Day 18 – Friday 10th June 2011
As the day dawns, people slowly wake to the sound of an announcement that we are about to dock. We’re not yet at Patras, just another stop along the way: Igoumenítsa, I believe. There’s a lot of movement as many people make ready to leave. It’s not my stop, so I find somewhere else to keep snoozing.
A short while later I get up and take a look out the windows. Greek mountains tower above us as we head between mainland Greece and some islands. I can’t believe I’m actually here.
Cycling through France seems like a lifetime ago; the Grand-St-Bernard pass a dream. All the hassle of Italy fades away as I gaze on the beauty of Greece.
A bit of breakfast before we dock and I get myself ready. The white long-sleeved t-shirt I bought in France makes its first appearance in the hope that I can protect my arms from the sun’s burning rays.
Ol’ Betsy is still bungeed up, waiting patiently for me to tend to her. It’s all go. Lorries and cars make their way past me and onto land. I have no idea where the exit is: some vehicles are turning left; others right. I choose left. Passing the American lads, I bid them farewell and find an exit gate.
Road signs in Greek lettering, now that’s a little weird! As I cycle past signs and shops, I try pronouncing the words to myself, no clue as to whether I’m right or wrong.
I don’t see much of Patras. It’s 1.30pm and I want to cycle 60 miles if I can. The cool breeze makes the hot sun bearable and the long sleeves are working a treat. I decide to stick to the main road, the E-55, as it’s flat and without many cracks and potholes.
Cars zip past me. I’m cycling on the hard shoulder, but many cars have their right wheels in that lane, allowing others to overtake them. It’s understandable (and helpful – I wish more people would move over to let others pass in the UK) but some barely give me any room as they pass. My time in Niger has taught me that the UK is one of the few countries where people don’t know the size of their car. “I’ve only one metre of space each side, can I really fit through that gap without scratching my wing mirrors?” Certainly in Niger the drivers are confident of the size of their vehicle and will only give a few inches of space. But it’s ok because they won’t actually hit you! Greece seems much like that.
After 20 miles I take a break. Firstly I want a cold drink (Greece does this amazing, slightly sparkling, blackcurrant drink!) and also I want to find a telephone. Athena, a friend from university, lives near Olympia and said that I should visit. It’s a little weird as she’s still in Aberystwyth at the moment, so I’ll be staying with her family who I’ve never met or spoken to. I have 2 phone numbers: a landline and a mobile, but no address.
So, I’m at this little roadside café, enjoying my cold drinks, and I think, “It’s time I tried to ask to use a telephone.” Greek phrasebook at the ready (thanks mum for that – very useful!)...
“pouv mporwv na... to thlevfwvv;”
(“Where can I... telephone?”)
The lady looks confused. Oh dear... I show her the phrasebook and point out what I’m trying to say, with a few gestures thrown in for good measure. She puts on her glasses and takes a look. Then she says something in Greek and I have no idea what’s going on! She gets up and walks into a back room, takes out a loaf of bread and shows me.
With lots of gestures, I ask, “If I buy the bread, I can use telephone?”
The bread costs €0.90 and I gesticulate “telephone” again. More Greek. She goes into the back room and pulls out some sausage and then some cheese. This is getting silly. I’m not buying all this stuff that I don’t need. I smile and gesture, “No, telephone.” I must have misunderstood her with the bread, I don’t think she has a telephone. Certainly not one she’s prepared to let me use. I try to thank her and leave.
The miles fly by and it’s not long before I’m on the outskirts of Pyrgos, a big town south of Patras. The only telephone I’ve seen so far have needed a special card, so I head into town in the hope of more luck.
I get to what I think might be the middle of town and find a couple of policemen. As I pull up, they watch as if in awe. I’d noticed that a bit: lots of people seem to have taken an interest in me and the overloaded bike. As I think about it, I’ve seen hardly any cyclists (I could count the number I’d seen on one hand!)... there must be something about it. Never mind, phrasebook out and I ask the policemen:
“milavte agglikav;”
(“Do you speak English?”)
“A little. What do you want?”
“Is there a Tourist Information?” I figure that might be my best bet for finding a better English speaker and a telephone. He asks the other policeman in Greek and they both shake their heads.
“No tourist information. What do you want?”
“I’m trying to find a telephone, but I have no card.”
He understands me and points towards a little kiosk where I can buy a phone card and says there’s a telephone down the road. I get the card and head off. Not wanting to get lost in town, I make my way back to the main road – public phones are fairly frequent there.
I try to figure out what to do. The first number doesn’t seem to work. Neither does the second. Maybe it’s because I’ve been given the numbers with the country’s prefix (as if I was calling from abroad). I drop the prefix and try again. Still nothing. On the plus side, it was a different tone, so maybe I’m getting somewhere. I try the house number again and I get an answer. Now, what on earth am I meant to say? I don’t know Athena’s family, I don’t know if they can speak English (I know her mother can, but this was a male voice!), and I don’t even know if this is the right number. Oh well...
“Hi. Is that Athena’s family?”
“Who is this?”
Well, at least he can speak English! “My name’s Mike...”
“Oh, the man with the bicycle?”
Success! “Yes, that’s me!”
We agree to meet in the car park of a Lidl supermarket and I follow him home.
Despite his Greek accent, it turns out he can speak English, French, German, Italian and is learning Turkish! He cooks me a bit of food – 4 boiled potatoes (complete with skin!) which are home-grown, so really nice. His wife, who is Australian, arrives later and it is great to get to know them.
