that the beach car park at Pefkos was full, we would have been swimming in the Mediterranean within an hour. Instead, we parked at the bus terminal and walked around the village where we surprised our dear friends with our unannounced arrival and made plans to meet later that evening. As soon as there was enough room in the car park, we discretely parked the van and went for what would become a regular sunset swim before meeting up with our friends. 

Typically, while in Pefkos, we would have an early swim with the locals, maybe breakfast with friends, then either a long walk or kayaking around the bay before a sunset swim and dinner out. Our walks took us either up to the tiny chapel of Prophet Elias or to any of the coves on the way to the army camp at Akra Lindos. Access to the 12^th century Prophet Elias church is a steep walk up from the village, up what is affectionately called ‘Heart Attack Hill’, and then some 255 steps cut into the rocks. At the top, the magnificent far-reaching views extend as far as Genadi to the west, over Lindos to the east, and far below the village of Pefkos. For early risers, the sunrises and sunsets are spectacular. Next to the little chapel is the modern Christian Cross standing six metres tall, this brightly illuminated structure can be seen from over ten miles away at night. It was reputedly built by a local businessman who wanted to put Pefkos ‘on the map’. After the tough climb, we rewarded ourselves with ice cream and a drink at the baker halfway down Heart Attack Hill.

The three-and-a-half mile walk to the army camp is along a rough gravel track that meanders around tiny coves with turquoise waters that sparkle in the sun. Unlike the walk to Profit Elias, it is relatively flat and away from the hubbub of the main road. After a while, there is what appears to be an ancient, abandoned village, but the information is scarce, and we can only guess what used to be there. At the end of the track, the road is blocked with forbidding gates that guard the entrance to the camp; there are only a handful of soldiers there now and the camp is reportedly mothballed.  

Our favourite place to kayak to while in Pefkos is a tiny cove at Akra Gianouri, it is only a short distance to paddle, but there is a small hidden beach there and the snorkelling is the best around. On calm days we ventured around the corner to the other coves, where kingfishers darted from rock to rock, and the water swelled into hidden chambers where with care we could escape the heat of the sun for a fleeting moment before being swept out again by the surge. It is always quieter here, the hire boats seldom come into the coves, instead, they race passed on their way to Lindos. We once kayaked all the way to Lindos, more by chance than intention, having kept saying that we would explore just one more cove until we found we were nearly there anyway. It is a long paddle there and back, about nine miles each way, and the sea can quickly become quite rough so I doubt we will do it again. Sometimes Linn would paddle board while I swam behind her, being much faster than me she would zig-zag around and cover far greater distances than I did. One day as I snorkelled far out, Linn paddled over to say that the sea was changing and dark clouds were forming overhead, and we should get ashore. By the time I got there, the sea was throwing up quite chop, and it showed the need to be cautious whenever we were on or in the water.  

Another day when the sea had been too rough for us to kayak, we were sitting in the van when a police car went passed with the lights flashing. We had recently been told that several motorhomes had been moved on and fined 300 euros at another popular beach in the south, so we got out somewhat fretfully to see what the problem was. We were told later by a friend who had watched the incident through binoculars, that a small boat carrying migrants had got into trouble after leaving Turkey, and the Greek coastguard had picked up the occupants and brought them ashore here. They would have been escorted back to Turkey had it not been that one woman needed medical attention. More migrants are making the crossing to Rhodes in preference to the closer Greek islands, in the hope that they escape being sent to a refugee centre in Athens from where they will be returned to the last country they left, Turkey.

We would normally stay about four nights in Pefkos as we did not want to outstay our welcome in the public beach car park. But on this trip, we were disappointed that frequently carloads of youths would arrive very late at night, either performing dangerous stunts around the car park or playing very loud music that would keep us awake until well after 3 am. On one occasion I confronted the lads and asked them to turn the music down, instead of the physical abuse I might have received back home, they were quite reasonable and agreed. They left and then turned the volume up again so loud that we could follow their progress around the town and into the next village. This happened often enough that we ended up not visiting Pefkos as much as usual, and as a consequence, we sadly saw less of our old friends than we would normally. Instead, we found more remote places to stay returning only when we hankered after civilisation.   

Before going off grid, we had to fill the water tanks, empty the toilet cassette, and stock up with provisions, these would last us just over a week with care. Non-potable water was easily accessible at many places besides the road, at garages and monasteries, and we used bottled water for drinking. We have found several places around the island where we can responsibly empty the cassette, there being no campsites or other organised facilities we rely mainly on beach or other public toilets. We use the limited onboard gas sparingly for cooking because there are no Calor gas stockists on Rhodes, and our two gas bottles are needed for running one of the fridges while we are off-grid. When there was no risk of fire, Rhodes is tinder dry in the summer, we usually cooked outside on our Cadac cooker that uses easily available small gas canisters. For years we bought most of our supplies from one particular supermarket run by two brothers who seldom smile, so much so that we had a private competition to see who could make them smile first. Because we were spending more time off-grid on this trip, we found we needed a bigger range of food and for this, the smaller local supermarkets were better. Late one night when buying essentials, the owner, seeing my Thatchers Gold shirt asked what it was. We explained that it was a local cider made in Somerset and jokingly suggested that he needed to get some in stock. As we were leaving the shop, his son proudly showed us on his computer screen that he was searching to buy some.

We could only arrive at or leave the car park at Pefkos either early in the morning or later at night when the crowds of hire cars had left for the day. To make this easier we sometimes stopped at nearby Lardos Port, an old stone jetty jutting into an often wild sea. During the day we were joined by a few local fishermen who sat patiently with their rods held across their knees with nervous hands ready to make the strike if necessary. Occasionally they landed small damsel fish that they fed to their cats, but mostly they caught nothing before packing their rods away. One day we were chatting with the owner, Skevos, at a jewellers shop about our trip and mentioned the motorhome, he enquired if we had been at Lardos Port a few days before because he had seen us while he was fishing. We asked him if he ever caught anything and he told us “No, that is not why Greek men fish anymore, they fish to escape their problems and to get lost in the moment”.

A few miles south is the village of Genadi. Friends living there had introduced us to two lovely little restaurants, one perfect for a leisurely breakfast right on the beach, the other serving probably the best food on the island. Mama’s Kitchen had become such a favourite of ours that we sometimes stayed a couple of nights on the beach just to enjoy their exquisite food and friendly hospitality. The pebbly beach proved excellent for snorkelling and kayaking, and the beach shower was great for freshening up in the evening before going out. We chose a calm day to kayak south to Mojitos, a bohemian beach bar about five miles down the coast. Paddling into the wind made holding a straight course difficult in our inflatable kayak, and we probably covered seven miles getting there confident that the wind would be behind us on the way back. We enjoyed a light lunch and a cocktail before setting off for the return journey, only to find that the wind had switched to being offshore, and the paddle was as difficult as before. As we got closer to our camp on the beach, the wind picked up and we were overtaken by a sunshade that had blown away and was tumbling over the white horses out to sea. We enjoyed a hearty meal at Mama’s that evening, conscience-free because of our workout during the day.          

