Category: Travel Writing

So a week after arriving in Athens we were at Piraeus looking for a boat to Ios which we’d heard was very nice. Unfortunately there wasn’t a ferry until the following day and not wanting to hang around the port we opted for one to Mykonos instead.

The crossing was perfect and we arrived around 2pm. Without much cash and realising it was a Sunday and banks would be closed we settled on the old favourite, a loaf of bread. On discovering there was a bus to the other side of the island where there was a lovely beach named Heaven we took it. It was a rough ride, but on getting there we bumped into some English lads we’d spoken with at Dafni and ended up staying with them, reading, talking and playing cards. We slept in a sort of rough rock shelter, a bit like a cave, as we couldn’t be bothered to pitch the tent and awoke to another perfect day.

Now to find that ferry to Ios.

There wasn’t a ferry until the Tuesday so we spent the rest of the time sunbathing and swimming and on the Monday evening we built a beach bonfire which was quite a disaster as the lads got very drunk.

We finally departed Mykonos around 4:15pm, an hour late due to the windy weather, so we only arrived on Ios at 7:45pm where we went for a meal at the harbour front and camped on the harbour beach for the night. I slept badly as it was cold and windy and we hadn’t pitched the tent, just using our sleeping bags which ended up coated in sand. After fortifying ourselves with bread and honey and a milky Nescafé we set off up the hill to the town of Chora the main town or capital of many Greek islands and regions, typically characterized by traditional Cycladic architecture, white-washed houses, narrow streets, and elevated, defensive locations. There were a lot of steps!

We stopped for a drink at Yannis café before continuing along the rough track to an unspoiled beach ‘Mylopotas’  that we had heard was a popular place for camping. The views from the top were stunningly beautiful. Blue sky, blue sea (nothing like our usually brown North Sea) and a wide curving sandy beach.

The route down to the beach was rather precarious, basically clambering down the cliff and one we would find even more difficult in the dark. There were already several tents pitched alongside the rough stone with olive trees which ran alongside the beach and which provided some shelter.

We found a space and pitched our tent and went for a swim, this island looked like it was going to be a lovely relaxing place for the rest of the week which was when the next ferry back to Piraeus was due.

That evening we went back to Chora and discovered Homer’s Cave – a disco with the tiniest dance floor heaving with crowded sunburned, sweaty bodies – all frantically dancing to The Who, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Poco, the Rolling Stones etc. We had a great time. Homer’s Cave became a regular evening event, the days spent sunbathing and swimming, drinking Nescafé and socialising.

There were two small cafés to choose from, one at either end of the curved bay, where we had breakfasts of honey and thick Greek yoghurt, or fried eggs! Even octopus stew one evening – we saw that one being caught! We met lots of lovely people from the USA, Canada, Europe, and a couple of Spanish guys who were – you guessed – musicians! So some evenings were spent around a fire on the beach listening to the guitars. And everyone joined in singing to the popular songs.

We were offered a lift all the way back to Munich by the English guys who had joined us from Mykonos, but we were undecided. We really didn’t want to leave this idyllic place. On Friday evening we were back at Homer’s having fun and we were escorted back to our camp by Major who was a very interesting character. He was a Canadian and a definite fruit loop – but so very cheerful all the time.

Anyway Saturday came and went, and we decided to stay on for another few days enjoying the weather and the company. Sunday was very quiet. Apparently some dope had arrived on the island brought in by someone on the ferry and everyone seemed to be sleeping off the effects. Everyone except us it seemed.

We bumped into another couple we’d met in Dafni, Terri and Richard from London, who had arrived on yesterday’s ferry and took them to Homer’s. Terri wasn’t feeling so well though so instead of camping they took a room at Yannis café. We joined them for a meal on the Tuesday where we learned that because of the windy weather there would be no more ferries until the following Saturday when we decided we had to leave.

Money was getting quite short and it was time to head north.

After breakfast the next day we wandered along the beach where it was very windy and there were very few people about. Later back at our tent we met two German guys who had pitched their tent next to ours. They made us a cup of tea (although I don’t actually drink the stuff, but it would have been impolite to refuse) and then took us out in their boat. The sea was full of jelly-fish which explained why no-one was swimming and apparently there had been quite a storm whilst we had been in Turkey. Later they bought us an ice-cream. In the evening we went to a disco, wearing our one and only dresses, and finished the night having coffee with a couple of Swiss guys who were pitched opposite us listening to Woodstock (again) and Led Zeppelin on their cassette recorder.

