Thasos without a car

We arrived on Thasos in the Northeastern Agean islands on 28 August (my birthday!) and took a bus to our Airbnb in Limenas, a town on the north coast. To celebrate (my birthday, not our arrival), we booked a table at Karnagio Beach Bar, and washed down the sunset views with a cocktail.

Despite the strength of the cocktails, we still managed a sunrise swim the next day. The beach was completely empty, and it was as if the waves hadn’t even woken up yet. Honestly, I’ve never seen a calmer sea in my life.

Being up this early also meant that we got to see some lovely glimpses of local life, like this lady picking figs from a tree on the seafront using an extremely long pole.

I went off to pick up some breakfast after the swim, and spent so long trying to find the coffee in the local supermarket (there was a secret upstairs), that I completely forgot to buy any yoghurt – the one thing Sara had requested for breakfast. I confessed to Sara when I arrived back, while she inspected the milk I’d just bought with a confused look her face. The plot twist was that the milk turned out to be yoghurt after all (it was all in Greek), and I was off the hook. Sara claims that this perfectly sums up what what it’s like to be married to me in a single anecdote.

With the relaxing part of our trip to Thasos over, we embarked on two excursions around the island over the following two days. Crucially, both trips would be completed without a car, which made the whole experience a little trickier than it might otherwise have been.

Excursion 1: Day trip to Alyki

Alyki is a tiny village on the south-east coast of Thasos, about 31 km from Limenas, or 1.5 hours (!) by bus. The bus journey passed without much remark, including sailing past Alyki without even a peep from the driver. It took a panicked shout from Sara to send me to the front of the bus to check with the driver. He let us off straight away, and we began the hot uphill road walk back to Alyki. I’m not sure how it’s possible to walk uphill to a beach, but we seemed to manage it. The atmosphere was tense and no photos were taken.

Sandwiched between two beaches, Alyki would have been the perfect place to relax. But we were on a mission, and after a necessary snack break, we set off to explore the peninsula beyond. This peninsular was interesting not just because it contained the ruins of an ancient basilica, but also for its disused marble quarry, which was in use as early as the 7th century BC! We’d shortly learn that Thasos sat on a huge amount of marble, which is why the rock everywhere is so white. The views weren’t bad either.

Finally, some relaxation was on the cards, and we spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach. We set up shop in a quiet spot on the rocks at the end of the beach, and enjoyed swimming in the beautifully clear water, turned turquoise when the sun caught the white marble beneath the surface.

At least, this would have been relaxing had there been more than one bus back to Limenas that afternoon. But you have to play the hand you’re dealt, so we started worrying about missing the bus a good few hours before it was due to depart, and were waiting at the bus stop no less than 30 minutes ahead of schedule. The 30 minutes came and went, and no bus arrived. Sara hassled the drivers of every likely-looking vehicle in a 500m radius, just in case they were the public bus back Limenas. A mere 20 minutes late, and 50 minutes after we took up position in the full afternoon sunshine, the bus arrived and took us back home. To be honest, the bus home was the first time we actually relaxed the whole day.

Excursion 2: Hike to Marble Beach

Buoyed by the previous day’s success, I planned a second excursion to Marble Beach, which just so happens to lie at the bottom of a working quarry. The beach formed as a result of the dust produced from the marble extraction, and is now popular for its white sand and pebble beach.

Our route started with the 7.30am bus to Panagia, the island’s oldest town, set just inland and in the moutains. We enjoyed exploring the whitewashed town in the morning light, just as its residents started to emerge.

Our hike then began with an uphill road walk up to the Church Of St Panteleminos, where we left the main road and followed graffiti signs (scrawled on huge slabs of marble, of course) along an increasingly steep and dusty road down through the working quarry towards the coast.

While most of the passing traffic were happy beach goers, the odd marble truck would trundle past leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Although the views were absolutely epic, this was a little sketchier than I’d anticipated, and we definitely should have accepted the offer of a lift from a kind passing driver.

Passing cars for scale

The quarry and hairpin turns finally gave way to Porto Vathy, better known as Marble Beach. Here, the majority of the beach was covered with perfectly white pebbles, with a small amount of slightly more golden sand on its fringes. Somehow, we managed to secure a spot in a (briefly) private sandy cove, before cooling off in the sea.

Despite the huge amount of noise generated by the quarry, we couldn’t hear a thing once we’d got to the beach. However, the crane, which I’m guessing was used to load ships in the past, was still a very visual reminder of the quarry.

