Euro Bike Bimble

I’d had a nice evening in Preveza. It was an unexpected treat with an old town meeting the harbour, a lively jumble of tavernas and bars,with the air of serious yachting money sprinkled everywhere. The harbour was full of lovely boats from all over the place, I saw the flags of Australia, South Africa , Norway and Italy. There was even a swanky yacht from Skibbereen in Ireland which made me smile.

Todays planned route was about 30 miles to a town called Arta. This was actually part of a 85 mile detour,around a freshwater lagoon, all to avoid a one mile tunnel connecting Preveza to the next bit of mainland,and through which bikes were not allowed . What a pain.

Here’s the tunnel…

…and here was the diversion around it…..

So in acceptance of my tunnel fate ,my diversionary route was planned. But when I went to book my accommodation in Arta, the room I’d seen previously had disappeared (I blamed Toby Lerone) and there were no other options in this small provincial town. Time for a rethink .

I wondered whether bikes really were banned from the tunnel. Maybe I could blag it, or play the stupid foreigner card and just wing my way through, and be gone before anyone noticed 🤷🏻‍♂️. Was worth a try at least, and seeing I was on scene, as it were, I decided to ride up and have a look.

Hmm. Seemed pretty unequivocal to me . As I pondered, I was joined by another cycle tourist who told me glumly he’d tried the very same trick but had been greeted by flashing lights and a booming loudspeaker direction of NO BIKES NO BIKES STAND STILL before being escorted out by a tunnel person, who put his bike in the back of a yellow pick up truck and deposited him back at the start (why couldn’t he have just driven him through to the other side I wondered? )

Apparently pre COVID it was possible to ride through, waving at the cameras so the staff knew you were alive and could track you through. Like so many things though, it was a practice that hadn’t resumed and so off you go for an extra 85 miles you pesky cyclists.

I thought it worth one last try and rode back into the town to find a taxi rank . A queue of taxis were waiting for business and once I’d explained what I was after, it became a matter of national pride to fit my large bike into the smallest of taxis. My cheery cabbie was happy to help, I think doing his bit for the resistance and railing against the “is stupid, crazy stupid Greek Government” that had banned bikes from the tunnel in the first place .

It was an absurdly short drive through in the end, and in typical Greek fashion, there was a turning space before the exit toll booths so my taxi friend could just spin round and go back without further cost. I unloaded the bike and he refused to take any payment, saying “sorry sorry ,Government bad,Greek people good”. Which they certainly were

This though left me with some pretty radical route amendments to make. By now it was mid afternoon and so I decided to head for Palairos, another coastal village about twenty miles away .

But by the time I got to Vonitsa at halfway, I was feeling pretty rough. Stomach cramps, jelly legs and pouring with cold sweats, I think the late start, lack of fluids and unrelenting heat had given me an old fashioned dose of heat exhaustion. It took me by surprise because I’d been super diligent about drinking but I think the fragmented nature of this day in particular just caught me out .

I tried a restorative Coke and set off from Vonitsa, telling myself I only had ten miles to go. Sadly my mind was writing cheques my body couldn’t cash and after fifteen inglorious minutes where I revisited my breakfast at the roadside, I decided I couldn’t go any further .

A stroke of luck found me a cheap and cheerful hotel (Hotel Pegasus) literally about five minutes away, Vonitsa (or more accurately I suppose, Vomitsa 😊) being a seaside place . The kindly old gent on reception patiently and unhurriedly explained everything to me while I was internally reliving that scene from the film Bridesmaids and willing him to Just. Hurry. Up. If you know, you know .

I crawled into bed at about 4pm and slept for 16 hours solid . In the morning, feeling 100% better, I realised this was a really nice little fishing village, with a small queue at the harbour to a woman selling fish straight from a boat and weighing octopus on scales on the floor. I wish I’d seen more of it.

