Ron's Blog

Prologue

Never before have I thought of setting down my words for posterity, but this year, for a variety of reasons, it seems the right thing to do.

This little epistle is almost a word-for-word copy of the notes I made before and during my recent adventure. Entries were made whenever I had some spare time, and whenever the road or the rail track weren't too bumpy. For this reason, tenses are a little inconsistent, but I have retained the same tenses as the original, to preserve the atmosphere of the moment.

Wednesday. August 14th: D-4

I've finally decided what I'm going to do for my 1991 summer holidays.

My circumstances are so different this year, and I feel I have to do something different to match. I feel a need to face some sort of challenge. And now I'm able to do some of the things I should have done when I was much younger, before settling down, but didn't.

I've had itchy feet for some time now, ever since my jet-setting days in Bristol came to a premature end. Whenever David Attenborough was on television, or I watched any travel programme, I would feel restless.

So, when I woke up this morning I decided I would 'do Europe'

To fly straight to a beach in the Mediterranean or to go on a package tour is too easy, so I've looked at several possibilities over the last couple of days, and it seems that I have three options.

Firstly, I could catch a ferry to France and hitch around Europe. On the face of it this seems quite a reasonable idea, but with only two weeks at my disposal I fear I might spend to much time in the north of France at each end, waiting for lifts at first and then getting back too early to be sure of catching the boat home.

As a second option, I could catch a coach to somewhere slightly exotic and hitch around from there. Some of the problems of the first option still exist, and it would also mean making a decision where to go today if I'm to leave the UK on Sunday.

So now we come to my preferred option. When I was in Clevedon last week staying with my parents, I saw an advert in the Sunday paper for a new Inter Rail ticket, called Inter Rail + 26, which is specially intended for older people such as myself. For £175 I can travel wherever I want in Europe by train, and in some cases on ferries as well. Because I can only be away from the office for two weeks, I'll get the 15 day pass rather than the 30 day. The only difference, other than the time is that it doesn't allow travel in Spain or Morocco, but as that wasn't the intention for this trip, it doesn't pose a problem.

The decision having been made, I telephoned Gemini, the firm's travel agent, to make the arrangements.

I'm going to 'live rough' or at least without too many home comforts, and that means I can travel with a minimum of kit. At least that's the idea, but I'm sure that no matter how hard I try to be ruthless, I'll end up taking too much!

All have to do now is to sit down and try to plan an itinerary, roughly that is, and to start packing.

As I don't know yet where I'm going, I'll just take sterling and some dollars - as well, of course, as the usual Eurocheques and credit cards (I can't live too rough!)

The places I wouldn't mind seeing are Athens, Istanbul, Rome, Naples, Florence, Venice, Vienna, Berlin, Warsaw, and Belgrade. The final route will depend a great deal on the need for visas and the political situation in Eastern Europe.

Only time will tell where we get to finally!

Thursday 15th August: D-3

Today looks like it's going to be fairly hectic. Wasteels, the company who issue the rail pass, have promised that they will get the tickets to me by courier later today, since I'm out of the office tomorrow, and I won't really be able to relax until I've the tickets in my hands.

I've spent most of the morning on the phone trying to make reservations for the trains in France and to get information about times and any problems with traveling through Eastern Europe, but it's pretty well impossible to get any sense out of anyone in London. British Rail, when they answer, refer me to Eurorail, who in turn refer me to SNCF. SNCF seem to have a system whereby they don't answer the phone no matter how long it rings. That is not until you replace the receiver and try again, by which time they've taken the phone off the hook so that when you call back, all you get is the engaged tone!

I really admire Michael Palin (Around the World in 80 days) although he seldom went very far without his full supporting team of cameramen, sound recordists and I assume all the other exotically named people who appear on film credits, and about whose function one can only speculate, such as Gaffer, Key Grip, and Best Boy.

I'd quite like to get to Istanbul, as it's the one place left on the list I made when I was at school that I haven't been to, but no one seems to be able to tell me if the trains through Eastern Europe are running, if they're running to schedule, and what visas are needed.

Everything is changing so quickly in Eastern Europe just now that all the stuff in print is out of date.

Because of the time I've got left, I'm just going to get started and then see what happens!

Friday 16th August: D-2

Most of today has been spent driving to Manchester. On the way, I managed to do some thinking, but the real 'planning' - if I can call it that - will have to wait until this evening and tomorrow.

The only concession to the trip was to stop at Heathrow on the way back to get some dollars. I've read somewhere that dollars are the only currency worth taking to Eastern Europe, since it's the only one, apart from the local stuff, that's recognized.

So that I could at least buy a cup of coffee on arrival at an unexpected destination, I tried yesterday to get some loose change from Beryl Page in the finance department, but all she had on the list of currencies of countries I was planning to visit was German Marks. Still, they might come in handy.

Saturday 17th August: Day D-1

I got up fairly early this morning and drove into Guildford to try to buy a reasonable map and a basic guide book. Obviously since I'm going to be backpacking, I'm going to be restricted on how much I take in the way of books. Also, as I don't know where I'm going, I can only take the most general material.

After wandering around Guildford for some time, and in and out of half a dozen bookshops, I've settled for a 45 mile to the inch map of Europe which also shows the railways-published by Robertson McCarta-ISBN 1-85365-119-2 and 'Europe by Train'

I was also tempted to take 'Let's go Europe' since it seemed to have more information about the places I was to visit, and about cheap accommodation. Finally, 'Europe by Train' won although I think next time 'Let's Go' will be the choice.

As a matter of interest, I also intend to take the International Youth Hostel Guide and map as I hope to make the most of the hostels, which in my experience to date (if somewhat limited) have been of a generally superb standard, as well as offering very good value. Until recently, I wasn't aware that Youth Hostels catered for people of my age, or that they were so widely spread, but since I've joined, it's meant that I've been able to extend my business trips to Baden very cheaply to take in a couple of days walking in the mountains - most pleasant!

When Gemini/Wasteels sent my ticket, they also sent me the Thomas Cook European train timetable. This is a truly amazing publication. It's extremely small, and seems to have information about all trains, from the major international services right down to the minor local services, and even all the ferry services cross channel, Adriatic, Black Sea and many more.

Time only will tell how accurate it is.

The last thing to do on Saturday was the packing. I put everything out on the bed - and then spent quite a while going through it again and again trying to take things out. I've included a list of what I finally took in the appendix, together with my comments and my intentions for future trips. The Europe by train book suggested that after laying everything out, at least half should be discarded.

