Down We Go

Here is a short clip of us in a mellow down hill section in Italy.  Sorry for the bumpiness it is a little hard.   

Photos

I have figured out how to send five photos at once from my ipod. I know the quality isn't great but I will try and keep them coming let me know what types of photos you want to see; scenery, us, us and scenery, you know.

Florence

We made it to Florence, Italy, however we didn't know we were going there. In Italian it is called Firenze, so we had no idea we were riding towards one of the most artistically and architecturally renowned cities in Italy. We looked at our map and quickly made a plan, bike hard and fast to get there and spend the afternoon. After going up and over a small mountain we cruised into the outskirts of Firinze. We dillied and dallied a bit but made it to our campground and into the city with enough light to see some things. As the sun was setting we made our way back to the campground, which is located it was seems to be the "central park" of the city. We decided to stay another day. We didn't have enough time to really get to do what we wanted, Georgia an Italian meal, Em to climb the top of the famous Filippo Brunelleschi dome (all 463 steps),Gen to find a health food store and myself update the blog, of course. We even had time to enjoy some gelato.

Photos: the view from our campground (kind of); we found a Ben and Jerry's, Em and I couldn't resist, Phish Food, Coffee Chip and Heath Bar Crunch; the gang in front of Filippo Brunelleschi dome; some locks, just a couple; Georgia and I enjoy some gelato, coconut and lemon.

An Uphill Section

Seconds later we hit a small uphill section, so the lifeof a bicyclist.

Snow Capped Peaks

We have been riding in North central Italy for a little less then a week and what a ride it has been. Mostly it has been cold, freezing cold, which is a good motivation to bike up mountains and over hills. We haven't run into any real snow yet, but if we don't leave Italy quickly we could be into some harsh weather. We'll ride fast to the coast!

Our Last Couple Days

Photos: into the snowy peaks of Italy; reading a sign that we think was about a bike race; the hills of Italy; all the snow we found, snow none the less; a big old dead tree.

New Photos

Em and Gen hit 3,000 km and a couple days later they hit 2,000 miles. Contgratulations! Outside of Ancona Italy.

Lost Photos

Photos: mad stuff store!; Agip gas station, like in The Endless Summer

Lost Photos

Photos: the pedestrian sign of Greece; 'The Beach is Here' well duh; Funny graffiti in Greece; a cleaver sticker on an Italian steet sign; Simpson shaped pasta.

Lost Photos

Photos: Riding in Greece; hey there, getting bored taking sunset photos; sunset on Astypalea; the giant pot that took up half our dinning room, Gen with a fancy hair doo.

Lost Photos

Photos: a morning salute in Greece, we have lots of the same clothes, so days like this happen a lot; checking the route on a senic pier in Greece; it is tent city when we come to town, a waterfront campground in Greece; the sunrise at the same campground the next morning; the start of the many ferry rides in Greece.

Lost Photos

Photos: Em and Georgia in the entrance to the master castle in Rhodes Town Greece; a neat graffiti tree; gum and cigarette wall, the whole wall was ten ft by ten ft covered in perfect gum circles; awesome fanny packs; an accidental photo while riding uphill on Crete.

Short Animation

Gen and I got inspires to make a short animation film. iPod editing software isn't the greatest but here it is.

Buff Boredom

At points on our twenty two hour ferry ride we got a little bored. Georgia had just gotten a buff so we played around with them. Gen felt left out so me made her self one out of a napkin, a Fuff.

Buff Boredom

One Long Journey

I am, with the gang, on a bus. That's right, a bus. One of those large vehicles that transports lots of people, using an engine and burning fossil fuels. Of course, as many of you may understand, we wouldn't be on a bus unless we had to be... well we basically have to be. We are cruising up mountain hills at break neck speed in the dead of night (actually it is just dark); this is genius. This story, however, does not start with me on a bus at night quickly leaving Athens behind. No, our decision to travel on four (probably more) wheels again was long and complicated.

No this tale begins in Crete, like most good tales might. Ours however lacks intriguing characters like Poseidon, God of the Sea, or hmm maybe. . .you'll just have to read and see. What I can tell you now is that our tale is a journey of great distances similar to Odysseus and his famous Odyssey. We fought no war and are not returning home, however we can imagine Crete was our battleground and my aunts house in France our "Europe home." Perhaps it is more alike than not. This glorious bus ride is just a mid step on our pilgrimage so I will split it into chapters.