I didn’t have the energy to change my plans again and so I decided to just finish my route from yesterday, meaning an easy ten miles into Palairos. More yachts, more tavernas, and a surprisingly large British contingent. They either didn’t realise or didn’t care I was English as they held court in the main village bar, loudly monopolising the peace and quiet of this sleepy place -Roger was apparently having some trouble with his anchor and no,that’s not rhyming slang.

Tonight’s accommodation was so weird. An entire three bedroomed apartment that wasn’t furnished as a holiday let but as someone’s actual home . More accurately, the home of an old couple who had recently died. Called Samara House, it had a distinct air of probate around it, with family photos and ornaments still in evidence, and it felt really quite spooky to be there .

Still,as ever it was cheap,if not especially cheerful, and it served a purpose. And I had a delicious lamb kleftiko by the waterfront, confirming my recovery from yesterday was complete.

A question given extra clarity by consisting of just one simple quizzical word.

But before the why came the what. My research had identified todays end point of Preveza as a “yachtie” harbour town about 40 miles down the coast . That meant plentiful accommodation and places to refuel so that was that -planning complete 😊

It was another baking hot, cloudless day as I left Parga, and yesterdays swooping downhill became todays four mile uphill slog. I always remembered my old mate Spillys’ simple advice for hills –“just ride slower” and that’s how it went . This was another great cycling day -the places I was visiting were the dots that the cycling was joining up, and today was one of the good days .

Again I decided to stick to the main road all the way . It was still quiet, well signposted and at one point,even went around a mountain rather than over it as the route app suggested . Happy days .

Nothing much happened though. That’s a good thing by the way. This is a good time to give my bike a small round of applause. It was behaving impeccably and running like a dream, despite getting quite a bit of hammer and being lifted and left all over the place . I’d given it a mini fettle last week, just a clean and some lube, tightened a cable and that was it. Super reliable and comfortable, I was really pleased with it . And I told it so. I didn’t really, I know I’ve had plenty of lonely miles but I wasn’t yet at the stage of talking to my bike . Or was I?😂

The only amenities on this stretch were at the occasional petrol stations along the way -unlike Italy and Spain where petrol stations sold only fuel (I know, how old fashioned 😊), here there were shops attached and in most cases a cafe .

I pulled into one for a drink stop,and moved myself to the shady table and chairs at the back . Here was my view ….

I know. Big deal. Just like Leicester Forest East services .

Later I bumped into a Swiss chap riding from Zurich to Athens . Let’s call him Toby Lerone. His right calf heavily bandaged after a dog bite in Albania, I felt slightly (very) inadequate as he told me tales of wild camping in the mountains, washing in streams,navigating by the sun and generally being “off grid, man” He certainly made me glad I’d swerved Albania and we did that cyclist thing of talking about bikes and set ups, his being a sturdy Akoba brand that looked like it had a few stories to tell.

I pressed on and within a couple of hours I was in Preveza . Todays hotel, Dioni Boutique Hotel, was a half price deal of the day. It was lovely but I don’t think I was the target audience for the place, bearing in mind I wasn’t rich. Or clean. Or in possession of any clothes not made of polyester . No matter, the receptionist was a model of charming professional discretion and didn’t even acknowledge something I’d become aware of in the last few hours .

Yesterday I swam in the sea. In my kit, which I rinsed out in the sea and was wearing again today. Except of course, I hadn’t done a proper rinsing job and now I was covered in salt. At home they’d have a competition to name me, like Salty McSaltface or something . Look at the state of this

What an idiot. Neither of us made any mention of it as I checked in, with the usual questions about where I could store my bike. “Have you cycled here today “ she asked politely, “oh yes” I proudly replied, “I’m on the way to Athens “. She looked up and asked politely “from where?” which was my cue to puff my salty chest out and nonchalantly drop “ from England”

Despite that hugely impressive answer she didn’t look up for a few seconds,and then with exquisite timing just quizzically dropped the bomb….”why?”

Why indeed? A startling simple question that I couldn’t really answer . It felt glib to say “why not?” but I couldn’t really articulate anything else. Maybe time will help me.

