The border crossing from Turkiye to Greece set the tone for the last country. Lined the bike behind the cars, passport stamped and I was on my way. I headed down to Alexandroupolis on the Aegean Coast. The municipal camp was still open with a camp site beside the beach, and a restaurant to save me from the staple pasta and tinned fish diet. My neighbours were a fellow cyclist from UK and a Moroccan motor cyclist, who kindly delivered some key supplies.

I quickly adjusted the GPS course to hug the Aegean Coast for as far as I could. The narrow twisty lines on the map turned into rough gravel. Gravel frees the mind from the metrics of the ride, taking the focus off the GPS (how far, how long, where next) to focus on the lines across the gravel. Time flies as do the kilometres. The deep blue sea draws the eyes to the unfolding coastline. 

Ahead were a group of people off the road. Amateur archeologists. There was obvious excitement in the group. The meticulous rhythm of sifting through the dig probably running a little faster than normal. I noticed they had uncovered a full cellar of intact amphoras. I asked if I could taste the wine, stoney stares indicated they hadn’t got the joke. I was in Greece with thousands of years history buried everywhere.

My target for the day was foiled by two big climbs, one away from the coast and the second back out. Fortunately found a bed in the village of Xilgani, a short walk to the square allowed a change to my new staple diet of squid and Greek salad plus pizza for carbs.

I noticed the road verges and bush alongside were covered in thousands of while fluffy balls, far too early for snow. I was in the middle of cotton harvest. Huge truck loads of newly harvested cotton started to share my quiet road. Once I got to the hills, the same thing was happening with olive harvest. Huge fine mesh nets spread out around the trees, and mechanical tree-shakers dropping ripe olives onto the nets.

Another dirt track connected me to the road into Delta Nestor National Park and Lake Vistonida. I followed the causeway across a heron sanctuary of real beauty and was treated to formations of thousands of migrating herons flying south. The day ended in Xanthi, a big town which fortunately had a well stocked bike shop allowing me to replace my second back tyre which had given up the the battle with hundreds of thorn holes. Tubeless sealant is good, but 10,000 kilometres of constant hole-plugging had reached its limit (as had my supply of sealant). My brand new tyre rolled beautifully for the rest of the journey.

Back on the the Aegean Coast, villages were summer focussed so most where shuttered up for winter. Camping options were limited. I hit Mirtafitu very ready to stop peddling and saw a sign for a restaurant. I stopped and walked around the front to a grassy courtyard leading down to the sea. Hrsoula emerged from her room. No the place was closed for the winter. “Would you like a coffee”. She must have noticed my eyes drifting back to the smooth grass under the olive trees. “You can put your tent there, use the restaurant kitchen and bathroom” my generosity angel was still at my back. Probably my best equiped camp site of the trip.

I avoided the big city of Thessaloniki in a big loop to the north, ending in Alexandreia. The diversion was cycling joy though rolling country on quiet roads. I was about to get a further morale boost, when my sister Andrea and husband Des interrupted their own European trip to meet up with me in Platykampos. After months on my own, meeting my sister in a totally out of context setting was weird but wonderful.

The final leg was headed south with a short ferry hop onto the Long Island of Euboea. Euboea has a sharp mountainous spine which the road winds backwards and forwards over multiple times. The flatter road around the coast was closed with roadworks. As I zoomed down after the first big climb my generosity angel had spotted a 2 star hotel in Rovies. Cheap bed was my first thought. I arrived at Rodi Boutique hotel and realised It had a galaxy more stars than two. Evaggellia was the leading one, a hostess with extraordinary empathy. As I drank coffee and ate apple cake she was sharing my story with multiple friends over the phone. I guessed from the look of the wine selection alone that my entire Greek travel budget could disappear in a night. I choked back tears when she gave me a room for nothing. Both she and her friends offered genuine power to my cause with their comments. Good people.
Euboea was not going to let me off lightly on the bike, but climbs and gusty winds on the hills lead down to classic pretty villages on the coast. I looked down at the last, Marmari was that tiny dot on the map that months ago I had planned as my finish point. It hit me suddenly that I had done the job. Finished.

The celebration was enhanced when I was met by my other sister Sheryl who had flown out from London to meet me off the ferry. She and husband Bill completed the special celebration with a long time friend Sophia and her sister Peggy in the Acropolis Restaurant. Joy and a classic Greek red to toast a lifetime journey.

My original estimate was 11,000 kilometres. I was close.

Riding through Kavali on the Aegean Coast

Aegean Coastline near Mesimvira

Lake Vistonida

Cotton “snow” on the road

From acres of cotton fields

Ferry from Glyfa to the island of Euboea

Leaving the final camp at Marmari

The finish line at Marmari ferry

Farewell Marmari

Two of my generosity angels

The words of Kemal Ataturk above show the power of healing after war. An inspirational leader streaks ahead of the mindless war lords of today. The ANZAC site was powerfully emotional for me. Book history turned to stark reality. So many lessons still not learnt. As I sat in the small Shell Green cemetery, the ironic roar of fighter jets above.

“Silent stretches of riding alone punctuated with people and connections” As my daughter Karen eloquently put it. The distances in Turkiye have made more of the long silent stretches, but I enjoy ending up in small villages, tiny narrow alleys, lots of bright colour and the odd motor scooter at full Speed down the narrow alley to practice quick side steps. I have ridden from east to west across the entire country, but ending on the peninsular which is closely tied to New Zealand.

Eceabat is the perfect place to rest and look back. Quiet, peaceful, water all around, an ancient stone hotel right above the water. Sealant crammed into the rear tyre with vain hope that it will last the last thousand kilometres. Liman Restaurant has provided fresh squid and a beer every night.

The people of Turkiye have been unfailing friendly, but also with a sense of self contentment.  Life is good. Groups gather in cafes for endless delicate curved glasses of tea, time rolls by no need for rush. Probably it is the country where I have most missed knowledge of local language. My one new word a day doesn’t cut it here. 

I have enjoyed the country unfolding from the seat of the bike. From the frenetic Black Sea coast, to the mountain passes, high barren wind-farm rolling hills to the classic Mediterranean feel along the Marmara Sea Coast. Just a short hop to my final border.

Classic farm houses 

Endless roadside stalls always with the cay (tea) brewing

Always tempted to Lokum (Turkish Delight) and a classic coffee

Above 

The spectacular Canakkale 1915 Bridge​ and below Canakkale waterfront

Lone Pine cemetery 

Turkish Cemetery 

Ataturk briefing his new section commander

Chunk Bair trenches

The impossible terrain up from ANZAC Cove

Turkish and New Zealand monuments Chunuk Bair