Italy Bound – Falling in Love with Calabria, Then Fighting Its Roads
Day 21 to Day 23 – From Village Life to the Edge of Sicily
05.06.26 – 07.06.26
There are places you visit.
And then there are places that quietly sneak into your heart when you’re not paying attention.
Santa Sofia d’Epiro did exactly that.
The original plan had been simple.
Stay two nights.
Rest.
Continue south.
Easy.
Instead I somehow found myself considering a fourth night, discussing local village politics over Aperol Spritz, being greeted by strangers who knew my name, and seriously debating whether attending an Orthodox church service might be a brilliant idea.
Or a terrible one.
Hard to tell.
The funny thing about long motorcycle trips is that eventually you stop travelling according to maps.
The best places are rarely the famous ones.
They’re the places where you unexpectedly become part of daily life.
And Santa Sofia had become exactly that.
But sooner or later the road always calls.
And there were still mountains waiting.
Lots of mountains.
And unfortunately, lots of potholes too.
Day 21 – Santa Sofia d’Epiro
05.06.26
I did it.
I completely broke my own rule.
Again.
Instead of leaving after two nights, I stayed another day.
At this point my “never stay longer than two nights” policy had become more of a friendly suggestion than an actual rule.
But honestly?
How could I leave?
The village was lovely.
The people were lovely.
The host at B&B Sofia was lovely.
And most importantly, I was comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
The day itself was wonderfully uneventful.
Which is exactly what I needed.
No riding.
No navigation.
No dodging potholes.
No wondering whether that suspicious gravel patch would become today’s adventure.
Just relaxation.
The Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing
People often imagine motorcycle travel as a constant action movie.
Twisty roads.
Epic mountain passes.
Dramatic weather.
Heroic photographs.
Reality is often much simpler.
Sometimes motorcycle travel means editing photos for three hours.
Writing blog entries.
Taking naps.
Drinking coffee.
Then taking another nap.
Honestly, after several weeks on the road, I had become surprisingly good at professional-level relaxing.
The Italian breakfast appeared as usual.
Sweet.
Very sweet.
Cake pretending to be breakfast.
Coffee pretending to be fuel.
By now I had accepted that southern Italy and savoury breakfasts would never become friends.
Lunch That Could Feed a Small Army
Then came lunch.
Now this wasn’t just lunch.
This was one of those meals where Italian hospitality becomes slightly dangerous.
The kind where somebody asks:
“Would you like some food?”
And suddenly your table disappears beneath enough dishes to cater a wedding.
Homemade pasta.
Fish.
Meat.
Sausages.
Salad.
Fresh tomatoes.
And of course everything generously enhanced by the famous olive oil of Calabria.
Now Calabria takes olive oil very seriously.
And for good reason.
The region produces some of Italy’s finest olive oils thanks to its warm climate, fertile hills and centuries-old olive groves.
You taste it immediately.
Smooth.
Rich.
Slightly peppery.
The kind of olive oil that makes you question every supermarket bottle you’ve ever bought.
After that lunch there was only one logical activity left.
Sleep.
Again.
Honestly I suspect half of Italy’s success comes from understanding the importance of naps after large meals.
Aperitivo and Calories
Later that evening I met Michael and Liv for an aperitif.
One drink turned into several conversations.
Several conversations turned into a walk.
And suddenly we were heading towards the opening of a new restaurant.
The walk sounded harmless.
Until you realise that Italian villages are often built according to a simple principle:
Downhill first.
Uphill later.
The first fifteen minutes were easy.
Gravity did most of the work.
Returning however…
Let’s just say my motorcycle boots suddenly became hiking boots.
Still.
The exercise was necessary.
Because the restaurant opening turned into another food festival.
Local specialities.
Traditional dishes.
Desserts.
More desserts.
And somehow every person present seemed determined to ensure nobody left hungry.
Fortunately the uphill walk home at least burned a few calories.
Or that’s what I told myself.
Dangerous Thoughts
By the time I reached my room, a dangerous idea had formed.
Maybe stay another day.
Again.
The plan was already perfect.
Morning:
Relax.
