I took the overnight ferry that magically transported me (in exchange for magically making 100,000 of my lira -$50- disappear) from the land of olives and sun to the other land of olives and sun. Upon boarding the ferry, while the common deck trash was pointed in the general direction of their haunts-to-be for the next 10 hours, I was personally escorted to the "Distinguished Class" section (what the hell was I doing here?) as I had the magic word "cabin" imprinted on my ticket. What a difference one little word can make in the world. For dinner I had bad roast chicken and cold french fries, a bloody delicacy after so many meals of pizza and pasta, no matter how good. All I wanted at that moment was a big chunk of meat!
As I'd chosen to spend some time in Corfu before hitting mainland Greece, I was turfed into the half-lit darkness of its port at 5AM, only to be met by what I came to know as the Pink Pussy Palace tourist bus and its friendly guide at the port exit (please pardon my french, but this is the ONLY possible name for the place). I'd read of it in a random brochure somewhere, and was informed by a couple of young Portuguese kids on the ferry that this place was the shit. It was the type of attraction that makes Greece famous amongst testosterone-ridden 20 year old American men - a bright pink (!) chain of buildings surrounding a cozy bay on the other side of the island that promised cheap dorm rooms, buffet-style meals, ouzo by the gallon, and the usual (unspoken) chance to get laid. The guide spoke good English and made a fairly concerted attempt to get me to board the bus - an idea that actually held a little attraction for a tired someone in a new and dark country, feeling a bit lonely. But, no, I'm not 21 anymore (at least that's what my driver's license says!), and so I pedaled off into the darkness to find a safe park bench to catch a few more winks before setting off into the city.
Corfu turned out to be mostly a package-tourists heaven and an explorer's disappointment. It's a beautiful island and the weather was wonderful, but there were just too many people speaking good English and advertising expensive "traditional Greek" meals for me - I spent a couple of days exploring some of the more remote bays with a mask and snorkel before fleeing to the mainland.
Mainland Greece - for whatever reasons, within an hour I had a renewed zest for the journey that had me feeling more relaxed and energetic. Perhaps its the more friendly people, the wonderfully 'solid' food, the more relaxed attitude to life, or just that I'm finally hitting my groove. Whatever it is, I'm liking it. Over the past few weeks I've often thought that 1) I'll complete the journey and 2) I was having a great time doing it, but usually not both thoughts at the same time. Too many doubts about the obstacles ahead, about my ability to be alone for that long, about whether or not I was doing it for the 'right' reasons. But now for the first time, I think, I realized the wonderful potential of this trip and that I will be able to handle pretty much anything that comes up. This feeling has stayed with me, a constant and solid emotional foundation under the highs and lows. It's a good feeling - of course, ask me if I feel the same way a week from now!
I speak zero Greek, of course, and reading it requires 2 translations - one to read the word phonetically, and another to translate this translation. So I find myself completely reliant on my phrasebook, but don't feel at all intimidated by it. Since, it seems, so few tourists make the effort to speak a bit of it, any attempt on my part is greeted with a surprised smile. And than a rapid answer in Greek that sends me wildy flipping through the pages to figure it out. Its a riot, really.
The countryside is the only place I have been that reminds me of 4 environments all at once: the Northwest coast and mountains have the scent of the pines of Montana, the valleys are cloaked in the tall oaks of England, the humidity (and resultant sweat pouring in buckets down your top tube) is reminiscent of Texas summers, and the cafes take me back to the interior of my first-ever car, a 1976 Datsun pickup truck with white mag wheels. (Don't ask me why - maybe the combination of trash, fly spray, and old food containers smells like leather and raging adolescent hormones!) But its a beautifully scenic place - only a panoramic camera would do it justice, so I'll try not to get to carried away with pics of valleys.
Met a young Dutch couple (Marco and Lisette) on bikes who have done many many miles in various trips - 42 countries and 30,000 km, I think! They are currently finishing up an 11 month jaunt from Spain to West Africa and then South Africa to Israel along the east coast. Oh, and when they reach France and get resupplied, they'll fly to Argentina and bike South America. Just a little side trip. This makes my escapade seem like kid-stuff in comparison! They did, however, say that in many ways it was much easier to travel through Kenya and Tanzania than India and Israel! So I've got THAT going for me! You can email them at [email protected] - tell em Mark the American with the Cannondale said hi. We sat up talking until midnight, me and the English couple (in the pics) forgoing dinner for the chance to share all our experiences.
The English couple I met (Martin and Helen) bought a 1984 London taxi and are currently driving it from England to Nepal! A confident and fiery couple without any spare car parts or even sleeping bags, I think they hope to survive on cans of Heinz baked beans and meatballs and the optimism of new adventurers. I wish them all the best - it takes balls to do something like that.
So, I'm off. Should be plenty of internet sites available, and they're pretty cheap. Expect to hear from me and, of course, expect to hear totally different opinions the next time! Mark (and in Greek, 'Mark'. Except it looks like llapk!)