The route to our favourite wild camp is a track about five miles long made of loose gravel that threw up a cloud of dust behind us as we negotiated the potholes and boulders. Our preferred parking place has become busier now that a large German resort has opened nearby, and with visits by the quad safaris, but it is still quiet enough that one morning we woke to find a large stag deer wandering passed the van. On the busier days, we drove further down the coast to a secluded beach called Shipwreck Beach. Our all-terrain tyres served us well as the track became rougher, and we were relieved not to lose grip even on the loosest and steepest sections as turning around would have been impossible on the narrow road. The wreck on the beach is a modern engineless superyacht that arrived a few years ago full of migrants, it was stolen from a shipyard in Turkey and towed across the short stretch of sea before being allowed to run aground. Nothing is known about what happened to the migrants, and the boat has been stripped of anything useful. Very few people venture this far, and we enjoyed many days of total isolation. Sometimes we walked to another favourite bay called Mavros Kavos (Black Cave) which was occasionally visited by a few adventurous locals who risked driving down the track, and some pleasure boats that visited for the sheer beauty and a photo opportunity.   

Over the years we have formed a friendship with a local man who spends most days on the beach alone. It was an unlikely relationship given that he spoke no English, and we would mostly just acknowledge each other with a friendly nod before sitting a few yards apart at the shady end of the beach under the black cave that gives it its name. Only recently when I had introduced ourselves to him, we found out that his name was Stavros, and with that formality over we enjoyed a closer bond than our mutual love for quiet solitude. If people came onto the beach, or jet skis came into the bay, we could catch each other’s eye and shake our heads sadly as our peace was temporarily shattered. When Stavros went off snorkelling, we kept watch over his belongings and an eye open to make sure that the pleasure boats did not run him over in their drunken pursuit for the very solitude they noisily destroyed. On one occasion, Stavros returned from his diving with a handful of shells that he timidly gave to Linn just as an old Greek man may give a posy of flowers to a girl he admired. Another time he returned with four octopuses that he proudly showed us before insisting that I had two, I tried to explain that I could not cook them in our van, but he insisted, “Ouzo, hot fire, very quick” as he put two fingers to his mouth and made a contented sucking sound. Not taking no for an answer, we watched, horrified, as he repeatedly bashed them on a nearby rock until they were dead and tenderised. Sadly, they were quite smelly by the time we returned to the van later that day, and I could not bring myself to chop them up and cook them on the Cadac, so they did not die in vain I gave them a burial at sea where I am sure they were enjoyed by other creatures.  

In the other direction to Mavros, the track crosses a live army firing range that is mostly used during the winter. Few, if any tourists get this far, and eventually the track runs out just passed an abandoned fisherman’s hut in a rocky cove. We idled several hours away here, enjoying the solitude and collecting spent shells and bullets for a collector friend at home. On one of these walks, I found an intact landmine only inches from the side of a track. We resisted an irrational urge to throw stones at it, and instead took photos that I sent back to a friend in Pefkos who we knew had army contacts. He sent back a picture of an army truck that just happened to be visiting them and assured us that they would remove it shortly. It was still there a couple of weeks later and is probably still there today given the Rhodians’ relaxed attitude to such dangers.  

These off-grid stops recharged our batteries as surely as the solar panel kept our leisure batteries fully charged in the forty-degree sunshine. No need for watches, time was irrelevant, we got up when it was light, ate when we were hungry, and went to bed when we were tired. Between times we sunbathed, swam, walked, kayaked, and snorkelled. Sometimes we even just sat and did nothing, a pastime quite foreign to us in our normal life, but one that proved most therapeutic.  

We moved on only when we ran out of food or had to fill the tanks. I would cautiously drive back along the track in our own dust storm until we reached the main road again, and head for a nearby garage where they kindly let me use their high-powered hose to wash our van and fill the tanks. Frequently we then headed for nearby Limni Beach, a small but popular retreat amidst a patchwork of allotments full of vegetables and fruit, where we could scrump figs, pomegranates and watermelons.   

During a package holiday to Rhodes many years before, we had visited Limni and seen a German motorhome parked up in the small car park. When we left late that evening to go back to our hotel, we discussed how idyllic it would be to spend the night, like the German couple, parked at this beautiful beach with its wondrous sunsets, all alone. It was that chance encounter that led to us being there now in our own motorhome. Regrettably, with the growing popularity of tourism to the island, such places are not as quiet as they were back then, so it was not that much of a surprise to find a Polish motorhome parked up on this visit. We were more surprised to learn that they were on the island for three months and were spending the entire time there, not travelling around when there was so much more to see. They left only occasionally for provisions, water being available from the beach shower. There was also a local caravan, tucked neatly into the prime spot, which was used as a weekend home by a couple from the nearby village. Early each morning, and at the end of most afternoons, locals arrived for a cooling swim in the lagoon before sitting on the beach to dry in the sun. Often, they brought us gifts of fresh tomatoes, figs, or plums. Mostly we joined them for a swim, but we discovered that the lagoon was inhabited by small fish that found us irresistible and their bites were quite painful. They did not seem to bother the locals, but we preferred to swim in the channel where the sea flushed out of the lagoon and the voracious fish seemed less prevalent.  

During the day, the beach sometimes became quite busy with tourists setting up sunshades to protect them from the sweltering heat. On these days we either walked along the beach to the turtle nesting sites in the hope of spotting a turtle or even hatchlings, sadly we saw neither, or we walked into the hills looking for the deer we had often seen from the road. One day we walked to the end of the track to a small, abandoned slip that was once used by fishermen to launch their boats. The track ends frustratingly just short of Fourni beach where there are caves and tombs cut into the rocks, but we did find a section of the ancient, cobbled road still in pristine condition. That night I was cooking dinner on the Cadac when I was swarmed by wasps that drove us both indoors until darkness fell and we could sit outside again and enjoy the moonlight.

Not far from Limni is the village of Apolakkia. There are two tavernas on the junction in the middle of the village, and two women who rush out in competition to signal drivers to pull in and visit their bars. They serve real Greek food here, cooked over charcoal stoves by elderly men who swig beer from bottles to combat the heat of the naked flames. We seldom passed without stopping at one or the other.  

