One time I bought myself a fridge magnet. Such a small, plaster, pressed with the stamp – a traditional souvenir from holiday travels. There are no sea, no windmills or a Greek donkey on it. There is Socrates and his most famous formula: “I know that I know nothing.”

For the first time I saw it on the road from Litochoro to the Stavros Refuge: Glistrokoumaria – Greek Strawberry Tree. Branches fancifully twisted, color difficult to determine, and above all this skin (because it is not bark) – smooth as velvet, covered as if with a soft fluff, once a little greener, more often turning into pink, red and burgundy.

It is May 2015. The archaeological site of Nestor’s Palace in the southwestern Peloponnese, 15 km from the modern town of Pylos on the shores of the Gulf of Navarino.

It was in the middle of hot summer, the peak of the holiday season. I stood in front of the Archaeological Museum of Heraklion in Crete, among the crowd of tourists. I was delighted by amazing sun of July, the lush nature on the square around and the aesthetic madness of the interior of King Minos’s palace that was about to follow soon.

Five weeks of cycling. 1,435 km and over 17,000 meters of elevation. In a sports or tourist sense, it’s not a feat; however, it was not about records, but about being on the road and enjoying the other world.