The dog days aren’t over

7-15th May 2026

Crossing into Greece wasn’t quite what I expected. Firstly, we were head to toe in waterproofs. Secondly, the border was deserted to the extent that both passport control and customs stopped to have a chat with us. And finally – if we’d followed our plan we wouldn’t be crossing into Greece until much later.

We decided to reroute via the Greek coast when we were contending with the drivers in Croatia. Originally we intended to cut across further north via Bulgaria, but had been persuaded to look elsewhere based on what we read online about the driving there. Our experience of the drivers in Greece has been a positive one, however we soon unearthed a new challenge: dogs.

The landscape felt like we’d been transported back to the alps. We cycled between some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows I have ever seen, the roads lined with poppies and cornflowers. Behind these on both sides were mountain ridges, their peaks still dusted in snow. We were slightly alarmed to see signs warning of bears crossing at regular intervals. Luckily the bears did not let their presence known – the dogs however did. We saw sheep dogs sprinting majestically and effortlessly in the distance, always with an eye on their herd of sheep or goats. We heard many dogs before we saw them. They seemed to get a kick from barking behind a fence, like online trolls lurking in the safety of a web browser. This was beautifully demonstrated when an aggressive looking dog on the road side caught sight of us, bolted under a fence and only then start barking at us from behind its protection.

Our first Greek campsite was a free municiple campsite, which can only really be described as not too bad for a free municiple campsite. It appeared to run by a motly crew of two dogs – a big blonde shaggy one who had no concept of personal space and a shyer black and tan one who I suspect would love nothing better than to cuddle into you on the sofa, blissfully unaware of his vast size. They were a lovely pair and were quite happy to let us camp there for free after their initial demands for food, and later the washing up cloth, failed.

The next day was the most miserable day of the trip so far. It started with a lot of rain. So much rain that we kept on cycling for far longer than we would usually before giving up on finding a dry resting spot and taking shelter under a tree to have second breakfast (a daily meal on all our bike trips). After more rain we managed to find a rather fancy churchyard pagoda to have lunch in, and although the day was undeniably pretty shit, so far I didn’t feel too bad. Then, we started what looked like a small climb after lunch.

The road quickly became sandy, and before I knew it was nothing but mud. Suddenly my bike juddered to a halt, all the moving parts so clogged with mud that it was effort just to push. I became so audibly miserable it started to genuinely piss Ben off, who had been nothing but pure encouragement through the whole soggy affair.

Once we’d regained the tarmac and removed as much mud as possible from my bike, we were chased by a small pack of dogs. If there is one thing the internet seems to agree on it is to not attempt to outrun chasing dogs, but this is what Ben did, and then encouraged me to do after I let out a sound that neither of us knew I was capable of making. Thanks to a slight downhill and a lack of interest from the dogs, we escaped with nothing harmed other than my dignity, but the cumulative effect of the rain, the mud and the dogs left me in a very sorry state.

There will be a time where a shit, rainy day does not end in the perfect campsite, but it was not that day. It wasn’t a campsite in the conventional sense but the garden of a family’s holiday home which was primarily set up for camper vans. It had an extensive covered outdoor kitchen dining area and the owner gave us exclusive use of what at that moment felt like the best shower room known to man. We were welcomed by a fellow camper walking across Greece carrying a staff and sleeping in a hammock, and who was quite possibly a wizzard. He was staying a while to wait out the storm and we decided to follow suit.

For the first time on the trip we had not one but two rest days. We used the first primarily to strategise on how to deal with the seemingly ever larger free roaming dogs. There seemed to be an exponential number of archeological sites and museums in the surrounding area, and we used the second day to see absolutely none of them. We didn’t leave the campsite all day, and it was glorious.

For some reason or other we decided the best approach from here was to get to Istanbul as quickly as possible. Most of the first day after our break was spent passing Thessaloniki on the motorway, the outlines of mountains barely visible on the hazy horizon. While not the ideal road for cycling, it was smooth, relatively flat and the truck drivers gave us Germanic levels of space when over taking. We made surprisingly good time until we diverted onto a picturesque gravel path through wildflower meadows which were flourishing to the extent that they completely took over the path for several kilometers. We boast an impressive number of grass related allergies between us, and so this was quite a gruelling experience as the pollen set any exposed skin ablaze.

