So this is it...

Ok so this is it, the last post after an 8+ month journey around the world. It seems a lifetime ago that I was surfing with Damian in California, or ice-climbing in Bozeman, or even playing a game beer-pong with the MSU crew while downing a few ‘Moose Drools’. What a journey it has been!

I am typing this post from my hostel in Singapore, with the scent of incense fills the air as it rises from the nearby temples. This peaceful, functional and thoroughly enjoyable city has been a pleasure to tour around, and a welcomed change from the completely dysfunctional and chaotic U.A.E.

The flight into Abu Dhabi really set the scene as to what was to come. The fasten seatbelt sign is completely ignored. People receive sms messages throughout the flight. Chairs are completely reclined during take-off and landing, despite repeated pleas from the cabin crew to comply with their instructions. And children run around the aisles, screaming, oblivious to their parents who are busily replying to the sms text they have just received.

Arriving in Abu Dhabi and talking to Rob about this complete disrespect for authority, he told me that you’ve just got to laugh at it, accept it and move on, otherwise it gets so overwhelming you’re likely to explode with frustration. As he was explaining all this to me, a sportscar shot past us as we were cruising at 120km/h – he must have been doing in excess of 220km/h. Speed cameras were going off, but I guess with that much money the meagre fines are insignificant. ‘Welcome to The Emirates’ Rob wryly remarked.

Arriving at Rob and Jacqui’s place I jumped in the shower seeking refuge from the hot and extremely humid Arabian air, to be burnt by the water that shot from the cold-water tap. Later, Jacqui explained to me that you have to shower with only hot water as the pipes are heated so much during the day, the cold water emerges close to boiling. After this searing shower I lay down to bed, feeling somewhat feverish, and awoke the next morning sick as a dog, destined to be bed-ridden for the following 4 days!

Miraculously getting better just enough to make the drive up to Dubai with Rob to pick up the surfboards we had hired, we headed 7 hours over the desert to Muscat to spend the night, before motoring further south the following morning to get a few waves on Oman’s east coast. Without going into too much detail – it pumped! Far better than I expected, and Rob and I surfed so hard the first day, we were unable to even paddle out the following day, so we decided to head back slowly across inland Oman, through the beautiful mountainous terrain, to Abu Dhabi. Surfing the long right-hand pointbreaks was one of the highlights of my trip for sure. Getting absolutely mauled by bed bugs that night, to the point of looking as though I had chicken-pox all over my back, was less of a highlight. Ah, the hidden joys of travel.

So still feeling less that 100%, and still with bites all over my body, I am ready to come home. It has been a truly epic trip, and I have enjoyed every moment of it, bed bugs and all! Looking forward to seeing you all in a day or so!

Cheers,
Matt.

Harry…. Harry Kewell….

The chants for Kewell confirmed the local fan’s admiration for the Australian football star. He didn’t disappoint. Two goals and one assist saw him cheered off the field as he was replaced in the 60^th minute. One of his goals was scored right in front of us, leaving the crowd screaming in unison ‘Harry….Harry Kewell…’. Quite the experience. Mark and I were lucky to even get into the stadium, as it was the first home game of the season for Galatasaray, and the 20,000 fans swelled outside the security checkpoint, all simultaneously trying to squeeze through the tiny barrier that led to the stadium entrance. Upon finally pushing through the masses and getting a seat, we were left stunned by the atmosphere inside ‘Hell’ (as the Galatasaray fans call their caldron), where we witnessed some of the most spine tingling and adrenaline-pumping chants I have ever heard. In one notable occasion, with flares swaying in unison, the crowd went silent before erupting in a four-piece call-and-reply between each of the four stands. The players seemed to rise to the occasion with a convincing and crowd-pleasing 4-1 victory. 