Nassos and Carolyn (Athena’s parents) look after me well and I stay in another house they own in Pyrgos, not far from them. The main living area is on the first floor (which seems common in Greece) and the view is spectacular!
Stats
Mileage = 65.06 miles
Riding time = 4 hours 43 minutes
Average speed = 13.7 mph
Top speed = 36.9 mph
Total mileage since start = 859.0
Day 17 – Thursday 9th June 2011
Bari at 5.40am. Not even the toilets are open. Just outside the train station is a map. The ferry port shouldn’t be hard to find: head to the sea and turn left or right. I decide to turn left, after all, there is a sign saying “Port” in that direction... and it even has a picture of a boat!
I must have cycled a mile and a half before the next “Port” sign reassures me that I’m still on the right track. I eventually get to the entrance: no cyclists and no pedestrians. That’s a bit off since the ferry I’m after takes foot passengers. This must be the wrong port. It’s the only explanation. I find a little petrol station and use their facilities to freshen up before heading back into town and going the other way along the seafront.
This time the port is dead easy to find! I ask the gate guard where I can buy a ticket and he directs me to a blue building. It’s 8am. Although the building is open, none of the ticket kiosks are.
After sitting for 20 minutes I go outside to a little snack bar for a coke and some crisps – what a healthy breakfast! I sit there for as long as I can before heading over to the ticket kiosks again. A few Americans are talking to each other, but I like my own company so I leave them to it. A very impatient man is strutting around as if his very presence should demand the kiosk to open. Some official-looking people walk past and tell him to wait. He takes it like a slap in the face. I wonder why he thinks he’s so important?
The kiosk opens. I sit back and watch as everyone else rushes forward. Of course the impatient man is there first. “Thanks matey, why don’t you put the ticket lady in a bad mood for the rest of us? What a lovely start to her day you’re going to bring!” Obviously I keep those thoughts to myself...!
After a while I get up and join the queue. One of the Americans is in front of me so I start chatting to him. It turns out he’s actually Canadian. He’s hitch-hiking and couch surfing his way across Europe. He seems nice enough and we take a stroll into town since the ferry doesn’t leave until 8pm and doesn’t allow boarding until 5pm.
After lots of, “Let’s go this way!” we eventually find an internet café and then afterwards find a very reasonable pizzeria for some lunch. I go for a bit of pot luck with the menu and end up with a seafood pizza. They shouldn’t be allowed... or at least come with a warning message. I had a slice of seafood pizza before and it’s like licking a beach. Not fun! I eat it anyway since I paid for it, saving a bit of coke to try to take away the taste afterwards.
This Canadian guy (I think his name was Henrik – going by his Facebook profile when I glanced over at the internet café) decides to take a nap before getting on the ferry. He finds a nice spot and I go back to the port to check on Ol’ Betsy and then to try to find a supermarket.
I know that in France the shops tend to shut from 1-2pm for lunch. It’s 3pm and I head to a Tourist Information to ask where a supermarket is. “Everywhere is shut until 4.30pm.” That’s a bit of an extreme lunch hour! It turns out they take a break for a siesta in Italy. They direct me to a supermarket anyway and I head off in the hope that it might be open.
This is at least the third Tourist Information centre I’ve been to in Italy where what I’ve asked for hasn’t been where they’ve said. They seem so knowledgeable, but maybe they just make it up to get rid of people.
The town of Bari is like a giant grid, a few square miles in every direction. The roads are all one-way with all the parallel roads alternating the direction as you go along. Again, traffic lights seem optional. I eventually locate a supermarket, this one not opening until 4.45pm. Great. I find a place to sit down in the shade to wait.
Where I sit just happens to be outside a church where a van pulls up and 3 men in suits jump out with a bunch of flowers. 5 minutes later a hearse pulls up and these men pull out a coffin. They are obviously funeral directors and the youngest of the suited men (he could only be in his twenties) seems to enjoy the job far too much.
4.30pm comes and I head over to the supermarket, out of the way of the funeral. It opens, and I get some supplies for the ferry, which includes a tub of ice cream which I hope will cool me down after a day in the heat.
It’s just after 5pm and I cycle fast to the ferry, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the ice cream melts. I flash my tickets, padlock Ol’ Betsy (well, actually I don’t padlock her, I just strap a bungee between her and some railings so she doesn’t move), and get on deck. One of the crew asks if I want a drink. “Not yet.” As he walks off I take out the ice cream and one of my little plastic spoons. With all the cycling around Bari with the heat, I’m pretty hot and the whole tub goes in about 10 minutes. Man, now I’m stuffed, but oh, it was good!
On deck there’s a TV nearby which screens the film Forever Young in English with Greek subtitles. I can barely hear it, but I’ve seen it before and it’s a bit of entertainment.
Henrik the Canadian finds me and brings his other two American friends – Josh and John – to join us.
Fairly soon the conversation turns to Jesus, the Bible and why some Christians are just plain idiots (e.g. for believing the world was going to end on May 21st 2011). Whenever Henrik mentions the name of a prophet he always adds, “Peace be upon him.” It turns out he converted to Islam just over a year ago. From the way he talks about it, it seems more like a fashion statement than actual religiosity. He seems so in awe of it all, like a little kid with the cardboard box of what should be his favourite toy. Until he gets deeper into it and starts to question it, there’ll be no reasoning with him. As someone once said to me, “You’ve got to go there in order to come back.”
Well, the boat gets underway and these Americans decide to find somewhere inside where Henrik can serenade them with his guitar (or should I say, “gee-tar”!). I join them for a bit, then head off to get some time to myself before sleeping on some of the boat’s seats.
