Niki Greek Border Station, Greece

After months of dreaming, mapping, wrenching, and prepping, the Vagabond Couple finally rolled out of their cozy little home in Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia, with Shehzadi, our trusty Toyota Tundra, growling eagerly under them. The sky was that perfect Georgian blue, the crisp morning air tinged with the scent of pine and the promise of the unknown. We were heading west — toward Europe, toward Africa, toward everything (MAP). This was more than a road trip; this was a transcontinental Silk Road pilgrimage on four wheels, continuing our Silk Road expedition into Turkmenistan.

We jumped on the E70, the famed European route that hugs the Black Sea like a loyal companion. The landscape quickly shifted from Tbilisi’s urban sprawl to rolling hills and lush countryside. Soon enough, the blue vastness of the Black Sea flashed into view, and just like that, we were gliding along the coast toward Batumi.

Crossing Batumi was like slipping into a fever dream. Glittering skyscrapers stood awkwardly beside Ottoman-era homes and Soviet-style blocks. The sea sparkled beside palm-lined boulevards, and street musicians added a Balkan flair to the coastal breeze. As we neared the Sarpi-Sarp (Hopa) border with Turkey,  the mountains crept closer to the sea, and Georgia gave us a wistful farewell in the form of dramatic cliffs and crashing waves.

The Turkish border crossing at Hopa-Sarpi Border was smooth, even welcoming. Smiles, stamps, and a few polite inspections later, we were in Türkiye. A familiar country, a language we have heard before, but the same sea, the same sky, and in our Shehzadi this time. We drove into Arhavi, Türkiye by late afternoon.

Kaçkar Mountains at Arhavi, Türkiye

Arhavi felt like stepping into a dreamscape cradled between the Kaçkar Mountains and the Black Sea. Snow-capped peaks towered in the distance — Mount Kaçkar being the grandest of them all — and lush tea plantations draped over hillsides like green velvet.

Shehzadi (the Vagabond Couple's Toyota Tundra) at Arhavi, Türkiye

The town itself was a mosaic of Ottoman bridges, wooden chalets, and the rhythmic hum of life centered around tea, fishing, and music. Locals were warm and curious. We shared dinner at a little family-run lokanta, feasting on hamsi (anchovies) and freshly baked pide, as waves crashed in the background.

Lighthouse of Arhavi, Türkiye

The Arhavi Lighthouse winked at us from a distance, standing sentinel over the old Black Sea port, guiding ships and wayfarers like us since times forgotten.

The next morning, the E70/D010 coastal highway unfurled like a ribbon of dreams. We passed through Rize — the heart of Turkish tea country — where endless green terraces met the deep blue sea. We couldn’t resist stopping for a cup of çay in a clifftop café, watching cargo ships glide by like lazy whales. The road wound through tunnels and cliffs, kissing the shoreline and weaving between fishing villages.

View of Samsun Harbor from our hotel room (Türkiye)

By dusk, we rolled into Samsun, Türkiye — a vibrant city stretched out along the curve of the coast. Historically known as Amisos in ancient Greek times, Samsun has seen everyone from Hittites to Romans to the Seljuks pass through.

Sunset at Samsun Harbor, Türkiye

But Samsun is most famous in modern Turkish memory as the city where Atatürk landed in 1919 to launch the Turkish War of Independence. The city buzzes with energy — cafés, universities, bustling markets — and still proudly preserves its heritage with statues, museums, and Ottoman architecture.

Sunrise at Samsun Harbor, Türkiye

We found ourselves strolling along the Atatürk Boulevard after dinner, the sea breeze mingling with the scent of grilled corn and salt. The Pontic Mountains formed a distant backdrop, and the harbor — lined with colorful fishing boats and even the occasional cruise liner — reflected the golden glow of the setting sun. Samsun is a working city, rooted in shipping, tobacco, and agriculture, but it wears its soul on its sleeve.

Leaving Samsun meant turning our back on the Black Sea. The road turned inland, climbing and dipping through thick forests and sleepy mountain towns until we reached Düzce, Türkiye. The city has a unique energy — at the crossroads of Asia and Europe, both literally and metaphorically. Devastated by a massive earthquake in 1999, Düzce has rebuilt itself with resilience and modern charm. We checked into a sprawling resort tucked into a hillside, complete with thermal pools and serene forest trails.

