Tonight I’m staying in Zitsa. A tiny town in the hills of northern Greece. I’ve contacted Anna and Kostas through warm showers. After a day like this, it’s heart-warming to meet people like these. They own an artisanal bakery in town, and live in the apartment above it. The smell of the freshly bakes bread as I arrive, and the residual heat from the ovens feel like heaven after a day like this. They are hosting two other travellers that night. Their library is located next to the bakery and started out as a social project for the village. Now it’s our bedroom. Costas prepares us a soup that fits the weather perfectly. We eat it with bread he baked earlier. Over dinner Anna and Costas explain that they can’t travel as often as they like, due to the bakery and their two young children. Instead, they like to bring the world to them by hosting travellers. Their count is over 1000 hosted.  

After a night amongst literature, and a breakfast at the bakery I set out for Metsovo. Yesterday’s rain has decreased in intensity, and today I only get short heavy outbursts. I’ll take any improvement by this point.

Am I complaining too much? Here’s the thing. These days are hard. The climbs are gruelling, the rain horrific, and the cold annoying. Getting into half dry clothes in the morning is never great. At the same time, every arrival is rewarding. The views, even when cloudy, are beautiful. The pain of climbing a 40 kilogram bike up double digit gradients has a sort of romanticism. Even getting into wet shoes for the fourth day in a row adds to the adventure. I’d rather be here, doing this, then be anywhere else, doing anything else. A hard day travelling is better than any day not travelling.

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In addition to the gradients and the weather, the north of Greece presents another natural element to consider. Dogs. There are two types; watchdogs and wild dogs. I’ve encountered both frequently, both yesterday and today, and I’m not sure which one I’m more scared of. The wild ones move in packs, sometimes more than 15 in a group. They come unannounced, jumping out of bushes or running from behind buildings. And they’re not happy to see me. They chase after me, their jaws snapping just behind my calves. These are not the kind and loving pets I know from home. Their fur is scruffy and dirty, their eyes leaking and their overall demeanour is, I would say, hostile. Then there are the watchdogs. Killing machines to protect the farmers’ lands. And most of these farms don’t have fences… On my way to Zitsa I’m spotted by three huge black German Shepherds. Or any other breed, but they may as well have been wolves, or horses even. They collectively raise themselves, as if synchronised. Then they come running down the hill, straight towards me, howling and barking as they come closer. I can hear their claws hitting the meadows as if galloping. My heart pounds, but they hit a fence, luckily this is one of the few farms that does have one. Relieved, I slow down a little. They follow me along the tiny bit of braided metal wire, the only thing that stands between me and certain death. Yes, that’s a bit dramatic, but that’s how I feel in the moment. Their intense aggression only mounting and as they are so close, yet can’t reach me. We collectively make it to the corner of the field. Right there, where the road starts to go up, and the railings meet each other, is a hole in the fence. I see the dogs squeeze through and with my heart in my throat I push my pedals down as hard as I can. I race and race, but the dogs are on my tail. It goes on for what feels like an eternity, but it probably just a couple hundred meters. Then, suddenly, they stop. Having defended their owner’s property for far enough they let me go. I’m not a threat anymore. I come away thinking these animals are a threat to public safety. I have a couple more encounters like these, but I learn that, especially the watchdogs will back down once you get off your bike. They’re not used to cyclists and that’s why they react to them so aggressively. It takes some bravery but it works more or less the next time. Armed with my extendable pump (they apparently also respect sticks) I get off the bike and shout back at their barking. They back off, but still don’t trust it. I haven’t tried with the wild ones…

Having survived the ride, my calves still in one piece, although one of the dogs has gotten to my glove when I was having lunch, I arrive in Metsovo. Even now, half October, the town oozes Christmas. At least what I consider as Christmas. Sitting at over 1000 meters, in the deep winter one can ski here. Outward wooden beams show off the structural integrity of the houses. It reminds me of Austria. The cobble-stoned town square is surrounded by wooden restaurants. Outside it’s nearing freezing point, the air crisp and I breath out clouds of condensation. From the windows of the tavernas a welcoming warm yellow glow pulls me inside.