Europizing Shenanigans

Camino Frances, days 24-42

htapawaso — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 07:50:00 GMT

Days 24 – 38

I take back everything I said about Leon, it's rubbish.

After walking through Leon for about 4 hours, I found myself exactly where I entered the city the day before. Very, very depressing.

I ended up where I planned on going to that day at about 9pm.

This escapade did have some fortunate side effects however, as I met several friends I had not seen for some time, and there was much rejoicing.

I walked into town during the middle of some sort of fiesta, which was initially exciting but ultimately annoying as the music went all night and kept me awake.

The following day, while walking, I ran into two English guys I had not seen in weeks, and a Canadian girl they were walking with, and I walked with them for the rest of the Camino.

We decided that it would be very intelligent to sleep outside one night, and set up camp in a field opposite the albergue in a town. It was very, very, very, very cold. And wet.

I was fine, but my two English friends (Tom and James) became ill (the Canadian girl, Lisa, wisely decided to stay inside). The next few days were quite slow progress-wise, as people got over their various sicknesses, but by the start of August we were back on track.

It was during these slow days that we reached the Cruz de Ferro, a stone cross at the highest point along the entire Camino Frances. Traditionally, pilgrims take a stone from somewhere along their journey to this point. The legend is that, if you tell your worries and problems to your stone and then throw it down at the Cruz de Ferro, it will bear them for you for all eternity.

I brought a stone from Nice, but when I arrived at the summit it occurred to me that I didn't really have any problems, so I kept my stone instead as a reminder of this happy time.

On the 1^st of August, we woke late to the sound of thunder and rain, but after a breakfast of hamburger we braved the weather and continued through the mountains separating Castilla y Leon from Galicia. My leg was starting to ache from the constant incline, and upon seeing an albergue appear out of the storm in La Faba we decided to stay there for the night instead of continuing up the mountain as we had planned. This proved to be a good decision, as this was one of the most amazing nights of the trip.

The word “hippy” does not begin to describe this place. There was a tee-pee in the back garden, huge numbers of ridiculous instruments scattered everywhere, home-made jewellery, incense, a hole in the ground for a toilet, and the hospitalero was totally insane. At about 8pm, he rode off on a sad-looking horse that had been standing in the rain since we arrived, which was worrying because he had promised us dinner and there was nowhere else in the town to eat. Three hours later, he returned, from the opposite direction, in a car, totally high and with a lot of weed to share.

We never heard what exactly transpired in those three hours but it was no doubt very exciting. Nobody knows what happened to the horse.

Dinner consisted of cheese and lettuce, and just as we were finishing eating (about midnight), suddenly a man holding a puppy in each hand appeared out of the continuing storm and mist. It didn't take long to realise that this was one of the people we had met at Granon weeks ago. He was very happy to see us all, and I was happy to see him because he was an incredible individual.

His mother had given him a train ticket to St. Jean to start the Camino because she 'wanted to see him happy again'. He had no money whatsoever, had adopted four stray puppies he found along the way (two met with unfortunate ends. One drowned in a foot pool overnight, and another was found by the police and put down), and survived purely by scavenging and charity. He would sometimes work at places, such as donativos or farms, but only for food and accommodation, he refused to accept money.

Moving on... the last 5 days of the Camino proved somewhat horrific. To attain a Compostella (certificate of achievement, atonement from sin) you must walk at least 100km to Santiago. As such, the last 100km is PACKED with people. I spent the last five nights sleeping on concrete gym floors because there was no room in the albergues. Sometimes there was not even room in the gym...

On the last day before Santiago, we decided to wake at 4am and walk in the dark and watch the sunrise as we neared our goal. Unfortunately it was quite cloudy so the sunrise was diminished somewhat, but it was still very exciting, and walking without the swarms of people was a welcome break. We arrived at Santiago at 10am that day, and queued for several hours before finally receiving our Compostellas. We decided to celebrate by staying in a pension rather than sleeping on the streets, and I slept very well.

Today was my first rest day of the entire trip, and it has been very strange to be... still.

Too strange.