 

The following morning I caught a bus down the coast to Gallipoli, where the morning after I engaged on a tour of the battlefields and surrounding region. It was quite an emotional experience to be taken through the history, and walk through the very trenches where so many young diggers perished. What was even more rewarding and emotional was the walk I attempted to complete the day after. Starting at ANZAC Cove, I followed the initial path of the Aussie and NZ troops up ‘Shrapnel Valley’, attempting to get over the ridgeline and up to ‘The Neck’, as the troops had done in their initial offensive in 1915. I somehow made it through the valley, following an old path, which twisted through low (and seriously thorny) shrub-land to the base of the ridge. By the time I reached the almost vertical cliff-face I was bleeding from cuts on my legs, and had thorns that had penetrated my shoes into my feet, and was unable to continue. Retracing my steps and then attempting to follow another of the ANZAC routes, I climbed Plugge’s Plateau to follow the ridgeline, again attempting to reach The Neck (site of the finale to the movie Gallipoli). Once again I was stopped in my tracks, this time by the narrowing of the ridge to half-a-metre in width, and dropping on either side a hundred metres or so to the valley below. Taking into account that erosion may have changed the landscape slightly since 1915, I am still absolutely bemused as to how the ANZACS made it over this ridgeline. I sat there for some time studying the terrain from the backside of the Plateau, and was left with a deep sense of admiration for the courage, skill and determination of the troops who pushed through this area on April 25, 1915.

Leaving Gallipoli, I turned north again, heading towards the Greek and Bulgarian border, to a small city called Edirne. This city was briefly the capital of the Ottoman Empire, and thus was adorned with fine baths, caravanserais and mosques, including the serene Selimiye Camaii, one of the most beautiful I have seen in all of Turkey. One of the most special parts of this small city is it’s authenticity, in part I assume due to the lack of foreign visitors who seem to rush to make their way through to Istanbul, or to cross one of the nearby borders. Their loss I guess, as this is one of the most attractive places I have visited during my time in the country. There are mosques everywhere, and the town is small enough that you can walk around and explore the regions attractions, including the old hamams, roman bridges, beautiful parks, and the river, which surround the city like a natural moat. One of the more rewarding parts of my day was spent sitting in the courtyard of Selimiye Camaii, listening to the call-to-prayer, and watching the locals casually wash themselves and enter the mosque to pray.

 

Tomorrow I head back to Istanbul to wait for my flight out two days later to Abu Dhabi. I have also booked my flight out to Delhi from the UAE a week later on the 3^rd of September, so I’m guessing after a week or two in India I will head home (most likely with a stopover in Singapore) arriving around September 20. Looking forward to it.

 

Matt.

I'm still alive!

Gday all,

Well it seems it’s been some time since I last updated this blog, and for good reason; I’ve been busily tearing my way across the Mediterranean coast, shacking up in treehouses, drinking copious amounts of raki, trekking to mountain top ruins, exploring underground cities, hot air ballooning over Cappadoccia, becoming bed-ridden for days from the local water, and somehow recovering from all that to eventually end up in vibrant, fascinating Istanbul from where I am finally attending to the closest thing I have had to work in months – updating this essay-length blog!

What a journey it has been. Moving on from the hordes of tourists in Marmaris some weeks ago, I travelled east to the beautiful seaside town of Fethiye, where our dorm room at Ferah’s Place overlooked the nearby harbour and down the spectacular cliff-lined coast of the Mediterranean. Ferah’s Place was an experience in itself, with Monica’s (the hostel owner’s) ‘sexy dinners’, and her vine-covered garden oasis, which sheltered us (beers included) from the outside temperature that apparently hit 50 degrees one seriously hot afternoon! During the relatively cool mornings I explored the remarkable ghost city of Kay village, where the 2000 strong Greek Orthodox community had left Turkey for the nearby Greek Islands following WWI, and also the Lycean tombs on the nearby cliff-faces, which turned a spectacular array of colours as I sat on a nearby hill, observing them at sunset.

 

Following Fethiye, I took a short bus ride further down the coast to the backpacker haven of Olympos, where a small community living in old huts and funky treehouses resides in a seriously beautiful valley. The nearby beach could also be classified as beautiful, if one was to actually see a speck of sand hidden beneath the thousands of sunbathing day-trippers. Solace for me was found in the nearby ruins of ancient Olympos, where unmarked trails lead to vine covered ruins, far from the hordes, with spectacular views down the coast. At night, I joined a group of long-time backpacker locals and hit the ‘town’ for a wild night dancing to Turkish pop and consuming far too much local raki. Feeling that more than one night in this place would set me in a permanent cycle of sleeping and partying, I left the following day in search of a place I had heard about in the nearby area, where an ancient civilization had spend centuries constructing and fiercely guarding a mountain-top fortress city.

