A Tale of Five Hundred and Seventy Four Cities, More or Less

A big gap, a lot of travelling, and the unusual becomes the usual - we are less easily surprised.  I must backtrack and document more of a travelogue to catch up.

Ahoy There Me Hearties!

Those of you who know me well can attest to my ability to be seasick on a moored boat in completely calm conditions.  Knowing that we would have several long ferry rides within Greece I booked cabins, "with facilities" (meaning a basin of your own to throw up in) deciding the extra expense beat the mad scramble down ship corridors trying to find the nearest bathroom without throwing up.  I know, I've done it. Quite a few times.  

Our first long trip was to Athens from Limnos. The boat was large. Our cabin was (relatively) large. It had a basin (essential) and a good shower (bonus). And we had our own private deck. And slippers. And reserved seats in the lounge. Niiiiiice.  Sunsets with a beer and ginger (just precautionary you know) on the deck. And the best thing?  The Aegean doesn't appear to have any waves; flat as a millpond, flat as a board, flat as a pancake and flat as a really flat thing. We pretended we were on a cruise, one that would finish tomorrow morning, but a cruise, nonetheless. Yep, this was definitely the way to travel.

Travelling Athens to Croatia involved a bus trip to Patras (we were going to train it but that's a whole nother multipage saga), cruise, oops, ferry ride to Bari in Italy and then another ferry ride to Dubrovnik; both of which were overnighters as well. Arriving at the bus station (two minutes from the train station and the large and busy port... can you imagine that in New Zealand? Heavens, that would mean transport efficiency... can't have that!) we were most pleased to be able to wander past the gun toting guard at the entrance to find our ferry right there beside us. Then we discovered that our internet tickets had to be redeemed at the ticket office, at the OTHER end of the port - about 100km trudge away, past multiple behemoths disgorging and engorging loads of shopping bag laden sunseekers, being refuelled by tankers bearing NO SMOKING signs that could be read several miles away. 

Every day has been between 32 and 35deg and we both bought exactly 95% too many clothes, shoes, wet weather gear, cold weather gear, camera gear (well, me anyway) which has been slightly heavy to lug around when we don't need it.  So we trudged... you know  -

"To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on." (Geoffrey Chaucer in "A Knight's Tale");

before leaving Mark halfway in case they needed to scan/check our luggage or we had to clear customs. I ignored the groups of seedy looking guys hanging around on the other side of the razor wired fence, I didn't know what they wanted, but I was absolutely convinced I wasn't going to supply it for them. Two similar looking guys skulked towards me, then, looking both ways, decided the guard was out of harm's way and scuttled over what was obviously a well worn route up the tree and through/over the razor wire - apparently the video cameras are out of range here too. Curiouser and curiouser.

Anyway, tickets finally in hand, a little befuddled because there seemed to be no customs procedures, and the police manning the x-ray machine didn't show any interest in checking my gear at all, we were allowed on board. Did I mention we'd arrived about lunchtime?  And boarding wasn't till 3.30pm? And it was pretty hot? We did find the beer though. A relief to find ourselves in an even more spacious cabin, air conditioning and with a more private deck - with tables, but no chairs. Apparently partygoers throw them overboard; good plan. And this ship, despite being one of the smaller ones in port, had a swimming pool and sundeck, complete with the prerequisite ancient prune like bodies stretched out on the sunbeds. On with the cruise. We like this form of travel.

Sunrise as we sailed up the Italian Coast, enjoying the distant, softly rolling, fertile, landscape; a patchwork of multiple and varied crops that was in stark contrast to all of Greece that we'd seen so far; an ancient, hard and rugged rocky landscape, growing only hardy grapes and olives, that has had it's impact on the people. Arriving at 9am, our day in Bari was spent wandering the ancient streets of the old city, hanging out for the cafes and bars to open so that we could cool down with a beer (again). Before we left the port we attempted to get our tickets to Dubrovnik only to find that the office didn't open until 7pm. Boat left at 8pm so was hoping for no hiccups. We saw the ferry then, it looked like it had done service in WW2, huddled up beside the wharf, with it's bow mouth open, waiting to gobble it's load of trucks and cars.  Well, we'd already decided that looks could be deceiving and we'd paid more for the cabin anyway, so it must be good.

About 6.30pm, having spent the last hour collecting circle imprints on our bodies from trying to sleep on the mesh metal seats in the air-conditioned waiting area, I joined the quickly expanding queue at the counter, and was pretty convinced there was no way that all these people were going to fit on the ship, especially the family group numbering about 11,393. I mentally prepared to make a run for it as soon as we saw the old gangplank open. Packs are good sometimes.  

Once we were drafted to our respective ends of the ship we could see how all these people could make an overnight journey on board.  The ceiling was inches above Mark's head and our cabin was a cupboard.  Lucky I'd spent all that extra money and booked "with facilities" here, there had to be extra room because a minuscule basin (that's the basin behind the door) had to fit in as well. And we had a porthole, it didn't open but at least I could see outside.  Did I mention I was claustrophobic?  And that the air conditioning only sort of worked?  And that the shower and toilet were up in the bow?  Water sounds all around. The bonus? Still no waves. I don't think they make them over here. I lasted, a couple of inches under the ceiling, until about 4.30am, when dozing on the lifeboat boxes up on deck held far more appeal than our cupboard. Mark had one of the best sleeps of our trip that night.  

Despite the crowed quarters, the public areas of the ship showed a faded elegance that spoke of a more illustrious history for the old girl than just a troop ship. The restaurant was decked out with perfectly set tables on starched white linen, mirror backdrops and real plants looping their way around the wrought iron decoration.  The stairs had elegant black wrought iron, richly varnished mahogany hand rails and axminster carpet.  Completely out of character with the rest of our impression. Our waiter looked as if he could have played prop for Taranaki; finesse was definitely not a strong point. I was pretty glad to see Dubrovnik snuggled around the port at the base of a very Southern Alps looking landscape in the morning.  Definitely over ships as a form of long distance transport now. And still not a wave in sight. Millpond.