3 November to 19 November

I originally planned to travel from Thessaloniki to Albania, but decided to spend more time in Greece. Many people highly recommended Crete and spoke of the many places to visit on the island.

I thought the town of Chania would be a good place to start.

I booked a home that had been converted from an old tannery on the water.

At one time Chania had 200 tanneries, today there are six.

It was a great place to stay, at least a week, and catch my breath after a month on the road.

I looked forward to catching up on a number of things, including writing posts for this blog.

I decided to stay in Chania and not go anywhere else.

Some of the changing views from my home:

I spent the last week in Chania planning my trip to Egypt.

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29 October to 3 November

It had been difficult to choose destinations on Greece’s mainland. There was always something of interest. But for the last few days of my road trip, I decided to go up toward the Albanian, Macedonian border. In particular I headed toward the Prespa Lakes, renown for the multitudes of birds there.

Driving on country roads, I got a kick out of the tractor drivers who never seemed bothered by the cars piling up behind them, unable to pass, given the narrow, winding roads. They simply chugged along until they turned off to their destination.

Leaving Papingo for Agios Germanos, a village near the Prespa Lakes, I stopped to see the bridge in Konitsa. It’s the biggest arched bridge in the Balkans.

The road from Konitsa to my destination passed through a barren, hilly landscape. There were very few cars, except for the cruising police cars. At first I didn’t think much of it, then realised I was nearing the Albanian border.

Just before arriving in Agios Germanos, I was asked to pull over. The police were stopping all the vehicles. I hadn’t been fond of the Hertz rent-a-car stickers on my car, but as the police officer approached me, I was glad I had tourist literally written all over.

He asked me for my passport, wrote down a few things, and in English, thanked me.

The Greece most people visit, or imagine, does not resemble this part of the country.

It is a poor region, with simple lifestyles.

Once again the people were welcoming. The region possessed a subtle beauty this time of year, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

I had chosen the Prespa Lake region for all the birds who call it home–that is, before they migrate elsewhere. Fortunately some cormorants and gulls remained.

The autumn evenings were cool and I was delighted my room had a fireplace. I bonded with a town dog named Bonnie, who’d accompanied me, as I strolled through the small village, shortly after my arrival.

If I stopped to take a photograph, she waited patiently. Her owner was the proprietor of a taverna, but she was usually wandering about looking for affection. There were several town dogs, some like her, wore collars, others didn’t, but all were friendly and grateful for any attention. However, if I tried to pet another dog in Bonnie’s presence, she would put her open mouth, very gently, on my hand to let me know her thoughts on the matter.

One evening she followed me back to my room. It was raining heavily. I didn’t know the rules about animals, but assumed they weren’t welcome indoors. I reluctantly left her outside under the eave. Awhile later, it began thundering and lightening, I wondered if she was still there. Looking miserable I invited her in. She leaned against me as I pet her and put her head next to mine. Then she purred like a cat, curled up, and slept. When the rain stopped she looked at the door, then at me. She went out into the night.

Some highlights of the area:

Agios Achilios , a small island with splendid views of the lake, miniature pigs, livestock, monasteries, and twenty residents. When I’d slipped on the wet pedestrian bridge and cut my hand, one of the residents, initially gruff with me, washed it with alcohol, then gently blew on it to lessen the sting. He put on a band-aid with the dexterity of a surgeon. When I thanked him for his kindness, he looked genuinely moved.

A chapel in Agios Germanos:

A tour of the lake with an able captain:

Driving around the lake area:

Bonnie accompanied me on several walks. But if I drove somewhere, I left her behind. I didn’t wish to be accused of dog-napping. As soon as I’d get home she would come running up to me, as best she could–her owner seemed to compensate his lack of attention with leftovers. We spent most of my time there together. When I left for Edessa, it was difficult to say goodbye.

Edessa is a charming city. People were extremely kind, and outgoing. I had a wonderful visit at an art school for teens, guided by an extremely well-spoken, intelligent, young artist. She aspired to attend the art school in Thessaloniki. I have complete confidence she will be accepted.

I spoke at length with the owner of my hotel about the Greek myths, and the domineering men in them. Her husband at one point added, “Women are definitely the superior sex.” They seemed to be very happily married.

The following day I returned to Thessaloniki for one night, and took a flight to Crete the next.

 

21 October to 29 October

Wanting to go deeper into the Northern Pindos National Park, I decided to take the advise of the man I’d met the day before and go to Vovousa. He’d highly recommended a guesthouse there. I booked a room.

I typed in the name and let Louise(the GPS Google Maps voice)guide me.

