Bari to Patras - Ferry ride
Trip Start
Apr 01, 2008
1
15
36
Trip End
Sep 23, 2008
Patras,
Peloponnese,
Greece
Monday, May 12, 2008
I rode through the port asking for directions to my ship, I only received a few nods and hand jesters until I finally found the ferry. The stern Greek crew directed me to the vehicle ramp where I parked my bike alongside the monstrous trucks moving in. I tied my bike to a heavy metal ring and hoped that the crew's smiles following their question about its value were innocently intended.
I wasn't sure what deck seats meant, since this was my first ferry ride, so I strolled up the deck and placed my bag on the wooden floor. The deck was clear and I was ready for a slightly windy camp night. Then, this talkative Australian bloke appeared and the next thing I knew we were drinking bears at the three other backpackers. The Australian guy turned out to be of Greek origins, his friend who had been working at the Melbourne port until he quit prior to the trip, had Macedonian routs (both his parents) and the other two, a couple, were Americans brought up in Africa (Tanzania & South Africa).
The long ship ride, the surrounding Greek crowed and the three diverse characters made for an interesting and enjoyable evening.
After a picnic on one of the lounge tables we moved in to the TV room for an early night nap. The relatively comfortable carpeting allowed for a restful night.
The next morning I waved off the bunch (the couple got off at Cephalonia Island where they were taking part in the restoration of an earth quake raddled village in compliance with the highest environmentally friendly standards) and began cycling on Greek soil.
Leaving Bari
It was strange but I just shot out of the ships gut and didn't stop until I was out of the port. No passport checks or anything. I stayed in the Patrai hostel which turned out to be somewhat of a refugee camp. I was staying with two people - one was an Algerian elder man, looking for work and the other was an Iranian curd (what I was able to understand was that because of his nationality he had no passport) who was smuggled in to Greece through Turkey by the Mafia. I spent some time speaking Arabic with the Algerian man and mumbling some words and making hand jesters with the Iranian refugee.
That night, I had my worst biking experience yet, and to think it started with a trip to pick up my clothes at the local Laundromat. I began cycling in the dark; equipped with flashing tail lights I had little concerns, besides maybe the strengthening rain. And so, it was the rain which brought me down; crashing on the side of the road after sliding on the road-crossing train tracks. Two cars must have passed me by, swiveling to the left to keep from running me over (thank God for those tail lights!). I quickly got up, looking at the car headlights behind me and began checking for problems. I fell quite well, kept from hitting my head or any other part beside my shoulder but the bike looked a little "off". The handles were a little crocked yet I was able to straiten them out and kept on riding towards the Laundromat. The rain kept on falling, I was slowing down now, and when I reached the Laundromat it was closed of course (15 minutes early!). What a night! I walked back in the rain, carrying my bike beside me. I had decided that the Greek were an unkind and stern bunch, after my encounters in the ship, on the streets of Patrai and following my accident where not a single driver stopped to see if I was OK. I walked back into my smoke-filled room and slid in to my sleeping bag, covering my head so not to be disturbed by the Iranian refugee watching Matrix 2 on the TV.
The next morning the African merchants in the opposite room were starting their cars (I couldn't believe these cars actually moved) stuffed to the rim with all kinds of strange items. I was packed and off to... I didn't really know.
