Hotel Hamburg, the first time that I’ve slept in a room since Greece. Lovely. But at Hotel Hamburg, they don’t speak German. I myself speak about eight words of Serbian, and the waiter’s knowledge of English is roughly equivalent. Communication as a challenge, a creative act. But we manage. And when, after several failed attempts, I order “hot bread”, I finally get my toast.

One more thing on Greece: the picture from the post “Sustenance along the E75” below naturally represents a complete contrast to my mental image of Greek living. But of course, it is an aspect of reality. So I also got to know a Greece that’s completely different.

In the restaurants, they bask in the pure joy of serving guests something good. It’s not just about business, there; it’s also about … joy. Yesterday, for example, the waiter brought me a menu but ended up not even placing it on my table. “It’s customary here that…” is how he started. And when I left the place later on, I was commensurately happy.

And then there was that supermarket. Sitia, the end of the world in my flat-Earth model, where I took the nourishment picture: the pistachios, a quintessentially Greek product, are from California, and the walnuts are from Germany. I didn’t dare take a look to see where the olives came from. Slowly but surely, the necessity of the Europastrasse becomes clear after having passed through Sitia.

Initial statement at the Macedonian border

So now I’ve arrived in the next country through which the E75 passes. And once again, it’s history-steeped ground I’m crossing. I think the different translations on this sign are interesting.

Did Alexander the Great actually use the E75? In his context, at any rate, “Macedonia” means the historical region. Alongside present-day Macedonia, this also included northern Greece and parts of Bulgaria, as well as a very small part of Albania. It’s gradually becoming clear to me just why the “Macedonia” trademark is so valuable. Historical Macedonia is the place from which the spread of Hellenic culture got underway. Alexander the Great had good roads available to him.

Yesterday, by the way, I also took another leap through time when I arrived in the Central European Time Zone, leaving the Eastern European one behind. So viewed this way, we’re in Central Europe. Further temporal leaps lie up ahead!

The end of the world, somewhere along the Europastrasse. It would seem that the E75 has a great number of ends! Viewed in terms of geometry, that’s no small feat for a line—which is, after all, what every road amounts to. But here I’m talking about the end of the world: “Catena Mundi.” At least, that’s what the Romans Continue reading →

Idomeni, a landscape that’s idyllic but not particularly humane. (The white dot on this picture’s right side, halfway between top and bottom, is the refugee camp.)

“Information” is as information does.

A short ways before the Macedonian border, I decide to stop for gas. To me, no matter what, a border means embarking on yet another journey into the unknown. And I’m fond of being well organized when I do so. Here, the E75 epitomizes my idea of the classic Balkan highway: straight as an arrow as far as the eye can see, with two lanes, wide shoulders, and a double solid line in the center—whatever the exact meaning of that might be.

The gas station’s easy to make out from afar, but you can hardly see it at all once you’re up close. The whole area is completely covered by refugee tents. So I plough my way through this little tent-village, and between 1,500 and 2,000 people (about half the population of the place I come from) keep me company while I fill up.

I decide to stick around a bit. And in the evening, I go out with some volunteer helpers. Suddenly, one of them puts a set of keys on the table.

It’s the house keys of a Syrian who gave it to him with the words: “Here, they’re for you—I don’t need them anymore.”

It’s time to say goodbye to the sea—to this sea, anyway. I’m looking forward to the next one.