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Greece
Greece
When the gods freeze
Josef Seitz actually wanted to escape the winter in Germany, wanted to soak up some Greek wine and sun in November on the Peloponnese – but sometimes it snows in the homeland of the gods too
Josef Seitz
11/20/1996
From the dream of a warm November vacation in Greece. There is snow on the bare mountain tops above the port city of Patras – and I wanted to escape the dingy weather in Germany and ride my motorcycle to my heart’s content for a few more days in the mild climate of southern Europe. Disappointed, I dig my way through the dense traffic of the port city, follow a winding road that first winds through a hilly landscape and then after a few kilometers up into the mountains of the Panachaiko and Erimanthos Mountains. The cold that slowly creeps under my clothes intensifies an uneasy feeling when I pass through the small town of Kalavrita on my way to Klitoria: In December 1943, over 1200 residents were brutally murdered here by soldiers of the German Wehrmacht, when I arrived the next morning When I open the roll of luggage at the hotel in Klitoria, I finally bury my last hope of escaping the Central European winter here: A thick layer of ice shines on the seat of the Honda. But the cold also has its good. The hoarfrost enchants the barren landscape almost mystically and the light of the first rays of the sun is refracted a thousandfold in the crystals. An old man trotting along the road on a donkey suddenly stops next to me and watches me scrape the ice off the Honda. Then he starts talking, but I only understand one word: “Spilia” – which means cave. I nod and he indicates that it’s only three miles to a cave. Then he says hello and rides on. The lake cave of Kastria, which was only discovered by chance in 1964, is nothing spectacular, but still worth seeing – at least if the weather outside does not cooperate. Through a small entrance I get into a winding, steeply rising corridor, in which thirteen step-like basins have been formed over the millennia, through which the water rushes. Long dripping stalactites hang from the ceiling, casting bizarre shadows on the rock walls in the weak light. Outside again, I drive through a snowy winter landscape, past the Ladonos reservoir to Trópea. Then the road winds along the edge of a deep gorge, and finally I turn into a side valley towards Dimitsana. But I’m making slow progress, and in places ice is shining on the road – not something for two wheels that are eager for curves. But the view of the snow-capped mountain peaks is simply fantastic. The asphalt suddenly ends behind Palouba. A wide runway made of red-brown earth takes its place. In summer, the route would be safe to drive on, but now, after the last snow and rainfalls, the surface is as slippery as soft soap. The travel average drops to zero, and it is already dark night and already very cold again when I arrive at Olympia, the place where the Olympic Games first took place 2772 years ago. The small town is a perfect tourist center, but only The lights are still on in a tiny shop. The owner is working overtime and waves me in as I peek curiously through the glass door. The amphora he’s just painting looks like it came straight from a museum. His technique, he reveals, is the same as two thousand years ago in antiquity. After the form has been fired, the clay is painted several times with yellow ocher paint, after which the actual background is applied. On these he draws ornaments and figures from Greek mythology with an enviable steady hand and without any template. About two weeks of manual work went into such a piece, he explains. The next morning I walk through the extensive archaeological site of ancient Olympia. A huge field of rubble made of wall remains and stumps of columns only gives a vague idea of the former dimensions of the sanctuary. If it hadn’t been for a severe earthquake around 1400 years ago, this part of the Peloponnese had not struck, the facilities and temples could still be standing today. Only the foundation walls of the temple of Zeus, who, according to tradition, was the founder of the games can now be seen. 78 columns – each ten meters high – once supported the large gable triangles that can now be seen in the Olympic Museum outside the site. With the Olympic spirit on my neck and the flashes of Zeus in V2, I drive a bit along the coast. A long sandy coast stretches behind a wide strip of olive trees, and a warm wind blows from the sea – as if it had saved the summer. But at the moment the beach is not very attractive. Dark clouds hang almost down to the waves, the water looks dirty and cloudy, the campsites and small pubs are closed. Only a few dogs rummage through the garbage that was carelessly thrown in the sand. An almost bleak mood. I turn back inland. A few kilometers behind Figalia, just below one of the highest mountain peaks in the area, one of the most beautiful and best-preserved structures of antiquity is hidden under a huge tent roof: the