Shehzadi (the Vagabond Couple's Toyota Tundra) resting at Düzce, Türkiye

Düzce surprised us with its clean streets, solid infrastructure, and booming industries — especially in automotive parts, textiles, and agriculture. But what really caught us was the calmness of the place. The city sits in a valley framed by the Western Black Sea Mountains, and its blend of urban life with natural beauty was the perfect pitstop before the continent-jumping day ahead.

And oh, what a day it was.

We were up with the sun, anticipation buzzing through us like static. Istanbul loomed ahead, the fabled city where continents kiss. And sure enough, as we cruised into Istanbul’s outskirts, traffic thickened and the skyline unfolded — a chaotic symphony of mosques, skyscrapers, and history. Then came the moment: the Yavuz Sultan Selim Bridge.

It’s hard to describe what it feels like to drive across a bridge that connects two continents. The Yavuz Sultan Selim Bridge, a masterpiece of modern engineering, arcs high over the Bosporus with grace and power. Opened in 2016, it’s one of the longest suspension bridges in the world, built to alleviate Istanbul’s congested arteries. But for us, it was a rite of passage.

Beneath us, the Bosporus shimmered. On one side: Asia. On the other: Europe. Constantinople, Byzantium, Istanbul — this city has worn many crowns. From the ancient Thracians to the Greeks, from Roman emperors to Byzantine saints, from Ottoman sultans to Turkish republicans, Istanbul has always been the fulcrum of empires. Legends swirl in the sea breeze — of Jason and the Argonauts, of Constantine’s dream, of the ghostly whispers inside Hagia Sophia. We have explored Istanbul before and couldn’t linger this time, but the call of Istanbul is eternal. We’ll return, again.

We drove west, stopping for the night in Ipsala, Türkiye - a humble border town straddling Turkey and Greece. It may not make it to many travel brochures, but Ipsala holds significance far beyond its size. It's the heart of the Edirne rice fields, producing much of Turkey’s rice, and has long stood as a geopolitical waypoint. Historically, the plains around Ipsala were battlefields and meeting points — where empires tested borders and cultures mingled in markets.

Shehzadi (the Vagabond Couple's Toyota Tundra) resting at Ipsala, Türkiye

We stayed at a rustic little hotel, enjoyed meze under olive trees, and watched locals sip tea and trade stories like currency. It was a peaceful evening, and we slept knowing tomorrow would bring another country, another chapter.

The morning was crisp as we rolled toward the Türkiye-Greece Ipsala–Kipi border. This crossing between Turkey and the Hellenic Republic (Greece) is more than a political boundary; it’s a line drawn through history. The Evros River meanders nearby, and the border post sits quietly amid fertile farmland that has seen ancient Greek warriors, Ottoman armies, and 20th-century refugees all pass through.

Crossing was uneventful—a few questions, a stamp, and boom: we were in Greece.

Suddenly, the signs switched scripts, and the coffee got stronger. We drove past Alexandroupoli and veered northwest into the Rhodope Mountains toward the little city of Drama.

Nestled in northern Greece, Drama is a charming town is cradled by forested slopes and gurgling springs. Its name might be theatrical, but the vibe is anything but. Drama is serene, elegant, and rich in cultural texture. Once under Byzantine and then Ottoman rule, the town is known for its annual short film festival and its thriving vineyards. We stopped at a taverna for lunch — grilled octopus, feta, and chilled retsina — and stretched our legs in the town square, where elderly men played backgammon under plane trees.

From Drama, the highway whisked us toward Thessaloniki. The road carved through the Greek countryside — fields of wheat, sunflower, and ancient olive groves — as we made a beeline for the Evzoni-Bogorodica border with the Republic of North Macedonia.

We crossed into North Macedonia with a warm sunset trailing behind us. The road dipped and curved through green hills until the lights of Skopje appeared on the horizon. And then came that magical moment. Breakfast in Turkey. Lunch in Greece. Dinner in North Macedonia.

But that, dear reader, is a tale for the next episode (From Greece to North Macedonia and Back: Skopje Adventures in Shehzadi) — the legends of Alexander and Mother Teresa, the grandeur of Millenium Cross and Matka Canyon, and the stories that echo in every stone of Skopje.

For now, we parked Shehzadi in the space specially arranged for a full-size San Antonio-born American pickup truck by the staff of our hotel in Skopje, sighed at the stars, and raised a toast to a day that spanned continents, cultures, and countless cups of tea.

Next: Skopje & North Macedonia