3.6.24

Bye bye budgies. We were back on the not so open road out of Sofia.

It was warm, 29 degrees with the promise of storms. A thick smog hung over Sofia making our first climb up hill tough. Off the road and into fields now, horses and cows grazed in thick grass against a backdrop of starling murmurations. It was dreamy but momentary, as is the nature of bike touring.

The hill led down to a boggy path which caked our shoes and bikes in mud, sapping our already waning optimism supplies dry. Eventually we joined a road runnning parallel to the motorway – which offered little solace. Our mud anxiety was replaced by Fast and Furious enthusiasts driving exceptionally badly.

After lunch, few cars bothered us. Pale white and green butterflies gravitated to puddled potholes, vortexing around us like fallen autumn leaves as we passed. But after an hour we were forced into a pit stop after a flash of lightning illuminated the sky and the heavens opened. We enjoyed Viennese coffee under the awnings of the nearest cafe and waited for the next break in the clouds.

As the sun reappeared, we skirted flooded roads and gravel paths all the way into the mountain town of Momin Prohod.

We easily found our hotel, grabbed dinner (tripe for the first time), and hunkered down.

4.6.24

It feels like the Slow Way Round begins today.

After Max had expressed feelings towards the cycling aspect of the trip – the gist being by it’s not that enjoyable – it resonated with me that we needed to focus more on enjoyment than endurance.

So on the agenda was wine tasting, a visit to a local fort, and a little cycle to a nearby city followed by a train to Plovdiv. Of course it didn’t plan out that way.

We climbed the hill we so quickly descended last night for about 11km before reaching the fort. It was hot work and the fort did not really live up to expectations.

It was now getting stupid hot. Chatting 33 degrees and no breeze. We expected downhill delight but any descents were met with climbs that really slowed progress. But after a quick pizza stop we made it to Pazardzhik, a city about 50km away from Plovdiv. We headed to the train station where we’d catch the next train.

The station was large with delays to match. The train guard was angry at us but knew we didn’t understand anything she was saying, all the while the bolts and hinges of the train rattled unsurely, just waiting to loosen the door I leant on and have me sucked out of the rear carriage. It was the drama we loved.

Pulling into Plovdiv eager crowds swarmed to the rear door, passing smiles between eachother as they watched us wrestle our oversized bikes off the train.

Once we’d found our beautiful 19th century hostel we spoke, or rather listened, to an American and headed quickly for dinner. Max almost feinted from dehydration so we went home, watched the election debate and had a kip.

5.6.24

Returning to our dorm last night we found the guy who’d been asleep since 6pm had not only taken Max’s pillow, but also snored loudly and had a box of rotting fruit on his bedside table. It was ridiculous, or ‘shocking’ as Kier Starmer might mutter under his breath.

Bleary eyed we headed down for brekky. When Mr Man came down glowing from what must’ve been 18 hours of sleep, I could only look at him and think ‘prick’. But the American came along and soon shifted my focus.

His name doesn’t matter, it might as well of been called Ronald McDonald because he was as red, white and blue as they come. He blurted endless unasked things at us whilst we ate, ‘anti Donald Trump’, ‘Bernie Sanders, you might not of heard of him’, ‘bus station’ ‘Thai wife’.

We swiftly found our feet and headed for the walking tour of Plovdiv. There is an incredible amount of history in what is the oldest city in Europe. Everyone’s had a go at the place, Romans, Thracians, Ottomans and eventually the Austro Hungarians. It’s an epic place for a more tactile learner, someone who wants to run their fingers over the engraving of a Roman ruin (permitted I swear) or the fine door knob of an 18th century house without guilt.

I made dinner for Max and I before the American came talking. He’d spent the day walking to a bus station only to find it was the wrong bus station – then walked to the correct one. He had no mobile data so relied on the kind man who owned the hostel.

‘He must’ve sent me the wrong way man. I showed him on the map it was down here and followed his directions and ended up here. No way he could’ve got it that wrong. He did it on purpose’ he finally observed a natural pause and let me speak.

‘Nah doubt he did that on purpose, nice guy’ anticipating more garbage to spew from his shoot.

‘I dunno man, I said some bad things about Bulgaria to him. No way he was that wrong. Wasted my day’.

I excused myself and headed out for a drink with Max and two lovely students we’d met in our dorm.