I didn't manage that - perhaps I should have. But as I said my thoughts on that are included in the epilogue.

I then sorted out some sandwiches and other food for the journey and settled down for a night's sleep.

Sunday 18th August: Day 1

I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning and finally left Leatherhead at quarter past five, arriving at Folkestone at half past six. I drove once round the block, and eventually found a place to park. I had decided to risk street parking as the car park would have cost about £25-far too much. I was planning to catch the seven forty five and so had loads of time. I went up to the ticket desk and asked for a single ticket to France. The cost would have been £21 but the girl on the desk suggested getting the day return ticket - at a cost of £7.50. It seemed a very good idea to me!

We left for Boulogne on time, and after a fairly cool start, the sun came out and it started to warm up. I hope this is a taste of the weather to come over the next couple of weeks!

We arrived in Boulogne at quarter past ten, and I set off on the twenty minute walk to Boulogne Ville station, from where a train to Paris was due to leave at half past eleven, about three hours before the train from Boulogne Maritime.

The 1131 train to Paris arrived dead on time- and kept on going!

Another consultation of the Thomas Cook timetable lead to the conclusion that the 1131 didn't stop on Sundays. I can see that before the serious traveling starts, a little practice is needed so that I can read the timetables a little more accurately.

The train (which did stop) eventually arrived at quarter past one. While I'd been waiting I met two Tunisian women on the station who were also traveling to Paris. They asked if they could travel with me as they weren't used to traveling in France. It suited me fine, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. The train was fairly empty and there were plenty of seats, at least on the first leg of the journey as far as Longeau, where we had to change. There it was quite a different matter, and it was only with a little pushing that I managed to get a seat.

At four thirty we arrived the Gare du Nord in Paris, and I said farewell to the Tunisians. They wished me luck and a good journey, and they headed off to catch a bus, while I made for the metro.

While standing at the metro ticket machine, trying to work out which ticket to buy, and which buttons to press, I started chatting to a Belgian girl who was having the same problem, and also heading to the Gare de Lyon. Luckily within a minute or two, a friendly Parisian showed us what to do.

On the journey to the Gare de Lyon we chatted for a while. It seemed that the girl was studying, or rather on a course, in Paris prior to going to Angola with Medicine Sans Frontieres, which made me feel rather jealous.

The metro was packed as usual, and the beggars very noticeable. Paris seems to

get dirtier each time I go there. I know it's a problem in most places - perhaps I just don't notice it the same in London.

As soon as I arrived at the Gare de Lyon, I made straight for the ticket office to find out about trains to Istanbul, via Eastern Europe. The chap at the desk thought that it might be possible, but said that there might be lots of delays, and that the train might only go as far as Beograd. The train would normally go through Jugoslavia, but now they're being routed through Bulgaria and Rumania. It's not clear to me whether the Inter Rail ticket is valid in Bulgaria, and there are a lot of conflicting views about visas. It may be possible to buy them at the border, but at a cost of £25, and there might also be a requirement to change $25 per day. That settled it, it just didn't seem worth it, and I decided to go down as far as Brindisi, and from there catch a boat to Greece and then on by train to Istanbul through Athens and Thessalonika.

So, I bought a couchette from Paris to Brindisi for Fr82, less than an hotel, and, with about one and a half hours to go before the train left, settled down in the sunshine outside the station to write up my diary and watch the world.

The Book suggests that the journey will be pretty grim, hot, crowded and with enough water for only two hours. There isn't a buffet car on the train, which seems odd for a twenty hour journey, but with the food I've brought from England I should have enough to see me through. I'm a little worried about the drink, however, so I must buy a couple of bottles of water. I've no francs, but luckily, a small Vietnamese shop close to the station will take dollars - at a fair exchange rate - I'm glad I brought them with me.

It's now five past seven and I've just spent an hour sitting in the sunshine. The neon temperature gauge across the road says it's 29 degrees-pretty pleasant.

I'm amazed at the way the French drive, and park, their cars!

They seem to feel their way into parking places using the bumpers- now I know why French cars have rounded corners.

While I was sitting enjoying the sunshine, two Italian boys stopped to ask if I knew of a cheap hotel or hostel in Paris. I obviously looked the part!

I gave them the addresses of the Paris youth hostels, but unfortunately couldn't remember the name of the cheap hotel I'd stayed at in Paris the time my wallet was stolen. I did however remember the address, Rue Trousseau, near the Ledru Rolin metro station, So I was able to give them directions.

It's amazed me today how friendly people have been, both fellow backpackers and 'normal' people alike.

Looking back at how much I've written today, and looking at the size of my notebook, it's clear to me that I'll have to either write less, or write smaller!

Anyway, at half past seven I boarded the 2012 for Brindisi. The carriage is absolutely packed, at least another eight people in a six seat carriage, so it looks as though it's going to be a fairly unpleasant journey!

My mistake! The majority of the people were seeing off the Italian couple who were going to Ancona, about half way down Italy, and a French woman lawyer who was going to a conference on European law in Pessola.

They were all very pleasant, although the French woman wasn't too keen on Italians - I think because she couldn't understand what they were saying!

Just after we moved off, the ticket collector came round and took our tickets and passports, so that we wouldn't have to wake up when we crossed the borders into Switzerland and Italy, and also to warn us to keep the door locked, since there had recently been a number of incidences of theft of money and valuables from sleeping compartments, some cases involving gas being sprayed under the door to make sure that the occupants didn't wake up!

At about 11 o'clock, we decided, not without considerable debate, who was sleeping where, made up the beds - not an easy exercise, with four in the compartment, and in spite of the French woman saying it was too early, and the promise of someone else joining us at 2 am in Lausanne, we settled down to sleep.

I was very grateful that I'd brought my ear plugs and eye shades.

Monday 19th August: Day 2

After a fairly reasonable, if rather warm, night, we were woken up by the steward at about eight somewhere between Bologna and Rimini. Again, quite a rigmarole as we all got up, packed up the sheets, and put up the couchettes. After a while, I decided to leave the others to it, and went to the washroom at the end of the carriage. In spite of what it had said in the guide, there was still waster left, and because the taps were nice and high above the washbasin managed to wash my hair and have a strip wash - almost a shower!

When I got back to the compartment, all was quiet and everyone had settled down.

The girl who had joined us at Lausanne had managed to come in and get to bed without waking me up - quite a feat, as I'm a very light sleeper.