Termossos was by far the most spectacular sight I have seen thus far during this trip. After a 45 minute drive out to a national park near Antalya, you embark on a steep climb up through the ancient walls of the city, past the crumbling gymnasium, taking a left at the vine-covered markets, and emerging over a ridge line to view the old amphitheatre, extraordinarily perched precariously atop a cliff that abruptly drops hundreds of metres to the tree-lined valley below. What a sight. For over an hour I sat, alone, simply taking it all in. The photos may look amazing, but trust me, to be up there, high in the brisk mountain air, with no one else around; it was really something else.

Leaving Antalya, I embarked on a marathon bus trip north to Cappadoccia, where ¾ the way into the journey, I mysteriously picked up a stomach bug, leaving me stopping the bus, full of vocally unimpressed locals, every 20 minutes or so to visit the toilet. Truthfully, I have never been so happy to see a squatter in all my life! I made it to Goreme, Cappadoccia, alive, mostly thanks to a Japanese pharmacist onboard who, seeing my predicament, fed me a concoction of drugs that kept me clogged up for days! Arigatou!

Goreme and the nearby region were amazing! I trekked through the nearby valleys lined with caves, and up volcanic mountaintops to obtain superb views of the heavily eroded, and thus fascinating landscape. However the best view, and experience of my time there, was courtesy of an early morning hot air balloon trip, which sent me peacefully floating over craggy mountaintops and through the myriad of valleys with such intimacy that you could literally peer into the windows of the cave dwellings, or pick fruit from the resident’s crops that lined the valley floor below. It was such a memorable experience.

 

Leaving Cappadoccia was harder than I thought. Yes, in part due to the endless opportunities to further explore the region, but more so because I became so sick again, that it was virtually impossible to travel via bus all the way to Istanbul. Realising this, I rested for a couple of days in my cave accommodation, then made the journey further east to Kayseri, where I would mercifully take a plane to Istanbul, cutting the journey time by 10 hours.

Now in Istanbul, I have visited all the sites, and taken in the vibe that emanates from the bustling bazaars and the musical mosques. The energy in this city is contagious. However, I feel that I am yet to see it in its full glory, and I plan to experience this by attending a football game at the home ground of Harry Kewell’s Galatasaray. With my bazaar bought club jersey, a few Effes in hand, and a crew of rowdy supporters from the hostel, we will soon head off for the stadium…

Kewell to score in the 90^th minute for a victory I reakon.

Until then,

Matt.

Weddings, theft, and a hell of a lot of tourists!

It’s really quite hard to believe I’m in Turkey at the moment. This disbelief has stemmed simply from the fact that Marmaris, the port town in which I am currently located, is absolutely packed with tourists. In all honesty, I have found it hard to locate legitimate locals who appear to be hiding down back alleys, or sitting in coffee shops, seemingly sharing my bewilderment with the hordes of foreigners strolling past in tiny swimmers and displaying all types of bemusing attire. I have never seen anything like it. Only the distant echo of the call to prayer, barely heard over the blaring music coming from the myriad of bars along the waterfront, reminds me where I actually am.

Currently I am sitting on the balcony of my room listening to an English tourist murder Spice Girls in the Karaoke bar opposite the hostel. On the positive side, the packs of Pommes has meant that a number of local bars and restaurants have been screening The Ashes, which has occupied the majority of my day.

The coastline of Turkey as I came into Marmaris

Today I arrived in Turkey after a short ferry trip from Rhodes, one of the eastern-most Greek Islands. The fortified city, arguably the last inhabited medieval town in Europe, was just amazing! The fact that you share the experience with masses of tourists detracts little from the splendour of simply wandering around the old cobbled streets and taking in the vibe. Getting lost is inevitable in the 200 or so alleyways, and it became an experience I welcomed with open arms. Around every bend is another set of ruins, an old mosque, a quaint set of tavernas, or an old residence of the Knights of centuries past. Pretending to be a student of the EU ensured I was able to see, for free, the archaeological museum, grand masters palace, knight’s castle and many of the other fascinating attractions. That fact that these sightseeing excursions were free of charge was of vital importance to me considering I had, the night before, been subject to a robbery that cost me somewhere between 300 to 400 Euros.