Stats
Mileage = 21.04 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 33 minutes
Average speed = 8.2 mph
Top speed = 16.8 mph
Total mileage since start = 793.9
Day 16 – Wednesday 8th June 2011
Rome in rush hour is certainly an experience! At side roads cars are pushing their way into the main flow of traffic. At traffic lights all the motorbikes and scooters filter to the front. Some of them have no regard for the red light and go anyway, most can’t even see the lights to know when they turn green... but that’s ok because there are 2 ways of knowing: cars behind will beep their horn if you don’t move within half a second of green; and the pedestrian lights are still visible... after a good 10 or 15 second wait on amber (Italian pedestrian lights have an amber as well), they turn red and the green light for cars is usually only 1 or 2 seconds after.
Things get a little more tricky as I get further in. Cars are double parked, taking up one of the two lanes, and the cobbled road is about to begin. I barely have time to check the direction I’m travelling, then I shoot up a side street. The scooter coming the other way clearly doesn’t care that this is a one-way, single lane, narrow street. He flies past me.
I get to a square. It’s pedestrianised but there are still a few cars and scooters around. I know the road I need to take, but it’s one-way... the wrong way. I stop to think what to do as a scooter buzzes past me and down the street. Oh well, when in Rome...
I get to the train station. Trains to Ancona are still cancelled due to strikes. I decide to cut my losses and buy the ticket to Bari (well, actually it’s 3 tickets: Rome to Napoli; Napoli to Taranto; Taranto to Bari). Anything to get out of Rome!
The train comes and I go. Ahh, it’s good to relax!
I have a 3 hour wait at Napoli. I decide to use the time to see if I can get a refund for the ticket to Ancona, especially as the queues here are much shorter. Customer Care sends me to the ticket queue. The ticket people send me to Customer Care. Back to the ticket queue, then Customer Care... then one of the Customer Care people walks over with me and gets it sorted. All that effort and they still didn’t give me a full refund. I get a measly €12.60. Well, it’s better than a kick in the teeth.
There’s still a bit of time so I get a couple of slices of pizza (yum!) and pop across the road for a drink and a bar of chocolate. I hadn’t bought a bar of chocolate on this trip yet and just felt like treating myself.
I get back to the bike where there are 2 cleaning trolleys around it. I go to take it away and one of the cleaners tells me something along the lines of not leaving it like that because of the police... either they’ll go through all the luggage or treat it as a bomb (I didn’t quite understand his hand gestures). I apologise and move on. Really, I knew that anyway, but I just didn’t want to drag an overloaded bike with me to all the places. Nothing was stolen and no one else cared.
The train to Taranto is 5 hours. I manage to get a bit of kip as I’m going to need it: the train from Taranto to Bari leaves at 4.18am and I need to decide whether it’s worth sleeping at the station (risking sleeping past the time and missing the train) or trying to stay awake.
After more essential snoozing on the train, I decide to try to stay awake. There are a number of homeless people sleeping at this station (just like at the others), including 3 dogs. Every so often the dogs would get excited about something and chase each other out and down the street. At one point a police car came and they got all excited again. The police car deliberately raced off and the dogs all followed!
2am comes and there’s an announcement that the train to Bari is waiting at the station. I take the opportunity: bike on; me on. Now I can sleep!
Stats
Mileage = 7.00 miles
Riding time = 48 minutes
Average speed = 8.7 mph
Top speed = 25.0 mph
Total mileage since start = 772.9
Day 15 – Tuesday 7th June 2011
So much for leaving Rome today! With a rough night’s sleep (people talking loudly until 2am and a dog that kept barking... seriously, if you want a pet dog, at least have the decency – or compassion – to train it), I manage to prolong getting up until 9.30am.I have a bike to fix and trains to sort out.
I get Ol’ Betsy’s rear wheel off (again) and succeed in the struggle to get the tyre off – seriously, it’s a tight fit. (I was going to take a photo of Ol’ Betsy in maintenance this time since usually I just want to get the job done quick... but got distracted by a bug that clung to the wheel!) Inner tube out and I set to fixing the puncture. I also check the tyre to make sure there’s nothing sticking into it... and there is. It’s like a metal staple, wedged firmly in the rubber, requiring a few minutes wrestle with a pair of pliers. So that’s why the puncture repair didn’t work last night... well, that’s what I can tell myself to avoid having to accept my stunning inability to repair them. Even with today’s puncture being a seeming success, I decide to put one of the 700x23c inner tubes in as I know for sure that it’s fine.
The campsite has a little tourist information point along with an internet café which I make use of. I know I said this trip was about not being reliant on technology, but I was also trying to arrange seeing some friends who live in places along the way and it’d help to let them know when I’ll be near them. Also, my parents did ask me to drop them an email with a brief update whenever I could. And that’s just it: it’s “whenever I can,” as opposed to having to find one every day. Plus, I said to myself that if I use the internet, I’ll have a few days without it after.
The information guy was good to chat to. He looked up the trains to Bari for me and said that there were direct trains. “With a bicycle?” He said it didn’t say. Now, from what the people at various stations have said, if it doesn’t specifically state that bikes are allowed, then they’re not. But this guy said, “It’s unclear. I think you can. If you can get the bike on the train with no one stopping you, keep it out of the way and have the bicycle supplement ticket, it should be ok.” It’s so not right, but it’s a chance to get to Bari. He prints me a list of the times and I think I’ll get a late train – 11.58pm – so that there are fewer people and hopefully fewer questions asked.
