Day seven: Greece is the word

Leaving Veliko Tarnovo was rather more stressful than arriving as Sally blotted her copybook by sending us down some frankly undrive-ably steep streets. Kate sent clouds of smoke into the air as she burnt out the clutch trying to reverse back up one of them. Luckily, however, leaving Bulgaria was even easier than entering - and slightly comical as we handed our passports through a small window to the Bulgarian official, who handed them to the Greek official, who handed them back to us through his own small window. And then we all gave a whoop as we finally drove into Greece!

Heading to breakfast

Spending the last of our Bulgarian lev in a random road-side mini-market

It wasn't far to our campsite, which boasted a distinctly petrochemical odour as fumes wafted down from an adjacent plant. We arrived just after the leader/guide of a convoy of French campervans on their way to Turkey, and he helpfully directed us to a nice pitch. Kate then drove into town to pick up some provisions (and an impromptu Greek lesson) while I took the girls for a swim in the Aegean (they swam, I watched).

We then picnicked beside the tent, before Kate and I endured a distinctly uncomfortable night on our slowly deflating air mattress, which had been pierced by a large acacia thorn lurking beneath the tent.

We're at the beach!

Look inviting?

Dining al fresco