Tomorrow, the walking will begin again, as I am going to Finisterra, another 90-odd km onwards.

Days 39-42

Onward onward to the end of the Earth...

My three friends who I have been walking with all had flights on the 13^th of August, so we had just two days to get to Finisterra. We walked only 35km on the first day, leaving a huge 56km on the second.

The walk to Finisterra proved a far superior way to end the journey than Santiago – gone were the swarms of tourists, crowded paths, overflowing albergues and expensive restaurants. It was the real camino once more.

The last day of walking proved to be truly magical. We set off before dawn, and watched the sun rise over beautiful Galicia as we walked. It was once again a warm day, after a week of cold weather, which made walking while clothes exceptionally difficult. So we walked in our underwear.

By 6pm we were exhausted, having walked just 40km, with 16 left to go. The task seemed impossible, but we had motivation – the last glimpse of the sun in all of Europe for the day. And so we struggled on as the sun made its way across the sky, and soon saw beautiful Finisterra in the distance.

With aching feet, tired bones and hungry stomachs we clambered into town. No time to visit the albergue, no time to take a rest. We went as fast as we could towards the western beach, the last piece of Europe.

We arrived, just as the sky began to turn orange. We threw down our bags and took off our shoes, and though we were exhausted we ran to the deep blue sea and plunged ourselves in as the light faded.

We got out very quickly, because it was ridiculously cold, and sat back on the beach to watch the rest of the sunset before lighting a mighty fire. It is a tradition for pilgrims to burn some of their clothes at Finisterra, and so I burned my socks (the same socks I had been wearing for the past 39 days. They were never going to be clean again anyway).

Then, we decided to burn some insect repellent, and there was a mighty explosion. That was pretty amazingly cool, so we burned some athletes foot spray and deodorant as well. It was like a fireworks display.

As our fire faded, Tom played the ukulele as we all sat back, drinking our rum and whisky and eating cheap cookies we had bought earlier that day, and stared at the sky. By pure coincidence, the 11^th of August just happens to be the single best day of the year for viewing shooting stars from Europe, as it is during the annual Perseid Meteor Shower. We saw some absolutely stunning ones, with tails stretching all the way across the sky. As I said, it was truly a magical end to the Camino. We slept on the beach, and in the morning we had toast.

Camino Frances, day 1-23

htapawaso — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 07:02:00 GMT

Apologies that it has been so long since a blog update – this is because I have been undertaking the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage to the cathedral of St. James in North-West Spain.

This post will be divided into sections which I wrote along the way.

Days 1-10

Firstly, a little background on the Camino (simply meaning 'journey' or 'way' in Spanish, but usually referring to this particular journey). You can start the Camino from anywhere. In Medieval times, Catholics would travel from their homes, either on horseback, donkey or foot. Some pilgrims came from as far away as Eastern Europe.
As such, the modern pilgrimage can start from anywhere as well – the only rule, if you want an indulgence (or certificate of completion, if you're not religious) at the end is that you must have walked at least the last 100km, or cycled the last 200km.
However, there are some routes that are more popular than others, and I am doing one of the more common ones, the Camino Frances. Because it comes from France. (although there are actually several routes that come from France).

I decided to start in St. Jean-Pied-de-Port, a small town in France close to the Spanish border. This was chosen pretty much at random, because I knew very little about the Way before starting.
I got off the train in St. Jean with no clue what I was doing, and was lucky enough to meet some other pilgrims who knew the way to an albergue (pilgrim's hostel). So I followed them, and was given a credencial (pilgrim's passport), elevation map of the entire camino, and a list of towns that contained albergues. I was also given a bed.

I was fortunate to meet a lovely Kazakhstani girl who had been living in Germany and spoke just about every language known to man. She was doing the Camino for the second time, and gave me many tips, such as how much water and food to bring.

The following day I woke up at 5:30am, not even slightly aware of what I was doing or why I was doing it. I ate a breakfast of... bread. And milk. Before setting off with my German-ish friend. I knew this particular day's walk was considered one of the hardest of the whole French Way, as it crosses the Pyrenes (sp?) mountain range, as well as the border between France and Spain. In addition to this, there was nowhere to sleep for 28km.

