An emotional journey east

Oct. 22, 2008

It was a long journey east that finally brought me to Istanbul late last week. I left Florence feeling rather melancholy. Part of it had to do with the stress of planning my trip to Turkey from Florence, hundreds of miles away and separated by a country and two seas. But the main thing that started playing in my mind was that as the travel season in Europe winds down, a lot of people aren't heading elsewhere, onward, beyond... they are going home.

I bid farewell in Italy to my two Aussie mates, Nat and Naomi, who were heading to Rome and then back home following a short stop in Singapore. Right now, they are either wandering through an Asian market in search of wallets, souvenirs or Bags!, or unpacking and readjusting to life in Mt. Gambier.

On October 11th, I hopped on a quick but crowded train to Bologna where I connected to a sleeper train to Brindisi. The compartment, which I shared with five Italian women, was about as comfortable as sleeping in a vending machine.

At dawn, the train arrived in the port city. Brindisi will remain in my mind as the first place I ever brushed my teeth in a public restroom. Thankfully it was a clean one, and I didn't even have to pay to pee.

In the Let's Go Europe and Lonely Planet guidebooks, they say Brindisi is a place you don't want to linger. It's just a town where you're either coming or going through the port. But I liked the town on that early morning. It had a warm and tropical feel, reminiscent of Florida. Palm trees line the streets and all the buildings are salmon-colored. The waitress at the train station's cafe served me a strong cup of coffee and a croissant with hazelnuts and gave me a nice smile when I attempted some Italian to ask directions to the port.

"Just straight ahead. Follow the signs that say 'This way to Greece'" she said.

The Mediterranean breeze was rejuvenating. The ferry to Igoumenitsa was called the Ionian Sky. Most of the day on deck was filled with reading and listening to music and watching the wake of the boat. I fell asleep for a while lying against my backpack with the afternoon sun on my face. The watercolor sunset that evening uplifted me. But as soon as darkness fell, I sank again into a state of despondence and worry.

The ferry arrived in Greece around 9 p.m. My plan was to find another ferry to Corfu where I would spend two nights before continuing on to Turkey. Luckily, I met two Asian women on board also looking to get to the island that evening. The three of us teamed up to find a boat that would take us back to the island which we passed en route to the main land. During the summer, a ferry from Brindisi connects directly to Corfu everyday, but with fewer visitors, the route is only open every few days.

The three of us found a ferry, one of the last of the evening, and chugged back across part of the water we just sailed landing on Corfu around 11 p.m. I talked the women into splitting a cab with me to the Pink Palace, a famous hostel notorious for its ouzo circles and toga parties, among other extracurricular activities.

When we arrived, we were greeted by Nick, an Italian American guy with a questionable past, and Andy, a one time CPA from London turned DJ/bartender. They greeted us warmly giving us each a welcome shot of pink ouzo.

The Pink Palace provided some relief from my forward movement. During my one full day there, I joined a group of mostly Canadians for a boat cruise along the coast which included cliff diving and bat cave swimming and beach sitting. It also included ouzo. Lots and lots of anise seed-flavored firewater.

The Pink Palace was a lot of fun. Too much fun, maybe. I would've stayed longer, but I had to get to Turkey by the 16th. I didn't sleep the night before I left Corfu because of the booze cruise (or Ouzo Cruizo.. my term, copyright pending) and the subsequent hours of drinking on land. I spent most of the night ignoring a boy from Alberta who inexplicably had an Irish accent. Accountant-turned-barkeep Andy gave me lots of free pineapple vodkas and let me play with the music all night. By daybreak, he offered me a job as his assistant DJ in the high season. It may have just been a drunk offer, but then again you may just see me cutting this trip short so I can return to Greece next March.

That morning, I got a ride from the Palace to the bus station where I fell asleep at a table for several hours before boarding a bus and then a ferry and then another bus along the Albanian border to Thessaloniki. Though the drive was beautiful, through dramatic landscapes of mountains and cliffs and seashores, it was the longest f-ing bus ride of my life.

In Thessaloniki, nine hours later with sunset again approaching, I was frantic. I took a cab to the train station with the hopes of securing a bed on the Dostluk/Filia Express, formerly the Direct Orient Express, to Istanbul. In Greece and Turkey, they haven't yet uncovered the full possibilities of the Internet... or the telephone for that matter. The only way you can book a ferry, or train, or bus in these countries is by showing up at the port, or terminal or station. So I was relying on a cancellation or just some luck that I could still board this train, showing up 30 minutes before it was to leave. Thankfully, there was a free bed for me.

A pretty, red-headed Greek girl with whom I would be sharing the compartment, asked me where I was from. When I told her Connecticut, she seemed concerned.

"You are a long way from home," she said.

It was true. In that moment having covered so many miles over land and sea, I felt suddenly a million miles away. However, once the train started moving and I settled into my top bunk bed I was lulled into a dreamy sleep.

Moving around from place to place, sleeping under different roofs every few nights can make a person realize just how vulnerable she is. But getting in motion, watching the world blur by out the window of a bus, feeling the ground drop away as a plane takes off, or watching the whitewater of the wake of a boat can be exhilarating.

Knowing you will be waking up in your final destination before being rocked to sleep by the rhythm of a train is one of the best feelings in the world.