Chapter One: The Aftermath
After battle all great generals rally their troops and discuss a job well done, even if it wasn't. They collect their thoughts and move on towards their next step. They plan and strategize, making back up logistics. They check maps and calculate distances and time. They always feel confident.
We took our battle stations when Gen fell and fought a good battle. We barked orders and took commands. Lacking a general, we worked as a team, as we always do. We made it through and as we always do we checked in while waiting at the hospital. 'What next?' We question our missing general. Silence. As many might know you can plan for hours down to the last second and even if you are prepared for plan X, situation Z will arise. As a team we plan enough to get us going in the right direction but traveling by bike can often be misguiding and misleading. That's why we have adopted the motto 'do what happens'. This was (as I mentioned before) one of those moments. We had planned on riding east to west on the island of Crete, taking a ferry to the Peloponnese and riding north to Patras, where ferries run often to all parts of Italy.
After the great battles of Crete we had to reconvene and think about some logistics. We were all still interested in riding the Peloponnese, it wouldn't take that long and it had an interesting cultural allure and there were plenty of open campgrounds. It seemed like a good idea. After the accident and learning we would have to stick around Rethymno for a couple more days we questioned our plan. Plans B and C started popping up. What we had vaguely learned from Georgia's trusty (or maybe not so trusty) guide book was that ferries left five days a week to the Peloponnese. On Thursday we split up to do some research. Em and Gen were off to see the Venetian castle and Georgia and I went off in search of answers.
The sun was shining and life was good; we had lost no one in battle. The only complaint was tight quarters, but we had solved that problem. With some fresh air in our lungs and our separate ways for the afternoon our outlooks were bright. Georgia and I jumped right into it, entering the first travel agency we saw (there are a lot of these in Greek tourist towns).
"Milas anglica?" Of course they do, it is their job, but we always start with this pleasantry. "We have some questions about ferries. We are trying to get to the Peloponnese or maybe Piraeus."
"Well no boats leave from here." Strike one. "To Piraeus every day from Chaina at nine." Okay, we didn't really want to have to go back to Piraeus but. . . "And every Thursday from Kissamos to the Peloponnese." Strike two.
We left in disbelief. We entered a second travel agency. Same news. It had to be true. We wandered the streets in awe of the recent news. We thought to ourselves, 'Back to Piraeus, I guess.' Our thoughts were interrupted by tantalizing smells of cooking meat. When our other senses returned we realized we had walked to the gyro shop that we had eaten at the day before. With no hope left (no we had lots) we decided we should re-fuel and discuss our options.
This particular shop is perfect and the food is amazing. It is one of those places, or so we think, that is real. Both times we were there we were the only tourists and people gave us funny looks. It is small, and located on a corner of two very busy old cobblestone streets. Stepping down into the shop you are greeted with the smells of roasting pork on a spit and pitas are heating on the grill. The shop itself is long and narrow with a curved arch ceiling resembling that of small Greek church. Our pitas are loaded with tatzikea, meat, tomatoes, onions and french fries; we are ready to eat. Re-rations are important.
"I wonder if Em and Gen have found the same news?" We pulled out the guidebook. We figured we could take a train from Piraeus to Patras and if the timing all worked out it would be perfect. We could only hope. We could ride backward the section we had already came. Remember back in January when we loved Greece and our first couple days of riding? We still love Greece but our ambition was low to re-ride a section we hadn't planned on. The train sounded great, we will see what Em and Gen say. We had plans to meet up later to pick up our bikes from the repair shop. Nothing serious just some derailleur adjustments.
Huddled around in the bike shop hearing about our funny components and Emma's nearly done chain we babbled about what we had found. Same, same, no difference. Georgia and I offered our plan, sounds good. We all decided we at least had to go back to Piraeus. That was set. We ran across the street to ask about ferry times to test the timing of trains and ferries to Italy. Excitedly we hustled back across the street. The timing is going to work out perfectly. Things were looking up. Plan A was far behind us, on to bigger better plans.
Later we looked at maps and had a group planning session. From here to there a ferry here or maybe here to there? Hmm. We split up tasks and ventured to an Internet cafe. Heat oozed from the door as we entered. This was a gammers cafe. It was not yet filled with teenage boys but we knew our prospects grim. We learned from our mistakes and researched. Gen checked Italian ferry schedules so Em could start route planning. Georgia looked into the trains. As the room started to fill the heat rose. The shouts from misfired shots or lost points reverberated inside our skulls to the beat of the blasting techno music. We were slowly being driven crazy. Stay strong. We discovered that there was no train. Strike three. Well there were tracks and a route but a lack of schedule or train. We kept our fingers crossed and hoped that, as the computer said, it was only temporarily out of service. On a trusty wikipedia page we found that it was shut down in 2009 but was planned on being re-opened in 2010. We manifested. But needless to say plan D was brought in: the ferries have bus services from Piraeus to Patras, we could easily hope on one of those to zip us right on over. The heat, screaming boys, and blasting music had soon beaten us and we left slightly defeated but full of plans.
The next day Gen was due at the hospital for a check-out. It was really a check-up but Gen was checking out of the Greek system so thats what I am calling it. We didn't know what was going to happen but we woke up Friday ready to ride to catch the ferry to Piraeus where we would make our way to Patras and on a ferry to Italy.