The walk was straight uphill for about 6 hours, and then straight downhill for about 3 hours before I arrived at the lovely town of Roncenveaux. I went into the church and fell into a seat in exhaustion until the albergue opened, at which point I fell into a bed and slept in exhaustion. I did manage to wake up in time for the pilgrim's mass that evening, however.

The building I slept in was an 11th century church, which I shared with 143 other tired pilgrims.

The town of Roncenveaux only had about 10 buildings... 3 of which were huge churches. This was to be a recurring theme.

The first three days of walking were immensely difficult for me, not only because they were difficult walks anyway (very mountainous), but also because I was not yet used to walking (or waking up so early).

However, I persevered, and by day 4 my legs were feeling significantly better and my spirits were much higher. However, this is also when the heat began to set in...
When in the mountains, it was cold, so I could walk at any time of day. Now, grilling in the hills (Spain is all hill. There is never any flat. Constantly up and down.) one has to wake up early to cover any distance, as it is simply impossible to walk past 1pm. So my progress slowed significantly as I adjusted to this, and I had a few days of walking just 10km or so.

One of the interesting thing about these first 5 or 6 days was how fast the scenery changed. At the beginning, in France, everywhere there were cows and sheep and goats. This quickly changed to grain and olives, and eventually to wine country, which I am still walking through now.

There is a lot of wildlife along the Way, I saw a fresh-water lobster climbing up a stream, a bunch of rabbits, many dragonflies and butterflies flying around and in front of you as you disturb their rest, and many other creatures (those highland cattle are hilarious. Almost as funny as Dexter cows).

As to the Way itself...
This varies a lot. The route I am following is almost exactly where the old pilgrim route ran, so whatever has developed in that area is what you walk on. Sometimes this means walking alongside a highway, other times it means following a series of footprints in the mud. Usually it is a dusty trail or a rocky road.

The small towns and villages I sleep in are inevitably beautiful, and it is very nice to have the opportunity of sleeping in the churches some nights (although not every night, as they are quite cold and uncomfortable...)

The Camino enjoys the exact opposite of the tourist trap. Albergues are usually sponsored by the Catholic Church or the regional government, so they are very cheap (or sometimes donation-based), and most restaurants and cafes offer special “pilgrim meals” - 3-course meals including bread and wine for 8-10 euro (a meal like that would usually cost you 30-40 in most of these places... they are VERY good). I feel it is important to have something like this every now and again (4 or 5 days) to ensure a balanced diet and that I am eating enough, as otherwise I would live on chorizo and muesli bars.

So, I am not spending any money on transport, my food and accommodation is costing a fraction of what it did elsewhere, and I am seeing some of the most beautiful things Spain has to offer – places most tourists would not even think of visiting. I like being a pilgrim.

A note about other pilgrims:
The types of people who do the Camino are hugely varied. The vast majority are European – according to a pie chart I saw, 30% Spanish, 15% French, 15% Italian, 10% German, 30% “other” (that's me).
I've met a few people from the USA, a few people from Korea, but otherwise nobody who is not European. This is a nice change from the swarms of Canadians and Australians in Greece and Italy.
Some people do this journey simply because they enjoy walking and the countryside. The vast majority, however, are doing it because they are looking for something.

I met one man who hated his job as a teacher, and wanted to change the direction of his life. He was walking so he could think and find inspiration as to what he should do with his life.
I met one IMMENSELY overweight German man (too much sausage!) who was doing the walk to prove to himself and to God that he could lose weight.
I met some Basque sisters (just 15 and 18) who were doing the walk as a way to remember and honour their father who had died recently. They had done a part of the walk with him a few years before, and they carried his incomplete credencial with them, having it stamped along with theirs everywhere they went.

These are just three examples of the huge host of reasons for which people undertake the immensely physical and spiritual experience that is the Camino.

Why am I doing it? That's a difficult one – maybe in my next update.

This section was written on night 10 of walking, in a town called Azofras.