Temple of Apollo by Vasses. The high columns are connected to each other at the top by steel pipes, but not because otherwise they would collapse by themselves, as I initially suspected, but so that everything does not collapse in the event of an earthquake. After all, it wasn’t until 1986 that the last severe earthquake shook the island, and later I rush through a beautiful hilly landscape past Andritsena and all the way to Karitena. The small medieval town seems to stick to a steep mountain flank of the Alfíos and is overlooked by a massive castle, the portrait of which is adorned with 5000 drachma notes. According to the travel guide, there should actually be a hotel in this place. Instead, I only discover private quarters where an old couple has only a small guest room. After a while I sit with Christos and his wife in front of the fireplace in the kitchen. They put stuffed grape leaves and a good, home-made wine on the table. Then the landlord proudly talks about Theodor Kolokotronis, a famous freedom fighter who was born here and who liberated Greece from the almost 400-year rule of the Turks. The next morning, hazy weather depresses my mood. The route down to Megalopolis, however, reconciles with endless curves. Behind Tripoli the road climbs back up to a height of over a thousand meters, but the surface is damp and greasy, and the thermometer is almost zero degrees. I drive slowly through the Arcadian highlands, a barren region in which only thorny undergrowth seems to grow. So Sparta seems all the more surprising. The endless orange groves, where the ripe fruits shine, appear like a fertile island in a stony ocean. A few hours later I swap the Honda for a place in a small wooden boat. To the south of Areópolis are the Dirou caves, and a trip on the underground river that runs through the vast labyrinth of caves makes the cloudy weather almost forgotten. I glide silently through the fairytale world in this imposing stalactite cave. The passage is sometimes so low that I have to duck my head. Suddenly the cave expands to form a huge vault in which the most bizarre stone formations soar rise and bear such imaginative names as “coat of Poseidon” or “palm forest”. With every kilometer that I am on the Mani peninsula – the southwesternmost “finger” of the Peloponnese – move back, the landscape becomes barren, barren, deserted. Only the elderly still live in the few villages whose houses look like small fortresses or fortresses. There has been no real work for a long time. Only the olive harvest determines everyday life in winter. Everywhere under the trees there are large nets or plastic tarpaulins in which the falling oil fruits are caught. An old man with a long gray picture-book beard is sitting in a tree and is hitting the branches with a stick to speed up the harvest. Finally, he drags several bulging bags to the side of the road, where they will be picked up later, and disappears into a small kafenion, where the minimum age seems to be just under 75. It is even more lonely in Porto Kagio on the southern tip of the peninsula. There are only a few houses in the small bay, most of them have been abandoned. Olive trees no longer even grow on the stony ground. Still a place where I could stand for a while. I find a small room and the landlady invites me to eat here too, there are the inevitable stuffed grape leaves and she pours a strong aniseed schnapps. The next day I rush back along the coast and then turn off towards Gythion. The warm wind from the sea is simply good for you after the icy temperatures of the last few days. Little of the power of winter can be felt on the coast at the moment. The port city of Gythion seems deserted. Only a few men are now sitting in the coffeehouses in the late afternoon, a few fishermen are putting the nets in order on their boats. Very few people can make a living from fishing today, because since dynamite fishing became fashionable, the stocks have continuously declined. With this unconventional fishing method, the underwater detonations not only kill the fish that are ready for the grill, but also their fry. No wonder that most young people have gone to the larger cities to look for a job and only return to Gythion in the high season in summer. The road that leads from Gythion north to Náfplion winds its way through almost 2000 Meter-high Parnon Mountains, after a passage through dark fir forests, leads up to the Elonis Monastery, whose masonry is more reminiscent of a fortress than a religious site. In the past, many monasteries were actually refuges and offered the residents of the surrounding mountain villages protection from attacks. Next to the road, which now winds back down to the sea, the Dafnón river, which is mostly dry in summer, has eaten its way deep into the multicolored rock. A few curves further on then Leonídi, an old, tranquil town with large stone houses that nestles like a natural gate on the foothills of the Párnon Mountains. Until a few years ago this place could only be reached from the sea via the port of