Without wanting the retrace our steps and the 364m of elevation through the quarry, we’d planned to walk back to Limenas along the coast route. All I knew at this point was that Google hadn’t street viewed it, and our guide book discouraged driving this road to reach Marble Beach. Sadly, many people hadn’t read our guide book, so we had to share the dirt track with the odd vehicle that again kicked up a pile of dust. Still, it was very pleasant (and relatively flat) in the gaps between cars.

We took a short detour from the dust road via an even smaller track, which thankfully wasn’t used at all by pretty much anything. This route took us past an old watch tower whose height was now dwarfed by the trees in front of it, and a colourful line of (what we guessed were) bee hives. Sara rejected my offer of 5 Euros to open the lid of one of them, so we’ll never know for sure.

To give you an idea of quite how dusty the passing cars were (and, by extension, how dusty we were too) – some entrepreneur had opened up a car wash where the track eventually met the tarmac again. We seriously considered using it too.

At length, we arrived back in Limenas after covering a total of 13.5 km on foot, and immediately fell into a convenient Souvlaki joint. We ordered 1 litre of water and 1 litre of beer as soon as we could attract the server’s attention. He didn’t seem particularly surprised at this request, though our appearance might have offered some explanation. We then proceeded to demolish the feast we’d ordered out of pure hunger-greed, and spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping off our full bellies with our quest for adventure satisfied.


In summary, although Thasos is possible to explore without a car, it’s certainly not easy. I’d hoped that staying in the island’s largest town would mean that public transport would make up for our lack of private vehicle, but almost by definition, the buses made it pretty hard to get off the beaten track. We’d considered hiring bicycles until we’d actually laid eyes on the island, and 5 minutes into our first bus ride it became pretty clear that cycling was certainly not for the faint hearted.

Bring on the electric car revolution.

Limenas town beach

Walking the mountains of Meteora

We arrived in Kalambaka via two trains from Athens; one fast and comfortable, and the other fast and rattly. That evening, we went out for a late dinner at the creatively named Restaurant Meteora, and I had possibly my favourite ever slow cooked lamb dish. The sort of dish where the meat is so succulent that it just falls off the bone, almost as if it had been placed on top of the bone for presentation purposes.

There had been thunder rolling around the valley all afternoon and we’d even received an extreme weather warning on our phones from the Greek government, so I was fully expecting this visit to Meteora to be a complete wash out. Still, Sara wasn’t giving up that easily and set an alarm so that we could reassess the situation in the morning. I couldn’t quite believe it when Sara, while looking out the window, informed me that it was still raining, but not nearly enough to stay in bed and that I had to get up. Begrudgingly, I packed a bag full of snacks, and we rushed to catch the first bus up the mountain. The views over the mountains of Meteora, topped by precariously perched monasteries, were spectacular even from the bus window. It was already clear that this was not an opportunity to pass up for fear of a bit of rain.

Without much of a planned itinerary (other than a vague idea that we would do as much as possible under our own steam), we hopped off the bus at the Great Meteoron Monastery, the largest of the six mountaintop monasteries. A queue was already forming on the steep steps up to the entrance, so we opted to start our excursion with a hike to the neighbouring Monastery of Varlaam, which required a steep descent and ascent along footpaths between trees.

This monastery had an incredible terrace, with views good enough to make me momentarily consider life as a monk.

Inside the first room of the monastery was a giant, room-sized wine barrel, which unsurprisingly appealed to Sara. Maybe we could both find a home in the mountains of Meteora.

Although today the monastery can be accessed on foot, right up until the 1930s monks had to be lifted via a winch, rope, hook and net. Apparently, when asked how often the ropes were replaced, the monks replied “when the Lord lets them break.”

A pulley system is still in use to bring supplies to the monastery, but the manual rope system has been replaced by a steel cable and petrol motor

Our hike continued on to a convent via another steep descent and ascent, and the stunning views continued as well.

This convent was much smaller and less extravagant than the first monastery we visited, but that was probably much to do with the fact it was even more precariously perched on the rock. The nuns tended to their immaculate garden and produced honey and other goodies that were available for purchase.

The route to our final monastery of the day was a combination of footpaths and road walking, passing a couple of breathtaking viewpoints.

We were flagging by this point, so paused on a hidden ledge just beneath one rocky viewpoint to recharge and enjoy one of the best snack-views of our lives.