The question was still ringing in my ears as I went to eat and on my return guess what I saw next to my locked up bike outside the hotel? Only a certain Akoba bike belonging to Toby “off grid” Lerone …. hmmm.

I arrived back into Igoumenitsa at about 0930, having left Corfu on the early morning ferry an hour before. It’s easy to forget that these ferries are more than a tourist amenity -my sailing was full of lorries and cars, mopeds and commuters and everyday Greeks moving around for work and trade and business. Although this ferry charged a fare, it was only five euros each way and so was obviously heavily subsidised. Some of the smaller ferries elsewhere were free and were clearly just a vital part of the infrastructure .

In any case it felt like a pretty cool way to get around, and of course no one batted an eyelid about the bike. I’m not saying it was always easy manoeuvring the bike around but there was no resistance to it, no sharp intakes of breath, no “you’re not coming on mate” and no “designed in” features seemingly existing for the sole purpose of making life difficult. It was refreshing and something I’ll miss when I’m back home .

So my first day of riding in Greece started nicely and the day stayed that way. It was hot hot hot and the first hill dragged on a bit, but I’d taken the decision to stick to a main road all the way to Parga about thirty miles down the coast, rather than dive off into the olive groves and back streets as suggested by the routing app. The main roads were really quiet, wide and smooth and were great to ride on. Greek drivers were seemingly taking part in National Bust A Stereotype Day and were literally without exception patient, courteous and really bike aware. It was a real pleasure.

I’d chosen Parga because it was a rideable distance away and seemed to have lots of available accommodation, ticking the two main boxes of route planning . I knew nothing else about it .There was no through road to the town though,meaning I was going to have to come back up this steep long downhill in the morning .

It was an absolute delight . A small mainland town that looked like one of the Greek islands,with houses tumbling down to a harbour and a prom lined with restaurants and bars. It was the first purely tourist place I’d come across and far from being tacky and overcrowded, it was really lovely.

I even did that cliched thing and took a swim in the sea, fully clothed in cycling kit (giving it a sneaky rinse out at the same time of course 👌) getting out of the water like Daniel Craig in my mind but in reality more like Daniel Lambert (niche Leicester reference there ) and had a cold beer while I dried out .

I later found out that Parga is a TUI package holiday destination which explained the accents I was hearing . It certainly had a holiday feel to the place .

My accommodation was right on the harbour front and was a really charming family owned B&B ( Pansion Nikos Vergos) . A benefit of travelling out of peak season was the ready availability of these places, being able to book on the day or even just turning up, and costing a fraction of what they would charge a few weeks earlier-I was operating firmly in the 35 Euro a night bracket with no problem.

When I got back to the hotel later, the owners little kids were playing near my bike in the foyer (the usual overnight resting place) and he mistook my concern about the bike falling on top of them with irritation that they were near it . We cleared that up with a smile and then he asked if the kids could have a photo sitting on the “Englishman’s bike” ! They looked tiny, like on those photos of adults on elephants, too little to even reach the handlebars so Dad had to stand next to them, beaming away . The next morning he gave me a Greek flag to stick in my bags and the kids waved me off with a shy and rehearsed “bye bye mister “. I was loving Greece already ….

Igoumenitsa is the main port on this Western Greek coast . From here ferries head North up the Adriatic towards Croatia and Venice,and South down towards the Greek Islands and beyond. It’s also only about an hours hop across to the island of Corfu. After a night in the puzzlingly called (but super comfy and quiet) Thirsty Dog Urban Port Motel in Igoumenitsa I decided to have an unscheduled night in Corfu Old Town. Apart from anything else, it was my birthday, and if you can’t have a cheeky (five Euro) ferry ride and a night in a UNESCO World Heritage site on your birthday then when can you?

It was certainly charming -it reminded me more of an Italian town than anything else. The view of the old town from the ferry was so scenic, and behind the facade, bookended by two Venetian fortesses was a jumble of small streets and squares with fountains .

It made for a civilised evening. My hotel was on the harbour front which made it easier getting the early morning ferry back to the mainland the following day.

