Week 2
Awoke and got up just before six o’clock. We have a lovely view of the mountains all around. After the morning cuppa we checked the engine again. Nothing apparently wrong. Time for a wash. Stripped to the waist, we were washing in full view of the road when a couple of coaches passed. The passengers were grinning and laughing at the sight – who could blame them? I have not shaved for four days now and as I said, I do not intend to until we have reached Athens. Even so, we are keeping a good standard of cleanliness.
It has just started to rain. Imagine! It has not rained for three months, and then we arrive. It is not so cold and we both spent a very good night. Our next camp should be in Greece.
8am. On the road, Allan driving while I continue with the diary.
The road, although rough is not as bad as yesterday when it almost drove us to the point where we felt like giving up. Of course, we couldn’t. The sun soon came out, and we are able to open the sun roof. We are ascending again now, the engine running fine. We presume that yesterday’s dust – and there was plenty of it – had got into the carb jets. Allan cleared it by using plenty of choke.
We are continually passing fields being ploughed by oxen teams. I was lucky enough to get a photo of one.
The road took us up through the Babuna Pass at a height of 4600 feet. The narrow road is just gravel, ascending by a series of S bends. A very steep and fantastic scenic climb. The descent towards Prilep was much more gradual and less twisting.
We have just passed the 2000 mile mark.
On passing through a small village we nearly hit a chicken which flew up and would have been in the car if the window had been open. We are now through Prilep. The road is much better, and after what we have been through, it seems almost as good as a motorway. We are now pressing on to the Greek border, less than twenty miles away. Unfortunately, the engine problem is still with us. The countryside is now wild, nearly empty of people and cars. A sign loomed up, pointing to Greece. A wrong turning! The sign was pointing the wrong way… But we made it at last. Both frontiers are separated by a strip of no man’s land, perhaps two to three hundred yards wide. The Yugoslav customs were a surly lot. I think we must have been the only car through that day. They were sat out in the shade playing chess, the weather being quite warm by now. With absolute thoroughness they went through everything we had, I found it quite a humiliating experience. I thought at one point they were going to confiscate this diary, and I got a little scared. But eventually we passed the examination. The barrier was lifted and we drove over to the Greek post where the reception was quite different. It was now 12.30 pm. The Greeks seemed genuinely pleased to see us. On checking the passports they saw that I was listed as a musician. They were so interested that when they came to “search” the car, the tourist officer asked if I had a musical instrument with me, which of course I had, my faithful trumpet! I took it out and blew a few bars of “Never on Sunday.” They were highly delighted. The tourist agent then took us into the office where he gave us a few tips on touring Greece, loads of pamphlets and a very good impression despite my scruffy semi-beard. At first, he thought we were students. We were itching to get away but could not abuse his hospitality. Eventually we made it and drove off into his country, leaving Yugoslavia behind for good? Personal impressions of Yugoslavia. Despite being a communist country, the only signs we saw of it were the police, customs and other officials, and the typically communist “road army”. I thoroughly enjoyed our brief sojourn in this varied and interesting country. I shall certainly try to come again; I would like to see the Dalmatian coast and Sarajevo for instance. We didn’t see much in the way of suppression. One has to realise that their way of life is much the same as it has been for centuries – poverty stricken, and I doubt if even Communism will make vast inroads into it for a long time to come. It is my opinion that Communism is in fact, doing some good. New apartment blocks built in a very modern, even daring style are going up everywhere. Prilep, for instance, a town in the middle of nowhere is being made into a beautiful modern city. I liked Yugoslavia and the people very much. But it will take a lot to change them. And oh, the roads! We’re well into Greece now and find that even the poorest roads are excellent when compared to the Yugo ones. It was good, fast tarmac until we got to the mountains when the roads quickly deteriorated. Climbing all the time, second and even first gear work, we would no sooner reach the summit of one hill only to see another, higher “hill” stretched out before us. The highest point was at 9000 feet from where we had good views of Mt. Olympus in the distance. All the way up, the road had been twisting and rough. Precipitous drops where the hills fell away from the road did nothing to enhance our nerves. This must be some of the most barren, wildest countryside on Earth. The only people we saw were lonely shepherds tending their flocks. Occasionally, the way ahead would be blocked by one of these flocks so we simply drove through them – slowly of course! Once we were even stopped by a large herd of goats!
A decade later, or so it seemed, we were on the descent, the road falling away in a series of “S” bends. Stopping at a little town, we made our first purchase in Greece – an apple each!
Coming up the street was a religious procession and I was just about to photograph it when I realised it was a funeral cortege. The coffin was being borne at the front of the *- procession with the lid open to display the face of the deceased. Surprisingly, we saw nothing strange in, this custom. Like the locals, we just accepted it as being part of the Greek tradition. Again driving on a good road, we made good time and came to the town of Ellason where we stopped to refuel. A young man of about our age approached us. He spoke good English. After exchanging a few words he invited us to have coffee with him. We were anxious to reach Larissa by nightfall, but not wishing to offend our host, we accepted. I’m glad we did for it turned out to be yet another interesting and amusing experience. He took us to a café where we sat outside drinking the Greek coffee. It is served in a very small cup, and is so thick it seemed as though the proverbial spoon would stand up in it. It is a custom dating back to the Ottoman Empire when the Turkish rule extended this far.
Over the coffee it was mentioned that we would like to buy a bottle of wine to take with us. Our new-found friend had a few words with the waiter. Immediately, a glass of wine was produced for us to sample. It was good, but we had no bottle to fill. We walked along the street. Our guide dove into another shop to reappear with a huge bottle of wine which stood about three feet high. It was inside an attractive wicker basket, much like Chianti on a giant scale. The cost of the wine was about nine shillings (70¢) but the bottle almost as much so we left it at that. I think everyone is supposed to supply their own bottle.
After that, Nicki, who was an off-duty policeman took us on a tour of the town, calling in various shops enquiring after the price of “vino”.
Finally we found what was suitable for us. A bottle also in a wicker basket. I must say, Nicki could not show us enough. His hospitality was overwhelming. He introduced us to his best friend, a fruitier who filled our pockets with walnuts. The streets and cafés were filled with people although it was dark by now. A sense of happiness and pleased to be living, “happy to meet you” prevailed. I must also add that the owners of every shop we visited came out with a glass of wine to sample which made us rather reluctant to leave. But inevitably we had to after getting one of the finest introductions to the Greeks we could possibly have hoped for.
We drove on to Larissa in the dark on a good road and then began to look for a camp site. It proved easy enough to find. We had just set up the tent when we received a visit from the police who were extremely friendly when they realised who and what we were. We bade them “Kera nikta” – goodnight in Greek, which served to endear us further to them.
At long last we turned in for some supper and bed, excited at the prospect of making our triumphant entry into the fabled city of Athens tomorrow, thus claiming the bet we had made with Graham over two thousand miles ago. Goodnight or if you like, “kera nikta”. (Bloody English snob!)
Speedo reading: 15652. 262 mls. (2108)