The last stop on our improvised route was the Monastery of Agias Triados, and fortunately we learned that it was closed before hiking the ridiculously high set of steps up to its entrance. Now, I realise that you’re never going to believe me, but we genuinely had no idea that this monastery was also a filming location for yet another Bond film. Slightly less glamorous than Italy, this spot was graced with Roger Moore pretending to scale the cliff face in For Your Eyes Only. The pace of the sequence doesn’t quite match that of the Daniel Craig era, so I’d recommend watching the clip on double speed to get the gist.

We couldn’t find much information online about hiking the Meteora mountains, so I’ve done my best to draw out our 5-6 hour itinerary on the map below. The bus route is shown in blue and the hiking route in black, though beware: the walking route included a lot of steps and zigzags that aren’t captured on the map. We’re big fans of the Footpath mobile app, which reliably plots footpaths that are often missing from Google Maps.

The Acropolis and apocalyptic rain in Athens

The Acropolis is totally unmissable in Athens. All roads seemingly lead to it, and it looms over the city by day and glows through the darkness at night. As well as seeing it up close, we also ascended a couple of hills on opposite sides of the city to enjoy the view from all angles, despite what the weather threw at us.

Golden hour at the Acropolis

We chose to visit the Acropolis site itself at 6.30pm, shortly before sunset (and the site closing). We’d heard that it gets very busy in the middle of the day, so this seemed to avoid both the crowds and an early start for us; win-win! We entered the site from the quieter south-eastern entrance and made a bee-line for the Parthenon, heading up past the Theatre of Dionysus, the Temple of Asclepios, and finally arriving at the plateau via the impressive Propylaea entry way. By this point, the sun was already low enough in the sky to cast a beautiful golden glow across each of the temple ruins.

We spent a good half hour exploring both the Parthenon (below) and Erechtheion (above). I also managed to snap one of our finest selfies to date. By that, I mean a rare selfie that survived Sara’s regular culls of any photos that contain her.

Biblical rain and sunset on Philopappos Hill

The next day, we’d planned to take a sunset stroll up Philopappos Hill, a mound just to the south-west of the Acropolis that we’d read had great views over the city. The one issue with this plan was the weather, as there were thunderstorms forecast throughout the afternoon. We’d made it as far as the very calm and semi-pedestrianised Iraklidon street when the heavens opened, so we took shelter in the nearest bar, and waited for it all to blow over. And it wasn’t long before the chalkboard outside the bar literally did blow over and was carried away by the torrent of water flowing down the street.

A few drinks later and the rain had started to clear, so we headed off towards the park. Halfway up the hill we came across a rather large church bell, and Sara (with the help of some dutch courage) tested it out. Surprisingly, the bell was incredibly loud, so Sara did the honourable thing and did a runner. Apologies to the people of Athens who set their watch by these bells.

Eventually, we made it to the top of Philopappos Hill and found a viewpoint overlooking the Acropolis. This time, we waited the sun to actually set and the lights to come on before moving on to dinner. The deluge earlier in the afternoon seemed to have scared off anyone with any sense, leaving us alone to enjoy the views. The remaining clouds even added some atmosphere to the evening sky. It was pretty magical.

Rain and shine at Lycabettus Hill

For our final Acropolis view we travelled to Lycabettus Hill, the highest point in Central Athens. We climbed up a handful of stairs through a quiet neighbourhood north-east of the Acropolis to reach the funicular railway’s lower station. Just after purchasing our ticket but before the train departed, an ominous rumble of thunder rolled across the city. We exchanged a glance and wondered whether this was a good idea at all, but our typical we’ve-come-this-far determination encouraged us to hop on the train shortly before it departed.

To our surprise, the funicular railway travelled underground all the way to the hill’s summit, some 277m above sea level. We emerged from the upper station into a torrential downpour, and while the other passengers made a run for the cafe, we joined a sweet little cat sheltering under a tree. Although heavy, the downpour didn’t last long, and the sun was shining again across the city before we knew it.

Unlike most other people who took the funicular, we were far too cheap to buy a return ticket so planned to walk down. And actually, this was even more enjoyable than the view from the church at the top – we passed huge cacti and every turn in the path focused the view on a different part of the city in a new light, keeping us entertained as we descended.


In addition to the many Acropolis viewings, we did our best to make the most of our time in a big city once again – more on this in Part II.