Rhodes Old Town

This is what happened: At 6am, the morning after my first night in Rhodes, my lone dorm companion returned from a night out at one of the local discotheques, apparently completely drunk and angry, as evident from his loud conversation on the phone outside my window. Hearing all this commotion, I found my i-pod and started listening to music to drown out the noise outside. Soon after I heard the French/Algerian, and fairly large man come into the room, turn on the light and get into the bed next to mine. He turned the light off and seeing me lying still must have assumed I was asleep. Soon after, I heard the sound of rustling through a bag of some sort, which continued for 30 seconds or so. Hearing this, I turned to see the bag through which he was searching was in fact my bag! I questioned him immediately, and startled, he dropped the bag and lay flat down on the bed pretending to not hear me. I got up, turned the light on and searched through my bag to find the front zipper open, and my wallet completely devoid of cash. I yelled at him ‘get up’, which he did, and face to face I challenged him as to why he was looking through my bag, and where he had put my money. He acted dumb, pretending like he never touched my bag. After five minutes or so of arguing, and me frantically trying to work out where he had hid the cash (I made him empty his pockets but he wouldn’t comply any further), I decided to head down to the police station to get some help as there was no official present at the hostel until 10am. The police told me to come back at 8am (it was 6.30am at the time) as I had told them I didn’t want him arrested and simply wanted to get my money back through filling out forms for insurance purposes. Following this, I randomly bumped into the hostel owner waking the streets of the Old Town, where he told me to head back to my room, where his wife would meet me to sort out the problem. However, upon returning to the hostel I found my roommate gone. He had packed up all his stuff and done a runner, after being at the hostel for over two weeks (and still owing them money). There was no doubt from this point that he was guilty. The hostel owner, Peter, the proceeded to round up his friends in the police force and send out a warrant for his arrest (which was issued to every port on the island). Peter even called his friends in the police in Belgium, as the Algerian fellow had told him of his plans to go there after Rhodes. To top it all off, Jack, a hostel guest and former member of the French legion, went down to the local port to try and find him and set him straight! Crazy! Out of all this came nothing, and frustratingly I learnt that my insurance wouldn’t cover the loss.

Accepting this, I moved on from the event and enjoyed the rest of my time on the island, visiting the famous castle at Lindos, and partying with the other hostel guests, who were a heap of fun, and even bought me drinks in sympathy following the robbery. All in all it turned out to be a fantastic few days in Rhodes.

The crew from Rodos Youth Hostel

Preceding my time on Rhodes, and the 18 hour ferry ride that followed, was a memorable stay on the beautiful island of Santorini. The purpose of Gay and my time there was to attend the wedding of Rob and Jacqui, who planned to be married at sunset on a headland on the far side of the island. Before the wedding however, the wedding party had some catching up to do (I hadn’t seen them all in over 7 months), and we re-united over a few Coopers, VBs and Tooheys News in a nearby Australian Bar that was perched precariously on the cliff-face in the whitewashed town of Fira. From what I remember (not much) it was a very memorable night! Aside from the various nights out on the island, the wedding party (Rob’s entire family, and Jacqui’s two friends, sister and mother) did engage in some strenuous daily activities including lying by the pool, wading in the pool, eating by the pool… you get the picture. We did one day decide to climb the volcano in the centre of the massive caldera, which afforded spectacular views back across to the rugged cliff faces and small hilltop towns of the main island of Santorini. That night we indulged in a superb seafood dinner at a restaurant with a terrace that overlooked the caldera and enjoyed the magical sunset.

Sunset from our dinner table

The following day was the wedding, where at sunset Rob and Jacquie said ‘I do’ in the presence of the small gathering of family and friends (and a curios couple of happy snapping Japanese tourists of course). Despite the howling wind, the ceremony was flawless. It was a beautiful memory to take with me as I departed the party that evening for the 15 hour (which turned into 18 hour) crossing to Rhodes.

The wedding party

Now in Turkey, I plan to head west along the Mediterranean coast to a couple of isolated little beaches, stay in treehouses, and visit ancient hilltop ruins. Following this I will head north into Cappadocia to see the crazy rock formations and caves, then fly (I think) to Istanbul where I will spend a few days seeing the sights and visiting Gallipoli, before departing for the U.A.E. My current planning suggests I will be in Abu Dhabi by 15-20 August, then India sometime in the first week of September, and finally home in time for Graduation (September 23).

Cheers,

Matt.