So, with everything packed up, I hit the road by 2.30pm. Plenty of time.
As I get further into Rome, on all the horrid cobbled road, I get to the ruins of the Roman Forum. Here’s where I do something a little silly: there are quite a few police about and an overloaded bicycle attracts attention, especially when cycled on cobbled road. So I walk across the street and prop it up next to a wall, hopefully just out of sight of the police... as long as they don’t move to their left. I must have been gone a good hour and a half.
The Roman Forum was good. I don’t know if it costs any money to actually get inside, but from where I was I had a good view anyway. A guy in a little kiosk charges me €4 for a coke, which I’m not happy about (I’m going to haggle with them if it happens again... I’m sure they see I’m a tourist and charge extra), then I find a museum and get the free entry into the bookshop. There I find an interesting item called “Rome Reconstructed” and it had photos of Rome overlayed with what it would have been like at the time. Very interesting, and I find the “Circo Maximo” where they would have chariot races, quite similar to that in the film Ben Hur. It’s actually not too far from where I am, so I decide to head over.
Well, Ol’ Betsy is still there, but there’s a yellow piece of paper wedged between the frame and the rear brake cable. I take a quick look. It reads (as best as I can make out) something like:
“Hallo Henk!! Succes met je vis!! Dre’ en Tineke (7/6/2011) (groetjes von Jan en Joke)”
It’s written in pencil and the reverse is a charge for €36. Well, I’m leaving Rome, so I hop on the bike and cycle off. But is it a ticket? What language is it written in? It seems more like German than anything else I know... why would an Italian policeman write a ticket in German?
I get to the Circo Maximo which I think looks impressive. It’s a huge stretch of grass with sloped sides and a raised middle. There are a few trees and it looks much like a park – a nice place for a picnic. But start to imagine a chariot race... It’s over 100 metres wide and over 600 metres long. I think it’s impressive.
I take this yellow piece of paper out again. The charge for €36 actually looks more like a restaurant bill, and even has yesterday’s date at the top. I still don’t understand the message... maybe I’ll work it out later.
I stop off at a little restaurant to cool off and have a coke... for €6!! Ok, it’s in sight of the Colosseum, but really?? Well, at least I make use of the free toilet so I don’t have to pay €1 at the station.
So I get to the station and decide to avoid the long queues, using a “fast ticket” machine instead. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing so I take a break and head over to the Tourist Information to ask about bikes on trains which don’t specifically mention it. I know I can get a single ticket to Bari from the fast ticket machine, but I don’t see how to get the bike ticket. Being careful how I phrase my question so as not to give the game away of what I’m about to do, I wait for the information lady to finish with her previous customers. They’re taking their time and she pretends to fall asleep. Eventually she moves them on. I ask if it’s ok to be on a train and buy the ticket there rather than at the station. She says yes, but there’s a fine. I ask how much, thinking that €10 for my bike to be on a train it shouldn’t be on is worth it. She says, “It could be up to €100. Even worse, they could kick you off! So you have a fine and a hurt bottom from them kicking you, BAM! Why do you want to make life hard for yourself?”
She’s a good laugh, and I explain what happened yesterday and that I didn’t want to wait in a long queue only to get someone who is not very helpful. She writes a note and says to say it to them and it should be ok: “I want a train from Rome to Bari with a bicycle. Thank you.” I thank her and decide what to do.
As I look at the departures board, I see a train to Ancona which allows bikes. Ancona also has ferries to Greece (more importantly, to Patras) so I decide to got for it. I get the single ticket and wait in the “Customer Care” queue (which is much shorter) to ask about getting the bike supplement. The lady there says it should be possible from the machines and to try again... but to be warned that the train might be cancelled because of a strike.
Finding out how to get the bike supplement from the machine, I decide to have a little nosey... is it possible to buy a bike ticket to Bari? The answer is yes! And it even shows which trains I should get! I already have the ticket to Ancona, so at least I have a backup plan.
The train to Ancona is cancelled. Great. The train to Bari doesn’t leave until 10.49am. There’s another train to Ancona a bit later so I wait some more. That train gets cancelled as well and I decide to head back to the campsite for the night. It seems to have been a bit of a waste of the day, and if I can’t get to Bari or Ancona, I might have to cut out the Greek part of the trip because I just won’t be able to afford it.
Stats
Mileage = 17.31 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 15 minutes
Average speed = 7.6 mph
Top speed = 26.0 mph
Total mileage since start = 765.9
Day 14 – Monday 6th June 2011
I woke up this morning feeling much better. Still, I had some more rehydration salts just to be safe. The plan for the day: Vatican City, more sights of Rome, drop in at the train station to buy a ticket to Bari and get back to the campsite before dark. Simple. And if I could find somewhere to buy a stamp to send some postcards home, all the better.
Staying at the campsite 2 nights means I can have a nice lightweight bike: just the 2 panniers for a few tools, a jumper, a pair of trousers and some water; and the handlebar bag which I always have with me, containing all my money, passport, maps, this diary, a bit of food and all the important bog roll for nature’s unexpected call.
So I zip into Rome. I can remember the way, even though it was dark last night, and I make sure I can find the easy way back to the campsite tonight... no detours onto autoroute this time. As I follow the road in, I become aware of a large wall on my right, lined with CCTV cameras. I know what that is: that’s the wall of the Vatican. Again, films shoot to mind: The Da Vinci Code (and Angels and Demons, which was more entertaining as a film, in my opinion... but that’s by the by); Hudson Hawk; Mission: Impossible III to name a few. It’s in Mission: Impossible III where they decide to break into the Vatican City by causing a traffic jam as Tom Cruise’s character scales the wall and carefully subverts the CCTV camera. I figured it’d be fun to try to find that stretch of road, so I cycled all the way around. It’s been a while since I saw the film, but I took a photo of where I think that scene took place... I’ll find out if I was right when I get back!