We didn’t do a lot for the rest of the week. Went into Thess a few times, visited the White Tower, bought food. Sunbathed, swam. Got picked up by several lads, including a couple of American air force men who took us for a beer. There wasn’t a shortage of men on this trip that’s for sure! Not sure where to go next. We needed an incentive to move.

Then along came Barney. A student teacher from Solihull who had us in stitches talking about his teaching practice – something I ought to have remembered in future years – he made us coffee and talked so enthusiastically about Athens, where he’d just come from, our decision was made. Athens next.

Departing early the next morning by the time we had got through Thess it was almost noon. A few lifts later and we reached Pydna where we met up with another three Brits. This time they were from our own county of Yorkshire! Welcome to Steve, John and Charlie! We spent an hilarious evening with them at a campsite near Volos. Drinking retsina (disgusting stuff) and being thrown in the sea fully clothed! The sea was warm though and perhaps our clothes did need washing by then.

They were staying on for a few days, but we wanted to get moving as money was tight and we were lucky to get a lift with a Greek couple and their young son all the way to Athens arriving at noon. It was unbelievably hot. We spent a long time trying to find a bus going to Dafni as we had been told there was a campsite there. It also happened to be next to a wine festival which was no bad thing, although neither of us were particularly wine drinkers. Our usual tipple would be half a pint of Tetley’s Mild. The only wine available in the northern cities was some horrid sweet Australian stuff from Yates Wine Lodge with its sticky sawdust floors!

We were so hot by the time we arrived we just flopped into some shade, too tired to even put the tent up. And just people watched. When we did pitch the tent we ended up bending half the pegs because the ground was rock hard. Showered and fed we popped round to the wine festival where we met quite a lot of English travellers – some very drunk.

We ended up staying at this campsite for a week. Bussing into Athens several times to visit the Acropolis (of course) and the Plaka district where we bought more sandals and learned to love Gyros – slivers of meat sliced from a giant roasting spit served with salad and pita. We lived off it and it was so very cheap. We also discovered yoghurt and honey for breakfast, spaghetti with meatballs (we were from the north you know, and the only spaghetti we knew came from a can) and lovely stuffed tomatoes and peppers. We had never eaten so well.

We learned to ask for Nescafé for coffee and not just coffee as that was the thick Turkish drink with the dregs that you do not want to enter your mouth. We had many conversations with people who had just returned from the islands and decided that we would like to see them too.

Next stop: The Cyclades

The road to Istanbul is pretty direct from Thessaloniki and we were confident there would be plenty of traffic. After a couple of lifts in a row we found ourselves on the eastern side of Xanthi where the first of our troubles began. We were taken to Alexandroupoli where the driver and his mate expected us to stay in a motel with them and we had to virtually fight our way out of the car (remember the tent mallet?) Our first warning about accepting a lift with two males.

It wasn’t our day as the next lift was equally problematical. Although there was only the driver in the car, he took us off road and through woods to a place where he met up with some friends. No friends of ours though. Once again the mallet proved a deterrent. And we were left in the middle of nowhere with only a couple of houses and a petrol station nearby. We slept at the petrol station feeling very vulnerable and upset.

The next day however was much better, we got several good lifts including one in a Land Rover driven by an American accompanied by his young daughter who took us quite a distance into Turkey. The countryside was quite pretty before we entered Turkey, but from there it was quite barren and the road was dead straight so you could see for miles ahead. It was quite boring, but at least it was a safe ride.

When they dropped us off after buying us a meal in Tekirdağ we got a lift with a very eccentric lorry driver whose load was watermelons. He was very hands on should we say, and not always on the steering wheel. Once again the trusty mallet came to our rescue. I’m not sure who had the most bruises though. We called a halt to the abuse as we neared Istanbul and got out close to a camp site with one very large watermelon for our troubles!

