Meteora was one of those places you just had to see if you are passing. So now I’d been there and done that. A very comfortable night in the best room so far. Doupiani House had all the charm of a tea planter’s residence in the high country. And importantly, everything was bolted down in the bathroom.
I’d opened the doors and shutters and a cool breeze coming off the mountain should have neant a peaceful night. But I was restless because I was now at a crossroads in my journey. I had to decide whether to go north and through North Macedonia, Albania, Montenegro, Croatia and Slovenia. Or go northwest, across to Italy, then Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica to France.
I plumped for the latter because it kept me south for longer and because it was full of stuff that I wanted to do. An indulgence that G was less likely to find interesting or would be able to leave her job long enough for.
Logistically it was a lot more complicated and probably more expensive, with all the ferry connections. But it was less of a tourist trap and avoided that boring journey across the top of Italy.
So, home then North by Northwest. But firstly, to my spiritual home…Italy.
Lake Bled and the Dalmatian Coast would have to wait. In truth they just didn’t speak to me like the other route so I left the Balkans guide book in the room and shouldered my bag to Pedders.
A bright and chilly morning. I could see my breath. A good to be alive day. What day wasn’t? But this morning it was so obvious that even a chronic curmudgeon would be charmed.
A super road led up into the mountains and then down the other side through bridges and tunnels to Igoumenetsia.
Some of the tunnels were 6km long. Try holding your breath all the way through those kids!
About 30km outside the port I could smell the sea. And soon it came into view. A beautiful natural bay flanked by pretty islands and headland.
Got to the port where giant wind turbine rotor blades were being craned aboard a freighter.
I checked in and went in search of a coffee. The ferry to Bari didn’t leave until midnight. I needn’t have got up quite so early. But, it was a lovely day after all.
The cafe had an interesting picture of the port from 1954. Not a lot had changed except for the scale and of course, the ubiquitous concrete.
Later…
Exterior: Igoumenetsia. Port. Night
Finally got through customs. Tense. Pedders lost his modesty. ‘Well really…you want to look up that pipe..? You might have warmed your hands first.’
I had been told to go to gate 10 but no idea where. The apron was massive. I met some truck drivers having a salad and a few rakis.
Naturally, with so much acreage to play with. Nobody really knew where to park. Or indeed where to drive. I saw several scrapes and small accidents as drivers appeared through ranked columns of trucks. Not knowing who had the right of way.
There was a truck parked next to me with the name Breeders: Danish Genetics and a picture of a flying pig on the side. Then a leaking refrigerated truck parked the other side blocking me in with the worst smell of fish. I took a walk with some Italians exercising their dogs.
Onboard there was no room at the inn. Correction, there was one cabin that the Purser wanted 198 euros for.
Old hands on this route had brought along duvets and double mattresses which they set up in stairwells and bar areas.
One enterprising couple had even pitched a two man tent outside on deck.
I managed to snag a free couchette. I was directed – in the darkened compartment – by a crew member with a torch just like an usher in a cinema.
The experience that night was the equivalent of sleeping over your cattle on a medieval farm. The lowing of the other passengers and strange smells, cries and snorts.