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Click here for the Introduction.
40
miles - Friday, October 28
The bathroom
block is disgusting. It's like nothing I've ever seen before: leaf clogged sinks,
unflushable toilets, pools of dirty water in shower drains. Andy
decides against using the facilities, but I can't take my sticky body. I wear flip flops and perch
on the raised cement edge in the shower stall, clear of the muck. I
quickly bathe in cold water then we clear out of the campground,
wondering what awaits us at the next place.
We
leave Patras behind, pedaling on the Old National Road eastward along
the Kolpos (gulf) of Korinthos. It's a quiet, roller coaster ride
through small towns and lemon or olive orchards. Like southern Italy,
there is the ubiquitous trash in the gutters, but it's easy to overlook. The clear Aegean shores are
only a few feet below us while the bulk of traffic traverses further
up the hillside on a newer highway.
We
glide along, enjoying the sunshine, the camaraderie of men clustered
around small tables, outside stores and restaurants, waving and
smiling. It's their independence holiday – National Day – to be
celebrated in leisure. In more recent history, as explained to us,
Hitler told Mussolini to invade Greece and conquer them in two days.
After 40 days the Italian army still had not succeeded so the Nazi
army took over, brutalizing Greek citizens. Many Greeks still harbor
these memories.
By
2:30 p.m. the aqua waters beckon us. Andy and I discover a deserted
campground perched on a short bluff, pointing westward down the gulf.
After inspecting the facilities and the beach, and confirming it's
fine to stay, the proprietor says to make him an offer. It's too good
to be true. He accepts our 1000 drachmas. “Pay in the morning. No
problem.” However, we insist on settling beforehand. We refused to
repeat the morning's episode, waking the owner at 9 a.m. to retrieve
our passports.
Within
minutes, we are swimming in the salty Aegean Sea. It's just warm
enough to be refreshing, and what we needed to raise our spirits
toward Grecian camping standards. I stay in the clear water longer
than Andy does, relishing the weightless exercise, eventually
scrambling out onto the pebbled beach to dry in the sun.
In
the evening we walk further down the road, by a lemon grove and small
vineyard. Excited to sample a black olive, I pluck one from a tree
and bite into it. It's bitter. I immediately spit it out. My mouth
tastes awful for the remainder of the walk. Later, the campground
proprietor explains that olives must be soaked three times in salt
water before they're ready to eat.
After
dark in our golden dome, the candle lantern flickers, projecting
giant-like shadows of ourselves on the interior, like a planetarium. It's peaceful.Trains have stopped. Crickets talk and the sound of tiny waves rhythmically
trickle on the shoreline. Beside me Andy is on his
stomach, arms folded beneath his head. He insists he is only resting,
but I know better. It is his last position before turning to his back
and falling asleep.
Nice blog! This is my first visit, though I have felt your presence around Rantwick.
ReplyDeleteI am glad y'all decided to pay upfront, instead of having to deal with the hotelier in Greece. Good thinking :)
Peace :)
Thank you for visiting!
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