PS. By pure coincidence, I was in Pamplona during the festival (the running of the bulls, the bull fights, etc).
I did not go to the fights (for ethical reasons), but the festivities were amazing, and I saw a huge parade slowly meandering through the absolutely packed streets.

Days 11-16

Well quite a bit has happened in the last few days.

Firstly, I discovered the joy of the 'donativo'. These hostels are run purely on a donation basis, and provide any pilgrim with a place to sleep, food to eat and wine to drink.
The first one I stayed in was in a place called Granon, and it was actually built into the rafters and bell tower of the town church. We cooked dinner together (delicious salad and pasta), ate together, and the immensely polite but surprisingly forceful hospitalero made us sing together as well.
I beat some English people at chess.

I stayed at another donativo the next night, which provided a similar experience.

Unfortunately, there are not enough donativos for one to stay at them every night, so I am still staying in municipal albergues on most occasions.

Yesterday I arrived in Burgos, and had a somewhat awful experience there. I had a reasonably short walk of 22km to get there, so I left late (9am) thinking I would have plenty of time. Unfortunately, it turns out there are two routes into Burgos and I actually took the 27km one. Not only that, but the last 5km of this route was perfectly straight, along the highway and light commercial zone that is the outskirts of any major city. Not only that, but I got totally lost in the center of Burgos, and lost the Way. I was kindly directed by somebody to the Way, and was then directed by somebody else in the direction of an albergue. Unfortunately, it turns out they got the direction wrong, and I wandered the streets of Burgos for several more unnecessary hours.
Disheartened, I turned back, only to find the albergue roughly 50m from where I had asked for directions. I was lucky to get a bed, but missed the pilgrim's mass in the beautiful cathedral there.
My '22km' walk ended up taking about 10 hours.

On the upside, I am almost half way to Santiago now (just 460km to go). I am considering going on to Finistera (another 100 or so past Santiago).

Although my dedication to this walk wanes at times, on general I am enjoying it. The total contrast between various elements is interesting; for example, during the day you might feel totally and utterly alone, and not see a single person. But then that night you stay in a donativo and enjoy the epitome of community. Equally, often you lose people because one of you goes slightly faster or slower, but then when you find them again a week later you are filled with joy.

Some days I do not feel like walking at all, and it is a struggle to get out of bed and put on my shoes, and I generally stop in every single pub I pass for a tortilla and a San Miguel. Other days however, the walk just floats by and I have no desire to stop where I was planning and go much further. It does not seem to be related to injury, rest or hunger, it is simply at random how I am feeling, but I hope for more 'walking' days in the future, as it can be truly torturous otherwise.

Tonight I am going to have a pilgrim's meal in celebration of surviving Burgos. I am not looking forward to Leon.

This section was written in a small town which apparently has no name, on the 19th of July.

Days 17 to 23

Leon!

It is good to be back in civilization, if only for a day.
Today I went to a “hypermarket” (it was so huge that the curvature of the Earth prevented one from seeing from one end to the other). It was very exciting. Notable items include: scooters, and a rent-a-car place (both necessary purchases for the average shopper – an experienced pilgrim such as myself, however, braves the walk from one end of the store to the other). I bought Oreos, muesli bars, tinned tuna and 475g of mixed lollies. They had a separate box for red gummi bears which made me immensely happy. I also ate at McDonald's.

And, more to the point... free wi-fi! Hence the blog update ahead of schedule.

The other day I stayed in a donativo again, which was brilliant. They made paella and I ate three servings. I was the only person in this entire town that spoke English, but I was not in any way lonely – somehow one can converse for hours on end with people despite not understanding a word the other person says, and it still feels just like a normal conversation. I think I descended into gibberish at some point during the evening simply because it made no difference at all.

But this is all a bit irrelevant, lets discuss the Way.

Many people take the bus between Burgos and Leon, because the land in-between is “just a desert”. Concerned about this supposed desert, I continued to walk anyway... it turns out the European definition of 'desert' is somewhat different to my own!