The weather is superb, and after Rimini, the track runs along the edge of the sea, by mile after mile of almost deserted white beaches and clear blue or green water. It all looks so inviting and I'm almost tempted to get off at the next station and just jump right in to the water. I won't though as I've still a long way to go if I'm to reach any of my goals.

It's rather warm - no air conditioning- and in spite of my wash this morning, I still feel a little 'unfresh'. Still, everyone's in the same boat!

The journey is rather tiring, but there's plenty to look at and plenty to think about, both past and future, and lots of planning what I'm going to do over the next two weeks. I still don't really have any firm ideas, I think I'll just play it by ear. That's one advantage of traveling alone - no need to plan, and the ability to act on the spur of the moment.

On the journey, I took the first real opportunity since I'd bought it, to read the Europe by Train book. Panic!!! It says in one place that the Inter Rail Pass only gives a 30% discount on the ferry! There's nothing I can do at the moment, except cross my fingers. After the first people left, three young Italian lads got in with their guitar. The lads were fairly large, and seemed to fill the compartment more than might be expected.

Their songs did help to pass the time, until we arrived at Brindisi Maritime at 1740precisely on time (in spite of the warnings in the guide.)

We all got off the train, about five hundred backpackers in all, and turned left towards the docks. Then we all turned about face, and tried the opposite direction. Signs were non existent.

My sixth sense told me we should be going the other way, so about turn once more. I was one of the first to reach the HML (the shipping company) office.

I asked the desk clerk if HML accepted Inter Rail. 'Upstairs' he said. 'Where' I

said. 'Upstairs' he said. I soon realized that I wasn't going to achieve anything by continuing this conversation, and went off to try to find 'upstairs'.

At the end of the platform was a sign saying 'Inter Rail'- all very encouraging. The signs lead me upstairs to the Adriatica office, and with no problem, I was given a boarding pass for the Espresso Venezia, as a deck passenger. All had to pay was the £5 port tax. After the experience on the train - no buffet car - I asked the chap on the ticket desk if there was a restaurant on the boat. 'Of course,' he said, 'and there's even a swimming pool!' 'There's no need to be sarcastic.' I thought.

I then had to go next door to the police office to have my passport checked and my boarding pass stamped.

By this time, there must have been about 3000 people milling around. I went to the bureau de change to get some lire and some drachmae, and had finished the whole exercise within three quarters of an hour of getting off the train - not bad!

Armed with some lire, I went off to explore, and to have a beer -the first in two days, and to catch up on writing my journal.

There are still two hours to go before boarding, and then another two before we sail. I can't decide whether to eat, or to do some shopping at the supermarket, so that I can eat on board ship to pass the time.

I decided on the latter, and spent a little time wandering around the town - Brindisi is not very impressive - and then around the supermarket, where I bought some bread, water, cheese, tomatoes, and other bits and pieces, including a cheap bottle of wine. At least it should help me to sleep!

At about nine thirty, I arrived at the ship, thinking I would be the first in the queue, but there were already a hundred or so waiting to board. The staircase into the ship was very narrow, obviously not designed for people with rucksacks, and so boarding was very slow. Only two or three were allowed on board at a time, but slowly but surely, and in a most orderly fashion, we boarded the ship.

I went up onto the deck, past the empty swimming pool. The deck was already a seething mass of bodies, and I found myself a bench where I could spread out my sheet sleeping bag, to stake my claim.

Everyone else seemed to have proper sleeping bags, and I began to wish I'd brought mine. I've a feeling it's going to be a long, cold night!

Time to eat, and a most enjoyable meal of the food I'd bought in Brindisi, together with a tin of pate I'd brought from home.

The wine was also very nice, although I didn't drink it all. I was so tired that I was soon asleep, looking forward to my first day in the fresh air since Saturday, and a chance to start working on the sun tan!

During my traveling, I've been talking about my plans to some of my fellow travelers. It seems that the border crossing to Turkey can take quite a long time, and that the journey from Athens to Istanbul can take up to forty hours. A little simple arithmetic tells me that the return journey to Istanbul could take almost a

week - a little too long for a total trip of two weeks. I think therefore that I'll just 'do Greece' and then work my way up through Italy. I'll look around the Pelloponese first and then maybe go into mainland Greece - I'll just see how the time goes.

Tuesday 20th August: Day 3

I woke up at about seven o'clock, just before we docked at Corfu. I'd had quite a reasonable night, I'm sure the bottle of 500 lire wine helped. It had been a little cold, and I'd felt rather envious of all the people with the nice warm sleeping bags.

As most other people were still asleep, I went down below to the sleeping quarters to try to find a shower. No problem, and I soon felt much better. I also washed my clothes while I was in the shower - by keeping them on - and then went up to the cafeteria for a very welcome cup of coffee.

Quite a lot of people got off at Corfu, and quite a few boarded.

It was really pretty, the sun was rising over the harbour and the outline of the island slowly appeared out of the gloom.

It's now one o'clock, and I've just had a swim in the pool - my apologies to the chap on the ticket desk at Brindisi - how could I have doubted him!

I'm sitting sunbathing now, it's beautifully hot and this is what I've been looking forward to for a long time. The view is really fantastic. We're sailing past dozens of little islands, and there are quite a lot of small sailing boats as well as motor launches.

I'm really getting into the mood now, only five hours to go until we arrive in Greece. Before we got to Corfu, we sailed along the coast of Albania. It seems funny how alike these countries look from the see, and yet they're so different. It might be nice to visit Albania one day!

It's just been announced that we arrive in Patras at four o'clock, two hours earlier than we were told yesterday, and after a quick consultation with my Thomas Cook, I discover I can either catch the 4.45 to Corinth, or the 5.12 to Pirgos, arriving at 7.03 and then the 7.10 to Olympia.

The boat arrived eventually at five. The 4 o'clock was ship's time (Italian time), and there's a one hour difference between Italy and Greece. That meant only twelve minutes to clear customs, not much chance really, but worth a try!

Customs clearance was quick and easy, thank goodness we're all in the EC, and I arrived at the station at about half past five. In reply to my question, the woman at the desk said that the Pirgos train was due any minute. I wasn't quite sure if she was telling the truth, or just giving me the answer she thought I wanted, to get rid of me.

In a few minutes however, the train arrived. It was a quaint little narrow gauge train, and packed full with locals. They were standing in the corridors, and talking to one another. It was a very friendly little party. The chap I sat next to explained that he'd been on the train for about thirteen hours, just to come from the other side of Athens - only about eighty miles.