Nearby Apolakkia reservoir is a vast expanse of water that during draughts reveals a tiny chapel that was submerged when the dam was built. Even on the brightest days, it is a foreboding lake that does not tempt us to go out in the kayak, but an activity centre on the shore seems popular, and there are often brightly coloured paddle boards or canoes on the water. High above the reservoir sits Siana, nestled into the side of a mountain it is famed for its honey and Souma. The honey comes from bees that have collected the nectar from the trees, flowers, or herbs of the mountain giving it a unique flavour and often an earwig or two in the jar. The Souma is a clear alcoholic drink made from fermented figs, grapes or wine that is sometimes drunk with a dash of water that turns it white. Similar to ouzo or raki, it is an acquired taste. Several of the tiny shops also sell rugs, and just as we have many times before, we stopped to buy another from the owner who greeted us like long-lost friends before she asked if we had been to Rhodes before. As we settled our bill, she gave us a small glass Greek Evil Eye to protect us from malevolent gazes and evil intent, we added it to our collection in the van.  

Assured of good fortune, we drove north and passed Kritinia Castle perched on a solitary rock under the watchful eye of Profitas Ilias, the highest mountain on the island with its golf ball-like radar station at the very top. Passed numerous viewpoints overlooking the nearby islands of Makri, Alimia, and Chalki, to Ancient Kameiros, Linn’s favourite place. The ancient city of Kameiros is one of three Doric cities, the other two being Ialysos and Lindos, dating back to the 5^th century B.C. Although established by the Dorians, it now seems likely that the first inhabitants of the area were likely to be Achaeans who were an agricultural society which produced oil, wine and figs. During the city’s golden era of the 6th century, it was the first Rhodian city to cut its own coins. Kameiros (Kamiros) is often compared to Pompeii, something that is not correct since Kameiros did not fall into decline because of a natural disaster. Its decline, like the decline of Ialysos, was the result of the gradual abandonment by its residents who decided to move to the city of Rhodes in 408 B.C. In 1929 archaeologists unearthed the ruins of the ancient city, and the excavations that brought it back to life continued until the end of World War II. The excavations were started following the accidental discovery of some ancient graves on land that had been reforested by then. The findings revealed by the excavations are considered some of the most important ever and were taken to the British Museum and the Louvre, many hope that these will be returned one day for display in the museum at Rhodes town. Following forest fires in the area about ten years ago, more of the site was uncovered and it is known that much remains buried, but it has been decided to leave it covered for security and protection.  

It was a short hop from Kameiros to Theologos Beach, and we arrived just as the last of the kite surfers were enjoying a final flight before darkness fell. Their brightly coloured kites looked like butterflies fluttering above the water, sometimes lifting the surfers high above the waves. We parked up and walked along the beach in both directions to see if there were any gypsies nearby. Rhodes in general is an exceptionally safe place, but they do have a problem of petty crime associated with itinerants, particularly in this area. Most local homes have high-security fences and vicious-looking guard dogs that bark as anyone approaches. Reassured we settled for a peaceful night and woke early to a magnificent sunrise over Turkey just a handful of miles across the sea.

The beach was still quiet when we left, the surfers probably still nursing a hangover from the night before when we had seen them collecting at the local bars. With no real agenda, we headed for Petaloudes, incorrectly named the Valley of Butterflies since they are actually Jersey Tiger moths attracted in the thousands to the scent of the Oriental Sweet Gum trees that grow here. Sadly, due to the ever-increasing popularity of the place, the moths are in decline because they have no stomachs and when disturbed they tend to fly more frequently depleting their small but vital supply of energy. On our visit the car parks were full, and coachloads of tourists were unloading at the bottom of the valley where the main entrance is. We managed to get passed the chaos and park at the small monastery at the top, and walked down the timbered paths in the opposite direction to most of the other visitors. After our walk, we had hoped to have Loukoumades, little bite-sized fluffy doughnuts, deep fried to golden crisp perfection and drenched in sweet honey, regrettably we found the monastery and the cantina closed.

Our next stop was Mount Filerimos and the monastery of the same name that stands high above the new town at Ialysos, formerly one of the three main ancient Doric cities. This important archaeological site with amazing views across the Aegean Sea is probably better known now for the resident peacocks and the modern 16-metre-tall concrete cross that you used to be able to climb inside to walk on the outstretched arms on either side. Unfortunately, the cross is now closed because it is unsafe, but it is still worth the walk down the ancient Calvary Way that once led to a simpler iron cross worshipped by the Catholics of the time. The Way, also known as the Via Dolorosa or Way of the Cross, is dotted with holy icon-stands and bronze reliefs with representations of the Passion of Christ, telling the journey undertaken by Jesus, starting at the place where Pilate sentenced him to death and ending on Mount Golgotha (Calvary). Some of the bronzes have bullet holes which we presume date back to any one of the invading forces in recent years that have tried to secure the island for their own purposes.

As another coachload of visitors tumbled out in their haste to buy ice cream, we left them and the peacocks to it, and descended to the plateau below for the drive to Monte Smith on the outskirts of the city. We followed the coast through the wonderfully busy narrow streets of Paradeisi, Kremasti and Trianda, through the urbanised resort of Ixia before negotiating the spider web of streets in the suburbs of Rhodes town that led up the hill of Monte Smith. The hill took its name from the British admiral Sir William Sidney Smith who had his observation post there in 1802 to keep an eye on the movements of Napoleon’s fleet during his war with the Turks. Only a mile and a half from the city of Rhodes, it is the site of an ancient temple, stadium and theatre. The temple of Pythian Apollo is a majestic structure on the west side of the terrace, located on the southern part of the hill. Out of the remaining structure, part of the architrave and some parts on the northeast side were poorly restored during the Italian occupation, and on our visit, the entire temple was cloaked in scaffold as work was being done to better restore it. The Odeion is situated below the site of the temple and is a small amphitheatre with around 800 seats. Today, only a few seats and the orchestra remain of the original structure, the rest having been restored with white marble very out of keeping with the original mellow stone. It is speculated that the areas were used for affairs of the Apollo cult and the Rhodian School of Rhetoric rather than for theatrical performances. Situated on the southeast side of the hill, the ancient stadium of Rhodes was a 210-meter-long stadium. Grand athletic competitions were conducted here as a part of the famous Haleion Games that only men were allowed to compete in. These games marked an important celebration that was held to honour the god of the sun, Halios. The stadium was excavated and restored by the Italians. They preserved the starting mechanism that was used in ancient times for athletes, along with some of the lower seats in the auditorium. The gymnasium is located to the east of the stadium. It was a huge building, which was square and measured around 200 meters on each side. To date, only the west side and northeast corners have been discovered.