Coffee.
Maybe wine.
Afternoon:
Sleep.
Evening:
Walk.
Dinner.
Possibly church.
Apparently there would be an Orthodox service.
Given the Albanian roots of the village, it promised to be something completely different from what I knew.
Interesting.
Tempting.
The only question was whether the room would still be available.
And whether I could resist becoming a permanent resident.
Day 22 – Santa Sofia d’Epiro to Mongiana
06.06.26
Before leaving, I need to say something.
Actually several things.
Because Calabria has a reputation problem.
People know Tuscany.
People know the Amalfi Coast.
People know the Dolomites.
Calabria?
Often forgotten.
And honestly that’s a mistake.
A Love Letter to Calabria
No.
The mountains here aren’t as spectacular as the Dolomites.
No dramatic vertical cliffs.
No famous mountain passes.
No postcard-perfect peaks.
And no.
It isn’t polished and glamorous like Tuscany.
There are fewer fancy wine resorts.
Fewer luxury hotels.
Fewer influencers photographing their breakfast.
What I found instead was something much better.
Friendly people.
Exceptionally friendly people.
Tiny villages.
Fantastic roads.
Great food.
Good wine.
Peace and quiet.
A relaxed atmosphere completely detached from mass tourism.
And then there are the smells.
That sounds strange.
But Calabria smells wonderful.
Flowers.
Pine forests.
Warm earth.
Olive trees.
Sometimes riding through these forests felt like travelling through a giant perfume factory.
Except completely natural.
Looking back, coming down here was absolutely worth it.
Maybe one of the best decisions of the trip.
Goodbye Santa Sofia
Breakfast.
Coffee.
Tea.
Cake.
The usual routine.
Then came an amusing discussion with the host.
I wanted to pay for the homemade lunch from the previous day.
She absolutely refused.
I insisted.
She refused harder.
Eventually she won.
That’s Italian hospitality.
At 8:30 am I finally rolled away.
And immediately found myself back on beautiful mountain roads.
The great advantage of staying in mountain villages is obvious.
You don’t need to travel anywhere to find good riding.
The fun starts directly outside the front door.
Calabria’s Greatest Hits
Today’s route became a collection of Calabria’s finest roads.
SS660.
SS177.
SS108.
And eventually the magnificent Parco Nazionale della Sila.
The Sila National Park is one of the largest protected areas in southern Italy.
Huge forests.
Rolling highlands.
Mountain lakes.
Wildlife.
And endless roads.
Roads seemingly designed specifically for motorcycles.
Even though it was Saturday, traffic remained almost non-existent.
No tourist convoys.
No camper vans.
No buses.
Just roads.
Glorious roads.
Honestly there isn’t much to say about a riding day that is ninety-nine percent perfect.
It simply worked.
Corner after corner.
Forest after forest.
Village after village.
Motorcycling doesn’t get much better.
The Search for Food
Ironically the biggest challenge of the day wasn’t road conditions.
It wasn’t navigation.
It wasn’t weather.
It was finding food.
The villages were almost too quiet.
Bars closed.
Restaurants closed.
Shops closed.
Apparently everyone had collectively agreed not to work.
After several failed attempts I gave up.
Forget lunch.
Espresso doppio macchiato instead.
A perfectly reasonable substitute.
At least according to Italian logic.
Why Mongiana Won
Originally I planned to stay in Serra San Bruno.
A charming little town known for the historic Certosa di Serra San Bruno monastery.
The town itself looked pleasant.
But somehow nothing felt right.
Accommodation seemed unwelcoming.
Doors closed.
No atmosphere.
No obvious choice.
So I continued.
And that turned out to be the correct decision.
Because Mongiana was waiting.
Tiny mountain village.
Friendly locals.
Comfortable room.
Safe parking.
Excellent food.
Exactly what I needed.
Sometimes riding a few extra kilometres makes all the difference.
And let’s not forget the sports bar opposite the church.
Because they sold surprisingly good ice cream.
Important travel information.
Possibly the most important information of the day.
265 kilometres.
A brilliant riding day.