The real surprise was the restaurant car. After a twenty hour journey from Paris to Brindisi on an international train with no facilities at all, you can imagine my astonishment on finding the restaurant car. I ordered, and drank, a superb ice-cold beer, and as I stood drinking it, watched the girl cooking kebabs on a calor gas stove. Not very sophisticated, but I'm sure no one cared.

We eventually arrived at Pirgos about an hour late. No need to worry since the Olympia train was waiting for us. It had been there for nearly two hours as I was soon told by a group of English girls who had been on it all the time, passing the time by drinking the beer from the station buffet. It seemed like a good idea, so I bought a couple of bottles too, and joined them.

We arrived at Olympia, and were mobbed by locals offering accommodation, both in hotels and in private houses. I could see the sign to the youth hostel, which said that it was only a hundred metres, quite a pleasant surprise.

The hostel was fairly primitive, but at 700 drachmae (about £2)

a night I couldn't really complain. I picked my bunk, unpacked, and went for a shower and a change.

It's Tuesday, and it's just struck me that I've been traveling pretty well non stop since 5.15 on Sunday morning! That's about sixty hours altogether, and I've just realized that I'm somewhat tired!

The other three bunks belonged to two Oxford students, (law and history), and an Italian who was studying classics in Naples who comes to Greece quite often as part of his studies. We chatted for a while, and decided to go for dinner together.

The Italian spoke some Greek which made things easier, as not too many here seem to speak English.

After my first real, cooked meal in three days, and a couple of beers in the village square, I went to bed, in a real bed, the first bed in three days, and slept extremely well

Wednesday 21st August: Day 4

It's twelve thirty, and I've spent this morning looking around the archaeological site at Olympia. This is the site of the original Olympic games. I wish I'd gone earlier (the site opens at 7.30) before all the tourist's arrived, but the place was still awash with atmosphere. At nine when I first arrived, it wasn't too bad, but it did rather fill up as the morning wore on.

I had bought a guide book, and I tagged on to various groups of guided tours which was extremely interesting. There were English, American, French and German groups, all very interesting, and it helped me to get in to foreign mode!

As the morning got hotter and hotter, I decided that I would sit in the olive grove just a little way from the main site and allowed myself to absorb the atmosphere. When I closed my eyes, I could almost hear the crowds who flocked here over two thousand years ago to watch the games. They were held every four years, and for the period of the games, all wars were suspended, and anyone who broke the truce was considered fair game for all and sundry.

My visit to the archaeological site finished, I'm now sitting in the little bar in the village square, with a cold beer. I know I keep mentioning the beer, but it is hot and one's perceived priorities do change!

I'm writing my postcards, and studying the map and the timetables, trying to decide what to do next. I may head off into the hills on foot. I've been told that it's fairly easy to find a bed in any of the villages.

But for the moment, I'm going to go to one of the pools at the campsite to cool off.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully, with about three hours at the pool. At the pool, I met one of the girl's who was on the train from Pirgos. She was called Audra and came from Newcastle, via Australia (or vice versa), and was staying at that campsite. Things were quite quiet at first, but soon some German tourists arrived. Why is it that whenever Germans get close to water, they fell the need to fight and make a lot of noise?

We've just heard rumours of something going on in the USSR. We can't get any details, but I'm sure we'll find out soon.

As the pool got noisier, it seemed a good time to go for a walk round the village. We walked around for a bit, and came across a cemetery. In this part of the world, alongside the roads, you can often see little shrines with a photograph, some dried flowers, a candle or oil lamp, and a bottle of Ouzo or whisk(e)y.

They put the same sort of thing at the graves. In one of the glass fronted shrines was a bottle marked 'High octane starter'

I found it rather amusing - just my warped sense of humour.

I've also just realized that the bottle of spirits (no joke intended) is a bottle of olive oil to fill the lamp, rather than a bottle of drink for the departed!

Later in the afternoon, I went into the local tourist office to find out how easy it would be to wander around the interior - to hitch and to find rooms wherever I ended up. The girl wasn't too hopeful, so I think another rethink is in order.

When I arrived back in the hostel, we were all chatting about our proposed itineries. I was told that it was well worth taking the Corinth train, but stopping off at Diakofto, and taking the funicular railway to Kalavrita, so another executive decision, and that's where I'm off to in the morning.

And so to bed!

Thursday 22nd August: Day_5

I had intended to get the early train, but there isn't really any hurry, so when I woke up, I took a leisurely breakfast at the hostel (75p) and strolled to the station.

As usual, the train was late, but that meant at least that I could sit in the sun for a while.

On the journey from Pirgos to Diakofto, a conversation was struck up with a fellow Brit. There was a second Brit in the compartment, but they didn't seem to know each other. He was also going to take the funicular railway, and seemed to be a bit of a train freak. When we arrived in Diakofto, at soon became obvious that the two Brits did in fact know each other, but seemed to be having a bit of a tiff.

,We arrived at three thirty and went to the Station Master's office to get details of the Kalavrita trains. The Station Master's office was like something out of another

century. His desk was filled by a complex contraption consisting of brass wheels, string, handles and so on. This was how the trains were controlled the trains on the two hundred kilometres of single track railway!

It seemed that we had missed the last train to Kalavrita, so there was no other alternative but to spend the night in Diakofto, and get an early train to Diakofto in the morning.

This seemed to spark off another little tiff between the two 'chums', so I decided to do my own thing.

As it was still early, it seemed a fairly good idea to go to the beach. I was already some four days into the holiday, and I still hadn't been to the beach. Quite unusual!

Fortunately, a Greek with a towel was standing on the station, so I asked him where I could find a decent beach for swimming, and a room for the night. He said he was waiting for a friend, and then going to the beach. If I didn't mind waiting for a while he would be happy to take me along. He also said that there were some cheap bungalows on the beach where I could stay for the night. It all seemed a good idea, so I waited for ten minutes or so, and then we went off to the beach. We walked for about twenty minutes and came to a small pebbled cove. Behind the beach was a bar, and twenty or so grass huts. These were the bungalows! Still, it was a warm night, and it seemed very pleasant, so I went to find the boss to check in. No problem, 1500 drachmae (£5) a night. A little expensive, but that was for a double hut.

I was taken to a hut some twenty metres from the beach, and given a pillow and blanket. I dumped my bag, and went to the beach where I had a most enjoyable swim.

