At this point in the trip my spirits had hit an all time low. I had surpassed the three month mark being outside the US, I had yet to get out of the melancholy that had been haunting me since the Fourth of July a few days prior. Mike too was not in particularly high spirits. During our night stay in Ljubljana, he was attacked by hundreds of bedbugs and had bites up and down all of his arms, legs, torso, and even a couple on his face. And now we were in Venice, with no place to go, and no idea where the port would be to catch our ferry to Greece.
The trains started running again at half past five, and I thought it would be good to get into the city and try to find more information about where to catch the boat. Shortly after arrival, and armed with vague directions from a hotel bellhop, I began to make my way through the wacky canals of Venice. Many people often boast about the beauty of Venice and it’s gondolas and how it is a very romantic city blahblahblah, but it is only a half truth. Yes the gondolas are pretty and the canals are novel for a sinking city, but all that standing water makes the town reek of rot. The smell is absolutely horrible, especially at the height of summer. It’s hard to be romantic with a smell like that. This was the only shot I got of it all, and I also got one of the Venetian sunrise:
After coming to a bus depot I was told to take a bus to its first stop and to get off and follow the signs to the port departure area. It seemed simple enough, except the signs were either non-existent or cryptic. I spent the next five hours walking up and down a stretch of highway along the waterfront trying to find the place, crossing through industrial sectors and even stopping into a workers’ café to have a bite, drink a beer, cool off, and re-center my chi. After winding back at the bus depot for the third time, I was at the point of catching a cab but instead sought directions again. This time, I got a more clear definition of where to go, and indeed found a road that was clearly marked. Although I had found the right way, I still wound up at the wrong place. Instead of finding the ferry line’s ticket office, I found it’s administration building. I then found out the ticket office and boat were on the other side of the wharf. Long story short (I know, too late), I did find the ticket office, secured my boarding pass, and after waiting in line for half an hour, boarded the ferry.
The ferry I was on was the first real boat I’d ever been on. My Eurail pass allowed me discounted access to the ship, and since it was the warm summer, the ship allowed people to camp out on the deck for a small fee instead of having to rent berths below deck. This appeared to be a popular option because when I got up to the deck nearly every square inch of it was covered with people laying down bedding and preparing for the voyage. I grabbed a piece of floor and started weighing my options. While it would cost me more for a berth beneath deck, the room came with it’s own personal bathroom including toilet and shower and it was air conditioned. These conditions seemed suitable to me, being filthy from the morning’s aimless wandering. After a brief discussion with Mike, we went to book our room. The shower immediately bettered my mood, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The room did not have any portholes, so when I woke up feeling hungry I had figured it was around dinnertime. After all, the boat left the dock at about noon and I usually cannot sleep more than eight hours at a time. I went outside and it was dark out. No one was to be found in the bar areas or the restaurant or the game rooms. I went up on deck and found everyone asleep. Back in the bar, I tried to find a bartender, and couldn’t. I then spied a clock on the wall, and it read 2 AM. I had slept almost fourteen hours! Still hungry, I was able to find a vending machine and bought a sandwich. It tasted stale but it did the job.
The entire trip to Patras, Greece lasted about thirty-six hours. It was an uneventful thirty-six hours, spent mostly sleeping. Finally arriving in Patras, it felt ten times more humid here than in Venice. The sun was just setting over the Mediterranean, and it was bouncing beams off the water, making the waves glisten. The train stop was about 300 yards from the port, and was reached after a fifteen minute walk. The time was 8 PM. At the train station, I learned that the next train to Athens did not leave until 3 AM and would arrive shortly after 8. I was really becoming frustrated with the lack of train options and the late hours of their operation, not to the point of blackout rage, but pretty damn close. My first inclination was to find a market and secure some food, as I had eaten very little on the boat. After having done this, my next thought was to find a bar. Talking to the ticket counter lady, I was told that most bars within the area closed at 10. This meant that I would not have enough time to inebriate myself adequately to then wait another five hours for my train to arrive. I planted myself in a seat in the waiting area, ate cheese sandwiches, and dove into a book.
The train eventually arrived shortly after three in the morning. I boarded it and, as usual, it was crowded and hot. I was not able to get much sleep on it because I had accrued too much on the boat. The train went at a snail’s pace, and it angered me how cars were traveling much faster than it along parallel roads. I did arrive in Athens a little ahead of schedule, though I couldn’t for the life of my figure out how. On the way I took a picture of the sunrise.
No comments:
Post a Comment