6.6.24

We took a hiking recommendation from a very enthusiastic French girl we’d met the day before.

Arriving in Asenovgrad, we walked up a road for 2km before hitting a beautiful fortress sat on a rocky outcrop. Then we turned onto a footpath and shortly realised we’d messed up.

The path was overgrown and unkept, with fresh rockfall keeping your eyes down as to not twist your ankle. My legs flared up from the knee high stinging nettles and once we’d arrived at the monastery, we were ready to go home.

Heading back down the mountain we challenged ourselves to hitch hike. Neither of us had hitchhiked before, so we naturally over complicated things and applied logics that made little sense ‘no we need to be near the junction so people can pull in’ Max argued, ‘but they might never come, we might as well walk to the next town with our thumbs out’. Our knight in a shining Skoda actually picked us up on a bend of the main road – no fucks given.

He was Bulgarian, the car was extremely clean and a Rosary hung from his rear view mirror. He planted his phone on his steering wheel and told us he supported Man United, ‘Berbatov!’. That’s a fair enough reason. Berba will be a politician any day now. He dropped us at the train station and acknowledged our thanks with a few grunts before going on his way.

Back in Plovdiv we grabbed gyros and felt inspired by the new enjoy not endure ethos – so why not flip the trip.

We scanned Google for an alternative to days on the D100 to Istanbul. We decided on the Greek island of Thasos. A coach left tomorrow for Thessaloniki at 3pm and took bikes free of charge. We messaged a warmshowers host who said he’d host us. We were still unsure of how we’d get to Thasos but we were learning that everything eventually falls into place…

7.6.24

We did one final walk around Plovdiv before heading to the coach station.

It was nerve racking pulling up to the coach drivers. We were unsure if they’d tell us to do one, but they were kind, laughing about dragging us along at the back. Haha I laughed, genuinely ready to be dragged at 100km on a motorway.

The coach was air conditioned and only once did the driver get pulled over to be breathalysed. 3 episodes of Bridgerton helped time fly (and raise my heart rate considerably) and soon enough we were stepping out into Thessaloniki’s Mediterranean humidity.

Pedalling through the night to meet our host Demitrius at his art studio Space Time, a Tom Sachs-esque underground workshop / art space, we both felt a new lease of life in the trip.

He took us then to his apartment where we met another cyclist Demitrius was hosting, Alex. He was a proper cyclist, going from China to Europe, as well as a great photographer. We spoke briefly of our travels before lights out.

8.6.24

I stirred at 6am to Demitrius’ cat Charlie sprinting around the room. I let him out and looked out at the bright blue sky and sea, feeling a twinge of homesick as the cargo ships sat idly in the harbour. Max and I both have salt blood, an affinity with the sea that can’t quite be put into words, so to be reacquainted with the deep blue was particularly moving.

Demitrius pointed us to Thessaloniki’s promenade where we’d cycle to the station and catch the coach to Kavala, then ferry to Thasos.

The bus terminal was heaving, tourist scrambled from one kiosk to the other, but Max nimbly found our kiosk in an instant and booked two tickets. The vendor offered a cool ‘no problem’ in regard to our bikes going on the coach.

The bikes were a problem, three guys were left in dismay at our bikes having to go on their ‘new bus’. They attempted to fleece us but we had no cash. So the driver cut the price to €5 per bike (not company policy) and we agreed to pay when we arrived in Kavala. We could’ve probably told them to get on their bikes, but no point in causing problems for the sake for €5.

Round the corner from the bus terminal was our ferry. We got tickets and found some food before she pulled away into the Aegean Sea. We were both feeling very tired from all the travel over the past two days. I listened to my Anthony Bourdain audio booked and watched the herring gulls tail us all the way to Thasos.

Upon arrival, the sea breeze vanished and in its place a harsh sun beamed down. Lucky for us our campsite and inaugural swim in the sea was just 1km down the road. We found a shaded spot beside the beach, set up camp and dove right in to the clearest waters I’d ever seen. The rest of the day was spent frolicking, eating pasta, olives and tomatoes on the shore before watching a heroic sunset.

The stars glimmer above our tent. I think of Ellie and how I’d like to be here with her, kicking water at eachother on the shoreline and watching little fish in the shallows.