I can't remember if I've mentioned this before, but the whole of the Pelloponese

seems to be populated by only two races - Greeks and Inter Railers! Whenever the trains were full, it wasn't usually Greeks, but a complete mixture of Dutch, German, British, Australian and American backpackers.

I'm quite amazed at the number of girls traveling alone. I had thought that I was being rather brave as a 43 year old man setting off on my own - it rather put me in my place!

The constant source of conversation between backpackers is 'Where have you been?', 'Where are you going?', and general, almost obsessive, discussion about train timetables. It's all very useful, however, since the information is more up-to-date and certainly more authentic than the stuff in the guidebooks.

I was the only Inter Railer at the beach in Diakofto - all the others were Greeks.

There was a bar and a small restaurant, but the menu was rather limited, as well as expensive, (for a backpacker) so I decided to make do with a tin of pate, a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and...(only one thing missing!)

After dinner, off to the bar for a couple of beers, and a chat with a Greek chap who was also staying in the huts. It was the first time I'd had the chance to talk to a real 'local', even though he was an Athens businessman on holiday. I asked him what 'ella' meant (a word that seemed to occur at least once in each sentence in Greek. He explained that it meant 'come', but was used all the time to mean practically anything that the speaker wanted. He also told me what the other word, which seemed to occur with the same regularity, 'mulacca', meant. But I won't lower the tone of my little story by giving its translation.

The barman told me that there was a disco in the (open air) bar that evening, which was due to start at 10.30. By this time, I was somewhat knackered, so I thought I'd forgo the disco, and have an early night.

It wasn't to be as easy as that, however, since I was woken up by the thump, thump, thump of the disco at about 12 o'clock, which was so loud that my ear plugs did no good whatsoever. I gathered up all my things, and set off to find an empty hut further from the bar. I found one about fifty metres away, and soon settled down to a good night's sleep.

Friday 23rd August: Day 6

All my good intentions of yesterday evening came to nothing.

After my midnight flit, I slept very well, and decided to have a bit of a lie in.

It's now twenty past eight, and I'm enjoying a cup of coffee at a small cafe in the village square in Diakofto, while I wait for the train to Kalavrita. Rather than spend the day at Kalavrita, I'm going to get the 9.40 train and come straight back, to arrive at 1230 which should still allow me to catch the 1202 to Corinth.

The train arrived, and departed on time. The 'couple' I'd met yesterday were on the same train, still not really talking to each other. They had stayed in one of the small hotels in the village, probably slightly quieter than my Club Med, but not quite so adventurous.

The journey on the train was fantastic. The line had been built by the Italians to bring minerals from the mines in the mountains down to the coast. It winds through incredibly narrow valleys, cuttings and tunnels, where the clearance is often no more than a few centimeters. The train has to slow to walking pace at several places so that it doesn't touch the rock walls. The train climbs some 700 metres in 21 kilometres, and several sections rely on rack and pinion for traction.

Most of the people on the train were locals, using the train as a commuter service. As I mentioned before, this is not a very touristy area - not a German in sight.

After a brief stop at a station at about the half way point, we eventually reached flatter land, and came to the small village of Kalavrita. The village itself is not particularly attractive. Its only claim to fame is the amphitheatre close to the centre, where in 1943, the Germans rounded up all the males in the area over the age of eight, and shot them-about 2000 in all. The clock in the village church in the town still stand at the time of the massacre. Germans aren't too popular in these parts.

The journey back down was uneventful, but still breathtaking.

I arrived at Corinth at about two, only to be told that the 1406 didn't exist. The timetable said that there should be a train to Argos at 1530, but I asked the station master just to be sure, which was just as well, since he told me that the train would arrive at 4 o'clock, so nothing else to do but to drag myself off to the beach for a quick swim. The beach was not too pleasant, but certainly it was much better than sitting at the station.

Just in case the timetable, and not the station master was correct, I arrived back at the station in time for the 3.30 train.

The station master was right and the Argos train arrived at four on the dot.

When we got to Argos, I asked directions to the bus stop to Nafplion, which was

only about 500 metres from the station.

The timetable showed that busses ran every thirty minutes. I had been worried that there might not be a bus, and that I would have to spend the night in Argos. The bus fare to Nafplion was only 140 drachmae-about 45p, which wasn't bad for a 1 2 mile journey.

I'm on the bus now, and after a short break for a particularly bumpy stretch of road, I'm continuing my diary.

When I look back at the trip so far, I realize that I've only had one day without traveling, so I think that tomorrow I might spend a lazy day on the beach.

I arrived at the hostel at about six o'clock, and asked the warden if there was a bed for the night. 'You gotta card, I got 200 beds, you no gotta card, I no got even one bed!' Fairly blunt and to the point, I thought. But I did 'gotta card' so everything was fine.

Dimitri (that was his name) then surprised me by asking if I wanted to go the theatre, as he had one ticket left. He went on to explain that there was a coach to Epidavros leaving in about an hour, to see Philoctetes by Sophocles. The play would be in the original Greek, but the guide book strongly recommended the visit saying it was a magical experience, so I said yes. The total cost, coach and ticket, was only 1500 drachmae, less than it would cost to visit Epidavros just to look at the archaeological site, without the play.

Dimitri said there was time for dinner, and at 800 drachmae (£2.50) for as much as I could eat it seemed like a good idea.

The meal consisted of Mousaka, Spaghetti Bolognese, Greek salad, fruit, such as melon and pineapple, and several different Greek pastries, and I'm afraid I rather made a pig of myself, since it was the first proper meal in two days. I found out later that everyone did the same.

Anyway, at seven o'clock, all twenty two of us gathered outside, only to be confronted with two tiny minibuses. All rather alarming, but soon a real coach came along, and we all piled on board. There was a complete mix of nationalities, and although nearly everyone spoke English, most European languages were spoken at one time -or another. There were British, Canadian, (franco- and anglo phone), American, German, Dutch and so on.

The bus driver was called Yani, and he spoke several words of English. I don't think he knew what any of them meant!

After about forty-five minutes, we arrived at Epidavros. I don't quite know what I had expected, but it was truly amazing.

Thousands of people were heading to the floodlit amphitheatre.

We first went to the bar for a quick beer, and felt rather underdressed. I, and most

of my fellow travelers, were dressed as backpackers - in shorts, boots and so on. Most of the locals, as indeed most of the other people were locals, were dressed in highest fashion. It was definitely a smart function, but nothing to be done but enjoy the evening.