It was approaching evening and school children were using the ancient monument as a shortcut home when we left. How odd it seemed to us that the modern generation took this historic site so much for granted that they hardly seemed to notice their surroundings as they discussed their homework or what they would be having for tea.

While researching places to visit on our trip, I discovered three waterfalls on Rhodes that we had not yet visited, we decided to try and visit them all despite there would not be any water as it was the summer drought. One of these, the smallest, could be found by walking up the gorge from the old Italian iron bridge near Masari. We parked in the shade of an olive tree and set off late one morning along the path that followed the dried riverbed towards Gadoura Dam. It was a beautiful walk with bees buzzing around and large swallowtail butterflies dancing in the air. We climbed steadily beside what in the winter would be the rapids of the river Gadoura until the track veered away and we were unable to find the Jalepan Waterfall that we were in search of. Undeterred we set a new destination for the dam. We had left the main track to find the waterfall, and now the path became hard to follow and we had to use Google Maps to keep heading in the right direction. Within sight of the dam, our way was blocked by a deep steep-sided ravine that it would have been dangerous to try to cross, so we walked beside it until we found a safer crossing, and then backtracked on the other side until we could find our way up the last incline to the road above. Reaching the dam, we found a sheltered spot on the slope of a sluice where we sat and ate our picnic while watching freshwater turtles swim in the shallows below. The wind picked up and caused a metal handrail above us to resonate with an eerily melodic droning sound. Reluctant to return the way we had come, Google informed us that there was another route that was only slightly longer. The going, to begin with, was easy, and as expected took us downhill until the tarmac ran out and we were faced with an option to turn right and find our original route up, or left which took us surprisingly back uphill again. The hill got progressively steeper, and as we climbed higher we questioned the wisdom of our choice, but determined, we continued to climb until the path opened into an olive grove from where far below we could see the gorge we had walked beside earlier. We were hopelessly ill-prepared for a trek of this nature, with only a little drink left and not much battery remaining to use my phone to navigate in case we got lost. Google was adamant, soon we would be on the other side of the mountain and from there it was downhill all the way. What Google did not tell us was that the route took us through a tunnel that when we got there, was boarded up. In other circumstances, this would have been a straightforward walk, but as every obstacle took us further away from our destination, the harder it got. Linn offered to sing a motivational song, and through gasps, I asked her not to. “The wheels on the bus go round and round” she sang, as we both burst into laughter before finding a rock to sit on. As expected, the path eventually started to go downhill again, and with-it survival seemed like a more realistic possibility once more. We were both exhausted when we reached the van, and glad to have a drink as our water had run out some miles back.

The second of the waterfalls is known as Emerald Falls. It is one of a collection of falls easy to find and only a short walk from the track that connects Arnitha to Mesanagros. The horseshoe-shaped hollows worn in the aggregate sandstone rocks mark where the winter rains spill into the basins below. The area is quite different from the surrounding hills and has an almost lunar quality to it. Unable to climb and explore the upper reaches because of the sheerness of the rocks, we continued to drive up the track towards Mesanagros and the third fall, the little-known St. Thomas waterfall. After a few miles we came across the first vehicle we had seen since leaving the road, a battered red pickup with a farmer loading wooden crates of grapes into the back of it. He stood, hands on hips watching us approach, seemingly incredulous that we had got so far in our behemoth van. As we passed him, we greeted each other with a cheerful two-handed wave, and when I checked my mirror, I saw him watch us with a smile until we went out of sight at the first corner. At the top of the track, large wind turbines swished monotonously in the breeze, and we stopped to enjoy the view across the whole of the south of the island. Not far away is the tiny mountain village of Mesanagros, where cats unhurriedly moved out of the road unused to being disturbed by cars. Ancient tractors stood rusting against stone walls where they last came to rest before being replaced by modern equipment. A huge shipping container teetered precariously over a crag, presumably originally helicoptered up there as a site building for use during the erection of the turbines, before being dragged down to the village as storage by a local farmer. The single carriage road meandered down the forested slopes until suddenly a gorge appeared and we knew we were close to the high cascade known as St. Thomas Falls. I parked up and found the top of the fall, standing on the edge and looking over, the view was disappointing, so we decided to find the bottom of the fall and look up. A short way down the road a turning brought us to St. Thomas monastery, a Greek Orthodox church otherwise known as Zoodochos Pigi. We walked up the riverbed until we came to the bottom of the fall, and it was truly spectacular. Mineral deposits coated the rocks where the winter waters flowed. Trees grew out of what appeared to be impossible crevices to either side. Total silence engulfed us as the surrounding hills muted any sounds. We stood entranced, soaking up the atmosphere that had an almost spiritual significance. I found a goat’s skull as we left, it seemed only right to place it on a large, flat, altar-like rock.

Charaki, also known as Haraki, is a one-time fishing village that overlooks a crescent-shaped bay and a long pebbly beach. We have previously overlooked this pretty village, righting it off as being a little too touristy with its numerous bars and beachside accommodation. But on this trip, we discovered hidden depths that brought us back time and again. Parking just outside the village, right on the pebbly beach, we discovered excellent swimming, snorkelling, walking and kayaking opportunities with easy access to the excellent range of restaurants in the evening. We got to know the locals’ routines and could soon tell you who would appear at certain times of the day, and what they would do. We enjoyed swimming with them, and we were soon on nodding terms. When the water was calm enough, visibility was excellent for snorkelling, and although we did not add any new species to our list I was able to make good use of my new underwater camera. We discovered two great walks. To the south, we could walk all the way along the pebbles to the tiny cove of Theotokos hardly seeing a soul on the way, and dip in and out of the sea as the fancy took us. To the north, and taking a small path out of the village, we could explore the caves below, and climb the battered steps up to, Feraklos Castle. The views from here are awesome, but we never visit now without remembering our first attempt when we climbed the almost inaccessible seaward side thinking it was the only way in, only to be greeted at the top by two old ladies in flip-flops.

