Day 11 (6 June)

Today was another of those awkward transition days. I don't know how you engineer such interstices out of your travel schedule. If you have figured it out, please tell me.

Our irritating gap was between checking out (11 am) and getting the ferry (7.30 pm). As I've already noted, you're better off with the infrastructure of a hotel in these circumstances. With Airbnb you're on your own.

So we embarked on the day with the aim of not getting hot and dirty, not getting grumpy, and not spending too much money.

We failed on all counts.

First to the left-luggage facility at the port (EUR 4 per bag for the whole day, so lots cheaper than Milan -- but check the times in advance, because they don't correspond with those shown on the window, and also bear in mind that they close for lunch).

Then to the lavanderia, where a chirpy Bangladeshi cricket fan talked to us about the recent match with New Zealand, and did a service wash-and-dry for less than we'd paid to do our own laundry in Paris.

Then a bit more exploration of Bari's lovely streets, lunch back at La Cantina dello Zio, and a return visit to the Basilica to light a candle to San Nicola (patron of seafarers, remember?).






These were enjoyable things, but by the time we'd done them all, plus collecting the washing, shopping for boat provisions, paying an exorbitant sum for two orange juices, retrieving our rucksacks, and taking them to the other end of the port to check in, we were hot, tired, and reasonably fed up...

Anyway, the ferry...

We're travelling to Patras with Superfast. The journey takes about 16.5 hours, and it's a big, meaty boat, with lots of room for densely packed rows of humongous lorries.



If you've already bought your tickets over the internet, you just need to check in at least two hours in advance. There are no other formalities. Once checked in, you just walk on down past the vehicle queue to join the foot-passenger queue. There was a short delay while the security staff sorted themselves out, but then we were able to board and settle ourselves in.

We had booked reclining seats. You can actually buy a ticket with no reserved space at all, but then if you leave your spot, you risk losing it. Cabins are massively expensive. (Nobody actually checked whether the folks who installed themselves in the recliner lounge actually had the corresponding reservations, so I guess you could just take pot luck on getting a recliner without paying the extra...) You get reasonable leg-room in there, and the seats are arranged in rows of two, three, and four, so you don't feel too hemmed in.

We whiled away the evening re-watching The Italian Job on Nigel's computer. Very much a child of its time, but still entertaining.

Day 12 (7 June)

It's 2.15 am, Greek time, and I've taken temporary refuge in the lobby area with the great unreserved.

Why? Because it's a total zoo in the recliner lounge...

From all corners arises the mournful wail of a legion of snorers. Each works to his own maddening rhythm, turning the room into a sea of uncoordinated foghorns. You briefly rejoice to hear one cease, only to witness another stepping in to seamlessly take his place. There's one right underneath me -- someone has spurned his recliner, and stretched out on the floor behind my seat.

It's horrible. I've heard nothing like it since that mountain hut on the Lake Waikaremoana trail, when I ended up sleeping in the kitchen.

Never again... But I can't even say that, as we have another of these overnight ferry trips in about a week's time, when we go from Piraeus to Chios...

Eventually, I went back. And even went to sleep. Only to be wakened at 4.30 by an announcement that we would be arriving in Corfu in half an hour...


At 6.15, more announcements informed us we were approaching Igoumenitsa. But by that time we'd given up on sleep, and had already built and consumed our breakfast sandwiches.

Igoumenitsa, the first landfall on the mainland, was where the vast majority of foot-passengers and vehicles got off.


Soon we were off again, with bush-covered coast sliding past the windows of the now tranquil recliner lounge.

The furriness of that particular environment gradually gives way to quite arid mountains. But I didn't notice much detail, as I was catching up on some sleep...

Somewhere between our salami-sandwich breakfast and our cheese-and-spelt-crackers lunch, we treated ourselves to our first Greek coffees. Boat prices, but the caffeine and sugar were a great pick-me-up at that point.




We arrived, and set off on foot towards our latest Airbnb. The sky is still Mediterranean blue. You hear someone practising some archetypal Greek music in a home you trudge past. You notice the amazing jacaranda, and the huge church of Agios Andreas (the biggest in Greece). You spot that down the end of every street there's a mountain or the sea (or both). You start looking out for the street art.




We're in Greece! Neither of us has ever been to Greece. The closest we've ever come is Cyprus (and Melbourne, of course...)

Our Airbnb is really spacious. We could happily live in it. And it amuses me to find there's a little bust of Plato (and a littler one of Hippocrates). Where else?




Our hosts left us a pretty little miniature carafe of "welcome drink". We try it. It's delicious. I ferret around the internet trying to track it down. Almost certainly it's tentura, a Patras speciality that contains cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg.


We head for the local supermarkets. Of course, we understand only what we can piece together from common sense and my knowledge of the Greek alphabet (not supplemented, unfortunately, by my knowledge of any vocabulary).

But we did well. For tea we started with taramosalata (I haven't had that since we used to buy it in NZ -- and here it's much nicer). Then we had feta and tomatoes. So simple, but really so delicious. Tomatoes that taste like they've seen lots of sun. Feta that's tangy and not just salty. A cheap bottle of red wine that opened up nicely.

At the end of the day, it's these simple happenstances -- jacaranda, Plato, tentura, feta, tomatoes -- that we travel for. These are the travel events (so very, very insignificant, and yet paradoxically so crucial) that wipe out snore-wrecked nights, and send the tired traveller off "oohing" and "ahhing" like the child who has forgotten its tantrum in the sheer fascination of some new bit of life.

When I studied in Germany, I used to write letters home to my parents (yes... letters... so quaint...). My mother once commented that I sounded like a kid let loose in a chocolate shop.

And yes, that's what travel does. It releases the child in me. The curious, adventurous, imaginative child.

Which is important, because God knows this creature is allowed few enough outings via other avenues.