Day 91 - August 11th: Saint Nick

Krini to Mesi: 30.9 miles / 2,622 total

We were back in the mountains last night, staying in a centuries-old stone house owned by two women. After so many days of looking up at ridgelines and thinking no one lives there, it’s striking to actually go up and find hidden villages—pockets of life tucked into folds of the mountain, invisible from the roads below. We drove through one of these tree-hidden hamlets to a restaurant with the peaks behind us and had a simple meal of salad, an appetizer, and meat.

Back at the house, a Greek couple staying there joined us on the porch. They looked fresh from the beach, but instead had spent the day at a river with waterfalls and deep pools. “The Sea is shallow—200 meters out and only to your knees, and hot water!” they said. Maybe that’s why the beaches had been quiet on a sweltering day.

Our Turkey plan is now locked. It’s 150 km to a gas station on the highway, 9.6 km from the border. The plan is three days of 50 km each. On the fourth morning, Christina will drop me at that station and I’ll run the same Egnatia Odos highway I used yesterday—technically closed to pedestrians but with a wide shoulder. I’ll stay on the with-traffic side so Christina can follow in a taxi with hazards on as we approach the border, and we’ll see if I can talk my way through. Once in Turkey, Ipsala is only 11 km away, our last night together before she heads to Istanbul by bus and I set out on my final 255.7 km to finish at Çankurtaran, facing Asia across the Bosphorus.

The owners had left yogurt, juice, coffee, bread, butter, and eggs for me, so we were out the door at 6:25 and I was running by 6:45. The route east along Route 2 kept the mountain range on my left until I crossed the river the locals had raved about.

My legs felt heavy early on, but by 18 km the day got interesting. Google wanted me back on Route 2, but a turn took me onto a farm road—and straight to a gate with unfriendly dogs. Backtracking, I found a narrow irrigation path between towering corn and overgrown plants drawing water from a surface pipe. Four hundred meters later, I popped into livestock barracks—the same farm I’d been blocked from earlier. I spotted one of the dogs heading away, so I kept the buildings between us and aimed for the farm road I needed. A farmer spotted me and motioned me back. His younger colleague spoke a little English and confirmed the problem: fences. He then fetched an e-scooter, led me to an overgrown trail, and pointed the way. A handshake later, I was over the fence and back on course.

The quiet farm roads of this huge agricultural valley were a welcome change from the traffic of recent days. But under the midday sun, with no shade and no towns in sight, I ran out of water. To conserve what little I had, I walked instead of ran. By 27 km, I was worried—until Christina appeared in a plume of dust, bottles of cold sports drink and water in hand. She had tracked me on Find My iPhone and got there just in time.

Rehydrated, I pressed on. At 33 km, a gas station offered ice cream, Coke, and more water. Sitting out front, I met Dimitrios, a ship painter who travels Europe working on yachts. We chatted briefly, then I was back on Route 2.

The road carried me into Nestos National Park, where Lake Vistonida opened on my left and the Echinos Mountains rose beyond. To my right, the Thracian Sea stretched into the haze. In Lagos, a beautiful Greek Orthodox church stood between me and the water.

Then farther out, another church seemed to float on the lake, linked only by a narrow wooden footbridge.

This was the Monastery of Saint Nicholas, built on two small islets and connected to the shore by a causeway. A metochi—or satellite—of the Vatopedi Monastery on Mount Athos, it replaced older chapels whose ruins and 19th-century icons were found nearby. Local tradition says Saint Nicholas himself appeared here, declaring he would serve as the patron of the site, protecting sailors and fishermen on this stretch of the Thracian coast.

Beside it stands the small Chapel of Panagia Pantanassa (“Holy Mother of All”), built only in the early 2000s but already a pilgrimage site thanks to its miracle-working icon brought from Mount Athos. It draws Orthodox faithful and even visitors of other religions who come to pray for healing.

This spot was once part of Poroi, a Byzantine-era coastal settlement active from the 10th century, tied into the trade network between Constantinople and Thessaloniki. It served as both a fishing base and a waypoint for goods from inland Thrace.

The causeway ran long and exposed, heat bouncing off the surface. Out of water again, I called Tina, and fifteen minutes later she was there.

Rehydrated, I pushed through the last 5 km to finish the day—messy, but on plan.

Thanks for the support.

Cheers,

David.