After an exhausting couple of days we remained in the camp that afternoon and night happily sharing the watermelon with other backpackers. And on the following day we headed into the city by bus. It was busy. So many people of so many nationalities. We were soon approached by a young Turkish lad, about sixteen I’d say, who decided to be our guide and took us around the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and then the Grand Bazaar where we bought sandals and a kaftan.

He expertly protected us from all the older men who tried to harass us. We enjoyed sipping ice cold real lemonade and eating sweet cakes and visiting the infamous Pudding Shop where travellers placed adverts looking for a partner. Many were American draft dodgers heading for India. Handing our young guide a tip we happily returned to the campsite to spend our last evening there.

The evening was spent in the company of a lad from Leicester who was with a Eurobus expedition. He joined us and played his guitar for a while and he was also a musician who played in a band back home. There seemed to be a lot of them on the road at this time.

The next day we were back on the road and got a lift almost immediately with a man in a rather beautiful car (I was not at all au fait with the different makes and models at the time, but I knew this one looked expensive.) He said he’d take us as far as Tekirdağ, but on reaching the crossroads outside the city instead of heading straight ahead towards the Greek border he turned right onto the road to Sofia in Bulgaria. It took some not too gentle persuasion – and yes the use of the mallet – to get him to pull over and let us out. It was the threat of me smashing his rear window that helped to change his mind.

It wouldn’t be the last of our difficulties in getting back to the Greek border. By 4pm we were roughly 50km from the border at Ipsala and we were stuck. It looked as though we’d be there for the night when we got a lift together – it was amazing how many people (men) stopped and offered to give one of us a lift. This was from another two Germans who looked harmless enough and we had had several good lifts from Germans – remember Harry and Ben? They took us to Alexandroupoli where we stayed the night close to the sea and then continued with them the following day to within 100 kms to Thessaloniki.

We rested for a while by the side of the road in the heat of the day. It was quiet. We relaxed in the sweet scent of some unknown flowers nearby and picked ripe blackberries, glad at last to be out in the fresh air after being cooped up in cars for so long. The decision to head to Istanbul had proved to be both traumatic and exhausting.

Not our best idea.

We eventually arrived in Thess around 3pm and made our way back to the previous campsite at Agias Triados which almost felt like home.

(for some reason I have hardly any photos of Istanbul from this journey – maybe I was out of camera film)

We were thankful to still be in one piece, not to mention alive or be sex slaves in Bulgaria!

Time to reflect.

The following day we set off after breakfast on what we thought would be the most difficult part of our journey to Greece. We needed to get across the mountains up into the central part of Yugoslavia and Skopje which was the closest major city to the Greek border. We got a lift quite quickly with a German couple, Ben and his girlfriend Utie in a lovely VW campervan. They also had a huge Great Dane, Sara. We stayed with them all day and continued down to Ulcinje which is the southernmost point of the country, bordering Albania which at that time was closed off to westerners. We ended up staying the night with them as they were so friendly. Drinking wine and listening to radio Luxembourg around a fire pit. We had a shock though when we woke up the following morning to find we were on a nudist beach! For two innocent lasses from Yorkshire this was fairly mind boggling!

We left Ben in the afternoon to find out about buses to Skopje and discovered that the next one was at 6pm. Whilst waiting for the bus we hunted for a bank (more difficult than you’d imagine) to get some currency for the journey. It was around £5 for the two of us. We came across some young locals who were keen to practice their English with us and stayed with us all afternoon even waving us off when the bus departed .

The bus journey was hell (though a couple of years later I would discover an even more hellish journey). We kept being badgered to give up our seats, but we took no notice. We’d paid for seats and we were keeping them. It was an 11 hour journey and although it was a luxury coach, sitting all that time was not fun. We arrived stiff and cramped and tired at 5:30am on a very dull, grey day. A fortnight after leaving home.

After finding a bakery open and buying fresh bread (the only time to eat it as later it became as hard as hell), we followed signposts to the road leading to the Greek border. It was a fair distance and we got a few odd looks from people on the way. We did manage to get a lift quite quickly though he wasn’t going all the way to the border and traffic on that road was very light with pretty much only an odd tractor every half hour. We eventually reached the border 6 hours later where we took advantage of the facilities to get washed and comb our hair after the unsettled night, find biscuits and milk before crossing the ‘no-mans land’ to reach the other border post.

