I have always said that a Greek that wants to respect himself needs to miss at least one flight in his life. And listen to his/her name being called from the airport speakers a couple of times. I score ok in both, proving my Greekness, all these back at the time. Now I grew up and I am serious and I have been Dutchified, so I do not do these stuff. And I am together with a Dutch, what could possibly go wrong. *BIG LAUGHTER on the background.*
So…we were happy we left the last camping, where our spot was getting sauna tempratures. And the sea in the front was of course, guess what, not suitable for swimming. A real surprise, indeed. And full of hope we headed to Lecce, to spend few hours before taking the ferry to Greece from Brindisi. So we thought.
Funny that this has been the only thing planned for the entire trip: the tickets to Greece and back. Just to prove we totally s*ck with preparation.
Anyway, we were happy with incredible Lecce (Gioia had some typical local ice cream and forgot she walked 2,5 hrs in the sun with 35 degrees), and we were back in the camper.
We had parked just outside the centro storico, easy peasy, because we are experienced travellers and we rock. And according to our very accurate estimations we would be in Brindisi 2,5 hrs before the boat leaves, so we could take it supereasy and prepare ourselves in slow motion (empty the fridge, take clothes for the boat) and wave to Italy like in a post card.
Martijn checks the address of the ticket pickup point in Brindisi to type it in the navigation system (regular routine before we leave). And I am in the back, taking care of Alex. And then this soft voice comes from the driver seat:
Martijn: Sissy, we do not depart from Brindisi.
Sissy (heart stop): wtf?
Martijn: we leave from Bari.
The next scene is from a movie. Sissy almost throws Alex in his car seat from a distance, says: Gioia, you need to listen to us now and do not f*ck around (Gioia’s default attitude), ties Gioia in her car seat and at the same time tells Martijn: ‘tell me we can still make it. We can, right?’ Martijn ticks ticks ticks in the gps, the seconds are like centuries and within half a minute the engine is on, everything in the cabin secure to not fly and with the exact address not yet in the gps (it could not find it of course, Murphy’s law) we start driving. And I look at the printed ticket confirmation that was forgotten in a cupboard since we left Amsterdam: Bari – Patras. Loud and clear.
F*ck, f*ck, f*ck.
Long story short we made it on time. I thing I lost one of my fingers in the process, biting it, removing side skin and all – I had to release the tension somewhere. And Martijn let his greek side emerge (well, it is not that hard, he is anyway not completely Dutch) and started overtaking the crazy Italians. What do you mean by ‘campers of 8,5 meters length and 3,20 m height do not take the left lane? And go slowly behind trucks?’ Ha-ha-ha.
We had 10 full minutes to prepare for 4 people sleeping in a different place (cabin in the boat) after a month in the camper. Me in a speedy Gonzalez mode, Martijn (knows after 10 years), not talking at all to me, calmly doing all physical demanding work of carrying and rearranging and carrying 9kg Alex. I was literally throwing toothbrushes to a bag from a distance (they went in). Stress. Not sure how long it took me to calm down after we entered the boat.
We still don’t know what went wrong, we both remember wanting to book Brindisi. Probably Martijn saw there was no boat that date? Some price difference? Sissy (IT consultant): a wrong click in the dropdown menu? Bari and Brindisi both start with ‘B’, easy to mix up. No one will ever know. But one thing is for sure: no one of us ever checked the printouts. Sigh. So are we, people full of pitfalls.
(Laughing with the previous post): Bella Grecia, here we come. From Bari though. Pfiew…