Chapter Two: The Troops Move Out
Georgia and I waited at the hostel to watch the gear while Gen and Em ventured to the infirmary. We were informed that open hours were at 09:00hours. Like good soldiers they arrived early. But so did everyone else. As it often does in hospitals, the waiting commenced: a scene of chaos with people shouting and pushing impatient for their turn. Gen stood close to the door in fear she might miss her misspelled and wrongfully miss-pronounced name. Eventually Emma came back to the hostel lacking her comrade to eat some breakfast before heading out again. We waited. Gen's name was finally called and she saw the doctor who put the purchased finger brace in place with instructions to a) not bend it for six weeks and b) come back on March 18, yeah right! Luckily, as we learned later while riding that the pointer finger is bent the least of all the fingers while riding a bicycle. Needless to say bumps are still painful.
We gathered at the ship out station and prepared our bikes. Weather report, windy, really windy. We didn't have far to ride and the wind was kind of at our backs, even though it felt like it was coming from all over. Halfway through our journey we encountered a every excited gentleman. I was out front and was slowing to let the others catch up after a down hill up hill section, when I came across a parked car with a fancily dressed man outside. He motioned for me to stop and since I was nearly stopped anyway, I obliged. Gen appeared shortly after. The man started talking and explained how four girls where in the newspaper, riding their bikes two days before, and they had started in Norway. Was that us? Gen and I were confused. I offered Ireland up. "Yes, yes." That was it, the man said.
"So. . . We," pointing at Gen, and I and now Georgia, "were in the newspaper?"
"Yes, yes, two days before." Huh? We were all confused. The man explained how he was part of, or ran, a mountain bike club and that two days a week he closes his shop and goes mountain biking. After snapping some photos on his iPhone and getting the Greek alphabet spelling of the newspaper he was on his way. We felt like real Cretian heroes, people stopping on the side of the highway for photos, wow! I am going to look for the news paper article when I get a chance. If anyone wants to give it a try here is the name Πατρίδα on the 16th???
Peddling fast we covered the thirty miles quickly. We were concerned as the wind whipped us around the whole way there. Ferries don't run if it's too windy we remembered. We bought tickets anyway. We nestled down in the city park and began to wait. Rain clouds rolled in and the wind howled. It wasn't looking good. We got on early to secure good spots. After we wheeled our bikes up to the second level and locked them up getting all we needed for the night we headed back down to enter the ship. A friendly worker stopped and told us the boat wasn't leaving. Whaa?
"No one told you?" No.
"It is okay you can leave your stuff here and at seven we might know or maybe twelve, every six hours we check. "
"But we can leave our stuff here and be on the boat?" This was the real concern. We didn't have anywhere to be and since it was raining it was no longer fun to be outside. The boat was scheduled to leave at nine p.m. After wandering the long halls and peering into many nooks and crannies, we settled in at some public cafe tables. For the third time that afternoon/evening Em and Gen left to go to the grocery store, beverages were needed. We chatted, read, played cards, and ate, standard procedure when we are not riding our bikes. There was however a large group of Americans on the boat and it was our entertainment to guess who they were and what they were doing.
Around eleven at night we were all exhausted and decided it was time to roll out our sleeping pads and find a place to crash. We still hadn't left. The lights never turn off in the main hallways were cheapsters like us throw down so when you're awake it is hard to tell what time it is. Georgia and I awoke around the same time and stumbled to the bathroom. Upon returning I asked Georgia what time it was, I was thinking it had to be at least one or two a.m. I just wanted go get back in bed and go to sleep.
"It is five o'clock." We were both surprised. We were happy we had gotten a good nights sleep. The downside was that we still hadn't left. Thankfully at six the motors started and the chime of the announcement sounded notifying us passengers we were leaving. These messages are pre-recorded and there was no emotion in her voice, no ounce of happiness. I was still sleepy and returned to bed, happy to be on the move. There was only a small voice in the back of my head saying, "There goes the perfect timing of our Piraeus arrival." Sleep won the battle and I was snoozing quickly.
By eight a.m. sleep was again interrupted. Poseidon had arrived. We slipped and slid laying on our sleeping pads. Rolling waves were causing the large ferry to pitch like a small sailboat (something we have had experience with). This is when the real fun began. Laying down was the best position to be in. It was hard not to feel slightly sea sick. Em was the most sick, she's been susceptible to motion sickness since before I can remember, and trust me there are plenty of memories of Ems motion sickness. More fun was to watch people walking around. I avoided going to the bathroom after Em and Gen came back with a warning that most people were now just puking in the sinks. I am the type of person who doesn't get sea sick but if I were in a small bathroom full of people vomiting I am sure I would have lost it. Instead I lay and read, having to pee and getting hungrier by the second.
We were stationed next to a door and took a couple trips outside (Em hung here for a while) to watch the huge sea swell. At least twelve foot sea swells rolled sideways to the ferry. Sea spray sprinkled our face as we got close to the railing. We thought of our poor bikes locked bellow an open window. Somewhere inside was a small dog that was either sea sick or terrified, because we heard it's loud yapping for hours. Occasionally On extremely large waves we heard what sounded like hundreds of pots and pans and dishes falling off shelves and breaking. I couldn't help but break into hysterics. Around half past ten, the seas still rolling in, but calming slightly I had had enough of laying. I needed to pee really bad and the hunger in my stomach was making feel more sick than the sea. With Georgia, I ventured up one deck to the bathroom and self service cafe. We planned on eating our yogurt and granola at a table. The long hallway was lined with railings, every three feet a barf bag was stuck into the railing. People looked miserable wobbling back and forth along the hall. Georgia and I made it in perfect ease and ate our breakfast in solitude. No one was eating nor was any one in the cafeteria. Occasionally the clash of dishes was heard or chairs would domino over. We returned quickly and settled in for an afternoon of what else but reading!