 We had our best days kayaking at Haraki. Leaving quite early in the morning we paddled around the headland and into the crescent-shaped bay with ducks for company. From here we paddled around the promontory under the castle and found caves only accessible from the water that we explored before crossing the vast Agathi Bay. At the huge natural stone arch known locally as the Hole in The Rock, two goats obligingly posed on a large boulder while I took photographs. Paddling on we landed at Red Sands Beach to have a swim and marvel at the antics of the goats there that could climb sheer cliffs just to eat the smallest clumps of greenery growing there. At the far end, a group of kayakers were also taking a rest and shortly two of them approached us to ask about our American-built inflatable craft. Dimitris and Marina are Athenians who spend seven months of the year in Haraki leading various adventure courses including kayaking, cycling, hiking, and climbing. They told us that the route we had just paddled is called the Smugglers Way and is shrouded in history. Highly knowledgeable, we enjoyed a long chat with them about a variety of topics before they had to go and lead their party back to Haraki; as they left Marina said, “Same place, same day, same time, next year”. It is a date we will try hard to keep. We had one final swim and we paddled on to Three Cross Beach and Soulountrania Beach before the arduous crossing back over Agathi Bay. That night we treated ourselves to a dinner out hoping that we might bump into Dimitris and Marina, we didn’t sadly. We did have a most delicious meal though that for me included a starter of proper calamari, complete with tentacles, that I was careful to eat so that I did not look like the character Davy Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean.

All too soon our six weeks on Rhodes had flown by. It was time to leave and begin our three-week journey back to the UK. We spent our last two days and nights at Pefkos to see our friends and say farewell. It is always sad to say goodbye, they truly are more like family after all these years, but our sadness is tempered by knowing we will be back next year. As we left, our good friend Mihalis asked if we would do an errand for him, would we take two bottles of wine to his friend Yiannis in Meteora when we visited in a few days, we were happy to oblige.

Our last night in Pefkos car park proved to be another noisy one, and we did not sleep much which made leaving the next day a little easier. Hopefully, by next year the new disruptive element will have gone and we can once again enjoy our stays in the lovely village. For now, though, we had a boat to catch, and the mainland beckoned.

Our journey nearly ended abruptly at Rhodes port when a scooter driver, casually looking backwards over his shoulder, nearly rode at speed into the side of our van. His noisy tirade of abuse, oddly directed at us when he was clearly to blame, attracted the attention of nearby police prompting him to leave the scene quickly. We were glad to get aboard and settled in our cabin.

Mainland Greece – 

Our debarkation at Pireaus was delayed for forty-five minutes, waiting for a driver who had probably fallen asleep in a bar leaving his van blocking two of us in. Eventually, one of the garage deckhands managed to get his door open and pushed his van so that we could get off the ferry. The delay meant that we escaped the normal chaos largely caused by local police sending everyone towards Athens, and we were able to quickly join the road to Corinth that we had driven in on six weeks before.  

Leaving the suburbs behind, we were soon climbing the newly refurbished road into the mountain range of Pateras, passed Erythres, Thiya, Martino, and Livanates, and towards Arkitsa lighthouse where we planned to stay on the beach. Our drive took us through bear and wolf country, although we did not see any, unfortunately, and bleak reminders of the devasting forest fires last year. Further on the scenery opened up into vast areas of pretty cotton fields, gently swaying in the breeze like a visual lullaby.

We hardly saw any other cars all day, so we were particularly frustrated when we pulled onto the side of the road the explore the Paleomylos sinkhole, and we were greeted by a cacophony of horns as a lorry made hard work of getting passed. It meant that we could only venture a short way into the cave which is the largest of numerous underground passages that once drained the shallow Lake Kopais. Over time, cracks in the limestone rocks were enlarged by water dissolution forming an underground river that caused local flooding. The lake and sinkholes were eventually drained in 1931, 3700 years after the first attempts by the Minyans, and the dry caves are now home to eight species of protected bats. Along the road, there are several caves, all smoke-blackened suggesting occupation of some sort at one time or another. With no suitable parking available and insufficient time, we made a note to come back in the future for a better look.

Arkitsa lighthouse is situated on the coastline of the North Euboean Gulf, opposite Edipsos on the Chalcis peninsula. It was built in 1906 and is now owned by the Greek navy which operates it as a private holiday home for servicemen, as we were informed by a surprised sailor when we tried to look around the garden. It lies at the end of Kalamia beach which is where we parked for the night under a large Plane tree for shelter. After a walk to the pretty harbour, we swam in the millpond-still sea before sitting outside the van watching people promenade and classic cars cruise by.

In the morning we watched a spear fisherman struggle to land a massive fish before we walked up to the town for provisions. On the way, we stopped at a rundown little cemetery where a man was busy tidying up after recent storms, his sweatshirt emblazoned with the questionable business name “Happy Endings”. We found a great little minimarket to do our shopping, and we were delighted to be given two small pieces of wrapped confectionary that turned out to be delicious chocolate cake.             

We followed the coast towards Lamia before heading slightly inland to explore the Thermopylae Memorial at the foot of the Kolonos mountain. This site celebrates the bravery of a mere 1000 Greeks who in 480 BC stood against an army of 1,700,000 invading Persians. The Greeks might well have won had it not been for the treachery of one man called Ephialtes who led the Persians through the secret pass of Anopaia to the rear of the Greek troops. Despite their brave fight, all of the Greeks were killed. In the 1^st century AD, when the philosopher Tyanefs visited the site, he was asked which is the highest mountain in the world, he answered: “Kolonos is the highest mountain in the world, because on this mountain the law keeping and the noble self-sacrifice have put up a monument, which has its base on earth and reaches the stars”.    

We had planned to stay the night at Lamia to explore the town and castle, but on getting there, despite the stunning views, we found both were long past their best, so we made it a quick pitstop before taking the old national road to Meteora. This is a wonderfully varied route, through fields of cotton and corn, and over mountain ranges before entering Meteora along a long straight road that gives tantalising glimpses of the unique rock formations ahead. Our campsite was on the outskirts of the town Kalabaka, dwarfed by the massive boulders that tower above it. We parked our motorhome between the trees for the night, opposite two of the largest overlanders we have ever seen, one with a fully lifting section that made it two stories high, the other resembling an armoured car.

Meteora [meˈteora] is a rock formation hosting one of the largest and most precipitously built complexes of Eastern Orthodox monasteries, second in importance only to Mount Athos. The six (of an original twenty-four) monasteries are built on immense natural pillars and hill-like rounded boulders that dominate the local area. Between the 13th and 14th centuries, the twenty-four monasteries were established atop the rocks. Meteora is located near the town of Kalabaka at the northwestern edge of the Plain of Thessaly near the Pineios river and the Pindus Mountains. It was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1988 because of the outstanding architecture and beauty of the complex, in addition to its religious and artistic significance.