Today began with a massive breakfast -I was the only guest at the B&B but I think the owner had just decided to serve up everything she had anyway. Cakes,waffles, fruit, yoghurt, bruschetta, cheese, ham, tomatoes, Nutella, jam-it was like the whole buffet had been put on my table. Obviously I complied with cycle touring law and what I couldn’t eat found it’s way into my panniers for later.

Later. Hmm . I needed to make up a bit of time. My decision to skip Albania meant that I was now heading for Brindisi (rather than Bari) and onward to Greece. Ferry schedules meant now that I needed to be in Brindisi tomorrow lunchtime and unless I was planning to cycle until midnight I wasn’t going to make it in time .

So plan B-bike about 30 miles round to Taranto and then catch the train into Brindisi, overnighting there and reacquainting myself with Grimaldi Lines for the 1pm sailing to Igoumenitsa in Greece .

I don’t want to seem negative about this part of Italy but today was probably best described as “functional” and I didn’t feel I was missing out by getting the train for the last leg . It wasn’t awful by any means but it was quite busy and very industrial. But the sun was shining and a bad day on the bike is better than a good day in the office etc etc . Nevertheless I was glad to arrive at Taranto and onto the train

I’ve spoken before about accessibility on the Italian train network and today, bafflingly, was just the same. No lifts and a big gap between train and platform. The train did have a dedicated bike space (hooray) accessed by three big steps (boo). More an observation than a criticism but it certainly seems to make life (for some people anyway) unnecessarily tricky

Brindisi was lovely. Like every port town it had a cosmopolitan feel and an understated charm. I get the impression that most people just pass through, either from the port or from the nearby (Ryanair served ) airport, dispersing into the villas and hotels in “nicer” parts of Puglia, but doing that meant missing out on a thriving buzzy town, full of maritime history and casual culture. And probably the nicest pizza I’d had in Italy so far….

The next day was another ferry. I’ll never not be excited by cycling onto a ferry, (even a Grimaldi Lines ferry 😊) and today was no exception. Foreign ports have barely any signs. Or directions. Or anything to help you know where to go. The whole operation is designed around the principle of “follow the person in front of you” and it actually works really well 😊

No doubt different in the Summer but todays ferry was mainly full of lorries-bike storage was in a really cramped below decks office, making the previous trip (where the bike was strapped to a random forklift truck) seem luxurious .

Twelve hours later and I was in Greece. My last country, and how bloody exciting. To get here, without flying, made me feel really chuffed,quite intrepid and fairly pleased with myself. But enough of the (covering all audience age ranges here 😊😊) Alan Whicker/Michael Palin/Simon Reeve indulgence ,it was nearly midnight and I needed to find my way out of the port in the dark and locate my accommodation for the night -I decided to just follow the person in front of me (😊) and luckily it paid off .

Today I was heading North along the coast to Marina di Giossa. If I was a car that would be about thirty miles along the motorway but I was having to take the the scenic route and making the day about fifty two miles . It was no bad thing really, as going inland was good for taking me out of my coast road comfort zone and the climbs were always rewarded with some perfect scenery .

And so it proved. I was on rural roads within a few minutes of leaving Policoro, climbing through acres of fruit farms. This kind of agriculture seemed prevalent here, and I noticed the mix of massive commercial farms, side by side with one man small holdings . Apart from the usual squads of migrant workers busy breaking their backs in the fields, it was very very quiet,and very very hot.

I switchbacked up to a high ridge with rolling hills to the left and a deep valley gorge to the right . Birds of prey glided lazily on the thermals beneath me ,with a distant shrill dog bark echoing through the valley .

A twisty bumpy descent, all the way down to the valley floor had the bike jumping around before another climb up to the village of Montalbano Jonica, where I was pleased to see some divine help offered for weary cyclists 😊

A long fast descent took the height off in a way that brought a grin to my face leaving about fifteen miles of flat riding amongst more fruit farms . The roads through these areas were reasonably rideable and definitely saved some miles as they criss crossed the olive groves and grape vines .

