I pedalled out of Marianthi’s compound beneath gloomy skies, rain threatening to tumble down at any moment. As an early riser, I headed off before she was up — but we had already wished each other all the very best the night before, parting on kind and hopeful terms.
The 10 km ride into Volos left me soaked through, but the apartment waiting for me felt like pure luxury. Their welcome gift? A bottle of ouzo and a bottle of orange juice — both of which, two nights later, are still sitting unopened. One day!
Volos really is a beautiful part of Greece — stunning shoreline, dreamy sunsets, the kind of views that make you stop mid-stride. But as lovely as the city was, a long stay with Marianthi simply wasn’t meant to be. Her daughter is returning from the USA in December for the birth of her baby and will be staying for three months. I genuinely hope she’ll be able to help support Marianthi during that time — she’ll need the extra hands.
With a week of rain looming, I decided my cycling chapter in Volos had reached its natural end. I’d already bought my bus ticket to Athens for Friday. Just outside the bus station sat an elderly gentleman with a cup, quietly collecting donations. I decided right then that he would be the one to receive my bicycle — helmet, cover, accessories and all — so he could sell it.
But when I arrived for the bus, drenched all over again, he wasn’t there. So I spoke to the staff at the supermarket where he usually sat, and the ticket man at the train station — who knew him well. I locked my bike at the station, left word that it was for him, and trusted that it would find its way to him. What will be, will be.
The journey to Athens was a tapestry of coastal cliffs, mountains brushing the sky, and the occasional forgotten ruin still waiting for its comeback — the perfect backdrop for closing one chapter and rolling gently into the next.