We were late leaving for the steep walk up to the monasteries the following morning, and the sun was already blazing down, so we were grateful for the shade of the woodland path from St. Nickolaos to the Great Meteoron which is the biggest of the monasteries. As with them all, the public may only visit certain parts, we saw the old kitchens, some chapels, the museums and the gardens, all of which are clearly now assigned for visitors and not used daily by the resident clergy. Having paid the entrance fee, it is wise to try to avoid the coachloads of tourists so intent on taking pictures that they miss out completely on the true meaning of what they have supposedly come to experience. It seems that the monasteries are in danger of becoming tourist attractions at the expense of their original religious significance. We saw only a few monks and nuns, and we learnt little of their daily lives other than when they pushed passed to their private quarters, or on the roads outside driving around in their prestige cars. Religion, it seems, is big business.  

Despite our late start, we managed to visit our second monastery, Varlaam Monastery. Smaller than the Great Meteoron, it was no less busy, but we did enjoy the museum largely dedicated to the gold embroidery workshop that was there during the 16th century, the work is staggeringly beautiful. There is also a tableau of a monk sitting at his desk and a description of their daily routine that did help us slightly to understand their duties which seemed to mostly consist of private prayer nowadays. Having run out of time to visit the remaining four monasteries, we walked back down to the village for a well-earned beer or two and something to eat.

Day two, and with further to walk we got an earlier start, even so, the track to St. Nickolaos, was only partly in the shade. This is the smallest of the six monasteries, and for us, despite the hard climb up the many steps, is the nicest. Less commercialised than the others and built more inclusively to the rock it stands on, it attracts fewer people and keeps more of its charm. As with them all, the views are stunning, and for those brave enough to look over the sheer drops it is hard to imagine how they were originally constructed; the steps used by visitors now were mostly only built in the late 20^th century. Parts of the monastery were being refurbished, and a recently installed timber ceiling with recessed panels was being painted by a cheerful chap, suspended on his back in a hammock so that he could reach the ceiling. 

I had discovered a path that would supposedly avoid a long walk up the busy road, and to begin with, it was a lovely woodland path with purple cyclamen and wood anemones growing on the banks. Soon the way became trickier, with steeper ascents and descents and loose underfoot. Marker signs indicated that it was part of the Meteora Trail Run, and we marvelled at how anyone could run over this rough terrain without injury. A massive rock formation lay between us and Saint Trinity, our next monastery, and once we had scaled around it, we were dismayed to find that the path went back down the hill. We had come too far to turn around, so we reluctantly followed the path certain that it was taking us back down to Kalabaka. After a while, we heard voices above us, and with a bit of a scramble, we found a path with people on it who looked anything but as lost as we felt, the path thankfully took us straight up to our next monastery. Saint Trinity is the oldest of the six remaining monasteries and much the same as the previous ones with possibly even better views given that it stands on a rocky precipice over 400 metres high. The outstanding feature is the amazing stairwell of steps cut right into the rock side. 

Saint Stefanos is only a short walk along the road from Saint Trinity, it was converted into a nunnery in 1961. When we got there it was closed for lunch, so we bought drinks and chocolate from a cantina to enjoy while we waited. Eventually, large electronic metal gates slid aside to let what was now a large crowd of people in as three coachloads of people had arrived to join us. There is a no shoulders, no knees dress code at all the monasteries, but we were surprised when the man in front of us was confronted by a female member of staff who, having taken his entrance fee, insisted that his cargo shorts were too short. They clearly weren’t, and while protesting his innocence he tugged them down a little more for good measure before walking on as the girl continued to shout at him in a most ungodlike manner. The gardens of Saint Stefanos are by far the prettiest, unfortunately, most of them are out of bounds to visitors but we could at least see them over the metal fences. As we were leaving, we found a display giving details of the Asian Minor Catastrophe. It detailed how in 1922, as many as 2,850,000 Greeks (one-fifth of the entire population) who had been living for centuries in the Asian Minor region of Turkey were annihilated under the pressure of unbelievable Turkish atrocities. The process began in 1914 when the Ottoman Government started purging their land in inhuman ways – plundering, total degradation of life and dignity, mass executions, hangings, torture, rape of women and young girls, mutilations, infanticide, public lynchings, ‘death marches’, labour and death battalions. In all over 25,000 Greek soldiers and over 600,000 civilians were killed, many more were injured and over 1,500,000 Greeks were forced to abandon their ancestral homeland. It is the biggest population migration in history. The display ends with the words – “Memories never fade away….. Wounds cannot be healed…. History cannot be forgiven….” 

We walked back along the road passed the main observation point to the Holy Monastery of Rousanos, the last of the six monasteries, and as we had visited it before we were not too bothered that it was closed for the night when we got there. Taking a chance that the pretty woodland path with its sleepered steps would be open at the bottom, and because it cut off a huge section of road-walking, we left the road for the second time that day. Our luck was in, the gates were open at the bottom, and we were soon enjoying a beer as an eerily bright moon shone through grey candyfloss clouds. We slept well that night. 

The following morning, unsure of where we would be spending the next night, I decided to fill the tanks and empty the cassette while Linn settled the bill before we left the campsite. I had only just started when a German van pulled up so close behind us that I could not walk between the vehicles, he hooted his horn. I’m not sure what he expected me to do, normally people are patient and happy to wait in such circumstances, but there then followed a series of hand gestures that made it clear he wanted me to move even though he could see I was busy. Undeterred, I carried on with my chores made all the more difficult because he refused to move back and our tanks are on opposite sides of the van so I had to struggle to get between his van and ours. Inevitably I got soaking wet trying to control the high-pressure hose in such a confined space, and I resembled a drowned rat as we set off to deliver Mihalis’s wine to his friend in town. Mihalis had told us that Yiannis was the manager of a hotel in Meteora, but he did not tell us that the hotel is one of the most prestigious in the area. As we parked in the huge car park, admired the manicured gardens and palm trees around the sparkling swimming pool, and took in the imposing building in front of us, I became acutely aware of the shabby state I was in. Uncertainly, we approached the smart reception desk, me clutching two bottles of wine, we would have fully understood if the receptionist had mistaken us for homeless people looking for a roof over our heads. Instead, she greeted us with a lovely smile and asked if she could help. We explained that we had a delivery from the Migkos family for Yiannis who we believed was the manager there. With that, a well-dressed man appeared from an office and greeted us like long-lost friends with no hint at all that he was surprised by my appearance. Yiannis was in his thirties, about the same age as Mihalis, they had been to college in Athens together and had remained friends ever since. He had not seen Mihalis for about eight years, but Mihalis had let him know that we were coming apparently, and I joked that was only so that he could check that his wine arrived safely. Yiannis insisted that we stay for something to eat and drink, “It is our custom” he said, “to make everyone welcome”. Knowing to refuse would be taken as an affront, we stressed that we had many miles to drive that day, but coffee would be lovely. Yiannis directed us to some vast leather chairs that threatened to swallow us as we dropped into them, and coffee and an assortment of handmade traditional biscuits of the region appeared. We talked about our mutual friends, how Greece was changing, politics and our journey of discovery so far. Yiannis explained that Greece and particularly the islands were becoming, he thought for a long time, “more cosmopolitan” he said with a wry smile. We agreed and talked about the dilution of culture this brings, the loss of heritage and ancestry that has always been so important to the Greeks more than most other races. Yiannis asked if we were familiar with the Greek word philotimo, and we said were. “Well,” he said sadly, “I worry that we will lose our philotimo.” There is no succinct definition for philotimo in any other language, it is a powerful word used to describe individuals with a love of integrity and honour, encompassing the pride one takes in living a rich, considerate, and meaningful life. Yiannis insisted that we pose for a photograph with him, and he tried to Facetime Mihalis to join us but could not get through. As he walked us to our van his phone rang, it was Mihalis, and we all had a nice chat before we shook hands with Yiannis promising to call in and see him when we are next there. 