The amphitheatre itself is the best preserved amphitheatre in the world. It was built in 400 BC and can seat some 12000 people. Tonight it must have been about half full. Epidavros is famous for its acoustics. Even the smallest whisper on the 'stage' can be heard perfectly right at the highest row.

The play we saw was first performed in this very theatre in Sophocles' own time, perhaps with Sophocles himself in the audience. The atmosphere was magical, as the book says. Not understanding was not too great a hard ship, rather like an evening at the opera. The music, lighting, colour and sound generally were sufficient.

The only problems were the continuous popping of flash bulbs and the thick cigarette smoke! I've never experienced such a smoky atmosphere al fresco.

One thing I did get wrong was to not bring a coat - it became rather cold towards the end of the play.

We got back to the hostel at about midnight, and went straight to bed.

Saturday 24th August: Day 7

I woke up fairly early as usual, and was showering when I heard the strains of 'Que Sera, Sera' played rather badly on a piano accordion, wafting along the corridor. It was Dimitri, and this was his way of getting everyone out of bed! It was very effective.

After a sumptuous breakfast of coffee, melon, bread and jam, I left for the Venetian Palimidis castle perched high on the rocks 250 meters above the town.

On the way to the castle, I stopped for a while to look round the market in the square. I bought some grapes for lunch, and also two metres of material, which was to be used to lie on the beach, and as a towel, since it would dry much quicker than a normal towel. I had bought a mat - one of the ubiquitous green edged raffia mats - in Olympia, but it wasn't comfortable without a towel.

The climb was exhausting, about 600 steps in all, but well worth it. The castle is the largest, best preserved one I've ever seen.

The view over the town was breathtaking. Particularly noticeable were the roofs of partly completed buildings which had been colonized by backpackers.

But then, tragedy struck!

I'd been having some trouble with the camera for a little while, the display would only work if I squeezed the camera in a particular way, but now the camera wouldn't wind on properly. I rewound the film so that I could open the camera to see what had gone wrong, but went too far and wound the free end back into the cassette. I didn't have any more film with me, and as the place was so interesting, there was nothing for it, but to improvise a dark room, open the cassette, find the free end and repack the cassette. This used to be difficult enough in a real dark room, so you can imagine how difficult it was in bright sunshine, with my hands wrapped in a towel.

I finally managed to get the film back in the camera, but I'll just have to see how successful I've been in keeping the light out of the film.

The walk down to the beach was much less exhausting.

The beach consisted of fairly large pebbles, but I found a comfortable spot on the grass just behind the beach, and did nothing but sunbathe, swim, and occasionally stagger to the bar for a beer until about four.

Just as an aside, I'm finding that all this writing in long hand is fairly tiring, I seem to have got too used to the word processor. I wonder if one day I'll forget to write completely!

I walked into the town for a look round, and to take some photos, but now the

camera died completely. I took it into a camera shop, only to be told that the only people who could repair the camera were in Athens. So, another executive decision - the camera would be put away until I got home. Rather sad really, but it would save me some money, and I could always buy postcards and guidebooks.

Back to the hostel for another large dinner - it wasn't just the first night that I gave in to temptation and after dinner, a walk around the town, and a beer in the cafe by the harbour. Nafplion is a rather pretty town. The main square is paved with shiny marble, and there are lots of tiny streets where it's possible to wander for hours. Because of its chequered history, there are all sorts of architecture in the town. Parts are reminiscent of the Arab parts of north Africa, with typical Arab doors, and those ornate balconies which are so common in the Arab world.

Again, not a lot of foreigners, which is the way I like it. There are the usual souvenir shops, but all fairly empty (as in Olympia.) I don't know if it's because it's a little late in the season, or just a reflection of the general economic climate

Sunday 25th August: Day 8

I must be getting rather lazy, as I've decide to have another day on the beach!

One of the nicest things about Inter Rail is that decisions can be made on the spur of the moment. Although a great deal of my time is spent thinking about what to do and where to go next, I've been fairly bad at sticking to my plans. With the Inter Rail ticket, planning, other than the need to get home before the ticket expires is totally unnecessary. It's possible to go to the station, look at the departures board and go.

Most of the day was spent as yesterday, but as I was walking along the beach to stretch my legs, I saw Audra (the girl from Olympia) and stopped for a chat. She had spent the previous night at a campsite, but was thinking of moving into the hostel.

In the evening, after dinner, seven of us hit the town. We spent a little time finding a nice bar where the beer was cheap. It's like a game really. Beer in the expensive bar cost 250 Drachmae, compared with 200 in a cheap bar - a difference of about 12 pence.

We talked for a long time about where we'd been, where we were going, and so on. One girl came from Bury. Her boyfriend, who hadn't come with her, lived at 200 Hornby Street - it's a small world, since my grandmother had lived at both 202 and 222.

There was another girl, an American from New Hampshire called Alex, who was, like me, leaving on the following day, and also going to Florence, where she was hoping to fix up some interviews for jobs to teach English to Italian students. So, we decided to travel together for a while. She was twenty one years old, and had studied in Florence, where she was hoping to get a job teaching English to foreign students, and promised to show me around

She had started her trip from the states with a friend from her home town who she'd been to school with. It was only when they tried to live together, and to share the little things like shampoo and toothpaste that they found out that they were incompatible, and decided to split up.

Monday 26th August: Day 9

A reasonably early breakfast, and then off to the bus stop to catch the bus direct to Corinth. This would save us having to change at Argos, and have the possible problem of a late train and missed connection. The extra cost was minimal - only £1.50.

At the bus station, we tried to reserve a seat, but they wouldn't let us, so we just got on the bus. We managed to keep our seats as far as Argos, where, after a lot of whispered discussion, we were politely asked to give up our seats. We moved to the back of the bus; and sat down in the stair well. It was rather warm, but not too bad, and we arrived at Corinth at about half past ten, and had a beer or two in the station bar while we waited for the twelve o'clock to Patras, which arrived at twelve thirty - quite good for Greece.

We got to Patras at three thirty, in plenty of time, or so we thought, to catch the ten o'clock boat to Brindisi.

It was pretty hot, it must have been 40 degrees Celsius, similar to most afternoons, as we went along to the Adriatica office.

'Sorry, no Inter Rail spaces left.' 'What about tomorrow?'

'Fully booked- try HML.

So, off to the HML office at the dock gates. 'Sorry, full up, go to the head office.'

When we arrived at the HML office, after bumping in to the Irish guy from Olympia, who was also trying to get out, it was besieged by fifty or sixty backpackers trying to get on today's boat.