Island hopping

Hello all! I am writing this entry from the rooftop bar of our hostel in Heraklion, Crete, where Gary and I are sitting and relaxing while the street below bustles with action as the locals sit down to their dinner at 10.30pm. The increasingly familiar sound of Komboloi beads (worry beads) is drifting up with the warm breeze, only barely distinguishable above the voices and laughter of the diners. It is amazing how loud the locals speak here! To foreigners it may appear, due to their agitated tone and volume, that they are engaged in a fierce argument of sorts, when in fact they are more likely to be making a general comment about the weather or how relaxing their day was. This recount of the day’s happenings would inevitably make reference to their mornings, where they sat around drinking coffee and talking, their lunchtimes, where they consumed more coffee and chatted, their afternoon siesta, then their early evening coffee where sitting, they conversed, and caught up with old friends who they hadn’t seen since lunchtime! Go figure why they need the worry beads!


Over the past week Gary and I have travelled south through the Peleponnese, and explored the contrasting, yet equally beautiful islands of Kythira and Crete. Kythira was an unspoilt island paradise, where rugged mountains roll down to secluded white sandy beaches and crystal clear turquoise water that teems with an abundance of sea life - the best I have seen thus far in the Med. It was made all the more special thanks to the presence of Gary’s parents, who knew the island like the back of their hand, and proudly showed off the place where Gary’s Grandparents had once lived, tending sheep and harvesting olives. We visited the place where they used to reside, a property running down from a height of a few hundred metres, all the way to the coast and a little pebbly beach. A small, largely decrepit dwelling stood on the property, as did a good number of mature olive trees, that hadn’t been tended to in decades. Oh and did I mention that the property now potentially belongs to Gary’s family? Nice spot for a little holiday house if I do say so myself!


At 4am, after 3 days on Kythira, Gary and I departed on a ferry bound for Crete, some 4 hours away. On Crete, we ran into a mate of ours, Ian, who we had met in the Peleponnese a week earlier. We also introduced ourselves to a lovely group of Dutch sisters, who accompanied Ian, Gary and I across the island for the next few days. We visited Hania, a beautiful old Venetian port town, Samaria Gorge (the longest in Europe), and the beautiful cliff-lined beaches of the south coast.

On one of our many bus rides together around the island, we had a bit of a run in with the bus driver, who had given me strict instruction while getting on the bus to not eat, drink or smoke throughout the duration of the trip. Easy enough advice, which I proceeded to pass on to my fellow travellers, who of course chose to ignore this advice. Coke cans were cracked open, and the pizza slices and bread rolls that had just been purchased from the bakery were consumed in great volume. All was going smoothly until Lilly, the youngest of the Dutch sisters, dropped her can of coke on the floor of the bus, spraying all the passengers sitting in the back half of the vehicle. The bus driver went mad! He pulled the bus over in the middle of the highway, stormed up the back and proceeded to yell at the lot of us for failing to follow his simple instructions. Gary played innocent, pretending not to have consumed any food, yet failing to realize he was still chewing when answering the bus driver’s questions. All food was confiscated, except for one water bottle, which Lilly had managed to hide in her handbag. Only minutes later, while attempting to consume this water, she dropped the bottle, and it rolled down the length of the bus, stopping only thanks to a bag which hung from a passengers seat and prevented the projectile from rolling right into the bus drivers lap. Miraculously the driver didn’t notice the averted disaster, despite being bemused by the hordes of hysterical laughter from the group of us at the back of the bus. A day later, we said goodbye to the girls, who jumped on a bus to head off to Santorini a few days ahead of us. To their horror, the bus driver was the same mad one who had confiscated all their food that eventful day.


Before I go I must quickly make mention of the howling northerly (close to the strongest wind I have ever experienced) whipping up seas over the past few days here on Crete. This afternoon in Heraklion there were 3ft sets hitting a number of little reef breaks and beachies along the coast. It’s enough to drive a wave deprived surfer mad. Looking forward to hitting the beaches back home in a month or so!

Cheers,

Matt.

Albania... ummm ok!