The road out of Meteora followed the massive dried river bed of Pineios, through small woodlands and passed countless roadside stalls selling brightly coloured fresh fruit and vegetables. It quickly climbed into the mountains of Pindus, lush with verdant vegetation and long-horned cows with bells around their necks blocking the road. From the highest points, we could see the autumnal colours as the trees turned from green to orange, to crimson red. Snow markers marked the more treacherous sections, and signs warned of bears and advised that we progressed at our own risk. We had not seen a fuel station for miles, or even another car and the steep climb meant that we were running low on diesel. I passed the turning to the lake where we hoped to stay the night and drove into the mountain village of Metsova looking for fuel.

Metsova is a beautiful alpine-like village with chalet-style buildings with stone roofs, the road in was tiny and we hoped that I would be able to turn at the bottom to get out again. Halfway down the hill, I stopped so that Linn could ask an elderly gentleman if there was any fuel nearby, he eyed us suspiciously and then jerked a thumb over his shoulder before walking off muttering to himself. As luck would have it, I had stopped outside the only fuel station for miles, but it was so small that we had not noticed the pumps sitting on the pavement outside someone’s front room.  Metsova is renowned for the picture postcard buildings that have changed little since the 17^th and 18^th centuries when it exported famous textiles and woven goods to all the Balkans and beyond. In winter you can ski the surrounding slopes, and in the summer walking the bear trails is a popular pursuit. It was quiet when we were there, and a quick walk around the souvenir shops and restaurants revealed that we could buy anything from walking sticks with carved heads, to antiquities, to unique local wines and cheeses. Sadly, we did not have enough time to fully explore so we settled for a meal cooked over an open fire before going back up the hill to the manmade lake at Aoos Springs.

Metsova Lake is an artificial lake at an altitude of 1350 meters, its beauty is proof that man’s intervention with nature can sometimes result in something spectacular. We followed the single-carriageway road around the shores looking for a quiet overnight spot near the water’s edge, and found the perfect stop, flat, with a picnic table, and superb views. We went for a walk hoping to see bears but unfortunately found none although we did find some bear scat so we knew we weren’t alone. It was a cold night, the temperature dropped to about 8 degrees, and we were thankful that we had put the duvet back on the bed.

As dawn broke, I woke early and watched a stunning sunrise of pinks and blues emerge over the hills at the far end of the lake. We drove back the way we had come before branching off to take the mountain road to Tristeno, Zagori and Ioannina. For the first few miles, we were surrounded by potato fields being harvested by itinerant workers and heavy specialised machines that turned the soil revealing the sought-after crop. The open spaces became woodland once more as the road started the steep descent to the Arachthos valley below, and we crossed the river next door to the ancient Tsipiana stone arched bridge. From Baltouma the road meandered around under the new motorway link, crisscrossing its path under massive concrete structures, or skirting the mountains where it dived into dark tunnels to reappear on the other side. Lake Pamvotida hove into view, with the sprawling metropolis of Ioannina town on the other side and Ioannina Island in front. We drove along only a few feet from the water’s edge, where cows waded to eat small lily leaves that floated like nature’s confetti on the still water. At Perama we tried to find the well-signed cave, but we felt uncomfortable leaving the van in the remote car park, so we drove on across the spectacular mountain pass scenery between us and Igoumenitsa. A chestnut tree, heavy with nuts that also littered the ground underneath demanded that we stopped to scrump some, to be cooked on the Cadac later when we spent the night on Drepano beach before our ferry to Venice in the morning. Our ferry departure time had been changed at the last minute from 04:30 in the morning, to the far more agreeable time of 08:30, we were grateful for the lie-in but decided to pick the tickets up the day before to make sure there were no other changes. Our final sunset in Greece was spectacular, the sky alight with fiery reds and oranges, it was an awesome farewell.   

In the morning we boarded the rusting hulk of a ferry with the lorries as usual, and I was fortunate to find an electric hook-up so that we could leave our main fridge going for the twenty-one-hour crossing. Our cabin was vast but old and tired, and the two windows were so dirty that it was hard to see out. We went on deck to enjoy the sun as the boat followed the Albanian coastline and we were lucky enough to see a pod of dolphins frolicking nearby. After lunch, we went back on deck until it got cold, and we were forced to go back inside where we are sure we got bitten by fleas. The furniture was as decrepit as the boat and judging by the reviews we read later, infested with fleas. We were grateful in the morning that our cabin tickets included a free breakfast that otherwise would have cost us nearly £40 for a barely edible meal. The staff were unbelievably rude and unhelpful, and the furniture was so unpleasant that we spent the last few hours on deck before queueing with a crowd of scratching passengers for the stairs to the garage.