Anyway, enough faff, time was getting on. I headed over to Piazza San Pietro again. There were a few more people than last night! There was also an exhibition about Pope John Paul II, free entry, so I took a nosey. It was in Italian, Polish and English, so it was a bit of a game to find the parts I could read. But it gets me thinking...
You see, I wasn’t brought up as a Roman Catholic. My parents are Christians, so I was used to going to church, but it was more lively than the established church – one that sprung up out of the charismatic movement. I made some sort of commitment when I was 7 or 8 and was baptised, but it was when I was 18 that it all became so much more real and it was clear that there had to be more than just the material world around us.
Anyway, growing up in these charismatic churches and even being a part of an Anglican church whilst at university, it was clear that there was a Catholic/non-Catholic rift. The unspoken notion was/is that Catholics are essentially heretics because they have extra books in their Bibles and they worship Mary, Jesus’ mother. In any case, they certainly were not Christians. (Although a few people would agree that there are probably a few “true” Christians within the Catholic Church.) But a couple of years ago I thought about what the defining factor is of “true” Christianity, and why these other “sects” were so obviously (?) wrong and had to be treated so harshly. And I think that “defining factor” is having a faith in Jesus as God’s Messiah, and living that faith.
But we can’t judge the level of someone’s faith: some people find it easy to live out and their lives are full of good works; other people find it such a struggle to do just one good deed... but it doesn’t mean their faith isn’t real.
And from looking around this exhibition and reading some of the things Pope John Paul II said, I ask why: why isn’t his faith real? He says that his desire is for the young people – the next generation – to spread the message “that only in the death and resurrection of Christ can we find salvation and redemption.”
You see, I think God is bigger than those “true” Christians make out. I think the view that, “You must do this and this and this to be saved and your life must look like that to be a real Christian,” is just too narrow. It places burdens on people that not everyone can carry. And that’s just it: Jesus says that his burden is light. I think those “true” Christians will be surprised (maybe even shocked) when they find out just who God has accepted... and how many.
Enough preaching. The rest of the Vatican was beautiful. The sheer craftsmanship that has gone into it is astounding! I saw a couple of people head down a fairly covert stairwell, so I followed them into some sacred underground grotto. When I got out, I found a way (for €5) to get to the cupola right at the top of St Peter’s Basilica (they reckoned it was 518 steps, but I only counted 396...). Lots of photos were taken. Stunning.
I get back to Ol’ Betsy, still padlocked to one of the posts. (I’m dragging this padlock around and this is only the second time I’ve used it... the first was when I wild camped the night before cycling the Grand-St-Bernard, just in case!) It’s 4pm and I’d not really had any lunch so I headed off for a something to eat. I found a little restaurant in a backstreet... too expensive, so I moved on. 
Pizza for €5? (Or rather, pizza with vegetables for €6!) Much better, so I stop and have a sit down. In France you get a basket of bread free with the meal, so when the waiter brought me some, I thought it was a nice touch... I didn’t realise he was going to charge me €2 for it! Plus, these places make a packet on the drinks: a 500ml bottle of coke can cost €0.99 in a supermarket; in a restaurant, a 300ml can of coke can cost up to €6!! That’s daylight robbery in my opinion!
I figured it was best to head to the station to sort out tomorrow’s train tickets before they shut for the night. Up until now, it had been a fantastic day. Little did I know...
I spent about an hour and a half waiting in this queue and end up with a grumpy old man serving me who gets irritated by my bad Italian. “I’m after a train ticket from Rome to Bari with a bicycle.” He eventually puts it in the computer and says, “Not possible.” Marvellous. I try again and find that he’s looking at routes using fast trains. I already know that fast trains don’t allow bicycles. “What about Regional trains?” Tap, tap, tap at his computer...
“Regional trains not go to Bari. Not possible with bicycle.” Then he gives up trying. Great. I see no other option but to do what I hate... “Is there someone else who speaks better English?” I know I shouldn’t be in someone else’s country and demand they speak my language, but he gave up trying to communicate, just sitting back, hands behind his head, repeating, “Not possible. Not possible,” until I went away. The guy next to him became free so I moved over. They can’t believe I’ve just done that and it sounds like they’re having an argument in Italian. Oh well... this guy understands me better and actually tries looking. He says I can’t go direct to Bari... well, I’m glad we got that out of the way fast. I ask about the Regional trains. He says that would involve many changes. Ok... but he says he can’t do it from here. Grrr...
He writes out the time and price for a train to Benevento, about half-way to Bari, in the middle of the mountains, but won’t find out if I can get from Benevento to Bari. I don’t wish to be stuck in the mountains! He’s getting impatient, it’s 9.40pm and I want to get back to the campsite. I’ll sort something out in the morning.
I headed back towards the Vatican, crossing the river, thinking, “If I step on it, I could be back by 10.15pm.” No sooner had I thought that than I turn a corner and think, “Ol’ Betsy’s back wheel doesn’t feel too good.” Another puncture. And it’s late.
Well, the tyre was not completely soft, so maybe I could get away with putting some air in and sorting it out properly tomorrow. 5 minutes later I was on the road again, turned a corner and Ol’ Betsy’s saying, “No way!”
