Nomadic Tales My perception of small countries is that the chances of finding a secluded spot to pitch a tent without being seen are very low. The land tends to be expensive and fully utilized, and I imagined that landowners wouldn’t appreciate tents on property they’ve paid dearly for. I resisted the temptation to try even a single night of wild camping in Switzerland, fearing a hefty fine. However, I did camp in Luxembourg, not one, but two nights. In Kehl, Germany, just across the river from Strasbourg, I managed one night of wild camping, but it was far from comfortable. Two men walking in the distance kept watching me for about half an hour. Despite my green tent blending into the grassy ground with a forested backdrop, and being 400 meters from the road, they appeared suspicious, stepping left and right, perhaps trying to get a better view. Since wild camping is generally frowned upon in Germany, I usually avoid it, but I wanted to try anyway. I had spent a full week near ...
Nomadic Tales
Vatopedi, a small village in northern Greece, is overshadowed in Google searches by the well-known Vatopedi Monastery on Mount Athos. Yet several stories from my trip are tied to this quiet and unassuming village, known perhaps only for its olive groves.
While in Ierissos, I bought olives at the market, which I ate after leaving town. The olives were so good that I was tempted to go back, if it hadn’t been for the tedious climb on a dirt road that I dreaded repeating. So, I kept going, constantly kicking myself for not having bought more.
The next day, about 3 km before Vatopedi, near the gate of a factory, a broad-faced, muscular dog took a liking to me. He came toward me like an arrow, with an almost imperceptible tail wag and a locked gaze. It was an uneasy encounter at first, seeing the dog rear up on two legs to greet me with his front paws, leaving me guessing about his true intentions. But he turned out to be extremely friendly, so much so that he started following me. I liked the idea of having a companion, so I gently braked to descend the hill at a slow pace, not wanting to be too hard on him.
In Vatopedi, I was lured into a roadside olive shop, and that’s when I learned the dog had a strong will of his own. He wouldn’t listen to any commands and followed me right into the shop, refusing to leave.
Not long after, I stopped to camp near a creek. Having swapped my shoes for slippers, I was slowly setting up my tent when I noticed the dog had snatched one of my shoes and was heading toward the water. With the same stubborn attitude, he wouldn’t give it back, and without thinking twice, I grabbed his tail to stop him.
After this mishap and an increasing feeling of unease about having this powerful, unmanageable dog around, I decided I needed to part ways with him. Needless to say, he wouldn’t leave when told, so I had to pack everything up and ride back uphill to the factory. Near the place where we first met, he spotted a dog friend, and while they were busy sniffing each other’s butts, I seized the moment: I turned around and pedaled hard, as if my life depended on it. The dog chased after me with a desperate look on his face, but the gap between us steadily widened. After a few bends, I couldn’t see him anymore, and soon after, I zipped past the olive shop and hid into an olive grove.
Later that evening, inside my tent and still thinking of the olives from Ierissos, I realized I also had a bottle of olive oil from the same vendor. Looking for clues, I took out the bottle and saw the name of the village on the label: Vatopedi. The next day, I went into the village, showing the bottle as a reference and asking around if there was a shop from the same producer. I was told that the farmer handled everything himself and didn’t run a shop, but rather sold at markets in the region. The next market he would attend was in Nikiti and although it was 12 km in the wrong direction, I decided to go.
On the way to Nikiti, I passed in front of the factory with a strange mix of guilt over the abandoned dog and a nagging fear of retaliation for leaving him behind.
Greece, May 2019
Unforgettable Sights & Hidden Gems
Beneath the Surface: Ancient Echoes from Ierissos' Forgotten City of the Dead
Tucked beneath the modern streets of Ierissos lies one of northern Greece’s most remarkable archaeological treasures: the ancient necropolis of Akanthos. This hidden gem, often missed by casual travelers, stretches silently beneath the town, holding the remains and artifacts of centuries past. Excavations have unearthed over 600 graves, dating from the Archaic to the Hellenistic periods, revealing a rich burial culture and offering a glimpse into the lives of the people who once thrived here.
What makes the Ierissos necropolis unforgettable is not just its scale but the intimacy of its findings. Many tombs were adorned with pottery, jewelry, and everyday objects, each a quiet testament to the rituals, beliefs, and craftsmanship of ancient Macedonia. The site reveals many layers of civilization built one atop another. For those with a passion for history and a love for the overlooked, the necropolis of Ierissos is a hauntingly beautiful stop that bridges past and present with understated power.
Roadside Hacks
A broken spoke, especially on a fully loaded touring bike, is a headache you really want to avoid. Why? Because replacing it takes time, it’s messy, and it often happens when you’re least equipped to deal with it. On most stock wheels (which are, frankly, garbage for touring), a single broken spoke can throw the wheel out of true, and it becomes noticeable during fast descents. If you’re using rim brakes, you’ll also need to adjust them to accommodate the added wobble which reduces breaking power.
The first rule of touring: upgrade your wheels. A strong, purpose-built rim designed for heavy loads is essential. On a cheap rim, one missing spoke can create enough lateral flex that the wheel nearly rubs the frame. In contrast, the Ryde Andra 30 I am using stayed remarkably true even with four missing spokes at the same time. It’s always the rear wheel that gives out, since bikes naturally carry more weight at the back. Add panniers and gear, and you’re stacking even more stress onto an already overloaded wheel.
No matter how strong your rim, the first broken spoke is a warning sign. Spokes wear collectively, and when one breaks, it means the rest are likely on the edge. Plus, a missing spoke disrupts the balance of tension in the wheel, placing greater stress on those still intact. The underlying issue comes from how the wheel works: each spoke goes through a cycle of tension and release with every revolution. At the hub, the spoke elbow end gets constantly hammered, eventually weakening the metal. The best solution, though a bit more expensive, is to build with Sapim Strong or similar spokes, their thicker elbows have minimal play in the hub. Another trick is to reinforce spoke crossings by wrapping them with metal wire, reducing flex and distributing stress more evenly.
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