Our destination for the day was another municipal campsite with its obligatory two dogs welcoming us in. I say campsite, but this felt distinctly like a local park with a public toilet despite the Google description stating otherwise. Children looked on intrigued as we pitched our tent, locals drank at picnic tables, motorbikes revved their engines, and we considered whether we should move on elsewhere. We decided we were far too tired, and the next morning we awoke early to mist. As we opened the tent we played a game of log or dog. It was a log and we had breakfast in peace.

The next campsite was 128km away, which we decided was far too far, and booked ourselves into a hotel a mere 123km away, which Ben successfully argued was far more reasonable. Cycling there along the Greek coast was everything Croatia could have been. We had a rather generous hard shoulder, and very little traffic as it was all taking the motorway slightly closer in land. We got to the hotel just in time to escape a hail storm, and the next day were sent on our way by the hotel owner laden with pastries after one of the largest breakfasts I have ever consumed.

After a long, steady climb back to the coast we reached Kavala. The town is a maze of short sharp hills, and my navigating it on a bike seemed to test the drivers’ patience. From there our route took us back in land before returning to the coast once more across a remote area of beautiful wetlands. There was substantial evidence that our campsite for the night was closed; whilst the website suggested it might be open, google stated it was temporarily closed, with a recent review reporting that they were still preparing to open for the season. We decided to go there anyway.

When we arrived the owner quickly confirmed they were indeed closed. There wasn’t anything for miles, let alone another campsite and I was fully prepared to start crying to see if it would aid our chances of blagging our way into the campsite. This was not needed however, as Ben promptly persuaded the owner to let us stay, letting us use the staff toilet as all the facilities were still closed, and pitch our tent under an awning as rain was forecast. We set up our camp not a minute too soon as a storm passed over, bringing with it a plague of insects which we told ourselves weren’t mosquitoes. We dived into our tent until we reluctantly accepted that we should probably wash and cook dinner.

The next day brought plenty of opportunities to rehearse our response to dogs. Learning how to cycle in areas with free roaming dogs has been a bit of a marker that we are moving away from our comfort zone and into somewhere less familiar. At times, usually when I’m tired and, let’s face it, hangry, I have found it very easy to feel a little too nostalgic about the most mundane things about our life back home. However it’s also reassuring to see how quickly the unfamiliar becomes more familiar. Our dog days are by no means over – but we are learning to live with them (and get off our bikes very promptly when we identify a dog who likes to chase).

After passing through a small town with a higher than average dog population, and at one point being rather feebly rescued from a rather elderly looking dog that I’m pretty sure our rescuer described as a granny, we approached a mud track. I soon had flashbacks to our rainy day earlier that week as our bikes once more became clogged with mud. We then turned a corner to see the “road” went directly through a fast moving river.

We briefly considered the ford before reluctantly decided to back track through the town, past the dogs and sheepishly avoiding the woman who’d helped us evade their barks. This added a fair few kilometres to our day, and our spirits were fairly low when we bumped into two sets of couples cycle touring, both heading for the same city as us. Up until this point we’d stopped to chat with the few cyclists passing in the opposite direction, so it was a novelty to be able to cycle into Alexandroupolis with the second couple who were on their way to Istanbul from Berlin, trauma bonding over the experience of cycling in Croatia.

We left for the border the following day completely unprepared. During our rest days, I’d completely run out of steam after the logistical challenge of plotting campsites (or lack there of) along our route through Greece, and just stopped there. On our final night in Greece we chose beers with the other cyclists over planning. The next morning we hastily purchased data packages for Türkiye, double checked whether we should have applied for a visa (thankfully no) and had a somewhat heated debate about the route we’d take to Istanbul without conclusion. The approach to the border was the most surreal yet, which was perhaps compounded by our general weariness. After several hours along the shoulder of a highway, we saw kilometers of stationary lorries ahead of us. We skipped to the front of the queue and somehow navigated through the rather disordered Greek border checks, and continued on the only route forward we could see. Suddenly, the road was deserted of the lorries and general chaos that had accompanied the border to this point. Apprehensively, we cycled away from Greece, and towards a bridge flanked by motionless, and rather youthful, armed guards.