Chalkidiki is a coastal region in northern Greece, near Thessaloniki. It’s shaped like a trident, made up of 3 peninsulas: Kassandra, Sithonia and Mount Athos.
I cycled around the second of these for a short weekend. Here are the highlights of my adventure.
From city to nature
At midday on a Saturday of November, I leave my accommodation in Thessaloniki and get on my bike. Once past the city centre, I find myself on a fast track that reminds me of the Bordeaux ring road. Cars could hit me, so I have to stop and look up a pedestrian route on Google Maps. It takes me through a series of little-used streets.
At the Ktel Chalkidikis bus station, the bus driver tells me that I don’t need to remove my wheel. The friendly man helps me carry my panniers into the hold. The drivers must be more relaxed in November than in the summer months.
One hour later, I get out at Nikiti, a small town in the north of Sithonia. Given that it’s November, it will be dark in less than 3 hours. I hurry up to do some shopping in a supermarket for tonight’s picnic.
On the bus, I read on a French travel blog about a couple’s cycling adventure in Chalkidiki. They did a complete counter-clockwise tour of the middle peninsula. My aim is to do the same thing, but the other way round. If I don’t have time to get to Nikiti before Monday, I’ll finish my journey by bus.
Deserted beaches, gravel tracks and olive trees
Their route follows the coast, avoiding the main road. In the intense sunshine, I discover the treasures of Sithonia: the sandy beaches facing the immense expanse of calm water that forms a folded surface. At the bottom of the sea, I can make out the rocks and, in the distance, the silhouette of the peninsula to the west, Kassandra.
Suddenly, I see a car parked by the side of the small road. I notice someone, probably the driver, sitting on some rocks. This man or woman is alone, motionless, facing the sea. It must be a Greek escaping the hustle and bustle of Thessaloniki for the weekend.
There are several places along the road that could accommodate my tent. However, my aim is to sleep on a beach as, according to my travel guide, the beaches of Sithonia are among the most beautiful in Greece. What’s more, even though camping in the wild is forbidden, there shouldn’t be any risk in bivouacking here.
Just a few dozen metres from the road, the ideal site appears. There’s a sandy beach not far from the houses, in a quiet area. I go down and put on my swimming suit.
As soon as my body enters the cold water, my thoughts evaporate. There’s no sound except that of a fishing boat skirting the coast. After this soothing bath, I warm up on a rock.
Before the sun sets, I pitch my tent at the end of the beach to protect it from the wind. Then, lying inside, I hear a dog barking, coming from a garden. The noise is loud and aggressive. From time to time it stops, then starts up again a few moments later. What do barking dogs mean when there are no humans or animals around?
I fall asleep and wake up 1 hour later. Time for dinner. Tonight it’s cheese, bread and bananas. While I’m eating, I make a call to my family.
This is the first time I’ve slept on a beach.
In the morning, the magnificent colours created by the rising sun are reflected in the sea – a magical setting for breakfast. The sound of water boiling in the stove breaks the silence. I set up camp just as it’s getting light. Perfect timing!
Cycling in the morning in the great outdoors is just great. I ride as close as possible to the coast, on a dirt track. When it stops, I have to get back to the main road. At this point, the road starts to climb and then descend.
Groups of 2 or 3 men are moving around olive trees. I notice a tarpaulin spread around the tree. One of the workers is removing the fruit with a long-handled tool. In this country, an olive tree always seems to be in sight, no matter where you are.
Then the path taken by the couple of cyclists reappears. I’m delighted to be getting closer to the sea. The little sandy beaches are deserted and windswept. On one of them, there’s a stationary van and a surfboard lying next to it. The vehicle has German plates and the surfboard is in fact a stand-up paddle. Given the height of the waves, it makes sense.
The atmosphere is one of freedom. It seems possible to sleep wherever you want, on any beach, and to enjoy the nature that man has allowed to express itself.
The path taken by the cycling couple on Komoot is hard to find. In the middle of olive groves, after looking for a passage through the dense vegetation, I turn around to get back on the main road.
A sleepy peninsula
On Torone seafront, I decide to take a break in an open café. The village is in hibernation: ‘It’s not good at the moment, it’s very quiet’, complains the manager.
2 km further on, I reach Porto Koufo, a village protected by a magnificent bay. There’s a fish restaurant that my guide recommends, but the manager tells me it’s been closed for the winter since yesterday. The joyful man recommends another place a little further down the bay. There’s no-one there and the chairs are piled up. Never mind, lunch will come later.
With my eyes on Komoot, I take a dirt track that winds its way through the rolling countryside. The authors of this blog took it to Cape Sithonia, at the tip of the peninsula. They even stopped there for several days, on a beach with a magnificent view.