The rolling sand-dunes of Spain:

The walk was however quite dull. Almost totally flat, through endless farmland. The towns were smaller, poorer and further between. It was nice in one way because of the higher altitude it was reasonably cool in the afternoons, meaning I could walk longer each day and make more rapid progress (I walked 30-35k most days, although I had a few very slack ones to make up for it). The downside is that, because there are no hills, the wind is ridiculously strong. And I mean absolutely crazily strong. Each step felt like 3, and I was constantly being blown to the side. It's a good thing I have my stick to maintain my balance.

An observation I made soon after entering Spain is that everywhere there are new buildings being built. Initially, I assumed this was because Spain has not been hit as hard by the recession as the rest of Europe, but according to some Spanish people I have talked to on the subject this is not the case at all. It turns out such a huge amount of the population is involved in construction that the government feels it must sponsor pointless projects just to prevent the entire industry from collapsing. This was felt most when I walked through a very bizarre “ghost town”. It was a town built wholly around a golf course, all totally new buildings, and quite large... with about 20 people living there, amongst the rows and rows of houses. And they were building more. I didn't take any photos because the buildings were absolutely hideous and the whole place looked like a very upper class retirement village. Extremely depressing.

I have been a little depressed for the past few days since I lost everybody I have made friends with thus far – however, in many ways this is also a good thing as it means I talk to other people (even if I don't understand what they're saying) more. It is a bizarre sensation to talk only with people whom you have no prior knowledge of. A Belgian man I met pointed out to me that it does in fact lead to much more open, honest and deep discussion, as you have no inhibitions when you speak – you simply say what you think and what you feel, and it doesn't matter what the other person thinks because you will probably never see them again in your life.

I don't think that it will be easy to return to the “regular” travelling routine of staying in hostels and meeting people between the ages of 22 and 25 after this. Most likely I will visit only Barcelona and Amsterdam (and possibly Lisbon) before returning to England after my walk is complete.

As of this instant, I have 299km to Santiago.

I promised to explain why exactly I am undertaking this journey and I will (since I am waiting for my photos to upload anyway).
People often ask me why somebody who hates walking and is not very religious would do something like the Camino (does seem somewhat strange, I admit), and the answer is that it is because I hate walking and am not particularly religious that I do it.
The only way to improve is to challenge oneself with things one does not necessarily enjoy – and that is what I am doing. As a very friendly Italian man I met who is doing the camino for the second time (this time with his 12 year old daughter), 'the Camino is the single best thing a person can do for themselves'. And I think he's right.

Gallery: Camino de Santiago

htapawaso — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 06:41:00 GMT

Florence, Milan and the French Riviera

htapawaso — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 03:43:00 GMT

Firenze!

Without a doubt the most beautiful place I have ever been, and it has not diminished at all in the 18 months since I've been here.

I have been quite ill, which makes getting around an immensely unenjoyable task. Straight off the train in Florence, I was surprised at how well I remembered the city as I could find my way to the main square. Unfortunately, my hostel was HIDDEN and it took me a very long time to find it.

It was well worth the torturous journey though - this hostel was unbelievably nice.

As soon as I arrived they served their free "snacks" and sangria (effectively dinner), I did not have to sleep in a bunk bed and I actually had some space to myself for once. My room literally smelt of roses.

My only full day in Florence was a monday (the day when all the museums are closed). This actually turned out to be a stroke of immense luck, because I have already seen all the museums and didn't want to spend 7 hours in a queue when I only had one day. Since everybody else did want to see them, they had all gone to Sienna or Pisa for the day and I had the city almost to myself.

All too soon it was time to go to Milan, though. In typical Italian style, the trains decided to have a holiday, and only eurostars were running. So I queued for 2 hours to buy a eurostar ticket which saved me half an hour on my journey, cost me 3x as much and was then delayed by 2 hours anyway. Italians...

But I arrived in Milan, made it to my hostel, and slept for 4 days.

There was a wonderful thunderstorm every night I was in Milan, the view from my balcony was perfect.

Then, on my last day in Milan, finally feeling a little better, I ventured outside and saw the duomo (got nothin' on Florence!) and the city centre. Quite pretty.

To avoid queuing for 3 hours for a train, I cleverly decided to buy my ticket to Nice online.

