Vlore to Taranto
Yes indeed, let it be known. I hate flip flops with a passion now. And since my toe is knackered I'm going to have to wear them for longer.
In a change of topic, I realise a few photos are not all that clever over the last couple of days and it is so sad I can't show better images; the scenery is stunning and it is a grand part of the world to ride; I'd recommend this loop for a tour from the UK, and Northern Greece would make a decent turning point. It is clear foreign bikers don't visit often (I'm not sure anyone visits that little corner of Greece often at all). Anyway, pictures- main reason for the decline in quality is that somehow I've lost the USB adapter to my main camera, and so my snaps are now taken with my mobile. So I have some cracking photos actually, it's just they're all stuck on a little memory card. I shall enjoy those later then.
I also recalled two moments from yesterday that I don't feature and should have. At the hotel I left yesterday the lady asked where I'm going to which when I said Albania she looked very puzzled. 'It is very dangerous for you?' she said. Also, when I stopped for my toastie, the gent asked the same, and when I told him he said 'You go alone? Surely no'. At the hotel this morning in Vlore I talk to an elderly couple from Norway who have been coming here for 16 years. 'The Greeks have a great prejudice against Albanians' she says 'They will let them work there as they work hard, but they don't respect them'.
I don't get my alarm call. I wake up, and can see its already very light outside. I feel a moment of disorientated panic as I recall my recent experience in Montenegro. I see from the notice by the bed I can call contact reception by dialing 31. There's clear reason why I don't get the call: Someone has stolen the telephone. Hah. Suppose it makes a nice change from the regional Hotel crime of choice, namely the stealing of batteries from the TV remote control.
All is OK though; as it turns out its just after 8am. A good breakfast, including a great local Marmalade which is as orangey and sugary as a very orangey sugary thing. Incredibly charming, polite and welcoming people; the manager speaking good English and there are lots of staff fussing about for your needs. From a bikers point of view not exactly what you would call 'secure parking' for a traditional biker peace of mind, but the upside there is a little man watching out all night, and the adjacent car park has a security man sitting in a little box smoking a lot. Everything is fine with the bike, but I've long given up worrying too much about it, que sera sera.
With the bonus of an excellent internet connection and Skype, I am video counseled on the correct treatment of my fetid toe gouge by a nurse friend. At conclusion, she tells me to be sure that my insurance covers the cost of repatriation should I need to be airlifted out, the sarcastic git.
I drew out 2000 leke last night, which is about 13 quid so I could have a meal and a few beers. I had a 1200 already and a bit of change. I had a pizza, two large beers followed by a tidy nightcap at the hotel to soothe my pain, and I still leave having not broken in to my 2000..
And so the boot goes on without much hassle so far so good.
I'd wedged the GS amongst some cars last night at the direction of the hotel bod, so it's heavy going getting it out in the morning heat. The security guard has appeared from his smokehouse to have a look at my going. Bike packed, checked out and off. I am back in about three minutes, the hotel have still got my passport. Best I sort that now. Fierce apologies and good wishes and I'm back to the action.
Central Vlore has no traffic lights to feature at its huge junctions and as a consequence there seem no road rules to speak of. It's the closest thing to those bizarre Indian YouTube traffic videos that I've experienced, and you need a little bit of bottle to ride. Simple tactics here though: Don't let anyone go, or anyone in, just hold your course and keep going and people will go around you and some how, some way, you will go around them. At junctions things just merge at speed, coming from all angles. It reminds me a bit of Futurama for some reason. Don't let it put you off though, it's a real giggle, and to people watch those in the cars is ace. The motoring experience is a real memorable treasure to behold.
So I booked a ferry to Vlore to Brindisi with Direct Ferries, a UK website that a few folks have given thumbs up to in this parish (thanks to mrsroynie and Fanum for their quick advice
). I get to the port after the chaotic scrum fun.
OK, so here's the Port and so here's the tricky bit. I have an e-ticket. Most of the guards haven't heard of the 'e' part of it, let alone the 'e-ticket' thing. That said, I'm let through security though, and then on to the Police and Customs entry to the ferry. 'Billet' says the Policia man. No English though, and my try of Deutsch leaves him even further confused. I try for a while to convey 'e-billet', he has no idea what I'm talking about but it's all good natured. He likes my good luck sister Maria picture, Michael's gift from way back in Lake Bled that now sits proudly in the map pocket of my tank bag, so thinks I'm a good soul, and so jollily goes and gets his mate.
