It was of course the volcano that first made me think of it. I'd booked a couple of trips back-to-back in late April and then May, the first, flying to France to visit some friends in the Perigord and then, a week after I got back from that trip, flying out to Santorini to catch a ferry to Naxos for a two-week stay. Then the whole Perigord trip was cancelled because of the cloud of ash, and at the same time someone told me about several websites that gave lots of good advice about travelling overland to Greece.
I had been thinking that the logistics of booking separate flights and accommodation, not to mention the transfers to the ferry on Santorini, would be challenge enough for me. I'd always been herded along on package tours in the past, partly because they were cheaper and partly out of cowardice, thinking that at least I wouldn't be in charge if things went wrong. But suddenly the idea of doing something really complex, all by myself, and making it work, was enormously appealing. I told myself that if I flew to Greece, even if the outward flight was okay, because the volcano was still rumbling there was no guarantee that the return flights wouldn't be cancelled. When I spoke to my friends in France about the idea, they were very encouraging and persuaded me to include a week or so with them on the way back, before returning to the UK.
In fact it was brilliantly easy - I booked the entire trip in one afternoon online, after procrastinating for about a week, putting it off and making excuses, then suddenly thought that if I didn't just do it, I would end up not doing it at all, and hate myself for being such a wimp. The route ran from home in West Cornwall to London, a night in London and then to Paris on the Eurostar, Paris to Bologna on the sleeper, Bologna to Bari down the leg of Italy, across to Patras on the ferry overnight, a bus to Piraeus across mainland Greece and a night in the port before catching the ferry to Naxos on the morning of the fourth day. I booked the hotels at the same time, one in London near to St Pancras, one in Piraeus before the Naxos ferry, and one in Athens on the way back so I could at last get to see the Acropolis on the free afternoon I'd have there before going on to Patras on the return journey the next day. And even the 'detour' trips to the Perigord from Paris and back, on the way home, fitted in with no trouble at all.
Writing it up makes it sound complicated, and once it was all booked I wrote it all out in the most exhaustive detail and photocopied all the tickets and vouchers to have duplicates in my luggage. It felt as if it was going to be terribly confusing and that I’d be bound to get something wrong. But I’d booked nice big gaps in the connections, so as to have plenty of time between getting off one train or ferry and having to get on the next, and figured that if I just concentrated on one bit at a time it would be manageable. After all, I thought, how smart do you have to be to catch a train when you have all the tickets with you and everything is reserved?
The week before I left was the worst time. I get very nervous with anticipation. I’d rather actually be on my way; once I’m moving I’m usually fine. I must have packed and re-packed a million times, debating over every little thing I planned to take. My idea was to travel only with what I could comfortably carry without wheels. I am all for those wheeled cases if you’re going to need lots of different clothes, but the idea of this trip was to take the minimum and make do with just a few basics. It was the old phrase I’ve used so often in describing my ideal holiday “Throw a few things in a rucksack and go.” In fact it was a rucksack/daybag and a half-filled lightweight nylon duffle, as I wanted to take painting stuff and needed to take chargers for my camera, ipod and phone. But I got the clothes down to a handful, and in the event, even they were more than I needed. I reckon with hindsight that a pair of trousers, a pair of long shorts, two light cotton shirts and a fleece would have been fine. And a skirt or dress in case I wanted to visit a church. Of course there are things like underwear and swimsuits and flipflops and waterproof jackets and so forth that all build up the bulk. But the only luxury I took was a pack of playing cards in its little leather carrying-case. And a smallish pair of binoculars.
And finally May the 3rd arrived and I climbed aboard the 2.30 to London with everything double and triple-checked and in that wonderful it’s-too-late-to-change-anything-now frame of mind that is so liberating: It was all in the lap of the Gods and I intended just to move along with the current. I had a new Moleskine notebook that my son had given me for my birthday and my paintbox and a sheaf of watercolour paper as well as a new 4GB chip for the camera which said it would accommodate nearly a thousand pictures. And best of all I was looking forward to the experience, with very little idea of what to expect but quite a bit of confidence that I’d cope with it all right.
The next posts will be straight from the journal I kept in the Moleskine along the way, observations and accounts of events as they were happening. I’ll try to include some of the pictures I took as well, and if I can unravel the technology maybe even sketches from the diary.