19 May - On the Patras bus - finally got through the bit that I knew would be the most complicated - and insalubrious. The bus is full but my seat’s right by the door. We ought to be in Patras by 1 p.m. which gives me tons of time before the ferry leaves at 6. Left the hotel around 9 a.m.; walked to Monastiraki and took the Metro (one euro) to Omonia Square; got out there and made my way to the really grotty street - Menandros St I think -off the square where you catch the 051 bus to the terminal where you get the Patras bus. I had to ask several times, despite having a map (another one given me by the nice girl at the hotel, I’d left the first one somewhere on the Acropolis) - finding it was difficult but my minimal Greek is getting better and it helps if you ask first “Do you speak English?” in Greek - usually it makes people more obliging. Somewhere between Omonia Square and the bus stop I lost my second map, but once I was sure I was in the right place it didn’t matter. (The bus allowed me to go all the way to the terminal on the same ticket I’d bought for the Metro - London Transport please note!) But Athens is no place to be muddleheaded, it’s as hard as nails and I wouldn’t come back unless I could do it in some style. The man at the terminal who sold me my ticket for Patras was very nice and made it quite easy for me to find the right place to get on the right bus. And the ticket was two euros cheaper than the so-called ‘bargain’ ticket sold to me by the ferry company for their bus from Patras to Athens. Note for next time...

Just passing the hideousness that is now Eleusis - legend has it, I believe, that Greece will not be fortunate as long as Eleusis is spoiled. Or despoiled, which it is, with great ugly silos and industrial sprawl and grime and confusion. Hard to imagine it as a sanctuary, as the centre for the Eleusinian Mysteries in ancient times.

Two things I forgot to record; One, coming into Piraeus on the ferry and waiting to disembark on the big apron area where the cars drive off, the moment when the little synthesiser Fur Elise began to play and the ramp opened slowly and began to extend and the sun suddenly splashed in on us - totally surreal.

Second thing; going down to the platform at Monastiraki this morning to catch the Metro to Omonia Square, what should be playing over the loudspeakers but a flute version of the Cornish Floral Dance! I was probably the only person on the whole station who recognised it. I had to smile.

Just passing Acrocorinth. Always a thrill.

Later - Now sitting at a table in the 6th floor cafe at the Patras Palace Hotel, a glorious sanctuary for an hour or two while I wait for the ferry - I'm told the boarding begins at 4p.m. and it's nearly 2 already, thank goodness. I've upgraded my deck ticket to a cabin, ostensibly shared but with a chance that I might have it all to myself. On the strength of knowing I was now a 'cabin' passenger, I took courage and, avoiding the bars and cheap cafes all along the front, went boldly into this very deluxe hotel, the Patras Palace, and said insouciantly to the desk clerk, "Do you have a cafe?" He said politely, yes, on the 6th floor, and, shouldering my rucksack and bag as if it were the finest Vuitton, I took the elevator up. There was practically no one in the cafe at all, and those that were, were outside. I asked for a coffee and if it was ok for me to sit inside, and took this seat looking out over the harbour. The nice girl behind the counter is obviously not going to bother me. The day is bright and the view is lovely and it’s nice to have a couple of spare hours just to sit and think. I might have a toasted sandwich, just to earn my place here.

Later - In my bunk; nice little cabin looking out on the stern and upper passenger terrace. In half an hour we leave, and then I’ll be sure I’ve got the cabin to myself.

The chap I sat next to on the bus from Athens, every time we passed a church, would cross himself (backwards, the Greek Orthodox way) twice and then touch his fingertips to his heart - as he looked a bit of a tough, it was quite touching. We could see much more of the scenery from the windows than on the journey to Athens, as this was just a public bus with no advertising, and the mountains on the left and the blue blue sea on the right were gloriously Greek and spare and basic.

