The Greek ship that took us to Piraeus, Athens’ harbour, was set up quite a bit more Spartan than her Turkish colleague. No bunks here, let alone cabins, only baguettes available from the crew at exorbitant prices. Fortunately I had brought bread with me and the sea was quiet enough to sleep on the deck. We cut through the cornflower-blue Mediterranean with a snow-white collar until we arrived in Athens’ harbour.

I took the tram to Athens, where, in spite of my hurry, I could not refrain from visiting the Acropolis. By the evening all hostels bulged with rucksack tourists, so I chose sanctuary on the flank of a hill facing the Acropolis. I nestled professionally between some shrubs and meanwhile, very gently and almost festively, it started to snow.

Very early the next morning, I took the tram to the north side of the city, stuck a thumb in the air and was gone within 5 minutes, just short rides, very lively, again and again, all within minutes.
A farmer halted in a very old truck, speaking only a few words of German. After a few kilometres he stopped at a little roadside taverna and treated me to a squid sandwich. After another few kilometres he stopped at his house and served me nettle soup and wine from a big yellow jerrycan. Just when I started getting the feeling that my culinary treat was the result of our joint National Product, Greek hospitality and Johan Cruijff, he pointed at faraway mountains and cried out: ‘Thalassa’. Apparently he wanted to show me the sea and the wine felt like that as well. From the motorway we went into a bumpy road that turned out to be over 10 kilometres long.

‘Thalassa’ was breathtaking and again cornflower-blue, but then the truth came out: on an adjacent field a lot of cleared young trees had been collected and he wanted as many as possible loaded on the truck. Naturally I offered to help and after a few hours the job was finished. Back on the road, waving farewell and onwards, ever onwards, hitchhiking.

To be continued: 'Très non-stop'