Day 127 – 130: Winter has come
Thessaloniki – Asprovalta – Drama – Xanthi – Alexandroupolis: 370 km
It feels good to have a plan again. My goal is to reach Istanbul before new year. I’ve cheated and taken a train from Athens to Thessaloniki. I’ve seen most cities north of Athens when cycling down with Max, and I don’t feel like visiting them again. Thessaloniki turns out to be like Athens but nicer; somehow sweeter and more relaxed. People seem to have more time here. Maybe it’s the waterfront, although Athens has that too, it’s more prominent here. I stay in a wonderful hostel that overlooks the city. Me and two Americans are the only guests there. The hostel is basically a big family home and that’s how we treat each other, like we’re living here as family. Travelling in winter may mean that you’re meeting less people, but the ones you do meet seem to be of a higher quality. They all have original and interesting stories of how they got to be here and with little distraction around we get to know each other better.
Winter has come. It has been a conscious choice to continue in spite of that fact. Now they’re actually here, the conditions I’ve been dreading and trying to avoid. But unexpectedly love it. These wintery deep December days are simply another experience. One I haven’t had so far. The cold brings with it another atmosphere, and I adjust myself accordingly. The towns are emptier, the roads quieter. Every now and then during these days I get overwhelmed by a feeling of complete freedom and the idea that I can do anything. It’s a natural high, and it’s not the first time I’m experiencing it since I left. The new impressions, the cycling, the nature and adventure create a mix of intense happiness.
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I see the first snow of my trip, luckily only on the mountaintops in the distance. I’m wearing a couple of layers of clothes, but when it actually starts freezing I’ll still have some layers left. I’m happy with my foresight to buy good shoes, instead of the cotton Palladiums, and with my investment in gloves. The land is barren here. Industrious, frozen fields, almost black, their grain harvested, surround me. Farmers drink coffee in the forgotten towns, they, in turn, surrounded by their rusty forgotten tractors. They wave at me when I pass. The farmers do, the tractors stay silent and still in their bleak decay. The government must not collect garbage here, because the fields are littered with all sorts of junk, the plastic bags create a sad symphony of filth in the relentless wind. I pass piles of smouldering waste, lit up the night before. Annoyingly, I’m surprised regularly by roads and bridges that don’t exist, or turn out to be dead-ended. When the water is shallow enough I improvise stepping stones out of big boulders, other times I have to take a detour.
The towns are friendly, their people nod and smile as I cycle by. The centres are decorated with Christmas lights and bows on every corner. In one of those towns (Drama, what a name for a city) in stay with Kostis and Elisabeth who I’ve met through Warm Showers. It still feels special when total strangers open their houses for me. We drink wine near the wood stove that warms and flavours the house with everything inside feels like in winter. Kostis’ mom was over earlier and brought moussaka with her, and it tastes like warmth and heartiness. The cycling community feels like a warm bath, I feel welcome and supported anywhere I go because of people like Kostis and Elisabeth and all the other people that have hosted me. Like I have friends anywhere. With a warm hart I fall asleep after a cold day.