Interspersed in true Greek fashion with really phenomenally ugly conurbations and derelict building sites. And the ticket was three euros less than the one for the Superfast ferry bus, though the extra was worth it for being able to get on at the dockside and not have to find the bus station in Patras. (Bus stations are universally grim)

It was well worth the extra I paid to get this cabin; I’m really glad I had the idea - before I discovered the Patras Palace Hotel and while I was wandering along the harbour front, I found myself outside the Superfast ferry office and went in just to ask. The guy who dealt with it was too cool: one of those rare lean rangy Greeks, almost more Italian-looking, who are so impressive with their precision and obvious intelligence. Listening to him speak Greek was like listening to music. While I waited for him to give me ticket prices, I said I liked the offices - very spacious, with wooden ceilings and beams. He told me it was on old raisin factory, and I remembered the fact that this part of Greece is famous for this - currants are named because originally the place they came from was Corinth. He told me that a guaranteed sole cabin was an extra 160 euros, and when I blenched at that, suggested a ‘shared’ cabin for an extra 60 instead. I have a suspicion that he arranged it so that my ‘shared’ cabin wouldn’t actually be shared - anyway that’s the way it’s turned out.

While I was waiting to board, sitting practically on the gangplank of the ferry, a group of three young women came up and sat down nearby. Obviously students on a traipse around Europe; huge, tightly-stuffed rucksacks, extra bags, etc. I got a nosey glimpse of the label on one rucksack - the address was Toronto. Obviously deck tickets, when we boarded they were directed (with a certain detectable superciliousness) to the chairs-room I was in on the way over. I felt very posh to have someone come up, look at my ticket, and lead me up the stairs to the toffs area (cabins). Not that anyone was looking, still, I loved the feeling. One of the girls, while we waited, had been looking at a “Visitors’ London” map, and I had to smile to myself. Glad I’m not really a tourist when I go to London now.

Later - Went out on deck, and the evening was still and golden and the sun on the water so beautiful and serene.

Just had a lovely artichoke salad in the restaurant/cafe. One of the waiters here looks like a character from the film The Name of the Rose, or a cross between Arnold Schwartzenegger and the Incredible Hulk. Stuffed into his uniform like a horse in a lambskin. He has that look of the Class Idiot, sure he’s being made fun of but not quite sure how or by whom. Do people grow to be like that because of the way they look, or do they look that way because they are like that? Or do the two go so hand-in-hand that they can’t be separated into cause and effect? However it is, it seems to bring out the bully in some people.

I’m getting used to this travelling business; at least tonight I’m feeling in command whereas before I was feeling slightly clenched and defensive. It’s nice to be on the homeward leg just as the large contingent of students is beginning to build up. More American voices on this ferry than on the trip over; those were mostly Italians.

20 May - “I signori camionisti” Italian for ’the lorry drivers’. So polite!

We have woken to rain, but I’m just grateful that I slept in a nice comfortable bed last night. Aside from people out on deck late, scraping chairs and tables just outside my window (porthole, I mean), it was wonderfully smooth and silent and not even a little bit rough. I suppose it must get rough sometimes, but I’ve been lucky on all four of my ferry journeys. I quite like ferries.

I think Italy is an hour behind Greece, otherwise we’re really late getting into Bari as it’s nearly 9 a.m. They must have taken on a lot more lorries at Igoumenitsa last night (we touched-base there around midnight) - the deck looks almost full this morning and I know it was half-empty when we left Patras. The announcement notifying the lorry drivers to pay their duty fees is in about five languages. Just got the notice to gather for disembarkation...

9.41 - Just walked from the port in Bari to Bari Centrale railway station. I asked a couple of men near the port, one of them some sort of policeman who looked as if he probably reported straight to il Duce, in that beige uniform with crisp peaked hat and lots of trimmings. They both kept telling me that a bus went every twenty minutes but I insisted that I wanted to walk it, so they pointed me in the general direction. There was a slight difficulty when I asked one little lady, sweeping her steps along my route, for directions and she thought that if she said it over and over in Italian I'd eventually understand (I sort of did, and she was so sweet and neat and Italian I could have 'listened to her talk all day'). Then I ran across a motherly lady who insisted on leading me herself through the warren of little lanes around the Cathedral, then handed me over to a friend who pointed me in the right direction (explaining in passing that the Catedrale was that of the 'padrone' of Bari; ('do you understand?' 'Si, I understand' all in Italian). Then for the next leg I summoned up courage to ask a stylish man sauntering across a piazza "Scusi signore, per favore, dov'e il stazione Bari Centrale?" and understood everything he said in answer. Mind, he was very careful to say it slowly and twice. Anyway here I am in the station coffee shop - can't nurse my empty coffee cup much longer. I was right about the time change - I've got three hours to kill before the train arrives.