I decided to take out that inner tube that got the puncture in Pisa, fix that and swap them over. Repair kit glue went everywhere – it hadn’t been used in over a year. I hate doing puncture repairs, but a few quid for a new tube each time gets a little costly.
15 minutes later and all seemed to be well. I pump up the tyre (with a tiny pump... which is great for travelling because it doesn’t take up too much space, but pumping up tyres takes a while...) then suddenly... Pssssss!! It sounded like the valve had gone. I didn’t care. I was fed up now. It was late. I wanted to sleep. So I rode back to the campsite, about 2 and a half miles, on a flat back wheel. It wasn’t the first time and it probably won’t be the last.
I got back at 10.50pm. The campsite’s supermarket closes at 11pm so I dove in for a tin of expensive Ravioli, something to drink and the postage stamps I hadn’t managed to get during the day. At least the postcards got sent.
Time for bed, a lie in and taking tomorrow easy.
Stats
Mileage = 19.25 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 26 minutes
Average speed = 7.8 mph
Top speed = 27.3 mph
Total mileage since start = 748.6
Day 13 – Sunday 5th June 2011
Things took a turn for the worse. After such a pleasant evening last night, I decided to just kip at the station and wait for 7.45am to come. It took long enough. The cycle back started out ok. It was dark, but I knew where I was going and I had the lights on. But after a few minutes I started to feel sick. Not good. A bit of water and keep going. If I didn’t think about it, maybe it’d go away. Almost back in Pisa and I just had to stop and hope it never actually comes. No? Ok, let’s go.
Back at the station and I find a place to lie down, which helps. Unfortunately, not for too long. Well, I tried to aim for a bin... but suddenly I feel quite a lot better. I find a different place to lie down, trying to get some sleep this time. I make it to 3.30am before Round 2 comes. Again, I feel better for it. A bit of water and back to sleep.
6am came and I decided to freshen myself up since the toilets had opened before going to the platform and waiting. I tried to sleep a little more on the train. The sickness was coming back, but if I didn’t move I seemed to be able to hold it at bay.
A number of things could have brought it on: the dip in the sea (it wasn’t the nicest part of the sea I’ve been in... not the worst either, though); missing a meal or 2 as I’ve slept at stations; the heat in Pisa; the water in Pisa; or even the fact that I cycled over 100 miles and the next day did the Grand-St-Bernard pass – that’s a lot of exercise! Anyway, enough about illness.
I get to Rome! The first challenge is to get out of the station – it’s massive! And to complicate matters, there’s a huge shopping centre there as well, over 2 floors. Somehow I end up on the lower level and can’t find a working lift to get to ground level. Oh well, up the escalator it is then... with a heavily laden bike.
I find my around to the station’s main entrance in the hope of finding some sort of information point. The place looks like Heathrow airport! Anyway, I get a map of Rome, find some information about a campsite and set off. Before I leave the station, I’m accosted by a couple of guys who want me to stay in their hotels. The first one seemed quite reasonable at €25 per night in a single air-conditioned room... although who knows what state the room would be in! He gives me more details anyway... I suppose it’s a backup plan. (I actually tried haggling with him: “€25 per night? How much for me? €20?” I don’t think he was too impressed!) The second guy was crazy... €50 per night! No way. Anyway, I want to see Rome!
I get outside and onto more cobbled road... why do so many cities have this annoying surface? Paris, Beaune, Aosta, Pisa and now Rome! It’s not good for an overloaded bike. They clearly weren’t thinking when they designed it...
I see lots of interesting features (statues, obelisks, etc) as I make my way around Rome’s insane road system. Stopping every now and then to take photos, I eventually see the Colosseum in the distance. I find a place to prop Ol’ Betsy up, nicely out of the way, then take a walk around the huge structure, trying to see how much of it I could see without paying to go in. Not much, really. I give up and pay – it has to be seen from the inside. Lucky for me, if you’re aged 24 or under you get a discounted ticket. One flash of the passport later and I’m in.
I’m already thinking of films which feature the Colosseum... Gladiator (although for the film they needed a complete one, so what I’m seeing in front of me is a little different), and Jumper. Jumper is a good one as it features the Colosseum in ruins and I can see where the various pieces of action took place. It’s a phenomenal structure, even in ruins, and I can’t believe I’m actually here.
After a few rainy showers, I eventually left to find my soaked bike. By now it was getting late, so I found a little supermarket to stock up on a few supplies and headed west towards the campsite (still taking photos of anything interesting along the way).
There was a little fountain which had a fairly large number of tourists around and as I made my way through, I heard an English voice: “That looks well loaded!” Apparently anyone touring on a Raleigh bike must be English. It turns out this guy does a fair bit of cycle touring as well. Plus, his wife is a nurse (or something medical) so I got to ask about this horrid sickness which is still lingering. Apparently what I needed was some kind of rehydration salts.
Continuing on, I found myself at the Piazza San Pietro... I’d got to the Vatican! It was 8pm and everywhere was shut, so a few photos and I was on my way again. Tomorrow I’ll have a proper look. I found a pharmacy where they eventually understood what I was after (lots of gesticulating and silly noises) and headed out to find this campsite.
So I’m going... and going... and going... and I thought I must have missed it. Then I saw a little sign for a campsite, so I headed in that direction... and kept going... and going... and going. “This is stupid,” I thought to myself as I was about to drift onto Italian autoroute. About turn, and I might try to see if that hotel for €25 a night is still open... it would be at least 10.30pm by the time I get there.