As the villages grew further apart, the roads had fewer vehicles. But vigilance was key. The chances of encountering a flock of sheep, horses, and cows increased. There was the inevitable dog stretched out in the middle of the road enjoying the pavement warmed by the sun too. Huge potholes were not uncommon, and asphalt roads suddenly turned to dirt. Some roads oddly had one side covered in grass, others led to unmarked hairpin turns. But driving slowly and attentively made all the above manageable, and at times entertaining. However when Louise navigated me to some uncomfortably narrow roads, I was not amused. ( Of course, I take full responsibility.)

Hunting season for wild boars had begun. It wasn’t unusual to see a man, often alone, wearing an orange vest, with a large rifle standing or sitting by the side of the road. The sight made me uneasy. I’m not a fan of firearms.(I didn’t encounter any wild boars.)

The country landscape,when I had the chance to appreciate it from the driver’s. seat, was splendid. However, the sunny weather I’d been enjoying for so long changed. Dark clouds moved in and by the time I arrived at Vovousa it was chilly and raining heavily.

I couldn’t locate the guesthouse right away and decided to get something to eat. I saw only one taverna. It was on the other side of the roaring Aoös river and reached by a stunning stone bridge. Most of the old stone bridges I’d seen hadn’t been used for ages, except as a nice background for a tourist’s photograph, but this one joined one part of the village to the other.

A huge fire in the taverna warmed me as I quickly ate a delicious spinach and feta pie. I knew the people at the guesthouse were expecting me. Equipped with clear directions, thanks to the owner of the taverna, I walked back over the bridge and drove down a long dirt road.

Antonis, the owner of the Kerasies Guesthouse, came out to welcome me in the pouring rain. He then made me a cup of hot tea while we spoke about the area and the village’s logging industry evolving into tourism. Vovousa now hosts a summer arts festival. The year-round population is around one hundred. In WWII the village had been destroyed by the Nazis. Few original buildings remain, but the bridge from 1748 survived.

Antonis offered several hiking options, but the downpour didn’t make any of them appealing. My large comfortable room however had a fireplace. That evening I gazed at the fire and read.

The following day the rain continued and I was given more firewood. Reading by the fire was the extent of my activities. It was a perfect opportunity to catch up with Graham Greene’s Travels with My Aunt. I only ventured out around mealtimes. I didn’t run into anyone. Signs of life came only from chickens foraging in people’s yards, and the ever-present stray cats. The taverna I’d first gone to was closed. The family had a baptism to attend.

Fortunately, the only other option, a taverna just down the road, served excellent, hearty meals (lamb was their speciality–again delicious). And I had a wonderful dining companion. The two and one-half year old granddaughter of the owners joined me both evenings I ate there. She made sure the napkins on my table were arranged properly, and didn’t mind that my only response to everything she said was “Naí (yes).” When I’d finish eating she would take me by the hand and lead me to the sack of potatoes propped up in the corner. It made for lovely after-dinner strolls.

Unfortunately I could not stay in the guesthouse a third night. The owner and his brother, a lumberjack, had to work elsewhere.

I decided to visit Parga on the sea.

The town was closing up for the season and a choice of accommodations were few. The only other guests at my hotel were a British couple. They were in the throes of trying to take an abandoned puppy they’d found back home with them.

But there were enough locals to keep most of the cafes and restaurants open. Parga is lovely, the people are welcoming. I enjoyed walking along the coast, discovering the small back streets, and watching the traditions of a local holiday.

It is an overall relaxing place to spend time.

However, my second evening there at 2am, 1:54am to be precise, the shaking of my bed woke me up. At first, I thought a large truck must have driven by, I come from NYC after all. Then I thought of an earthquake. I put on my shoes and jacket and left my room. The British woman was standing outside, a floor below me, barefoot, in her pajamas. We agreed it had to have been an earthquake. Terrified that her room would collapse she’d run outside where she’d thought it would be safer. “Where is your husband?” I asked. “He’s in bed sleeping,” she replied.

A young couple appeared, looking relaxed after an evening out. Seeing us they said, “Welcome to Greece. We get earthquakes all the time.” I went back to bed. I’d read the next day that an earthquake with 6.8 magnitude had occurred about 200 kms away.

I hadn’t yet had my fill of the mountains so made my way back inland. Driving up a steep serpentine road I arrived at Papingo–actually two separate villages. There is Malago, or Large, Papingo and Mikro, or Small, Papingo. (“Large” is clearly a relative term.) Tourism has impacted both of them, but they remain charming, and picturesque.

Mikro Papingo, where I stayed, was particularly low-key. It suited me well. Despite the many challenging hikes available, I opted for relaxing walks on easy footpaths and having conversations, hot chocolate in hand, with locals and fellow travelers.