Later - Found the waiting room and am now sitting on one of the metal chairs linked together in threes that can be so irritating if the other people sitting on them are fidgets (the man at the other end is). Most people are reading the paper or talking. Mostly men. It'll be ages till my train is even listed; they're only up to about 11.30 so far - no, 12.40 now, I just looked. Weather's a bit cool but I'm quite comfortable in tactel, fleece and my cotton scarf. Walking in Bari, I was actually accosted in the street by some guy in a long navy overcoat, but I just muttered an expletive in Italian and walked on. I do stand out rather, as most Italian women seem to wear black. This waiting room is just a big square room but has a marble tiled floor and a beautifully coffered ceiling. Large, echoing and rather too monumental for real comfort, but a sight better than the crumbling holes British Rail call waiting rooms. (Or whatever British Rail calls itself nowadays)

"Rifiuti Misti" - mixed refuse - on a rubbish bin.

Just went to doublecheck my ticket - the guy (so Italian) put the 'closed' sign up just as I got to the window and was quite a bit impatient with me but I found out that I don't need to get the ticket stamped and the train I want is the one for Milano, so if there are more than one at the same time I'll know. In front of me in the queue were a young couple on the brink of eating each other - the young man, good-looking, smoochy and uber-cool. His girlfriend was beautiful in that slightly tousled, confident Italian way; olive skin, wonderful slightly hawklike royal features. Later she may get fat, he will lose his lean figure and perhaps grow coarse, but at the moment they are both more than perfect and it was a joy to look at them. While I was in the queue a little toothless lady pushed in front of me and took up her place as if it were her right - I noticed though that she let all the Italians ahead of me go in their rightful turn, probably cos she knew they could chastise her fluently if she tried anything with them, but had no compunction about stealing my place as I obviously am foreign and wouldn't have the words to complain. What she didn't know was that I had plenty of time and could afford to wait while she had her argy-bargy with the ticket man.

They've listed trains up to 13.20 now so mine will be soon. Listed soon, I mean. It's still an hour and a half till it gets in.

nearly 2 - Wow that seemed to go very fast. Though the announcements at Bari were all universally in Italian, fortunately the ones on this train are in both Italian and English. When I got on I had to prowl a bit before I found my seat, and when I found the right number it was occupied by an Italian woman who gave me a hard, defensive stare and so I just took the nearest free seat. She's clearly determined not to give up her window seat but to be honest the group she's with (three in all) look almost subhuman and not worth arguing with. The other woman in her party - fat already - has been stuffing her face since I got on, and the little man they're both with looks like he's been let out from somewhere for the day, a mental institution perhaps or a prison for offenders who can't be held responsible. And it's raining. Glad this isn't my first experience of Italy - I'd be wondering what everyone had been raving about. From the train windows one can see that the plague of plastic that has infected so many Cornish potato fields has reached Italy too, so many of the vine fields are tented with it. The towns look so ugly, but the countryside seems quite lush. Very flat land all around here. Can't write very clearly cos the train's going like the clappers trying to make up time, I guess.

2.30 - I've just realised that I haven't had a single bit of meat for over two weeks. The sight of the fat lady, wedged into the window seat across from me, biting lustfully into a plump chicken leg was almost too much; and she's still eating! Her shape just kind of cascades down from the neck in ever-increasing folds; how she's going to get up without tipping the table in front of her from its moorings, one can't say.

This time yesterday I was sitting in the cafe at the Patras Palace Hotel, killing time till I could board the ferry. And now I'm racing up the leg of Italy...She's still eating. She has a big bag of food she keeps dipping-into.

3 p.m. - What a change in half an hour! No more vine fields, now it's rolling gentle rises of what looks like corn. And blue sky and little puffy white clouds. At the last station a black girl got on, her skin a beautiful ebony black, and her hair in long coils down her back. Tight jeans on skinny legs. She wandered about a bit looking for her seat, speaking Italian in a very sharp baby voice and with an odd, almost lisping, accent. One poor man had to move from his seat so she could sit down, she was all baby-helpless over it all, but as soon as she was settled she got onto her phone and has been carrying on a very harsh-voiced conversation with someone in what sounds like an African language. I could imagine that sharp, carrying tone echoing across wide African spaces, but it's unnecessary on an Italian train. We've stopped between stations (again) and the fat lady's asleep and snoring.

