I’d been thinking too far ahead. The pleasure of long-term travel is having to operate one day at a time. On a short trip, like this one, the end is always in sight. So your brain tries to slot places and activities into each of the coming days. It’s trying to allay the fear of missing something, some imagined enjoyment. But it only makes the unimagined enjoyment pass more quickly.
I needed to squash that planning reflex, to mentally reset. The nights were too long to camp again, which meant a hotel. But I didn’t want to plan that. Instead I would ride until I found somewhere I liked enough to stay.
I came down from the mountains to the coast at Pomos. From there I rode out to the Akamas Peninsula, the wildest, westernmost part of Cyprus.
The DR350 doesn’t like to be ridden fast off road—comparatively my WR250R just wants you to lean back a bit, pin it and let the suspension do its work. The more I rode it though, and the rockier and more precarious the tracks got, the more I appreciated its dependable character and (for a dirt bike) comfortable seat.
The nearest town was Polis. I thought I’d look there for accommodation. On the way I stopped in a village to eat. It was the place I didn’t know I’d been hoping for; a slightly ragged but unspoiled collection of buildings assembled on a hill overlooking the coast.
The only tourists were hikers who’d been out exploring the peninsula, ragged also, from the heat. And on the shaded terrace of a café, eating souvlaki and thumbing my phone to find a place to stay, was me: probably the most ragged-looking of all in the village of Neo Chorio.
I was the only guest in the apartments that I found. Cyprus is a quiet place in the off-season. I swam, read, and wandered around the village.
That evening I Googled for similar places. A fishing village called Kato Pyrgos sounded good and I booked a hotel room there. The only remaining uncertainties were the route and what I’d see on it.
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