I’d developed though a new reason for not being keen on these quiet roads-dogs. More specifically wild dogs, loose dogs, chasing dogs,barking and biting dogs. In fact dogs (and specifically how to deal with them) is one of the most common topics of debate in any cycle touring forum. Some areas of the world were worse than others and tactics suggested included getting off and using the bike as a barrier, carrying a big stick, squirting with water bottles, shouting, avoiding eye contact, throwing stones or even pepper spray.

I’d first encountered them in Spain and they scared the bejesus out of me . A pack of mixed breeds,roaming the ever present roadside rubbish, stood barking and slobbering in my way, bringing me to a halt about twenty metres away. After a short Mexican stand off they seemed to lose interest and peeled off out of sight, giving me the green light to pedal on through

BIG MISTAKE-out of the wings they came,the small brown ones on the left,the big grey ones on the right ,snapping and snarling at my heels as I tried to accelerate away on the bumpy sandy track ,getting away by the skin of my teeth (or Achilles’ tendon) hearing the frantic angry barking fade away as I eventually increased the gap. As soon as I could I warily stopped, heart pounding. I know rationally the dogs were probably just being territorial and were more scared than me blah blah, but rationality of course had no place in my tactical decision making. I decided my chosen strategy was to actively try and avoid them , and outrun them if that failed.

Plenty of times I could hear barking as I approached a house or building, and most times the dogs were on the other side of a fence, but occasionally I was still being taken by surprise-todays treat was two Huskies coming out of a farm like snarling homicidal four legged Exocets, switching me into Chris Hoy mode in the blink of an eye -all I’ll say is that I’d reached twenty three adrenalised miles an hour before I began to make space between me and them. Google was to later tell me they can reach 30 mph and are known to be “an energetic and considerably fast breed…with amazing stamina” which was pretty much completely opposite to how I was feeling after a long day !

I was beginning to let the prospect of dog encounters affect my days and I needed to recover a sense of perspective. I had a word with myself later over a couple of beers later but they were an undeniable issue .

Overall though, today had been superb with some picture postcard views, smooth descents and beautiful weather . All was well.

Today began splendidly. An early train to Sibari put me where I should have been last night had it not been for TrenItalia. No matter, in cycling terms I hadn’t been delayed really and by 9am I was already off the train, full of cappuccino and creme cornetti (dangerously I seemed to be ordering these in twos now 😂) and flying along towards Policoro with blue skies and a tail wind that I fancied was saying scusa signor for yesterdays rain.

My route today was about 32 miles and as usual I was navigating from a route I’d planned yesterday. Nerdy mapping alert-unlike Google maps,which uses real time information and dynamic routing (highlighting things like traffic jams,diversions etc) the app I was using was based on something called Open Street Maps,which is a static database relying on individual users to update things like closed roads, broken bridges etc. Even when this happens, it can take a while to be reflected in the mapping.

So far so good. Why not just use Google? Because despite its real time usefulness it’s algorithms are designed to always take the quickest route. Not the quietest, or the most cycle friendly route, and its cycling option is unreliable at the best of times .

In contrast, my app is designed specifically for cycle touring and is programmed to always use quiet and minor roads, cycle ways, unpaved tracks and greenways, always as opposed to using more busy roads, and often at the expense of the “quickest” journey time. Great .

The downside of that is that I was sometimes routed away from a perfectly rideable “busy” road onto a bumpy off road track ,which actually slowed progress and risked stress on my spokes and on my nerves as I bumped along .

I was beginning to be more discerning about following the app-from the first few unsure days in Spain where I slavishly followed the route,often defying common sense and the evidence of my own eyes, to now where I was ignoring it at times and freestyling at others.