Well, to our surprise we ended up staying in Albania for 4 days instead of 2! It was just too good to leave. During my time there I went for walk in stifling heat around old goat herders trails in the nearby mountains, which brought me to an isolated Ottoman arch bridge in a secluded little valley. An amazing find considering I had no idea where I was going and there was no-one else in sight for the entire duration of my exploration. The unexpected continued at the dinner table that night when Gary ordered veal brain soup as an entrée and frogs legs for the main course. The brain was absolutely revolting (even the big fella couldn’t finish it) however the frogs legs were a pleasant surprise tasting like a combination of grilled fish and chicken. That night we ran into a couple of old friends who we had met in Greece, who in turn introduced us to a few peace cor. volunteers who were working in Glirokaster in the tourism sector. They told us about their desire to set up a tubing initiative in the nearby river and asked if we would be interested in accompanying them down the river the next morning. Ummm…. Ok!

 

So the next morning at 9.30am we met the boys in a nearby café, picked up the tubes, hailed a taxi and drove 5 minutes down the road (with one of the blokes inflated fluoro banana chairs tied to the roof) to the head of the river where it leaves the local mountains. The river was fairly narrow, however it was fast flowing in places and although being seriously cold, the water was crystal clear and very inviting considering the sweltering Albanian heat. So after a mandatory pre-departure beer we were off, floating peacefully down the river, lined by weeping willows providing shade for numerous herds of goats, sheep and cows, as well as a group of sunbathing girls, who apparently were being watched closely by their boyfriends. We discovered this quickly, as Seth, one of the peace cor. volunteers, asked them in Albanian ‘do you like my boat’, which was apparently frowned upon by their ever-watching male counterparts. As soon as Seth had finished the question two blokes jumped out of the bushes who, yelling with rage, began to pelt stones at the five of us floating by. We were helpless and luckily managed to paddle out of their reach before anyone got hurt. Poor Gary didn’t even know what was going on before there were stones landing within centimetres of him. Funny in hindsight, but rather scary at the time! Further down the river we were again confronted by a group of locals, although this time they were only kids, however there were swarms of them. As soon as they saw these strangers floating down the river (this was the first time anyone had ever navigated this section of the river) they decided it best to all swim out and try to jump on the tubes at the same time. Now this may sound like a kind of nice thing to have happened, trust me, it wasn’t! They jumped all over us, one kid was on my head and would have probably drowned me if the river was any deeper. A group of kids made off with Gary’s tube and he was left to walk down the bank trying to convince them to give it back. Somehow he managed to reef it off them and we were off again. A kilometre or so downstream we encountered a number of rapids, which although leaving a couple of bruises on the backside, were exhilarating none the less. We passed under old suspension bridges, and beneath towering rocky mountains, which seemed to grow as we approached closer to the valley around every bend. By the end of the day, we had travelled almost 20km down the river in a period of over 5 hours. We were all wrecked! We spotted a nearby town, Tepelene, and walked up a nearby embankment and a further few kilometres or so towards a couple of pizzas and well deserved beers. To get back to Gjirokaster we hitched a ride with a local policeman who during the course of our 20 minute ride back broke inumerous road laws, seemingly accepted a bribe off a passing motorist, and almost ran over a group of school children, all while casually offering us some freshly picked figs stored in the drivers compartment. What a day!

 

The next morning we finally left Albania at 5.30 am (after being woken up by the mosque blaring an hour earlier), to embark on a journey that involved 3 busses, a ferry, and a taxi, to Olympia in Southern Greece. Here we have discovered ‘touro central’ where whistles blow all day as apparently ignorant foreigners blatantly climb all over roped-off ruins and appear somehow bemused as to the reason behind their constant attention from officials. Anyway the ruins themselves where thankfully worthwhile seeing and we are spending the rest of the day here relaxing after the hectic days of travel yesterday.

 

Cheers.

 

Matt.

Greece

Yassas!

 

Arriving in Athens and meeting up with Gary at the hostel bar at 1am was great! He was already on his way and I soon followed suit with a complimentary couple of Ouzos and a few more cold Mythos (Greek beers). After a quick catch up chat (3 hours) we headed to bed waking up a little hazy and apparently sharing a room with an extremely attractive couple of French girls. It was a pleasant change waking up to such a beautiful sight as opposed to waking up on a boat with two blokes to the sound of Ben’s fart.  However life has since returned to normal as I have been waking up in remote areas of Greece with no girls in sight and more often than not to the sound of Gary’s fart!

