I’ve just spent two nights in Trikala — proudly known as the Christmas Capital of Greece — and honestly, the festive spirit here could power its own national grid. Just around the corner from my apartment, an entire Christmas Wonderland was being constructed for the grand opening on the 21st of November. Apparently, thousands of people flood into town for it… which explains the elves, lights, and general festive chaos.
Getting to Trikala was half the fun. The bus ride served up jaw-dropping views of Meteora’s rock formations — the kind that make you forget you’re squashed into a seat with your backpack as a pillow.
Trikala itself was lovely. I even tried my very first Greek coffee… and will absolutely not be trying my second. It’s so strong, couldn’t do it the kidneys and liver. You have to wait for the sludge to sink before sipping, which feels like drinking from a tiny caffeinated swamp. And here’s something odd I keep noticing in Greece: sugar is never included. You have to ask for it separately, and then you’ll either get sachets or a small plastic pot with exactly two teaspoons inside — while at the same time restaurants hand you unopened bottles of water for free. Cost-cutting? Cultural quirk? Mystery for the ages.
My morning started with yet another flat front tyre. The local bike repair guy examined my brand new tube, shook his head, and showed me the culprit: “Made in China.” He then sold me a German tube for half the price. Even the tubes here are having an identity crisis.
He also advised me not to cycle to Larisa because the road is dangerous for cyclists. So off to the bus station I went — which turned into its own little adventure. The bus stopped at every village along the way, including one with a huge population of African migrants. Turns out Koutsochero has a free refugee camp where people from several countries stay, some temporarily, some while looking for work or a place to settle in Greece or elsewhere in Europe. It was a snapshot of a very different side of Greece.
I’m in Larisa for one more night before cycling the 60–70 km to Marianthi’s. I’m thinking of booking a hotel nearby so I can roll in fresh on Thursday instead of arriving like a sweaty, smelling and tired.
Onward to the next adventure!