But today I’d forgotten all that as I whizzed along, stopping only for a Coke on the beach

Forgotten that is until I found myself,not concentrating and missing a turn, seemingly in the middle of a (not on the app yet) major roadworks scheme with lorries passing me closely and constantly . Before I knew it I was on a slip road and about to become the star of one of those “stupid foreign cyclist gets arrested riding on a motorway” stories that we all shake our head at

Every cloud though…the resulting enforced diversion took me up to some of the nicest views I’d had in Italy-a massive climb to ride inland and parallel to the new motorway that now dominated the coastline, it took me through small villages and farms with some really engrossing sea views

Eventually I dropped back down to sea level and for a while I was free of the motorway . As I neared Policoro though,there seemed to be no way round it, or it’s junctions and feeder roads, none of which I wanted to be anywhere near.

Luckily (😳) the app had suggested an off road shortcut to avoid a hilly twelve mile detour. How quickly I forgot it’s navigational idiocy earlier today and how feebly I allowed my aching legs to overcome my own common sense! Yep, two hours later and I was riding round in circles, gruntingly lifting my bike over a locked gate, dragging it up a muddy bank and climbing over crash barriers, and wondering whether I was going to get shot for trespassing or savaged by one of the many murderous wild dogs that patrolled my so called route. Or both. 😊

For a day that had started so nicely it had ended a long time later, with an extra twenty diversionary miles, in the dark, with my bike covered in mud and legs covered in bramble cuts.

Still,it was only one day,tomorrow will be better. My accommodation was nice, a simple B and B with the second B being provided from the bakery next door,owned by the same family .

And I got to park my bike next to a Ferrari too…..

Il Calabriano had proved to be a restful place to stay-a beach bar and a tent pitch next to the sea,electricity and wifi, plus the hottest cleanest showers yet (it’s the small things) all for the princely sum of five Euros, left me feeling pretty smug.

Last nights glorious sunset had given way to a shepherds delight of a dull and very overcast day, meaning I smelt the smoke before I actually saw it .

Climbing steeply up to the main road I was head down, concentrating on not weaving too much and wondering why the sea always had to be at bloody sea level when I smelt and almost tasted the thick acrid smoke that was before me . From my vantage point I could see three or four separate pockets of smoke being blown towards the coast and I realised the tinder dry verge and roadside vegetation was well ablaze. Shrouded in the thick smoke, hazard lights ahead suggested that I was about to pass close and so it proved

It was pretty surreal riding through it, the noise was incredible and had the wind been in the other direction I wouldn’t have been able to get through it all. As it was I held my breath, thought of England and went for it -no one seemed too alarmed and about twenty minutes later I saw a rickety old fire engine dawdling towards. So maybe it’s just par for the course round here-felt dramatic to me though.

In fact ,it was the most dramatic thing that happened all day. I’d never use the “boring” word but I was finding this part of Italy pretty unstimulating. I wanted to visit Spain, Sardinia and Sicily but I needed to cross this part of the world to get to the Adriatic ports and over to Greece-maybe that was influencing my thinking .

Anyway, not long after the fire it started to chuck it down ( probably why the fire engine was dawdling 😊) and it stayed that way all day . Wet mile followed wet mile and I realised this was the first rain I’d had since the first few days in Northern Spain. I also reflected on how my daily routine had developed and while I wouldn’t quite say it was fine tuned, I was certainly spending less time faffing.

I’d organised my panniers so that one contained only soft stuff, clothes, sleeping bag, towel. The other pannier carried all the other bits, tools, chargers, toiletries, iPad and notebooks etc . Sounds obvious but it saved time. I also had a small daypack which rolled up when not in use -this was proving useful in the final run in to a campsite or hotel for carrying last minute supermarket goodies for that nights feast-it was no hardship wearing that for the last couple of miles, and removed the risk of a tomato exploding over my clothes (even though that would probably freshen them up 😂😂)

I had enough kit to be able to go a week or so without being slapped with some kind of “smelly bloke” Anti Social Behaviour Order but in practice I was washing stuff out as when it was easy to do it -some places lended themselves to it, some were not so practical.

Route wise, I was completely digital. No paper maps at all, which is a shame really. I’m a proud map nerd and could spend hours with an OS or Michelin paper map and a glass of wine, but for a trip of this length, sadly it just wasn’t practical.

