6th October 2024

Getting There.

Hi All

Before I begin, I would like to give these instalments some context. These are my personal thoughts; they are not intended to impose a view, promote a cause, nor prejudice perspective. They are simply my diary notes, my internal conversations which are in good faith, I have chosen to share. They may be trivial and humorous or confused and anxious but they are always just my thoughts.

So, having never been on a sleeper train, Liz and I weren't sure what to expect but the overnight from Penzance to Paddington on Wednesday night was really good and we were woken by a ice lady bearing tea and porridge. Then it was a case of changing out of my boxers and taking the Hammersmith Line at 05.30 to St Pancras and the Eurostar terminal. I didn't buy new clothes for the trip, just some boxer shorts to wear at night. I don't normally wear anything at night (steady yourselves , ladies!), but I imagined that the hostel would have bunk beds and that if I happened to be on a top bunk, I didn't think it would be fair on the poor guy on the bottom bunk who might not appreciate my anatomy swinging into his line of sight ...no-one needs that!

St Pancras was a bit of a scrum, even at 06.30 but we checked in and waited for the off. We were traveklling as light as we dared but were still quite laid down. I had said to Liz as we were waiting to fall asleep on the sleeper, we don't need all that much stuff to survive when you boil it down do we? Then I said, okay, if the house was on fire and you had the chance to dash back in to salvage one item what would it be? Liz immediately replied her baby grand piano! ...Fair enough I suppose if Gareth was on hand with a trolley jack. I said, of all the things that would be irreplaceable, I'd probably grab the watercolour of Woody in the kitchen, but then on second thoughts, maybe I'd unscrew the smoke alarms so we could get our money back. Anyway, we were each carrying a rucksack and I was hauling a biggish holdall on wheels, so it wasn't too bad.

We got into Milan very late on Thursday night and collapsed into bed, managing to sleep beyond the hotel's breakfast deadline of 10.00. Fortunately the staff took pity on us ( they took pity on Liz actually, people always do!), and allowed us to sit and eat as long as it took. Milan is lovely and so were the people. We found a smart but quirky cafe called Egalite, See photo.

We had so looked forward to the ten hour direct train journey down Italy's east coast from Milan to Bari and it lived up to expectations. We passed through some heavy rain in the north but the weather got steadily brighter and much warmer as we made our way south (apologies to Simon at Trevaylor Campsite who expressly DID NOT want to hear about any glorious weather we might encounter on this trip!). There was a lot to take in both in and outside the train. A man sat a few seats further up the carriage and to my right who was doing that nervous rapid bouncing thing off the balls of his feet whilst watching an Italian game show on his 'phone. He didn't bother using headphones so that we could all enjoy it. He also took a number of calls on his 'phone which I began to image were from the same person complaining about something as his responses became ever more apologetic, then pleading before he resorted to shouting. He was on hands free, presumably so that he could fully wave his arms around whilst talking. I saw most Italians doing this. I suspect that any Italian unfortunate enough to be born with one arm shorter than the other would be considered to have a speech impediment.

The announcements over the train's tannoy were frequent and seemed to be a collage of chopped up sentences which had been recorded at different levels and varying volumes using different people's voices, so that each announcement was a patchwork of Italian and (American) English with some sequences too quiet or muffled to hear. This meant you were straining to try and make out what was being said then jumping when the volume suddenly went to maximum for a few words then return to quiet. Every other message helpfully explain how to claim compensation (half in Italian, Half in English), if the train was late arriving at your destination.

My left shoulder eventually dried out from the leak in the roof directly above my seat which occurred whenever the train lurched (thugh to be fair that was only when it was raining). Food and drink was available from a vending machine that accepted card payments. But you had to download an app to find out how it worked. Eventually after a great deal of consultations with fellow passengers the machine produce an amazing coffee. After drinking, it did make everything appear rather bright.

Italians are so friendly. By and large, they seem to have an enviable, otherworldly relaxed disposition which enables them to cope with complete chaos. But it made me wonder whether this natural attribute is actually the cause or effect of their surroundings, or perhaps a bit of both. They're so stylish and relaxed, to the point of practically falling down while simultaneously emotional in the extreme. I absolutely love them to bits. It's like crossing a Saluki with a Cocker Spaniel; Cockerluki reclining on a burgundy chaise longue, wearing Dolce & Gabbana shades. We were glad we paid extra for first class on the Trentialia though; the seats are much roomier, you just need to wear a good raincoat ... with a decent hood.

The train arrived in Bari on time and we boarded the ferry with time to spare. The crossing was a millpond-like and we drifted through the stunning archipelago that leads a winding path to Patras.

Unfortunately, the Sunday schedules meant no buses or trains would have got us into Athens at the required time, so we got a taxi.

We finally stepped out of the air conditioned Toyota to find Athens fizzing with energy, in total spate. Feverish ; it had a temperature.

I'm typing this on the hostel dining table on the sultry evening of Sunday 6th October 2024 looking out at a deep blue sky behind a gently twirling Greek flag. I feel like Liz and I could be but a couple of mature leaves that have detached from the woodland and blown under the breeze of our own indistinct urge, to rest momentarily upon a ledge above some heavy, swollen unknown river, into which our next step will take us...

Hope all is well back home. I'll be in touch again next week.

Unfortunately, sugo that leads a winding path to Patras.