Unfortunately, there was a queue to collect tickets booked online. And, I did not have the code to collect it that nobody told me I needed.

This all took some time to sort out... needless to say I JUST made it onto the train in time, so I didn't have any time to buy food for the 6 hour journey (and I hadn't eaten in 24 hours at least...)

So as soon as I arrived in Nice I bought the first thing I could - what the French call a 'cheeseburger'. It was served by a guy wearing a "everything's bigger in Texas" t-shirt. It was unbelievably good.

Roaming Rome

htapawaso — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 03:07:00 GMT

Rome.

Rome?

Rome.

Well I've been in Rome for... 4 or 5 days now. Been nice.

My first full day... I slept. And ate cereal.

My second full day... I went to the Roman ruins - the Collosseum, Circus Maximus, the Palatine, the Forum. Enjoyable.

My third full day... I went to the Vatican. Queued up for ages to get into St. Peter's... got to the front of the line... they told me they were closing, come back in 5 hours. I come back in 5 hours... wait for ages... get to the front... they tell me it's a special event, invitation only.

But I did see the Musei Vaticani, which was spectacular. The Sistine Chapel (inside the museum) was nice, but for me the highlight was the painting galleries... which were almost deserted.

Today, I went on a walk around Rome at random... saw a lot of neat things, most notable the Pantheon. Gorgeous. I had no idea that it was so huge... I was very impressed.

Tomorrow, Florence!

I have overheard two very amusing things in Rome:

1. American girl walking out of the Roman Forum, says to her friend "I don't think I'd like to live in the Roman times, the religion would be too weird. I think I'd prefer to live in the time of Jesus." Her friend nodded in approval.

2. Middle-aged American man walking out of Musei Vaticani, "Could have seen that shit in a picture book at home".

I had a gelati today which was very good.

I enjoyed seeing the sights of Rome, but I am glad to be leaving. I am not that fond of this city, I am looking forward eagerly to Florence.

PS. I swear, only in Italy is the crowning glory of the national monument a coffee shop...

Gallery: Italy

htapawaso — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 04:39:00 GMT

Travel

htapawaso — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 08:05:00 GMT

Well I'm in Rome.

No it's not that simple.

Since I last posted on this blog, I have not shaved, showered or changed clothes. In fact, I have spent almost the entire intervening time on a ferry, bus or train, waiting for a ferry, bus or train, or trying to find a ferry, bus or train.

So here's the story:

I foolishly decided to save 10 euros by taking the slowest ferry in the world from Ios, leaving at the ludicrous time of 10:15am.

Obviously I was never going to wake up in time for that, so I decided to stay up. Good plan.

Defying all logic, I actually did make it onto this ferry, but totally unprepared for the 11 hour journey past just about every island in the Meditteranean before reaching athens.

I was drunk, had no food, no water, and I hadn't slept in 20 hours. The ferry ride was not fun!

In addition to this, I had neglected to think about what I was going to do once I arrived in Athens. I was fortunate in this respect - just after disembarking, I met somebody who was going to a hostel (I couldn't go to the one I had already stayed in because I know it's fully booked every night). So I followed him. The train wasn't working, so we had to take a bus, etc., etc.

The hostel he took me to had no room, but they directed me to one nearby that did.

I collapsed upon arrival, and woke up just before check-out time. No shower for me.

Now, in hindsight, I should have taken another night at this hostel (even though it was pretty amazingly awful). But I didn't, I decided to walk to the train station, even though I had no idea where it was.

But I found it. Eventually. I should remind you at this point that it is over 30 degrees every day in Greece - I am drenched in sweat.

In typical Greek fashion, it was soon revealed that you can't actually buy train tickets at the train station. No no, you have to go over to the other side of the city to buy your tickets and then come back.

So I went to the other side of the city, still not knowing where I actually wanted to take the train to.

Anyway, it was quickly revealed that Greek trains are useless. They go to few places, they are expensive, and very infrequent. So I decided, stuff that, I'm going to the bus stop.

I was vaguely aware that I had to take the 051 bus to get to the main bus stop, and I also knew where there was supposed to be a stop. Unfortunately, there was a sign (in Greek), which I eventually figured out to mean 'no more bus stop here'. Or something along those lines. Great? Great.