I wouldn’t typically plan my route more than a day ahead . I was using the cycle.travel website for planning and then the app for navigating, and it was proving excellent (but not perfect-I’ve got some more to say about how I was learning to adapt its routes and sometimes ignore its suggestions on the ground, but I’ll wait for another boring cycling day to go into that )

The four main criteria for deciding my route were :

(i) deadline-was I heading towards a booked ferry ?

(ii) legs-how knackered was I feeling after today?

(iii) terrain-how much climbing was involved

(iv) accommodation-probably most important as the route obviously had to end at somewhere bookable to stay

Anyway, all that has distracted me from the rain and before I know it I’m at Lamezia del Terme railway station heading for Sibari. This is not a cheery experience. Wet hands, heavy bikes and lots of marble steps make getting on the train like something out of an episode of Mr Bean Goes Cycle Touring .

The train was packed and I was soon loudly scolded by an elegant Italian lady whose white jeans brushed my muddy front wheel. (Note not the other way round, but that didn’t stop it being my fault. Obviously)

I hadn’t had time to take off my rain jacket and I was melting from within on the hot train, with my dirty unwelcome bike in everyone’s way. Now it was the guards turn to remind me where I sat in this particular eco system, loudly telling me I was in the wrong carriage and to get off at the next station and move up the train to the designated bike section. I’m sure I heard an Italian cheer as I did so, with the guard then gleefully making a running motion to get me to hurry up on the rain soaked platform. This was just pure sport for him (and revenge for White Jean Lady) as of course there was no rush at all .

After all that we missed the connection and I was delayed overnight in Castlignio Cosentino, once again making good use of the words “last minute deals hotels near me “ on booking.com.

I was a bit alarmed to find about twenty Carabinieri cars parked outside the hotel when I arrived -perhaps White Jean Lady had been more irritated than I thought, but turns out they were all on some kind of police training course. Phew, diplomatic incident averted 😊

“Long legged Italy kicked little Sicily….into the Mediterranean Sea”….an aide memoire from my school days sprung to mind as I crossed into Italy’s “toe”

The Calabria region of Southern Italy is apparently the place where the greatest number of Italian Americans can trace their roots back to-not sure what that means really, probably that there must have been a compelling reason to leave all those generations ago.

Calabria is now being described as “up and coming” and “unspoilt “ by travel companies which usually means the place is fairly insular with little infrastructure for anything other than domestic tourism ,and that’s certainly the impression I got.

My ultimate aim was to cross this region ,with the sea on my left until I reached the town of Lamezia del Terme. Once here I’d take a cheeky train across some boring and hilly country to reach the other coast at Sibari, with the sea now on my right . From there I would ride up the coast, to Taranto and then across to Brindisi.

A bit north of Brindisi was the port of Bari and that’s where I was originally headed for, to cross to Vlore in Albania before riding South into Greece.

I’d decided though to skip Albania and instead cross straight to Greece (in the shape of the port of Igoumenitsa) and for ferry schedule reasons this meant diverting to Brindisi.

Why skip Albania? I’ll come to that another day but for now a quick look at the “Safety and Security” section of the Foreign Office travel guidance gives a bit of a clue. I didn’t want to be a flake but I was struggling to un-see the section that said “Albanian driving can be aggressive and erratic…road deaths are among the highest in Europe..roads are poor and minor traffic disputes can quickly escalate ,especially as some motorists could be armed” . Rationally, I’m sure it would be absolutely fine and dandy, (and after all, I’m a hard core veteran of the Mountsorrel Mad Mile,) but I wasn’t feeling the Albanian love and so off the itinerary it went . No point having a mind if you can’t change it etc etc .

So today was a 35 mile ride between campsites, my end point being Camping Il Calabriano. The coastline scenery was certainly stunning,the shingle and stone of Sicilian beaches giving way to white sands ,and once again I spent the majority of the day in sight of the sea .