Anyway, only a little way back down the road and I saw a sign for the campsite: “Roma Camping.” Success! And for €13.20 a night, I won’t complain. It’s been a long, hard day and all I’m thinking about is getting some much-needed rest.
Stats
Mileage = 14.25 miles
Riding time = 2 hours 26 minutes
Average speed = 5.8 mph
Top speed = 28.8 mph
Total mileage since start = 729.3
Day 12 – Saturday 4th June 2011
At 5.30am I’m awake. Location: Genova train station. Last night I got the train from Aosta to Torino (Turin) and then onto Genova, arriving at 1am. The train to Pisa leaves at 6.20am, getting me there just after 10.30am. A bit of time for more sleep on the train.
So I get to Pisa and I’m thinking, “I need to find a Tourist Information centre and get a town map.” In Aosta it was easy: follow signs to the town centre, find the main square and it was right in front of me. In Pisa, there are many squares! I found one, but no Tourist Information. All I’m really here for is to see the leaning tower, taking photos of anything else of interest along the way.
As I circle the town trying to find a Tourist Information centre, I notice something poking up above a wall. I think I’ve found it... but the next road in that direction is one way – the wrong way. I continue forward, aware that I was now getting further away. Taking the next left, I came across a little street heaving with people and market stalls lining both sides. Barely 2 people can walk abreast and I have a bike with a lot of luggage!
I look for another left turn so I can double back on myself. I see an archway and another street also full of people, albeit much wider this time. Maybe I don’t want to go that way, but wait... what’s that poking out from behind another building like it’s trying to hide?
It doesn’t look like much of a lean... maybe I’m at the wrong angle. As I get closer, I come across a sign which reads: “Due to the dangerous nature of the leaning tower we have had to make adjustments to make it vertical.” Dated January 2011. So that explains it...
Only joking! From the archway I head towards it, thinking, “That’s quite a lean!” There are loads of people stood with their arms out as friends and family try to take photos making it look like they are trying to hold the tower up (or pushing it over, as one person was!)... so I thought it’d be quite fun to take a photo of all those people looking silly with their arms out!
Desperate for a cold drink and somewhere to sit out of the sun, I find a little snack bar and have a bite to eat as well. I don’t quite get how they charged me... I asked them if they could fill up my water bottles, which they did, but either they charged me for 2 cokes when I only had one or they charged me for the water as well... €2.60 for some water??
I mooch around the town some more – by now I know my way around pretty well (“I’ve been down this street 3 times already!”). I find a supermarket then head back to the station to ask about getting to Rome. Along the way I cross a road and the back wheel doesn’t feel quite right. Great, a puncture. The first one of the whole trip. Forget puncture repairs, I was never good at them anyway. I decide to use my last spare inner tube: Halfords’ finest. (It wasn’t actually Halfords’ “finest,” just their basic one that fits a 700x28c tyre. I had kept the 700x23c inner tubes from the old wheels – just in case – but this was my last spare “new” one.) Fifteen minutes later and I’m all done and on my way again.
Trains from Pisa to Rome the next morning are either at 7.45am or 11.45am. Ideally I’d like to catch the 7.45am train, but if I miss it that’d be a horrid 4 hour wait I would not want to have. Wild camping (again) down the road? Let’s check it out. I head off towards Marina di Pisa.
There are a few places along the road where I might be able to bivvy for the night, but nowhere suitable to put the tent up. Oh, well. I get to Marina di Pisa and find a nice area to have a dip in the sea (a few other people were there, so I didn’t feel out of place). It’s a chance to try to get rid of the horrible sweaty smell I’ve accumulated over the last couple of days from wild camping and sleeping at train stations. Not a proper shower (or bath), but it’ll have to do.
There’s a little restaurant up the road as well. So I’m sat there, writing as the sun sets, having a nice large glass of coke. Fantastic!
Stats
Mileage = 28.89 miles
Riding time = 3 hours 41 minutes
Average speed = 7.8 mph
Top speed = 19.2 mph
Total mileage since start = 715.1
Day 11 – Friday 3rd June 2011
The ear plugs were getting uncomfortable. They had to come out. 5.54am and that blasted cow was still at it! With no campsite luxuries, there was nothing to do except pack up and be gone.
I still can’t believe how far I cycled yesterday, including going over half-way around Lake Geneva – and it’s a big lake. Chris de Burgh once took a boat over Lake Geneva, or so he says, back in the days when he said goodbye to it all. Well, I’m not saying goodbye to “it all,” but it is a farewell to the lake.
A quick stop in Martigny – by now it’s 7am – at a service station to use their toilets and freshen up, then head for the Grand-St-Bernard (as all the signs say). I had only been going 2 minutes when a car beeped me. I looked up to see him waving his finger (not his middle one, I hasten to add) at me as if to say, “No you don’t!” Ooops, I’m about to cycle onto autoroute... and I’ve done enough of that already! A quick about turn to cycle back up the slip road the wrong way on the hard shoulder. Well, what else could I do? I certainly wasn’t king of that road.
Back to the service station and I found another sign for the mountain pass, this time no autoroute. Then began the trek up the long and winding road.
In the UK there are signs saying, “Beware Bikers,” and, “Bikers Beware.” Well, in Wales, at least. The Swiss equivalents are fantastic. They say, “Slow down, take it easy!” with various pictures to accompany them. The best one has to be of a depiction of Jesus (a white man with long brown hair and a beard, dressed in white robes... who else is it meant to be?), although this Jesus has angel wings... anyway, he’s sat on a wheel with that classic “loving” look in his eye with one hand in a “slow down” gesture. I think you need to see the photo to see the true comedy/art/genius of it – writing just won’t do it justice!