Said mate has a little more; He gets the concept, and has enough language to tell me I need to go back to the agency at the port entry and sort it there, so off I go. I'm grabbed by a port guy who takes me to an agent. This one isn't the one, but the girl being very helpful goes to get another agent, who then goes off to get another agent. I'm marched around by a little gaggle of people, they are treating it all most importantly. At last, my own little entourage. Cigarettes are tried to be sold to me mid transit. 'Do I look like I smoke?' I ask, referring to my waistline. 'Maybe you should?' smiles the peddlar in plain English. We have a laugh. The best English in the port comes from a haggered toothless peddler, whose face is collapsing in on itself like a neutron star. You never can tell.. funny place, Albania, full of the unexpected. Delightful chaos. Finally, A Donald Pleasance double taps in my reference number, says 'Robert' and mimics riding a motorbike. Bingo
I'm gutted I couldn't really get any pictures of this, but time was pressing and needs must and all that.
So I'm glad that Direct Ferries tell you that you need 120 minutes in order to check in, 45 of those will be to find out actually how to check in.
but now I've got my ticket. Back on the bike and to the Police post where my return is greeted like royalty with a handshake and a wish of good luck; I'm flagged past the queuing Italian cars into the Passport and customs queues.
It's a wait. I'm joined in the queue by two old Mercedes' 200s on a classic rally trip, a yearly jaunt for the Polish occupants. We have a good chat. There's laughs for my 'WTF' country sticker on the pannier, they likey and they want. I get a sticker from their tour to stick on my topbox, and there's a Facebook page to 'like'. And some more recommendations on where to go in Polska, more to bank for the future..
Through and on to the ferry..
With an hour to departure and a further four and a half to crossing to Brindisi to go, I decide to have a cheeky livener. It's all Italy here though, and they won't take my Shqiperese lolly, so that'll go into my ever expanding wad of would currency reserves. Still rude not to..
So it transpires that 12noon departure is now 2pm, and at 2pm we haven't moved as yet. 3.30 it is before finally off we go, so according to my calculations we won't be in Brindisi until 9pm. Joy.
So why Italy again? Well, it still bothers me that I lack a much of a positive view of Italy through so many visits, so this is a chance to redress the balance and try to dig a little deeper. And to get to Southern Italy, you'd generally need to go through Northern Italy which I'm no fan of, so this would seem to be an opportunity to make use of; plus, it'll make a change from all things Balkan. I'd done a bit of reading which said 'If you don't like Northern Italy- beware- Southern Italy is more intense'. Hey ho. Well, we likes a challenge, so off we'll jolly well go then.
The journey surprisingly doesn't drag, and the ferry docks just after nine. It so happens that I'm in the furthest point of the boat from the exit ramp and it is the best part of 45 minutes before I'm rolling off. Cosmic.
The disembarkation is typically Italian, impatient, waving of hands, trying to 'lane hop' (seriously, on a ferry, FFS), horn tooting. Pointless and hilarious
Anyway so much for an evening out. Last night, figuring on a 6.30pm arrival into Brindisi I book a hotel in Taranto, about 40 or so miles away, so it's off down the unlit Autostrada in the company of my dear friend 'LAMPF'. I really better try and get that sorted sharpish. And for more technical woes, the Zumo now refuses to draw me a map all of the time, leaving me with a blank pages as though I ride right off the map. Great. Heading down the Autostrada, and trying to get some sense out of said Zumo, with the flip up at about 90kph a big bloody insect hits me right in the fecking eye. What are the chances, for gods sake. That puts the tin hat on it
That's starting to piss me right off now.
I get to Taranto OK though, and through good memory as to where the hotel was from the confirmation map I'm in my room just before 11. Sore eye, and my toe is beeping as well. At least it has a mini bar.
Edit: It has a mini bar alright, but with one poxy tiny can of Moretti. WTF!