The perfectness of the landscape though started to provide a marked contrast to something that was everywhere -rubbish. Fly tipped piles,casual stuff thrown from cars, unofficial waste sites, it was everywhere and it was a bit depressing. Similar to the UK I just couldn’t understand the litter mentality . Look at these two pictures . A lay-by on a coastal road, specifically designed to be a view point to the beautiful bay below. The first picture shows the view, the second picture is from the same spot but different angle and shows that some people have gone there not to gaze at the scenery, but to dump their rubbish over the crash barriers . Lack of pride? Or facilities? Or just laziness? Puzzling for sure.

But don’t think this spoiled the ride, it didn’t, but it was just noticeable everywhere ,and even more so on the quiet off road tracks I was often routed down.

I’d heard that Southern and Northern Italy were very different ,almost to the extent they could be different countries. The North is wealthier,more industrial and cosmopolitan and aligned to Western Europe,whereas the poorer South shows its history of Arab, Spanish and Greek influences in its attitudes and even its food ( I’ve swotted up on this by the way, I’m not professing to be Mr Italy 😊)

In any case, it was pretty quiet and not much happened. Apparently the region is known for its red onions, the famous (really) “cipolla rossa de Tropea”(which has a stronger and sweeter aroma with a juicier inner part apparently 😊) and every couple of miles I’d pass a lay-by with a van selling nothing but stringed red onions (three strings for five euros if you fancy them), and normally a queue to buy them. Trust the Italians to elevate something as simple as an onion to specialist food status.

I made Il Calabriano in time for a beautiful sunset and some big skies.

I’d got one more day of riding before picking up a train and I ended the day on the Trenitalia website ,hoping that actually catching a train was going to be easier than trying to book a ticket…..

A long day planned today with some logistics thrown in. My last day in Sicily, I needed to cross the Straits of Messina into mainland Italy and get to a campsite in Nicotera,near a town called Rosarno.

The plan was to cycle 36 miles to Messina. From there the only way to cross the two mile stretch of water is by ferry. Once on the other side I would cycle to Villa San Giovanni and take a regional train to Rosarno and from there I would cycle the final ten miles to the campsite. Nothing was booked , it was all to be done on the fly as it were . I’d got into the habit of not booking anything ahead if I could avoid it and today was no exception.

The ride flew by. Lots of downhill and even a coastal tailwind saw me in Messina in no time . As I dropped down to sea level I could see the ferries criss crossing on an East-West axis between Sicily and the mainland (if you make the journey by train, the whole train just drives onto a ferry with train tracks and carries on the other side, which is rather cool)

Going the other way on a North -South axis were huge container ships, car freighters ,oil tankers and others,like a big nautical chess board with constantly moving pieces -I assume there’s something like air traffic control to keep it all going but who knows ?

The ferries are every hour. My next one was boarding in fifteen minutes, I hadn’t got a ticket or any clue where to go. I wasted valuable minutes assuming wrongly I could get on with the foot passengers and then had to hot foot it halfway around the port to join the traffic queue. It wasn’t quite jumping onto a moving ship but it wasn’t far off ! And the James Bond theme in my head helped too 😊

I’d not taken a train since Pamplona in Spain and this was my first Italian rail experience. Trenitalia is Government owned and fares are cheap-most journeys under 100km cost no more than 3 or 4 euros. But the stations are a nightmare-a lack of lifts or even ramps mean an inconvenience for cycle tourists with heavy bikes, but a life changer for wheelchair users and people with reduced mobility . It’s a dry subject,and the UK is by no means perfect,but I get the impression Italy is years behind us in this field.

Rosarno was about thirty miles up the coast meaning that for the first time since leaving home I was heading North . I bumped my bike off the train ,down the steps,up the steps and out into the Southern Italian countryside. This was now the Calabria region .

By contrast to the wacky races kind of day ,Villagio Camping Mimosa was a tranquil place ,lots of grass and shade and right on the beach .

Crucially there was a restaurant and a bar and an “order your pastry for breakfast “ service too. Be rude not to…