Things didn't seem to promising, so back to the Adriatica office to try to get on the wait list. The girl put us on the list, number 18, and told us to return at eight thirty, but she didn't think there was much chance. She wouldn't take our names for tomorrow's boat until tomorrow morning.

After we left the office, it was time for a little thinking. We had several options:1. Try to get on today's boat, and if we didn't, try again tomorrow. This meant that we wouldn't know until eight thirty, which would leave us with the problem

of finding somewhere to sleep, and possibly the same problem tomorrow. Although Alex is not in a particular hurry, I only have six days left on my ticket, and with three days travel, and a couple of days sightseeing, it's getting a little tight for me.

2. Split up and go our own ways.

3. Both of us try to get onto another boat, even if it means paying.

We decided to try the last option, or at least to see what it would cost.

We went into a travel agent, who said we could get on the Empressa as deck passengers for 8000 drachmae, £25, about the same as the Dover Calais crossing, which didn't seem too bad for a twenty hour trip.

We went off to find a supermarket to stock up for the journey, and eventually bought tomatoes, tzatziki, cheese, a jar of carrot salad, and some wine, and then to a little cafe for a beer and a salad, as we still had a couple of hours to kill.

In the cafe, they charged us for the bread, even though we didn't eat it, a common practice in Greece, so Alex complained and we took a loaf of bread with us, which was quite lucky really, as we hadn't managed to find a bakers shop.

On the way to the cafe, we had met a couple from the hostel in Nafplion, who were also trying to get across the Adriatic. I told them to go to the Adriatica office at eight thirty, and to-listen out for my name being called, and to try to take my place if they were allowed. We wished them luck!

The Empressa was a smaller boat than the Espresso Venezia, and with no pool, but we boarded quickly and easily. It was much quieter than the Espresso, most of the passengers being Italian families with cars. We watched the Espresso with satisfaction from our vantage point on deck as we tucked into our dinner. There was the same crush as on the way out, with the thousands of Inter Railers taking two hours to board!

The first bottle of wine didn't last long, and we had to re-stock from the cafe on the boat, before finally settling down to sleep at about eleven o'clock.

Tuesday 27th August: Day 10

Alex managed to sleep through until about eight, whereas I only slept rather fitfully. It was a rather cold night again, and I once more wished I'd a sleeping bag.

The sunrise over the mountains at Igonoumetsa, where we docked at about seven, was truly magnificent, and it looked as though another hot sunny day was on the way.

The day passed without event, just sunbathing and the odd beer, eventually arriving in Brindisi at about five, at the same time as the Espresso.

We left the boat and trekked off to the station, to check in our bags and to confirm the train times. The train to Florence left at ten, couchettes only, and not possible to make a reservation, we had to do that on the train. So, there was nothing else to do but to go back to the town to buy some food, and to have a general look round.

After we had bought the food, we found a bench at one end of the harbour and settled down to eat. By this time it was starting to get dark, and it was most pleasant to watch the sun set over the water. We were only some 200 metres

from the main docks, so it was surprising just how pretty this part of the harbour was.

When we finished our meal, washed down with the obligatory bottle of wine, we decided to have a look around the old part of the town. Our first impression of Brindisi was that it wasn't a very attractive town, so we were very pleasantly surprised when, on rounding a corner, we came upon a most beautiful little piazza, with a most unusual and attractive church, the Tempio di San Giovani al Sepolcro. We just had time for a look round before we were politely asked to leave as it was closing time.

As we arrived at the Piazza Cairoli, with its most unusual and, to me, unattractive fountain, it started to rain. It was warm, so it didn't really matter and we just sat in the rain watching the world go by.

We also saw the couple from Nafplion/Patras. They had gone back to the HML office, and my name had been called out, so they'd managed to get on the ferry. They did say how difficult it had been, and how worrying, since they didn't know they could get on until just before sailing time. All very worrying, and exhausting. So, all things being considered, we were glad we had made the decision we did.

At about a quarter to ten, we went back up to the station, and boarded the train. Getting two couchettes proved to be no problem at all, and as we were both rather tired, we settled down to sleep at once. I say settled down to sleep, but that's not quite true. I don't think I've ever spent such an uncomfortable, hot night. The temperature must have been in the forties, and the whole night was spent dripping with sweat, and dozing very fitfully.

.Wednesday 28th August: Day 11

We arrived at Bologna at 6.45, and found that the next train to Florence was at 6.47. A little tight, but after our experience with Greek trains, we felt fairly confident as we walked briskly along the platform. We walked, since running with a rucksack is not the easiest of things.

We almost made it - all but twenty yards! Looking on the bright side, it did mean there was time for a coffee, before catching the eight o'clock train to Florence.

On arriving at Santa Maria Novella Station in Florence, we phoned a hotel where Alex had stayed on an earlier visit. It was full, so we tried the next hotel on the list in 'Let's Go', the Locanda Orchidee, which wasn't too far from the station or the Duomo.

The walk to the hotel took about ten minutes. The room wasn't quite ready, but we were told we could wash and change, and that it would be ready if we came back at about two o'clock.

We went for a walk around the city, and for a quick drink, after which Alex went to the Post Office to try to make appointments for interviews the next day, and I went off to do some more sightseeing.

I bought a guide book, and did a quick tour of all the sights, rather than looking inside the museums and art galleries, something I would have plenty of time later.

Florence is an extremely beautiful city - that is where it hasn't been spoilt by the addition of very ornate and garish Baroque decoration to the simple renaissance architecture.

I went to the Ufizzi, the Bargello, the Sante Croce (unbelievably lovely), the Baptistry and the Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio.

One interesting little interlude, and a lucky escape for me was in the square outside the Palazzo Vecchio. Apparently it's quite a common trick. Gypsy children, aged about four to six, start begging in a fairly noisy and aggressive way. At the same time, they hold a piece of card against your chest, rather like a tray, for you to put money on to. While this is happening, they undo the zip of the 'bum bag' which most people, me included, wear around their waists, stuffed with money, credit cards, passports, tickets and so on.

To get rid of them requires firm action, and as I swiped out at one who was particularly annoying and noisy, I realized what was going on. Just in time it seemed, since as she ran away, it appeared that the zip of the bag had been undone, as my wallet fell to the ground. Someone grabbed for it, so I stamped on it with my foot, but the chap was only trying to help. A lesson I won't forget for a while!