And further proof that choosing mountains over coast was absolutely the right decision.
Day 23 – Mongiana to Gambarie
07.06.26
The day started promisingly.
Excellent coffee.
Delicious marble cake.
Comfortable temperatures.
Good mood.
What could possibly go wrong?
The answer arrived immediately after leaving Mongiana.
Road conditions.
Welcome to Pothole Hell
Imagine riding through cool mountain air.
Dense forests.
Morning sunlight filtering through the trees.
Shadows and bright patches constantly alternating.
Beautiful, right?
Now add potholes.
Large potholes.
Small potholes.
Hidden potholes.
Potholes disguised as shadows.
Then sprinkle gravel everywhere.
Add random patches of sand.
And occasionally remove parts of the tarmac entirely.
Welcome to today’s ride.
Every corner became an examination.
Every shadow potentially dangerous.
Too much speed?
Crash.
Too little attention?
Damaged wheel.
Too much confidence?
Very expensive mistake.
At first I assumed this would be temporary.
Five kilometres maybe.
Ten at most.
Nope.
The bad road conditions continued almost the entire day.
Even inside the magnificent Aspromonte National Park.
The Great Italian Mystery
One question kept repeating inside my helmet.
How exactly do you attract tourists with roads like this?
Seriously.
Some of these roads were terrible.
And yet the scenery around them was fantastic.
Beautiful mountains.
Flower-covered hillsides.
Friendly villages.
Wonderful viewpoints.
Nature doing everything possible to attract visitors.
Then the road department arrives and says:
“Let’s make this interesting.”
Honestly it sometimes felt like Italy preferred tourists flying directly to beaches rather than exploring inland.
Because if road quality were better, these mountain regions would be flooded with motorcyclists.
Maybe that’s actually the secret.
Keep the roads challenging.
Keep the tourists away.
Preserve paradise.
Who knows.
Beauty Despite Everything
The frustrating thing was that the landscape remained gorgeous.
Blooming flowers.
Forests.
Mountain villages.
Friendly people waving from cafés.
Every ingredient for a perfect riding day was present.
Except decent tarmac.
Today’s total distance was only 166 kilometres.
Normally that’s a relaxed morning ride.
Today it felt like double that.
Because 120 kilometres required full concentration.
Every minute.
Every corner.
Every bump.
By afternoon I was genuinely exhausted.
A Panino Saves the Day
My original plan had been ambitious.
Reach Villa San Giovanni.
Stand opposite Sicily.
Prepare for the next stage.
Instead I reached Gambarie and simply stopped.
Enough.
No motivation whatsoever to descend another thirty kilometres towards the coast.
Especially not if the road quality continued.
Besides.
Gambarie was pleasant.
Cooler.
Quieter.
And significantly more relaxing.
Then came the highlight of the afternoon.
A panino.
Ham.
Cheese.
Olives.
Simple.
Delicious.
Now maybe it was genuinely fantastic.
Or maybe I was just hungry enough to eat the motorcycle seat.
Hard to say.
Either way it tasted brilliant.
Rethinking the Plan
Sitting there with my panino, looking at the mountains, I started reconsidering things.
The original plan involved even more mountain roads.
Further north.
More twists.
More adventure.
Now?
Maybe not.
Perhaps coastal roads.
Perhaps highways.
Perhaps a slightly easier approach.
Because even the most enthusiastic motorcyclist eventually reaches a point where potholes stop being entertaining.
Tomorrow might become a reconnaissance mission.
Maybe ride down towards the final destination.
Then return to the mountains.
Maybe continue via the SS183 towards the Adriatic side later.
Who knows.
That’s the beauty of travelling without fixed plans.
You adapt.
You improvise.
You survive.
And sometimes you discover that the most memorable parts of a journey aren’t the perfect roads.
They’re the imperfect ones.
Even if they occasionally try to destroy your suspension.
One thing was certain though.
Calabria had impressed me.
The people.
The food.
The villages.
The atmosphere.
Maybe not always the roads.
But definitely everything else.
And tomorrow?
Well mate, tomorrow is another adventure.
#dustysocks