 Italy –        

 At our last visit to border control in Venice, the guard laughingly waved us through explaining that after Brexit things would be very different, they weren’t, and we were disembarked and on our nearby campsite at Fusina in only a few minutes. Despite our delayed arrival in Venice, we agreed to take the water bus to the city as having been several times before we felt a few hours there was all we needed. We jumped on the twice-hourly water bus just as it was leaving. We landed at Zattere which unsurprisingly for a Saturday was bustling with people. To avoid the worse crowds, we walked around the turbulent water’s edge to the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, through the backstreets where we bought a thoroughly delicious pizza from a street seller for a couple of euros, and over the Grand Canal via the Ponte dell Accademia bridge with its awesome views. We found the 15^th-century Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo, acknowledged for its external multi-arch spiral staircase known as the Scala Contarini del Bovolo, before heading for St. Marks. This route, although little known, offers some of the best views in Venice. St. Marks was relatively quiet, but we had to push our way through the crowds outside the Basilica di San Marco where we remembered sadly the story of the glorious Torre dell’Orologio clock. It was designed by Maurizio Codussi and built beginning in 1496. The clock displays the time, the phase of the moon, and the dominant sign of the Zodiac. Venetian legend holds that when the clock was revealed on February 1, 1499, it was so beautiful that the doge had the clockmaker blinded so that he could not create another to rival it. Just around the corner, we spoilt ourselves with an affordable glass of wine as we watched the gondolas go about their business, and then a quick glimpse of the Bridge of Sighs before catching the water bus with just minutes to spare again back to the campsite. This whistle-stop tour meant we had a day in hand that we would find very useful at our next stop.  

Avoiding the often tediously slow urban roads of northern Italy, we were soon at our next stop Camping Covelo on the shore of Lago d’Iseo. We received a very friendly welcome and the suggestion that we booked in for two nights instead of the one we had planned; we could always change it if we wanted. As we sat by the water’s edge enjoying a beer, we were glad of the day in hand we had and planned a kayak trip on the lake for the next day. That evening we had a delicious meal, with top-class service, incongruously under the awning in the campsite restaurant.  

The next day was perfect kayaking weather, clear and not too hot. We were soon out on the water for our first-ever lake paddle. We followed the shoreline around to Sulzano before crossing to Pershiera on Monte Isola where we were nearly enticed ashore by a lovely-looking taverna with seating on a raised deck over the water. Instead, we paddled onto Sensole and set our sights on the tiny island of Isola di San Paolo which was once connected by a track that you could walk along. In 1490 the aristocrat Alessandro Fenaroli built the convent of San Paolo, hosting the friar Minors till 1783 when the island was sold to a private buyer, it is still privately owned so we did not go ashore. We had seen some caves on the mainland opposite the campsite, and we paddled over to explore them. When we got there the traffic noise was deafening, and the natural-looking caves seemed to have been breached by the road tunnel that now runs under the mountain. We paddled back to the campsite and took the opportunity to wash the salt off the kayak and let it dry before folding it back up until probably next year, one less job to do when we got home. We were sad to leave Camping Covelo, it had exceeded our expectations and we plan on going back one day.

France –

I had been looking forward to the drive from Covelo to Mont Cenis as it would be our first real mountain pass drive, and t did not disappoint. We took the toll road to Avigliana and then started the long ascent through stunning scenery and lovely little mountain villages as we crossed the French/Italian Alps. The pass lies geographically midway between the Mont Blanc and Frejus tunnels which are the more popular routes and took us high above the treeline into the snow-covered peaks. Somewhere along this route we left Italy and entered France, as simple as that, no fuss, no protocol. As the temperature plummeted, the scenery became all the more breathtaking until we reached the stunning Lac du Mont Cenis, a large manmade expanse of water in the snowy peaks. We parked down on the shore before walking back up the hill to the pyramid-shaped church and museum which were both closed it being out of season. Dark clouds formed as we walked back to the van, and despite the good weather forecast I decided to move the van to the top of the hill, just in case. Eerie darkness fell, the bright moon piercing the clouds so at times it was almost daylight.  

Oddly, with so many other idyllic places to park, we woke to find that another van had parked tightly behind us, so we decided to leave them to it and got an early start the next morning. The descent down the other side of Mont Cenis was just as stunning as the drive up, albeit the sleepy little villages were now largely skiing resorts where chairlifts dangled like old Christmas decorations from cables in the sky. Raging rivers of sparkling water good enough to drink roared beside us or plunged out of sight into deep gorges. Castles perched atop rocky outcrops, and looked every bit the protectors they once were. After we joined the old Frejus road, the mountains got lower and the temperature warmer. We managed to stay off the toll road and enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch in the last of the hills before the scenery became flatter and more pastoral. The buildings were quintessentially French now, ancient timber frames infilled with brick, or soft-looking lime plaster in muted pinks and hand-hewn stone roofs were replaced with mellow red clay tiles that all blended effortlessly with the natural surroundings. We had planned to stay on the Aire in Macon but finding it to be quite urban after the last couple of days’ rurality, we carried on in search of a wild camp. At Gigny sur Saone we followed the track that runs beside the river and found a lovely quiet stop near the road bridge to Thorey. Sitting on the bank we watched large commercial barges chug past with their heavy cargo, and huge sightseeing launches rushing to their next town. It had been a long, wonderful day, and we fell asleep to the gentle sound of the water rippling through the rushes.

We woke to thick fog. We could not even see the bank on the other side of the river. But we got an early start and by ten it had cleared. We were now in central France, driving south of Paris to avoid the notorious congestion and environmental charges that they impose on old vehicles such as ours. The fuel strike had gathered pace, and the majority of garages either had no fuel or were rationing the amount you could have. As soon as the gauge was down to three-quarters of a tank, we started looking for garages. In fairness it did not cause us too much of a problem, at one place that had set the pumps to a maximum of 30 litres per transaction, we simply used three different cards to pay for a full tank of diesel. Of more concern, were the prices. Typically, a litre of diesel cost about 1.3 euros after the government discount initiative was applied at the pump on the outward journey. But profiteering was so rife on the return trip that we seldom paid less than 1.9 euros and saw some urban places charging over three. It was all the more reason to stick to the old national roads, and we enjoyed a lovely drive through the picturesque heart of France.  

At one of our Intermarche fuel stops, we did a large food shop that would last us until we got home. Not having a euro coin for the trolley, Linn asked a local lad if he would swap a one euro coin for a two; he shook his head, dug into his pocket, and insisted that Linn took the euro coin without giving anything back. The variety and quality of food in these supermarkets exceeds anything available in the UK, and all at affordable prices. Having done our shop and driven just a few miles, we heard a loud crack from the roof of the van. I pulled over to investigate and found nothing obvious inside I was just climbing up through our large roof vent to look from outside when an English-plated car stopped and reversed back to us. I heard the driver ask Linn if everything was okay, and then he explained that even if it wasn’t he ruefully suspected that there was not much he could do. It was the second kind gesture in less than an hour and went a long way in lifting our spirits for the day. We never did find out what the noise was.

Through one particularly beautiful twisty section of rural road, we were followed for miles by a police car. The bends meant that we could not drive quickly and he could not overtake, but illogically, after hearing many stories of the French police harassing English drivers, I was keen to lose him so we pulled into a layby. Thankfully he drove passed. While stopped ther