4.45 - Now in Pescara Centrale, awfully hot after the chill of Bari. I've shed two layers now and am glad of my tan. (I've noticed too how much more blonde my hair's got from the Greek sun) Blazing sunshine out there on the platform. A young man got on here with various parcels and bags, all lean limbs and curly hair. He's in the seat I was meant to have (the lady that had it has now got off) and there was a little confusion but it was settled amiably enough; his youthful, self-effacing, diffident charm carried him through. Less than two and a half hours more. He's reading a great tome titled 'I Muscali' which I thought must be something about muscles but seems to have no illustrations, just lists and words. But perhaps it's the details and not the basics. Nice to imagine him as a potential dottore, I bet all his lady patients would be in love with him. The young today are so much more confident than we were, they grasp the world as a right, not venture into it timidly as a privilege. When he got on, he planted most of his bags in the overhead rack, took off his jumper with a casual grace, and sat down with his book as if he did this every day. Now he's given up on the book and is working on his laptop.

Two and a quarter hours more on the train and then a three-and-a-bit hour wait at Bologna for the sleeper to Paris. It's a long slog, this leg of the journey. I can't say it's much better in this direction except I'm slightly more familiar with the logistics, e.g. I actually recognised Bari Centrale when I reached it after my walk from the port.

I couldn't live in Italy - my self-confidence wouldn't be able to bear it. The young women haven't just got youth, but a genuine glowing beauty rare in the English type. And the young men- it would be unbearable, look-but-don't-touch. Enough!

9.30 - In the waiting room - which DOES exist - in Bologna Centrale. The lovely young man beside me on the train finally tried asking me a question and then of course discovered that I had very little Italian; he in his turn had very little Inglese but we had a truncated chat and subsequently were more relaxed and friendly even just communicating in sign language. As we came into Bologna Centrale I stretched and said 'Sono vecchia!' (I'm old) with a certain wry humour and he, bless him, smiled and said sweetly 'Sono tutti stanchi' (We're all tired). I then detailed my trek across Europe to which he listened politely and made all the right noises. I even taught him a bit of Greek as we were waiting to get off the train.

Can't believe I'll be in Paris tomorrow - I'd be home by the next day if I weren't going on to Esparoutis, the place in the Perigord belonging to Ian and Ien (she pronounces it "Een"), my two friends from Australia.

I feel as if I'm beginning to lose focus a bit. I bought a fruit salad in a lovely little bistro-type place just off the platform, simply to get the plastic spoon so I can eat the yoghurt I'm saving for breakfast tomorrow. I got very sticky eating the fruit salad, went off and found the ladies' loos in a far corner, discovered it costs eighty cents just to get in, but managed to clean up a bit. Just across from me in the waiting room here is a young Chinese girl who is either the spoilt daughter or the child bride of the horrible Chinese man sitting next to her. They chew with their mouths open, and he has just belched with his mouth open into the air we're all having to breathe. YUCK. Both of them are as tough as nails, probably here on Triad business. Another pretty little thing came in, young and lean with a very sweet face, I think she's American. She's got about four large duffel bags and a big rucksack - she had a porter to help bring them into the waiting room and stack them up on several of the seats, and now the silly girl has left the whole lot here on their own while she went off somewhere, presumably to find something to eat. If it had been my luggage I'll bet you anything that when I got back it would all have been rifled and anything valuable would have vanished, but so far no one's taken any interest in hers. Even so, I feel I've been quite lucky in my travels on this trip.

11 p.m. On the Sleeper to Paris - SPOKE TOO SOON. I'm sharing the compartment this time with two others, a big African girl who has been talking French non-stop with the second girl who is little and pale and looks rather a hippy traveller. I've gobbled-up the yoghurt I'd meant for breakfast, since this late, of course (I hadn't thought), the dining car is closed so there's no dinner available. Teeth brushed, I'm tucked-up in my bunk, sort of; I'm not going to undress and am keeping my rucksack near my head in the far corner. Thank goodness I'm in the bottom bunk. They seem awfully chummy, don't know if they're friends or have just hit it off, but I'm much too tired to care really and have politely made it clear that I'm just going to go to sleep. Certainly Bologna Centrale is no place for a little girl on her own at 10.30 at night, too many scary types, and it all began to feel a bit like a nightmare by the time the train came in. I still have my sea legs. Must go to sleep.