Fri-Sat, December 18-19, 2009

Today’s (Sat) stats:
Distance traveled today: 14.9 km
Total trip distance: 2960 km
Total days biking: 53

To avoid cross mountains to get into Greece from Albania, we had planned on taking a ferry from Saranda, Albania to Greece’s Corfu Island, and another from Corfu to Patra, the northwestern-most edge of the Peloponnese peninsula. From there we would cycle the coastal road to Athens. But in Saranda, the locals said the bus was faster and cheaper, so we spent the day strolling along Saranda's pretty beach-side promenade and planned on taking the 7am bus Saturday morning.

We’re both tired and instead of doing much site-seeing, Richard watched movies, while I caught up on my writing. We took all our wet, dirty, stinky clothes to the only drycleaner we could find. We tried to explain that we just wanted a regular wash and dry and that we needed the clothes ready the same day. She told us to come back to pick them up at 7pm, or so we understood.

When we got there that night, her husband had just put them in the wash. He spoke better English, but not by much. “No, she said to come tomorrow at 7pm to pick them up!”

You get to a point in any trip when you’re tired of trying to figure things out, trying to explain things in a different language, trying to deal with the inefficiencies of a culture unlike your own. Richard had reached this point.

“Fuck this country!” he screamed as he turned and walked out of the laundry mat.

We explained to the man that we absolutely needed the clothes back tonight. Did he have a machine to dry them? “Yes, but not exactly dry.” Not exactly? What did that mean?

“Our clothes are destroyed!” Richard screamed. Packing them up wet would get them all moldy. It was for exactly that reason that we had taken them to be washed and dried properly.

“You just give us back our clothes. And we no pay!” Richard added.

I suggested Richard stay outside for a breather, while the man called his daughter, who spoke better English, to try to mediate. He passed me the phone.

“My father says he can have the clothes ready at 6:30am tomorrow before your bus,” she said. “Yes, but will they be dry?” I asked. I had to pass the phone back to her father. He spoke to her and passed it back to me.

“My father says they will be dry, but not 100%.”

Turns out they had a spinner, which drained the water from the clothes but didn’t blow any hot air on them. So we packed up 2 big plastic bags of damp clothes and trucked them back to the hotel for the usual rotation over the heater. (Richard had calmed down by the time we left, and we paid the man for the washing, despite his incessant refusal to accept money out of embarrassment about the whole situation).

The next morning, Richard burst again. We had checked with the bus agency the night before about taking the bicycles on the bus. The man had said it was no problem. Just show up at 6:45am, buy your tickets, and leave on the 7am bus. We were there around 6:35. Richard went to buy the tickets while I went to find some breakfast. All of a sudden I found him storming down the street. “Heba, come on. We’re going to a different agency.”

“What? What happened?” I asked.

“He says maybe we can take the bikes. But maybe not.”

So many people had showed up with luggage that the man was worried the bikes wouldn’t find.

“We specifically asked you yesterday if the bikes were a problem,” Richard told the man angrily, even though he knew the man didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand a word Richard was saying. “This is shit!” he screamed as he walked away.

Poor Richard, I thought. He had reached the end of his rope.

Not to worry, the other agency accepted us, and at 7am, we rolled out of Saranda towards Greece. We spent more than one hour and 15 minutes crossing the customs control at the border, and at times the bus went so slow, we probably would have cycled faster. But it was raining yet again, and we were happy to be on a warm bus with Albanian folk music playing in the background. Other people on the bus called us simply “the tourists” or “the Americans”.



After ferrying across the Gulf of Patra (instead of taking the perfectly functioning bridge), the bus dropped us off on the side of an abandoned road in the middle of nowhere.

“Patra is that way,” the driver pointed to us.

We cycled 15km into town in search of a bike shop to replace our worn-out brake pads, but Saturday night at 5pm is quiet time in Greece and everything shuts down. Instead, we settled into Pension Nicos and touched base with Rob, the American cyclist who was also in town. He invited us over for dinner at the home of Myrto, a Couch Surfer who was hosting him for free. Finally we would meet!

24-year-old Rob made us pasta with putanesca sauce while we shared cycling stories and discussed possible routes together down the line. Rob’s been on the road for 4 months, cycling some 5,000km through 14 countries. He’s trying to decide now whether to go to the Middle East or Southeast Asia.

The night rolled by and we found ourselves on a park bench in Dimokratias square like three hobos, beer bottles rattling at our feet, watching teenagers scream and laugh, drunkards stumble by, life go on. The night was wrapping up, and I said goodbye to Rob, knowing I wouldn’t see him again as I would soon be returning to Canada. That’s when he began his monologue.



“You should be proud of what you’ve done. Nobody is seeing what you’ve seen. Walking is too slow. Trains and cars are too fast. Bicycles are the perfect speed. Bicycles are …”

He placed his hand over his heart in such emotion, he was at a loss for words.

“I just want you to know that what you’ve done is important.”

His words came at the perfect time. I hadn’t stopped to think about the magnitude of it all. Every rotation of the wheel seems so small on its own. Just carrying on daily with the struggles of baggage, hills, rain, each other… you forget how monumental it is. But for God’s sake, we’ve cycled 3,000 km across 10 countries. We’ve climbed mountains, and gotten caught in rainstorms. We’ve learned foreign languages and tasted all sorts of foods. We've gotten intimate looks at complicated histories. We’ve met generous, hospitable people and others who are simply crazy. More than anything, I think we’ve learned so much about ourselves and our own relationship. Being together 24 hours a day was a real struggle for Richard and I, but I think we came away from it having learned to be more patient and to understand the gives and takes that make a relationship work.

I don’t mean to ramble on. But tonight was a special night in which we stopped to take the time to appreciate what we’ve done so far. And we have to thank Rob for that! Good luck wherever you end up Rob!

Tomorrow, we start the ride to Athens.