On I go, past another sign that had a massive bee clinging to it. I wish I’d taken a photo of that: this model bee must have been (bee-n...?!) over 6 feet tall!
I remember those adverts on TV... for Duracell, I think... and there’s this bunny with a battery strapped to its back. Now, the later adverts have him running a race, but there’s an older one where, at the end, he plods across the screen, saying, “It goes on and on and on...” Well, that’s what this road is like.
The map says I’ll be going up to an altitude of 2,469 metres, but it lies – and I have photographic evidence to prove it.
The wheels on the bike go round and round, and I’m starting to wonder what made me think this was a good idea. Another sign: 18 km to the tunnel (where all the lorries have to go); 25 km to the pass itself.
Eventually, after lots of hard work, I reach the tunnel. Only 7 km left... it should only take an hour. My riding time so far is about 4 hours. Up I go, and the steepness has just increased... a lot. I take a break after only a few minutes, literally just around the first bend of this last section. The Alps still tower above me, but I’ve not come this far to turn back: there’s ain’t no mountain high enough!
For some reason it helps to count every step I take. Or rather, every stroke of the pedals: right, one; left, two; right, three; left, four; 5, 6, 7, 8... except I’m counting to 12, for some reason, before starting again. I just to be able to say that I did it; that I cycled the Great St Bernard pass. Not many people in the UK can say that, and even fewer can say that they cycled across Europe’s mainland to get there.
I take another break. I’ve not even cycled 1 mile yet since the tunnel. Another cyclist is behind me and stops for a chat. He’s full of encouragement, first of all by commenting that the cogs on my bike are rather large for hills this steep and that I’m not making it easy for myself. Well, I did buy those cogs specifically for speed, not for ridiculous hills! Then he comments on the amount of luggage I have... yes, it’s pretty heavy (hopefully I’ll remember to weigh it when I eventually get home), and no, I wasn’t thinking that clearly when I took all 3 of those gas canisters dad had for the little stove, nor when I packed the map of Morocco along with the rest, just because it looked the same and I didn’t read the country on it. But I’m not saying it in French and this guy doesn’t need any more reason to make fun of me. Just before he leaves, he says the road is this steep right to the top... 6 km more to go! Thanks mate. Anyway, a little less conversation and a little more action!
It’s not long after and I see a sign: 4 km to go! About half an hour later (probably a bit more) and there’s a sign with “2 km” on it. My lovely cycling friend is now on his way back down. As he shoots past me, he says, “One kilometre!” Well, that’s a lie, since the 2 km sign is barely 300 metres behind me! But he was telling the truth about the steepness – it ain’t gettin’ any easier.
A few more bends (another 20 minutes!) and I can see the top – surely I can make it without another break... well, I would have if, in my moment of excitement, I hadn’t wobbled, causing Ol’ Betsy’s front wheel to spin into some snow by the side of the road. No steering, all I can do is put the brakes on and walk myself out. Starting again is always the hardest part. I keep going. More motorbikes rocket past, one of them giving me a “thumbs up” for making it.
Just as I near the hotel at the top, I see a sign indicating the pass is 2,473 metres high, and I’m thinking, “That’s not what the map says!”
The feeling of having made it is simply the best. A man at the top is so amazed that I’ve done it with such a large load that he takes a photo! I prop the bike up against the wall and take a few photos of my own. There’s a bit of cloud, but the view is still stunning, and I think to myself, “What a wonderful world...”
A quick stop for a hot chocolate and a fruit tart – one of the best I’ve ever had! After all that work I can barely walk, but I’m still standing. I walk back outside again and notice that raindrops keep falling on my head. It’s not heavy so I pop into the souvenirs shop to wait it out.
I’ve been up here over an hour: it’s time to get back down to earth. I wrap up warm and shoot off down the mountain like a speed demon (or a rocket man).
After taking 6 hours to get up the pass, it only takes 1 hour to get to the town of Aosta in Italy, about 25 miles away... and that includes a couple of stops to let the wheel rims cool down.
As I get to Aosta, the rain starts up again, heavier this time. (Why does it always rain on me?) Maybe it’s because I’ve just had 20 or 25 miles of road to myself, but I start to get a feeling of not really being “welcomed,” if that makes any sense. I knew Italy wasn’t the best for cycling, but cars just don’t seem to care and it just seems very different to France and Switzerland.
It’s just after 4pm and I find my way to a Tourist Information centre to ask about supermarkets and campsites. I’m aware that so far I’ve been overspending on my budget and €18 for a night’s camping won’t help. I figure that this trip is basically a tourist trip: for me to say, “I’ve been there,” and, “I’ve done that,” so I’m not too fussed about cycling. For €30 I can get a train to Pisa, which would take at least 4 days of cycling and spending more money. If trains are that cheap, I might get the train again just to cover the distance quickly.
I decide to get a late train so that I can sleep one night at a station (for free!). That gives me 1 and a half hours to see the sights of Aosta... off I go!
Stats
Mileage = 56.61 miles
Riding time = 7 hours 40 minutes
Average speed = 7.3 mph
Top speed = 36.7 mph
Total mileage since start = 686.2
As the day dawns, people slowly wake to the sound of an announcement that we are about to dock. We’re not yet at Patras, just another stop along the way: Igoumenítsa, I believe. There’s a lot of movement as many people make ready to leave. It’s not my stop, so I find somewhere else to keep snoozing.
With lots of gestures, I ask, “If I buy the bread, I can use telephone?”