With luck we spotted a car with a GB sticker so quickly raced ahead to try and get through the border before them so we could try and get a lift. And with more luck it stopped for us. Three lads from one of the home counties who happily agreed to take us to Thessaloniki and a camp site there. It was actually so nice to have someone to speak English with after two weeks. We pitched our tent close to the boys and spent several days there. It was a lively camp site with fire pits and lots of music (Woodstock mainly – this was 1971 after all) and we spent our days on the beach or going into Thess and walking around. There was an International Fair on whilst we were there so it was very busy. One downside was that I got very badly bitten by mosquitos which made me feel quite ill.

For some reason we made the (bad) decision to head over to Istanbul rather than down to the Greek islands. So after saying our farewells to the Brits who were heading homewards we continued our hitchhiking journey on the road to Kavala.

And this is when the “fun” began.

As we watched Harry drive off we took a deep breath. Now we were alone again in a country we knew absolutely nothing about¹. Importantly we needed sleep so set off to enquire about the campsite we could see. And then a bank to get some local currency. Immediately the tent was pitched we crawled inside and didn’t surface until early the next morning when we had a chance to survey our surroundings.

The campsite was very close to the water and a beach. After finding food at a local market (bread, tomatoes, cheese, fruit) we relaxed on the beach for a while. Swimming in crystal clear water. We soon drew the attention of a group of local lads. They were very insistent. Following us around, trying to talk to us in broken English and a smattering of German. It seemed to us that although they were used to German tourists, English ones were quite a novelty.

We finally shook off the lads when a couple of guys from Geneva started talking to us, they were apparently musicians in a band and certainly had the looks. We spent the rest of the day with them and ended up having dinner at their camp, which was not on the official campsite, but in the hills. Bread, cheese, honey and tomatoes followed by peaches and grapes. Then we lay and watched the stars above. I had never seen such stars. My first sighting of the Milky Way.

The next day we parted company. They were heading back to Switzerland and us to Greece. We caught a bus to Split which was about 20 miles further along the road, intending to have a look around. But it was so hot and so full of tourists that we lost enthusiasm and decided to try our luck hitching. It was slow travel, short lifts taking us in dribs and drabs towards Dubrovnik, and by the time we arrived it was late and everything except for bars was closed. No tourist information office, no clue of where to find a youth hostel or campsite.

Stumped we decided to get our sleeping bags out and lie down on a couple of benches just outside the old town. At around 1:30 am I was awoken by a flashlight in my face and someone taking to me in a foreign language. I looked up to see an armed, uniformed policeman hovering over me. After several minutes of both of us trying to understand one another I attempted my limited school girl German to see if he could help me find a campsite. Unsuccessfully. He understood what I was saying, but simply shrugged his shoulders. He then pointed at Cathy who unbelievably was still sleeping and asked “freundin?” I nodded. He then proceeded to inform me that we could stay where we were, but had to move on as soon as it got light. Relieved I went back to sleep².

We were up by 4:30 as it became light and were packing our things away when the original policeman, accompanied by a colleague arrived to see up off. We were a little nervous as they seemed a bit too interested in us, but they didn’t do or say anything, just watched and waited until we were on our way. We didn’t dare go into the old town but made our way back up to the road where we found a spot that was safe for traffic to stop.

By 7:30 am we were ready to begin hitching south again, but there was very little traffic about. It was already quite warm and after one or two lifts that only took us a few miles further on we spotted a hotel opposite and went inside to see if we could get breakfast. We were a little tired of bread and tomatoes by then. We also had a good look around the grounds of the hotel with its private sandy beach and wished we had the funds to stay in such a place. But it was time to head on back to the road and not long after an Italian couple stopped and gave us a lift all the way to Kotor, a picturesque fortified town set in the Bay of Kotor, a stunning location which resembles a fjord.

We spent some time exploring the town with its narrow streets before enquiring about a campsite. We took a bus there, pitched the tent and then went for a swim in the crystal clear water. In the evening we walked back into the town and enjoyed a glass of cheap wine whilst admiring the views.

• ¹ At that time Yugoslavia was an open socialist state ruled by Tito.
• ² Unbeknown to us armed police used to patrol the old town to stop backpackers from sleeping in the open air.