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| Santiago, Thomas and I en route to Croatia! |
Kefalonia, Greece to Split, Croatia via Patra, Greece and Ancona, Italy
I was a bit confused as to what I was supposed to do. Cars and trucks were driving down a long road out of the port while walkers were heading through the port building. With my bike I didn’t quite fit either criterium. But, it was solved for me when the customs guy wouldn’t let me into the main port building. Alas, I started heading down the long road.
A little ways down the road, I found a half-open gate that led into the town. Now, it is here that I am thinking WWGD? (“What would Gabe do?”) On the one hand I haven’t been through customs or anything; on the other hand, it can’t be too bad since I’m going from one Schengan country to another. Weighing the options, I chose to go through the gate, which I’m pretty sure Gabe would have done in my situation.
The Politiza didn’t like it as much as I did. A stocky bald man who looked like the captain from Top Gun half jogged over yelling at me. “SOMETHING IN ITALIAN,” which I liked to think was something about flying plastic dog shit outta Hong Kong. But, based on his body language it was definitely a lot of words for “STOP!”
So I did, but he continued yelling. Maybe he assumed I knew Italian as I had followed his likely directions so well. But, I did not. Instead I said: “Then kataleveno (I do not understand – in Greek),” which was pretty daft – him being Italian and all. So, I’m pretty sure he didn’t katalevene me either.
He apparently knew enough to know that I didn’t know Italian. So he continued in English: “You can’t come through this gate. What do you think you’re doing?”
Hmmm . . . WWGD? Oh, I know: “Scusi Officer, I didn’t know I couldn’t do that.”
“Are you Greek?” he asked looking at my trailer with the pirate and Greek flag flying from it. (I lost that safety orange flag and figured those would be even better.)
“Ohi (No – in Greek, fuck I did it again), Americano”
“Where are you going?”
“Just to see the town in between boats, and to find some food.”
“Where are you staying tonight?”
“Nowhere, well not in Italy, I have to catch the 8:30 to Croatia.”
“You’re not going to L’Aquille?”
Blank look.
“For the G-8?” Crap, that’s what’s going on. The G-8 is in Italy this week and they got the port well guarded for possible Anarchists. Now here comes this guy on a bike with a Black Pirate flag sneaking into the country though a gate that shouldn’t be open. I’m sure he thinks I’m an anarchist – stupid Gabe leading me astray.
“No, no, staying away from that.” The officer took my passport and went to his car with it. I stood over my bike at the threshold of the port/town.
After determining I was not on any anarchist black list, the cop returned and handing me my passport he said: “I have to send one pair from this squadron to Top Gun. Cougar was number one; you guys were number two. Cougar lost his edge and turned in his wings. Cougar’s out; you guys are in.”
At least that’s what I heard. It was probably: “Okay, you can come through.”
“Gratzi”
“Prego”
“Hey, what can I see in this town?”
“I don’t know, I’m not from Ancona . . . maybe you can look at that church up there.”
“Gratzi” and I began to ride off.
“Don’t go to L’Aquille”
“Taksi (OK – in Greek)” which he probably still didn’t katalevene.
Thus I was in Italy for the first time in my life.
7/7/09 06:00 Zulu time (8:00 local) Sami, Greece
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| From Three Boats, Three Countries, 48 Hours |
Before I could go to Croatia, I had to get to Italy; but, before I could do that I had to catch the ferry to Patra. I packed up Camp Jesse and cruised down to the port of Sami. There, I found a boat waiting for me. The guy on the loading dock was waving up the ramp. But, then I figured I should check: “Patra?”
“Ohi, Ohi, (No, no) Bari.”
“Pos a Patra . . . umm . . . boat?” (Where is the Patra . . . umm . . . boat?”)
After some long directions in Greek and English that appeared to boil down to “that way,” I found the Patra . . . umm . . . boat and off without a hitch to the mainland.
On our way out of the harbor 4 dolphins swam by to tell me: “So long; and thanks for all the fish.”
7/7/09 11:30 Zulu time (13:30 local) Patra, Greece
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| From Three Boats, Three Countries, 48 Hours |
In the port awaiting the loading time for the Ancona . . . umm . . . boat, I watched the third stage of the Tour de France with a family from Washington State. Surprisingly, The Manx Missile won for the third straight time (it was only later I found out it was the day before’s stage.)
I then rode around the rude city of Patra to buy a pirate and a Greek flag – to replace the safety orange one I lost months ago in the hills of Achaia. After that I ran into two guys at the gyro shop in the Center, who looked Argentine but I wasn’t sure.
Later, I ran into those guys again as I still awaited the stupid ferry. They sat outside the portside bar I was at, as I had a few beers with the captain of a freighter. The German captain told me all about going through pirate territory off Somalia. He and his crew told me how they saw a Russian destroyer sink a pirate ship and two small boats that had come too close to their freighter. We then discussed the various large sea animals he’d seen in his travels. I wished them luck on their trip to China, they did the same for mine to Croatia.
Aboard the ferry boat Ancona I ran into the Argentines, again. They were heading all the way to Split like me and I found two traveling companions for my journey.
7/8/09 19:30 Zulu time (20:30 local) Ancona, Italy
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| From Three Boats, Three Countries, 48 Hours |
After visiting a bit of Ancona, it was back to the sea. The ferry from Ancona to Split was crappier than the one from Patra to Ancona, the trip was shorter, but it was still twice as much.
I avoided the “casino” this time as I blew 10 euros on the Patra-Ancona leg. Tommy, Santiago and I shared mate and DiSarona aboard, before they went to sleep early (They had been on four ferries, two buses and a train in the past four days heading from Athens – Mikynos – Athens – Patra – Ancona – Split. Whew.)
I slept on the Promenade deck peacefully without any hassle and when I awoke, there was Split awaiting me. I got through the port in Croatia in seconds and said goodbye to Santiago and Thomas – who were on their way to the Dalmatian Islands – outside the customs building.
A quick purchase of coffee and a new flag and here I was – Croatia!
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| From Three Boats, Three Countries, 48 Hours |
Tino Pai!
Jesse…
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