After a fairly intensive tour, I finished up at the Ponte Vecchio, and sat for a while on the parapet, watching the tourists and the enormous shoals of fish (trout?) in the River Arno. A piece of bread thrown into the water would cause a frantic rush of fish, rather like I imagine piranha would attack.

At about three, by which time I was fairly tired, I returned to the hotel. Alex was already there, having made several appointments. The room was very large, with a high window which was reached by four large steps. We were on the third floor, and the window overlooked a narrow, old-looking street.

The hotel itself was a twelfth century palazzo, and was the house where Dante's wife had been born. It was built around a pretty small garden.

In the evening we went to a restaurant which Alex knew from her earlier stay in Florence, in Via Del' Aqua, for a Staggione di Prime - four different pasta dishes, with a bottle of very pleasant Italian wine.

After dinner, back to the hotel for an early night, since we both had to be up at 6.30 - Alex to go to Verona for interviews, and me to Pisa, to see the leaning tower (if it hasn't fallen over).

The bed was very comfortable, and I slept well, apart from the noise from time to time. The narrow street magnified the noise, and it was fairly cool - a marked change from the previous night.

Thursday 29th August: Day 12

I caught 7.30 train to Pisa, and as the journey is only three quarters of an hour arrived at the station at 8.15. The tourist office wasn't open, but a note in the window said that the No 1 bus went to the Duomo, which is where the tower is to be found.

The place was just waking up as I arrived. The Duomo and the tower, together with the baptistery and the cemetery were in a walled, grassed piazza. Along one wall of the piazza were the usual stalls selling the usual tourist rubbish, but apart from that it was generally very pleasant.

The Duomo is up to the usual standard, and hanging from the ceiling is the lamp which, supposedly, Galileo watched swinging during the service, and was thus inspired to formulate his well known theories of the rotation of the earth.

The main problem with the Duomo is the low light level, which makes it very difficult to really see the paintings, sculptures and other works of art.

The leaning tower itself is fifty meters high, and leans four and a half meters. It is from the top of the tower that Galileo carried out his gravity experiments. The tower is now closed -to the public as it's not considered safe, and a group of steeplejacks were working on it - carrying out various repairs and fixing measuring devices.

Another thing which struck me, was that not a single building in the piazza was square. No line was straight, horizontal or vertical.

After my little bit of tourism, a bus ride back to the station, and a second bus to Terrania, Pisa's seaside resort, about half an hour away.

The whole of the beach is cut off from the coast road by fences and private beach clubs. Not enough however to stop your intrepid Inter Railer, and after finding a gap in the fence, I spent an exhausting day on the beach with the occasional trek to the bar for yet another beer, and once for a sandwich.

When I got back to Florence, time for another walk round before a quiet dinner in the hotel room, and another early night before my early start for Venice.

The night was very windy, shutters creaking and banging, and the occasional bottle and bin blowing along the street. It was even cooler than the night before. Such a change from the last couple of weeks.

Friday 30th August: Day 13

Another 6.30 alarm, and a quick shower and shave before saying goodbye to Alex, and heading for the station to catch the 7.15 to Venice.

This country is so different from Greece. Everything is so green, and everything, Florence in particular, so clean. On the way to the station, they were busy sweeping the piazzas and washing the streets. Everyone in Florence, except the Inter Railers is so glamorous. Even the street cleaners - young girls in their late teens or early twenties - are dressed in very smart green uniforms, and with hair and makeup more suited to a Saturday night party!

The train arrived in Venice at 10.45 and I before leaving the station, I checked in my rucksack and reserved a couchette for the train at eight o'clock that evening to Paris.

There is no wheeled traffic in Venice. There's a huge multistory car park on an artificial island just by the station.

I caught the N01 water bus along the Grand Canal to San Marco, as suggested in the guide book.

The journey is breathtaking. Palaces and houses all built in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. But there are signs everywhere of the sinking city. Ground floors with rotting and rusting doors are slowly being abandoned as the water starts to lap over the top steps.

San Marco is extremely ornate, covered inside and out with gold mosaic. Tourists with shorts are not allowed into the cathedral, so I wrapped the beach towel around me - like a sort of sarong - and had no problem.

I'm just taking a break at the moment, and catching up on my diary as I sip a beer outside one of the cafes in Piazza San Marco. The beer cost 9500 lire, which is about £4.75! There must be a thousand empty seats and half a dozen occupied. Each time someone sits down and doesn't immediately buy a drink, the waiters shoo them away like flies.

Everywhere you go, the streets are packed with tourists, lots of Russians and other eastern Europeans, and at every landing point, gondoliers are trying to tempt the tourists into their gondolas.

Most of the gondolas are empty, which isn't that surprising as they cost about £30 an hour. Just like the cafes in Piazza San Marco, you'd think they'd learn!

The gondoliers in Venice wear pretty little hats, and the tourists buy them too, rather like the 'kiss me quick' hats in Blackpool. It does make the gondoliers look just like tourists!

Everything is so expensive in Venice, even more noticeable after a couple of weeks in Greece.

Venice is a fascinating city, though. As you round each corner, you're greeted by a scene worthy of Tintoretto. The streets are so narrow that in many places, you can stretch out your arms and touch both sides at once.

If only I had my camera!

At the station in Venice, as I was waiting for my train, the glitterati, dressed in hautest couture, were arriving from the Orient Express - that's something I'd like to do sometime.

The evening train left on time, and after the usual confusion as people swapped seats to sit with their friends, I settled down in the air-conditioned carriage for a night of almost unbroken sleep. It's funny really, how the first air conditioning is in the coolest place I've been in the last two weeks.

Saturday 31st August: Day 14

The last day!

We arrived in Paris at about half past eight, and after a Metro ride across Paris, I caught the 9.30 to Boulogne. The train was absolutely packed, but the first class carriage was 'declassee', so I traveled in extreme comfort.

It looks at the moment as though I might catch the 1345 boat, so I may even be home in time to ride Crack!

This train doesn't go to Boulogne Maritime, but goes on to Calais, stopping at Boulogne Ville and, according to the Thomas Cook timetable, Tintilleries. For future reference, the latter is much closer to the ferry terminal, only about ten minutes walk.

The boat was a little late leaving as the Calais ferry was out of service, so we had to wait for the train carrying the passengers who had hoped to go from Calais.

Another sunny journey, even if not as hot and sunny as my last voyage, and an uneventful journey home.

It's quite difficult to think what to write about this part of the journey as it all seems so normal. The adventurous part of the trip is over.

Where next?

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