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Tuesday, October 1st - Paleokastritsa to Igoumenitsa - 12,288 km
My boat leaves from Kerkyra for the mainland at three this afternoon so I am on the road by 8 am. I have 90 km to cover by then. The wind is from the west, pushing from behind as I make my way east across the island. It is mostly a cloudy day, cooler than the past few, but excellent for cycling. Of course there’s a bit of a hill climbing out of Paleokastritsa, the one I cam in on, but from there it stays fairly level, never rising higher than about 100 m as it follows the base of the base of an escarpment that defines the edge of the northern ‘head’ of the island. Someday I may come back and explore that end.
The sun comes out briefly after I pass through the town of Doukades, then the clouds close in again. I stop for a drink in Skripero, a shabby town with a good vantage point over the interior island to the south. I am feeling somewhat better emotionally today, less stressed than before, but an incident happens in this village that proves I am not over my shock from my narrow escape from Croatia. While I am sitting on a bench outside eating a donair sandwich and looking across the valley, a young boy makes the noise of a siren while playing with his fire truck on a retainer wall behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin because it sounds like the start of an air raid siren. It takes me a few minutes for my heart to stop racing.
There is a road from here that leads south-east away from the escarpment directly to Kerkyra. For the first 10 km or so the traffic is light, as it has been up to this point, but then I join the main road between Paleokastritsa and Kerkyra and it becomes much busier. At least the cars don’t honk at you the way they do it Italy, and when they do honk I see them waving at me, not shaking their fists threateningly.
It takes another hour to arrive in Kerkyra. It is 2 pm. I buy my ticket and a falafel sandwich for lunch, not trusting what the ship’s cafeteria might have in store. The wind has remained constant. It is a bit chilly when I am not working up a sweat cycling. By boarding time I am relieved to be inside. I spot a hot young man as I am rolling my bike on board. He is a walk-on passenger with a large backpack. I approach him and strike up a conversation. His name is Tibor, a Hungarian university student who is catching a bus from Igoumenitsa to
Athens to meet his girlfriend who is flying in tomorrow night. I am not usually attracted to straight guys but this one is an exception. In spite of his red hot looks, he is sweet and a bit bashful. Like many backpackers, he is curious about cycle touring as a different option. He tells me he also likes mountain climbing and hand gliding. He lets me take his picture before heading off to read by himself. If he had planned to stay the night in Igoumenitsa I would have offered to share a room, a bottle of wine and, if he insisted, to shave his balls so they would be nice and smooth for his girlfriend. (sigh)
Once I have disembarked I ride along the piers north towards to the city centre, which slopes up to the thickly forested mountains behind. The grey clouds are threatening rain but I feel like having a bit more of a ride. I continue a kilometre around the bay to get a picture before retuning to look for a hotel for the evening.
Igoumenitsa has about 20,000 people. It is an old settlement, known as Titani in ancient times, the capital of the Thresprotians, distant relatives of the southern Greeks. Today it is the capital of the mountainous northwestern province of Greece, Epirus, but it bears no traces of its ancient roots. In fact it’s ugly - certainly no tourist destination. That means the hotels are cheaper however. My hotel proprietors are an older Greek couple who speak no English, but are happy for my patronage. They bow and grins as they show me to my room, as though it is something special, which it is not. I play along, as though they have saved me from a fate worse than death by taking me in.
As I am leaving my room, having showered and changed, I meet my neighbour returning to his room. His name is Dmitri, a traveling sales representative from Athens. He’s been on the road for two weeks and is perhaps the first man I have met who is lonelier than I am. He jumps at my suggestion to join me for dinner. We find a pizzeria three blocks from our hotel and pig out there. Dmitri has dark, penetrating eyes that glow with enjoyment when he talks and he is full of enthusiasm. He is beautiful too. It would be perfect if he was gay but that would be too much to ask. Still, he certainly hasn’t suggested that he is straight.
It is his idea to buy a bottle of red from the pizzeria and drink it together back in my room. On the way home, the spitting rain turns into a downpour and we run back as fast as we can. My only pair of pants is soaked so I change underwear and have my towel around me when he knocks on my door. He wearing just his boxer shorts and a white tank top and drying his hair with a towel. We sit on my bed and drink and giggle as we finish off the bottle. I love his bubbly laughter and appreciative company.
I wonder what he would do if I sprouted a hard on, but the alcohol and my nervousness is preventing that. I have crossed the line twice doing much less than this in the past week and I don’t want to be there again. Still, I am curious and half turned on. I ask if he has a girlfriend. No, he says. It is hard to have one with his traveling job. He admits to being lonely, and I come awfully close to offering to help him out, but I don’t. I wait for any further indication of wanting intimacy on his part but it doesn’t come. When it’s nearing midnight he thanks me for my company and returns to his room without a second thought. He says he has to leave for Corfu on the 8 am ferry. As cute as he is, I am willing to accept tonight’s blessing for what it was. PHOTO 1: crossing Corfu
PHOTO 2: Skripero
PHOTO 3: ferry terminal in Kerkyra
PHOTO 4: Tibor
PHOTO 5: Igoumenitsa harbour
PHOTO 6: Dmitri
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