Pláka, four kilometers away. I continue north along the coast. To my left a bitter mountain landscape, to the right the bright blue waters of the Argolic Gulf, magical rocky bays, white sandy beaches – and no one far and wide. I’m thrilled even though the weather is too cold to jump into the water. Only 30 kilometers east of Náfplion do I allow myself a longer break. The famous theater of Epidauris is considered to be one of the best preserved buildings of antiquity and impresses with its sheer size alone: the 55 semicircular rows of seats made of white limestone can accommodate up to 14,000 visitors. But the acoustic conditions are even more impressive than the dimensions, because even in the uppermost seats the slightest whisper or rustling of paper can still be heard from the circular stage deep down. It is already late afternoon when I cross the narrow land connection with the Africa Twin drive the Methana peninsula. It smells like rotten eggs: sulfur fumes that come from many sources from the interior of the earth. The peninsula is of volcanic origin, and in the northwest of the island you can still admire the impressive remains of the last eruption of the 417 meter high volcano Kaimeni Chóra. Although the sun has almost disappeared behind the mountains, I don’t feel like getting a room Looking for. I drive further south, past the island of Poros, which is only a few hundred meters from the mainland. This part of the Peloponnese is hardly visited by tourists even in summer – despite the wonderful sandy beaches. After a few kilometers I discover a real box seat in a small bay to end this day: the sea rushes in front of me, above it the evening sun transforms the sky into a fiery red spectacle, with a bottle of wine, fresh bread, a piece of goat cheese and a couple of olives. This is how I had imagined winter in Greece.
Info
A trip across the Peloponnese is worthwhile in every season. Although it can get very cold in winter, the country can be experienced undisturbed outside of the high season.
Arrival: The quickest way to Greece is via Innsbruck and Bologna on the toll motorway to Ancona. Ferries to Patras leave from there all year round. The currently fastest ferry line is called Superfast Ferries, which takes around 20 hours to Patras. A bed in a four-bed interior cabin with toilet and shower costs between 170 and 240 marks, depending on the travel time. The motorcycle costs between 60 and 74 marks. If the return ticket is booked at the same time, there are significant discounts, although the exact return day can be left open. Other ferries leave from Venice, Bari and Brindisi. Travel time: The most pleasant months to travel to the Peloponnese are March and April and autumn, when the summer heat has subsided somewhat. A motorcycle trip in November can be a cool undertaking in the higher regions and requires appropriate clothing. Where to stay: Hotels in Greece are subject to a classification (A to E and luxury). As a rule, the respective prices are posted in the reception, but at the latest in the room. Away from the coast there are only hotels in the larger towns in the Peloponnese. In the vicinity of the well-known archaeological sites of Olympia, Epidaurus, Mycenae or Old Corinth, however, there is no shortage of rooms of all price ranges. There are simple accommodations or private rooms in almost every village and in the off-season for between 20 and 30 marks. The campsites along the beaches are closed throughout the winter. Wild camping is prohibited in Greece. Worth seeing: A trip across the Peloponnese is also a trip through antiquity. Of the archaeological sites, those of Olympia and Epidaurus are the most interesting. The entrance fees are between seven and ten marks. South of Areópoli, directly on the coast, is the entrance to the Dirou Cave, through which an underground river flows. A boat tour through the narrow, about 1200 meters long, tubular stalactite cave takes 20 minutes and is one of the most fascinating cave tours ever. Money: If you travel to Greece, you should exchange most of your money in the country, as the exchange rate is up to ten percent cheaper than in Germany. Most banks can now withdraw cash from ATMs using an EC card regardless of opening hours. (maximum 45,000 drachmas plus five marks fee). Literature: The selection of travel guides about Greece is now almost unmanageable. Some works deal exclusively with the Peloponnese. A lot of information and practical tips are in the 515-page travel guide “Peloponnes” from Michael Muller-Verlag for 36.80 marks. The handy “Peloponnes” guide from Marco Polo for 12.80 marks is practical for motorcyclists. If you want to find out more about the ancient excavation sites and the history of the country, we recommend the Du Mont art travel guide about the Peloponnese for 44 marks. A good map for a tour across the Peloponnese is the Euro regional map for Greece, 1: 300,000, from RV Verlag for DM 14.80. Distance covered 1700 kilometers, time required two weeks
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