I'm standing in the street looking at the shutters on the shop opposite. The shop where the shopkeeper has the remote to open the garage doors, the garage where my bike is securely locked. I stand and wait...
A middle aged woman with a New Zealand accent walks up and points her remote at the door. It opens so I walk in with her, retrieve the bike and wheel it outside onto the cobbles.
Bike fully loaded, I pull my jacket on. It's still soaking wet with sweat from yesterday. Nice.
I slowly climb the rise out of Thessaloniki and stop to look back over the city. From here it looks sedate, shimmering in the heat haze. There are poppies everywhere; fields filled scarlet.
A middle aged woman with a New Zealand accent walks up and points her remote at the door. It opens so I walk in with her, retrieve the bike and wheel it outside onto the cobbles.
Bike fully loaded, I pull my jacket on. It's still soaking wet with sweat from yesterday. Nice.
I slowly climb the rise out of Thessaloniki and stop to look back over the city. From here it looks sedate, shimmering in the heat haze. There are poppies everywhere; fields filled scarlet.
I ride on, coming down off the cooler high grounds, onto the plains. Tortoises sit on the baking tarmac, defying the cars and lorries - and one small Honda C90. I weave around them as they tuck their heads in to avoid the danger. There are snakes too. Most have been hit by cars but a few still slither into the verge as I approach. As I take a corner I see another tortoise, but something draws my attention. It's eating the remains of a long brown snake. I have to stop and take a picture.
On a long straight, Satty startles me from my daydreaming. 'Take unpaved road on left, continue three hundred yards then perform a u-turn."
I check the display. This bizzare manoeuvre is followed by a right turn back onto the road I'm on at the moment. It must be the heat. Satty is losing it.
I check the display. This bizzare manoeuvre is followed by a right turn back onto the road I'm on at the moment. It must be the heat. Satty is losing it.
The land in this part of Northern Greece is level and fertile. Fruit, olives and grapevines fill the view. The roads are lined with brilliant yellow broom. Colour is everywhere. Emerald green lizards scuttle across the road.
Bright red poppies again but now mixed with wild flowers in blues, pinks, yellow and white.
Bright red poppies again but now mixed with wild flowers in blues, pinks, yellow and white.
I ride along the western perimeter of a large lake. Mirror flat, it is miles in length.
Herons and storks fly lazily above me, and black cormorants stand on rocks, drying their outspread wings.
Herons and storks fly lazily above me, and black cormorants stand on rocks, drying their outspread wings.
As always, the border appears suddenly. The official on the Greek side gives my passport a token glance and waves me through, a mere formality. I ride up to the next border control. They are more thorough. Passport, green card, long stare comparing photo to the, now bearded, me. I ask where I can buy a vignette; they're needed in Bulgaria so I read. He shakes his head. "Toll." My information must be out of date. He points his finger towards the next booth and says, "Customs now."
I drive up to the window and look in. The woman is looking away. "Hello?" I try to get her attention. She turns, tissue held to her eyes. She's crying. She shakes her head a little and turning away once more, she waves me on.
I drive up to the window and look in. The woman is looking away. "Hello?" I try to get her attention. She turns, tissue held to her eyes. She's crying. She shakes her head a little and turning away once more, she waves me on.
I turn in to the first petrol station I see. At the counter I pick up a chocolate bar and offer a Bulgarian note.
He refuses it. "Serbian," he almost spits. I pay in euros and walk back to the bike perplexed. Has the bank given me the wrong notes?
He refuses it. "Serbian," he almost spits. I pay in euros and walk back to the bike perplexed. Has the bank given me the wrong notes?
A mile or two along the road there is a town along the banks of another lake. I see a red and yellow flag... 'Hold on...this doesn't look right ' Then I see the sign. 'Welcome to Makedonia.'
Oh Satty. This is the wrong country. It's not Bulgaria. She's taken me on the Northwestern route through the Republic of Macedonia. My insurance is not valid here. No wonder the border police took a long look at my green card. Macedonia wasn't listed on it. There's no mobile reception either.
Despite being here by accident, Makedonia is a beautiful country and I'm glad that Satty chose to come this way. The hills are covered with woodland; not pines like Greece but huge swathes of broad-leaved trees. I pass horses grazing by a lake. There are more tortoises basking in the sun.