But I did find the bus in the end, and sure enough it took me to the national bus service station thing.

So I bought a ticket to Patras. Platform 45. There is no platform 45, the last one is 42. I look desperately, I ask people, who all point to the big building which does NOT contain platform 45.

Eventually, with 2 minutes left to find it, I find somebody who speaks English, and they tell me that platform 45... means... 28. Only in Greece. Or possibly Italy.

I just made it onto the bus in time and was able to relax for a few hours.

Compared to the bus fiasco, getting a ferry was the easiest thing in the world.

I walked into literally the first building I saw in Patra, and they happened to sell ferry tickets. 37 euro to Bari. Easy.

And no problem with platforms - you can't exactly miss a gigantic ferry (and it was gigantic - it even had a pool).

Having learned my lesson about ferry food (6 euro for an inedible mousaka), I found a place to have my last gyro, and also bought some tinned tuna, bread rolls and oranges from a supermarket.

Now... for some reason, I thought that the ferry to Bari took 21 hours. I was wrong.

When it got dark, I fell asleep on deck (using my sleeping bag for the first time). Surprisingly comfortable for a sheet of steel.

When I woke up, we had docked. It was only 10am, so I naturally assumed we must have stopped somewhere on the way to Bari, because Bari is 21 hours away... right?

No...

I casually stroll down to reception to look for a bathroom, and ask the receptionist where we are... Bari... ah...

I run back to the deck, grab my sleeping bag, stuff, etc, no time to pack, and run off the boat just as they are about to leave again.

Phew.

But I didn't get far before being stopped by a policeman. I don't know what language he was talking to me in (it wasn't Italian), but I gathered he wanted my passport, so I showed him. He stared at it for a long time, and at me, and eventually asked me, in perfect English, "You're British?"

"Yeah..."

He stares a bit longer.

Getting creeped out now...

Suddenly he offers me a flurry of apologies, that he didn't realise I was british. Ok...

I'm wondering what the hell just happened when I finally find a bathroom, and it dawns on me why I may have looked a tad suspect. My hair is all over the place, my breath smells like tuna, the skin on my hands is peeling from sunburn, it's been ages since I shaved and I smell... SO bad.

In short, I look like something from a b-grade horror flick.

I clean myself up a bit and go on my way.

Somehow I make it to Bari train station, and from there I book a train to Rome. It's a 1 hour wait for first class eurostar... or 5 hours for second class regional. I went the cheaper option.

I decided not to make the mistake I had last time, and found an internet cafe to book a hostel in Rome. Glad I did.

And... now I'm there. At 1am, waiting for somebody to come out of the bathroom so I can finally brush my teeth at least.

Think I'll stay here for a couple of days to get my bearings a bit.

Santorini cont. & Ios

htapawaso — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 03:26:00 GMT

If it weren't for those I miss back home, I would have happily stayed on Santorini forever.

On my second last day on the island I rented a moped (scooter) to zoom around the island.

There are an absolutely unbelievable number of accidents happening on the island – I personally met 7 people who had crashed either a scooter or quad bike. In fact, when I was sitting at the hostel enjoying the peace and quiet, I witnessed the hostel's driver, on his moped (he was driving one-handed, as he had broken his arm two days before in a crash) getting hit by a motorbike travelling at close to 100 km/h. The crash happened less than a metre from me, and the motorbike went sliding at least 50m down the road.

Needless to say, those who rent scooters are less than keen to allow the unqualified to ride them. (quad bikes they will give to anybody). My three times riding a motorbike were exaggerated significantly to secure a lovely orange one.

I was off to a shaky start – the constant driving gusts of wind, the fact that I was driving on the wrong side of the road, the incredibly dangerous driving of the locals, the suspect quality of the roads and the constant hills and bends made Santorini a bad place to learn. But I got the hang of it.

And it was fun.

Unfortunately the ATM in Perissa was out of cash while I was staying there, so by the last day I was reduced to 28 cents... which meant I couldn't afford the bus to get to the port (and the hostel driver was... out of action). So I walked. Which doesn't sound too bad... unless you know where Santorini port is. At the bottom of a huge cliff.

