Samos - shimmering olive green in the vibrant blue of the Mediteranean.
The day started early with the requisite paperwork for the rented KLR650, and the donning of a ridiculously small helmet. The clerk seemed a bit taken aback at my request, but his composure returned as he watched me wrestle the battered helmet (the last on the shelf) onto my head. The bike itself, a KLR650, was waiting, one of an armada of XT600s and KLRs, bikes as common to the Greek islands as olives and sunshine. After a quick check of brakes and fluids, the otherwise dour and unresponsive clerk suddenly turned to embrace me and, while looking me earnestly in the eyes said "Be careful, its very dangerous...".
Suitably reassured, I engaged the electric boot and was soon blatting up the alley-like road leading up the mountainside out of Pythagorion, a small yet exquisite harbour in the south of Samos. Well, rustling rather than blatting - I was startled by the quietness of the KLR motor in its water jacket, and would have loved to have had my XT600 with its open Sebring pipe to revereberate off the sleepy facades. Still, the power was quite good, being eminently suited to surging past cherry-red tourists in their rented open-tops struggling up the hill.
Once at the summit, there was a long flat stretch with a few dusty curves where I got familiar with the bike before descending the steep decline to Samos City, the capital of the island. On the way down I overtook a military fuel carrier groaning under its own weight - forgetting my rule never to goad military personel in moustache-dominated countries. Enraged, the driver must have flicked the truck out of gear, and rushed down on me in silent fury. Luckily I saw him coming in my rear view mirror and slammed the throttle home, close enough to annihilation to see the sweat glistening on his cheeks.
As I passed through Samos city, the only event worth noting was the XT600 that pulled a wheely beside me and proceeded on one wheel down the whole length of the Esplanade (some kilometers) in solitary majesty.
Soon I was on the curvy road that hugs the northern coastline of Samos, passing through villages and tiny cultivated fields of watermelons, red Coca Cola signs flashing like jewels in the dusty green and khakis of summertime Greece. Small cafes with a single plastic table and two chairs. Rusted wrecks dragged off the road where they died and where left to disintigrate in the remorseless sun. Clusters of houses, the upper stories unfinished in expectation of future prosperity.
My destination was Manolates, a village at the crest of one of the mouintains which plunge into the sea. The road up to Manolates was curvy, but the curves where sharp and the road was bad - being on an unfamiliar bike I took it easy. Judging by the shrines located all the way up, it would seem that the road was at least as dangerous as it looked, and after a few contemplative moments at one of these poignant monuments I continued snaking my way up through the Pine forests which cover the steep slopes of Northern Samos.
Reaching the summit, the fan kicked in, and I pulled over for a rest. Switching off the bike, the heat was tremendous, and the sound of cicadas and whispering pines immediately filled the silence. Sitting on a ledge overlooking the vibrant blue of the Mediteranean, with the trusty KLR ticking contentedly behind my back, rivulets of sweat tracing lines through the dust on my face, I was eminently happy.
Once up at Manolates, I met the rest of the family who had arrived in a hired minibus. After the obligatory sightseeing, a cold beer in a taverna under cool vines and shopping for postcards I finally got the go-ahead to hit the road again, agreeing to meet some hours later in the seaside resort of Kerveli, on the eastern coast of Samos, a stones throw from the coast of Turkey. Here we stopped for a lunch of octopus garnished with a touch of lemon, garlic and olive oil, supplemented with a cold, cold beer taken in a seaside taverna.
After lunch we spent the afternoon playing with the kids in the warm water of the straits, diving for hermite crabs and shells scattered on the shimmering white sands. The water, crystal clear and velvety against our skin made us feel like birds gliding through the air. Back on the beach we compared our finds, enticing the sea urchins to snap after titbits of seaweed, and occasionaly I would glance up at the KLR standing in the shade of an olive tree, and I swear I saw her wag her tail in anticipation.
Flushed by the sun we wandered hand in hand to the taverna for an ice cream and a liter of cold water, and stood under the vines chatting until the burning in our cheeks and noses subsided.
Later we went for a walk through whispering olive groves, turning dusty stones to flush out the chocolate-brown scorpins laying in wait under them. The occasional gust of warm air would rustle the olive trees, turning their leaves from dusty green to grey, bringing a delicious chill to our sweaty skin. With the sun low on the horizon, we wandered back to the parking lot, dazed and sleepy from the sun.
The road from Kerveli is narrow and windy, passing through dense plantations of olives and reeds, before bursting out into clearings affording glimpses of rose-pink mountains reflecting the late sun. The KLR thumped into Paleokastron, where lengthening shadows offered welcome coolness and the chance to buy a new supply of iced water.
From Paleokastron the road rose to meet the main road from Samos to Pythagorion, passing stone-hewn farmhouses nestling among the vines. With the cooling of the evening air, the chirping of cicadas increased, as they emerged from their heat-induced lethargy. Dips in the road held cooler air, and plunging into them was as refreshing as diving into a cold spring.
Approaching Pythagorion, evening-clad tourists made their way to the harbour, where lights where already twinkling along the promenade. Time for a quick trip to an archaological excavation on the outskirts of town, where I watched the sun set through the same arches as had those ancient Greeks before me.
After delivering the KLR back to a dozing clerk, I followed the beach back to the hotel, drowsy from the sun and good food, at peace with the world and my self.
The evening was spent on the terrace, recounting the days adventures over a bottle of ouzo, the kids playing with lizards on the cool stone floor under our table.
Much later we stumbled into our beds, crisp white sheets cool against our tingling skin, while the first rays of the sun stained the skies seashell-pink. As I drifted of to sleep, my last thought was: "Man, I really gotta learn to pull a long, lazy wheelie like that guy on the XT...."