Despite being here by accident, Makedonia is a beautiful country and I'm glad that Satty chose to come this way. The hills are covered with woodland; not pines like Greece but huge swathes of broad-leaved trees. I pass horses grazing by a lake. There are more tortoises basking in the sun.
I pass through a small village and above me, on every telegraph pole there sits a stork in its nest; massive great constructions of stick and twig. Occasionally, a stork lifts itself and flaps over the houses in their ungainly manner.
Finally, I arrive at the Bulgarian border. I'm questioned by the border guard. He wants to know about Southampton Football Club. It's the second time I've been asked on this trip. Is it real interest or are they just probing?
I ride in Petrich. Luxury cars jostle with horse and cart. Gaudy adverts for casinos and cheap beer stare down at me.
I arrive at my dingy hotel in a dingy backstreet in Petrich. Dogs lie on the pavement. A woman pushes a handcart along the street.
The reception is on the third floor and I ring the bell. I'm shown my room and I ask if it's safe to leave the bike outside. "No."
"Is there somewhere I can lock it?" It seemed not. I had to wait until a car left the garage then I could use that; about two hours.
I arrive at my dingy hotel in a dingy backstreet in Petrich. Dogs lie on the pavement. A woman pushes a handcart along the street.
The reception is on the third floor and I ring the bell. I'm shown my room and I ask if it's safe to leave the bike outside. "No."
"Is there somewhere I can lock it?" It seemed not. I had to wait until a car left the garage then I could use that; about two hours.
I decide to pass my security cable through the bike's frame and the wall which had ornamental bricks with holes in them. As I do so a dusty black Mercedes pulls up beside me. Five hard looking men look at me and the bike. They talk together. A couple get out and come over to me. One, a thick set man with a bull neck speaks to me but I don't understand. He points to the bike - mimes kicking it over. I shake my head. "I don't understand... English."
He slaps his chest. "Russian!"
He pulls three long, ugly looking knives from his jacket and holds them up. He looks at me and slowly lays them on top of the wall. I don't know what to do or say. I decide to act as if he's trying to sell them. Maybe he is, maybe it's an attempt at intimidation. I just don't understand. "No thanks." I shake my head and try to smile.
He doesn't. I carry on taking the last few things from the bike's topbox. A pair of sandals and some cheap canvas shoes. He beckons me over. He repeats the action until I move a little closer, when he snatches on of the shoes.
"Mine." He holds the shoe up like a prize. I grab it back. He's clearly annoyed. He points to the bike. Mine!" He repeats, stabbing his finger at the bike, then at me. "Mine."
He slaps his chest. "Russian!"
He pulls three long, ugly looking knives from his jacket and holds them up. He looks at me and slowly lays them on top of the wall. I don't know what to do or say. I decide to act as if he's trying to sell them. Maybe he is, maybe it's an attempt at intimidation. I just don't understand. "No thanks." I shake my head and try to smile.
He doesn't. I carry on taking the last few things from the bike's topbox. A pair of sandals and some cheap canvas shoes. He beckons me over. He repeats the action until I move a little closer, when he snatches on of the shoes.
"Mine." He holds the shoe up like a prize. I grab it back. He's clearly annoyed. He points to the bike. Mine!" He repeats, stabbing his finger at the bike, then at me. "Mine."
He turns away. I press the alarm button on my key fob and the bike makes a loud 'chirp'. The bull-necked Russian turns and gives me a long stare. "Mine."
They walk over the road to a hand car wash place. I reluctantly leave the bike and take my shoes up to the hotel room.
They walk over the road to a hand car wash place. I reluctantly leave the bike and take my shoes up to the hotel room.
I can see the bike from my balcony. The black Mercedes has gone. I relax a little. After an hour the woman from reception says that I can put the bike in the garage. Relief.
I shower and decide to head out into town for dinner.
Here I am now, in a huge, slightly sleazy pizza bar in Petrich, and there's a big TV screen... it's showing British snooker. I turn away and stare at the stray dogs outside and think about the Russian. I really don't understand this place or its people. It feels like a long way from home.
Here I am now, in a huge, slightly sleazy pizza bar in Petrich, and there's a big TV screen... it's showing British snooker. I turn away and stare at the stray dogs outside and think about the Russian. I really don't understand this place or its people. It feels like a long way from home.
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