What's more, my phone was dead, so I didn't know the time (I left my watch at home...). Was very lucky to just make my ferry to Ios.

Leaving Santorini was very strange, but something I'm sure I'll get used to. You spend a week making good friends with the people there... and then you just leave, probably never seeing them again in your life. Boggles the mind. Although I have run into a few people I know already in Ios.

Since arriving at Ios I haven't had a single moment of sobriety until now. The nightclubs open at 1am, and people start going home at about 9am. Every night. Fortunately, my incredible skills at cards ensured that I didn't buy a single drink last night, saving much money.

The beach here is gorgeous as well. The only white sand beach I have seen so far in Greece.

I'm leaving in 2 days and I have no idea where I'm going. Either Poland, Turkey or Italy. I think.

The internet here is free but slow, so I may leave uploading photos until later. I will try but my hopes are not high.

(EDIT: Photos are up. Took half an hour though!)

I'm very glad for this laptop - without one I would be paying a euro every 15 minutes for internet.

Santorini

htapawaso — Fri, 5 Jun 2009 22:40:00 GMT

A lot has happened since this journal was last updated.

I ventured to Athens port one day, and bought a ferry ticket to Santorini for the following morning.

And so, at 6am, I set out from my hostel in Athens (having drunk far too much the night before). The ferry trip waas amazing. It was an overcast, misty day - perfect boat weather.

Seeing the islands appearing out of the gloom was spectacular.

After 7 hours on the ferry I arrived at Santorini, and the sun came out to greet me instantly. A staff member of the hostel I'm staying at came to pick me and a few other confused travellers up, and took us to Perissa, one of the towns on the surprisngly large island.

I spent my first few days exploring the beach (a black beach. See picture below) and meeting the other people at the hostel - most of which were very friendly.

See that tiny building embedded in that sheer volcanic cliff?

There it is again.

At the top of this mountain was "ancient Thira", the old capital of the island. They built it up there as a natural fortress.

The walk up that cliff was not easy in this heat I can tell you that!

Tomorrow I will go to Fira, the capital of the island.

Athens

htapawaso — Sun, 31 May 2009 22:32:00 GMT

Well it's my second day in Athens.

Yesterday was cut short, as I fell asleep at about 7 o'clock from pure exhaustion. I was also the last to wake up in my room of 6...

When I got off the aeroplane I took a bus at random, and ended up at a square of some description. It looks like there will be an election soon, as there are many people shouting through megaphones with communist symbols, or with a portrait of a guy with a huge moustache.

By pure chance I found myself in an underground station, and recognised the stop I was supposed to go to... so I found my hostel within a few hours.

This city reminds me of Calcutta in that it takes 73 hours to move 5 metres in a bus/car/whatever... but somehow that is preferable to walking. At least on the main roads.

But the public transport seems quite good, with trams, buses, funny electric bus/trams and the metro.

Today I went to the Acropolis (literally 1 minute walk from my hostel).

Was good. Saw a tortoise.

I have eaten a pork gyro for every meal so far.

The standard price is:

Take away, 1.80 (euro)

Sit down, TEN EURO

For the same thing!

Needless to say I have had nothing but takeaway so far.

Make sure to look at the photo gallery for Greece.

Gallery: Greece

htapawaso — Sun, 31 May 2009 22:27:00 GMT

Gallery: England

htapawaso — Tue, 19 May 2009 23:21:00 GMT

First Stop: Jane's House

htapawaso — Tue, 19 May 2009 23:06:00 GMT

I got a email from World Nomads kindly asking me to do something with this page, and took that as a sign that this blog must begin.

After a very dull 26 hour flight, my Aunt Jane was kind enough to pick me up from Heathrow Airport (at 6am) and bring me back to her house in Reigate.

The near-constant rain has somewhat limited my desire to actually do something, although I am venturing into London tomorrow, and all the way to Exeter on Thursday

It seems very likely that I will be flying to Athens on the 30th of May, although it is not confirmed.