Saturday
22.8.2015
421km Total: 4037km
10
We have a long day ahead of us in Greek traffic.
I asked the border police yesterday how the Greek drive compared to the Albians who all drive like they have a severe case of rabies. "Oh, it's much, much better" he replied.
I have news for you Zorba: you don't. You sure as hell don't.
We got through Albaina without anyone overtaking us on the wrong side once.
Today I've lost count of how many times that happened.
No bikers wave at us except the fully laden bikes that are obviously also tourists and the traffic is just as aggressive as in Albania. The Greek bikers in their t-shirts and tennis shoes are the absolute worst motorists on the road.
One of the main differences is that Albania has an acute lack of straight road, thus it's pretty easy to understand how fast you're supposed to drive to keep with the traffic, is just as fast as physically possible.
I always try to adjust to the tempo, if the signs say 80 and most of the traffic drive 110 I also drive (at least) 110.
I'd rather pay a fine than get in accident for riding unpredictably.
In Greece the only thing you can be absolutely sure that no one will be driving is what's on the signs.
I think the record was 80+ on a 20km/h road and if all the cameras we flew by trying to keep up with the traffic flow are active I'll probably spend the rest of my life in jail.
When we stop for petrol I notice there is an adjacent taverna.
Since it's lunchtime I go in and ask about getting something to eat.
The menu was rather limited, it was food: yes or no.
He does try his best to get across what they're serving but I just can't get it.
After getting assurances that it doesn't contain either milk, cream or cheese I just go ahead and order for the three of us.
Turns out what he was trying to say was "skewer".
We got succulent grilled skewers with French fries and fresh salad, it was one of the best meals I never knew I ordered.
When we get to Athens I am completely beat, even though the navigation was pretty straight forward the fact that you're constantly riding on the edge fearful of getting murdered by kamikaze drivers has completely drained me of energy.
That along with the fact that the sun has been completely scorching all day means my sweaty body and t-shirt have merged to a single unit.
After seriously considering cutting the thing off we had a wrestling match that would have been worthy of airtime as a WWF grudge match.
I feel sorry for the people who got to launder my clothes.
€10 for laundry service was probably the most affordable expense of the whole trip, at this point is more of a decontamination that's needed than cleaning.
We freshen up and hit the town in the quest for food.
The receptionist at the hotel gave us a tip of a restaurant called Alexander the great at about three minutes walk which felt spot on.
We are of course welcomed by a friendly nonchalant Greek who when he realises we're from Sweden tells us he rode the Interrail to Sweden in his youth and sums up the Swedish weather by and I quote: "fuck" (he actually said the Swedish word fan but it's pretty much the same thing.)
It was so poetic I almost cried.
I'm a real sucker for strange names so when a dish on the menu is called drunken pork my search is over.
Pork in white wine sauce. It was not bad at all.
Our waiter (which by the fact that he seems very selective about his own work effort I gather is also the owner of the establishment) was a real original (and also had a bit of a roundish stature).
He in a very ironic tone asked why I hadn't touched the food even though I had forced down as much and more than I could possible eat.
When we had finished a platter of fresh fruit arrived courtesy of the house. The place was a real tourist trap but I really liked it.
It's been a long day so that sums up our evening. We head back to the hotel to get some rest for tomorrows excursions.
Lunch. It felt pretty exotic eating somewhere grapes grow like weeds.