 

We departed Athens early that morning to Delphi, a couple of hours north-west, to stay the night in the scenic mountain town and visit the ancient ruins, which included a 100 metre running track and stadium dating back some 2500 years. Quite a sight. After Delphi we embarked on a frustratingly long and hot day of travel, which included 4 bus changes, to Meteora, the sight of the amazing mountaintop monasteries.  We stayed in a hotel owned by an Aussie ex-pat who was a classic character with next to no social skills resulting in a hilarious exchange that evening where he would ask one question, then interrupt the response to his own question to ask another person at the table a different question! Gary could hardly contain himself!

 

The following morning we walked up to the nearby monasteries past a turtle and a massive brown snake (which Gary almost stepped on). What an amazing sight the monasteries are! They are perched precariously on top of enormous spires of sandstone that creates a landscape like nothing I have seen before. It is a little disappointing to see the amount of tourists arriving in chartered busses, however we managed to steer relatively clear of the hordes choosing to visit the most isolated sights – one of which was a location for the James Bond movie For your eyes only.

 

On a slight tangent, I should mention briefly that during our travels to and around Meteora we met two couples who were at the present time sailing around the world. They both independently explained to me how difficult they had found sailing the Med, as opposed to crossing the Pacific, Atlantic and Indian Oceans. They each told separate stories, which mimicked my experience with the 70 knot winds accompanying the storm on the Isle of Corsica. One had met a couple who out of nowhere were hit by a 90 knot gust which severed their mast in an instant and sent it to the bottom of the sea before they knew what had happened. Another was hit on the side by a rogue wave that completely flipped the boat with the skipper steering in the cockpit! Apparently he was ok but just really shaken. The boat rolled back upright almost instantly with no apparent damage. Goes to show you how misguided the myths are about the sedate Mediterranean.

 

Anyway, back to Greece. After our stay in Meteora we headed up to Metsovo, another picturesque mountain village in NW Greece. It was a remarkable place, relatively untouched by tourism. Snow-capped mountains surrounded us on all sides and we enjoyed simply sitting in the square and watching the countless old men sitting and talking for hours while constantly fondling with their komboloia (worry beads). The following morning we headed off in torrential rain to Ioannina, a university town a few hours away, where we arrived to find it completely flooded. We found a room in a nearby hotel where the owner was mopping up after the lobby was engulfed in over 1 metre of water. To our dissapointment, the pub around the corner was also submerged, but like any good businessman, the owner shuffled us upstairs to enjoy the unbelievably overpriced beer and food. One 250mL Stella sold for 7 Euros! If you wanted to buy beer of a larger volume (for the budget conscious) you could purchase a 3L bottle of Amstel for only 48 Euros! Bargain! At least the food tasted good!

 

Monodendri was our next destination, located in the nearby mountains, where the world’s deepest gorge is located. Vikos Gorge is over 900m deep and only 1km wide. We did two walks while we were there; one along a precarious half-a-metre wide path clinging to the cliff-face with a vertical drop of 800metres, and the other down into the gorge which (although affording spectacular views)

involved the inevitable and exhausting climb 900m back up again! It was worth it though! We had to keep reminding ourselves we were in Greece as the scenery was not something you normally associate with images of the arid Mediterranean country. The gorge was fringed with lush vegetation and the dramatic gorge walls looked like something out of the lost world. Simply stunning! Unfortunately we are unsure whether the photos of our walks have turned out as my camera is broken, and Gary’s, with the help of some poor packing and my notorious clumsiness, was sent flying from his pack off a stone wall to the ground some 10 metres below. It seems ok, besides the cracked screen, so we are living in hope that the images have survived the tumble. 

 

Currently (and randomly) I am writing this post from the balcony of our hotel in Gjirokaster, Albania! We decided on impulse to head up here after Monodendri because we were so close to the border. The decision turned out to be a good one with the crossing being far less eventful and costly than we had expected. That is beside the taxi driver who drove a constant 140km/h in a 40 zone, overtaking trucks around blind corners, and all while Gary, I and a couple of elderly German backpackers clung to the inside of the old Mercades, which conveniently contained no seatbelts (except for the drivers seat of course). Anyway we somehow arrived alive and have since explored the beautiful old Ottoman village and the castle, which towers over the stone houses that cling to the side of the rocky hilltop. We will stay here another night before returning to Greece to make our way south to meet Gary’s parents in Kythera and eventually to Rob’s wedding in Santorini.

 

Cheers (and sorry about the length of this last post!)

 

Matt.