On the gravel track, I stop and have to push my bike by hand. I like the Mediterranean vegetation around me: shrubs, olive trees and pine trees. However, the presence of small pieces of plastic rubbish hurts my eyes. It’s not the first time in Greece that I’ve seen packaging in nature. It puzzles and irritates me.
After making progress without seeing the coast, I decide to turn back. It would take me too long to continue and I’d arrive in Sarti, the village where I want to sleep tonight, after sunset. One advantage of cycling in Chalkidiki in summer: you can ride for longer. On the other hand, in July and August, the heat must be unbearable.
I’ll be taking an early bus to Nikiti tomorrow morning, to work remotely in a café.
After lunch, I hurry back down the slope in the opposite direction. The route then switches to a gravel track.
It climbs steeply: I have to get off and push my bike. I catch my breath, then push on my legs, leaning forward. With its 2 panniers attached to the luggage rack, the bike reminds me of an overloaded mule. I take a break to regain my strength, keeping my hands on the handlebars and my fingers on the brakes to prevent the bike from rolling down the slope.
After repeating this operation several times, I can see the end of the climb. It leads to a road for cars, which climbs in a straight line. A camper van passes me. The driver must feel confortable while looking at me.
Suddenly, I see the beautiful Mount Athos. There’s no mistaking it. It stands at the very end of the strip of land in the distance. The fact that this peninsula is the Greek Orthodox Church’s holiest site gives it importance. What’s more, when I think that it’s forbidden to go there except by boat and that the place has hardly changed for centuries, I think that this is a mysterious site. What’s going on there?
The winding road climbs and then descends through lush, dry countryside.
My mobile phone is almost out of battery, but Google Maps indicates that several places are open in the next village, Kalamitsi. There, I walk along the windswept beach in search of a café or restaurant. They’re all closed. It looks like about ten people live here. 2 inhabitants tell me that there’s a café open in the next village, if I understand them correctly.
Back on the main road, I notice some colourful wooden signs advertising a beach bar. They lead me to a side road. It’s hard to tell if the bar is open, but it’s worth a try. The landscape changes: lush green vegetation is replaced by dirt and rock. It’s like being in the desert, in a Sergio Leone film.
On a descent, I come across a group of dogs lying in the middle of the road. As soon as they see me, they bark and run towards me. I turn round and push down on my thighs. One of them chases me and then stops a few metres further on. This sudden fright dissuades me from continuing on the road to the supposed bar.
I finally reach the village on the coast, Paralia, where there must be an open place. But on the avenue that runs alongside the beach, everything is closed. The waves and the wind break the silence and, from time to time, a car passes by. These ghost towns make for a sad journey.
I’m worried about my battery and my almost empty water bottles. I set off to explore the little town. There’s a path leading to some guest houses where someone might be able to help me. Suddenly, I see a water tap in a garden, then a plug on one of the mobile homes. Brilliant!
There are shoes on the doormat. They’re probably tourists who want to make the most of the low season. I knock on the door: no answer. After plugging in my mobile phone, I go for a walk on the beach. Once my battery was half-charged and my water bottles full, I set off again, skirting the main street to avoid another group of dogs. By 4pm, I’m in Sarti, on the east coast of Sithonia, having driven about 80 km since yesterday.
Room with a view on Mount Athos
At the entrance to the village, young people are playing football on a synthetic pitch. Shortly afterwards, the beach comes into view. The waves are bigger than in other places because the site is less sheltered from the wind.
I dine on a bench on the seafront, where all the beach bars are closed. Their sheltered terraces offer protection from the wind. It’s better to sleep here than on the sand. In any case, there’s little risk of being disturbed by the locals.
Once I’ve pitched my tent on one of the terraces, next to a low stone wall, I lie down. There are lights in the street behind the seafront. I can hear men talking and shouting. They must be watching a football match on the TV in a restaurant. I’ve chosen a location close to the only lively place in town!
In these conditions, a move is necessary. The best place to stay is by the water, at the end of the beach: the sound of the waves and the light of the stars are preferable to the sounds of the locals and the public lighting. A few rocks protect my home. Inside, I’m not cold, but the tent rattles in the gusts of wind.
5.40am: my alarm goes off. As I step outside, I see the orange and red sky that forms a sublime backdrop to Mount Athos. Their colours are reflected in the sea, whose foam rises to my feet. After having breakfast in front of this spectacle, I pitch my tent and fix my panniers on my bike. The bus will be passing soon.
What I’ve seen of the peninsula is enough to make me want to go back, taking more time to enjoy the beaches and rolling countryside. One of the reasons is that nature is not overrun by buildings.
Have you ever been to Sithonia? Tell me in the comments what you thought of it!