Chapter Three: The Race
Time passed and eventually the seas calmed. At two p.m. we discovered we would arrive around four p.m. All our previous plans were out the window. We had even brought up the the likelihood we would just ride to Patras. It was a beautiful ride and wouldn't take that much extra time, why not? However that plan was formulated when we thought we might arrive much earlier. Now what? Gen bought some Internet time, we asked questions. It seemed that busses were consistent but we all really wanted to take a train. Around four we arrived and after a hectic unloading, where Em lost her hot sauce and ketchup mix on the stairs in the middle of the stampede of the leaving passengers, we made it to shore. Rain clouds and a looming sunset filled the skies. We had to act quick. Georgia and I scouted a train, no such luck, it doesn't exist. "How could that be?" Georgia asked. "There is only two train lines in Greece." I suggested that because of the economy one had to go. Whatever the reason the train was out of the question. Gen and I went to enquire about the bus station and we were informed it was 20 minutes by bicycle. Could we make it? Rain and darkness looming in rush hour Athens traffic? It was a gamble but one I was willing to make. I was not interested in staying in Piraeus for the night. Em and I went to check the location, we ran across the street. "It is like we are on the Amazing Race" (a reality TV show for those who don't know,. I joked with Em. I had remembered there was wifi in the metro station and Em searched her GPS. Luckily the full coverage in Greece includes bus stations. "Four point six miles away", Em said.
"I think we can make it but we have to hurry."
"Four point six miles in a city can take a while," Em mentioned.
We raced back. Georgia and Em were on the more skeptical side but Gen and I were all for it. We left in haste. At first with the dimming light, traffic, and Em navigating with the GPS, it was hectic. But we had already started and there was no turning back.
As darkness fell we had reached the one road that we needed to be on. The traffic lessoned and it wasn't bad. Upon getting close the GPS started taking us down funny side streets making twists and turns, most likely to avoid large highways. We cracked jokes and laughed as we made u-turn after u-turn. Were we ever going to make it? Our spirits were high and that's all that mattered.
Eventually we arrived at the edge of an eight lane highway. It was the main interstate into Athens (or so I think). Em said it should be right here or very close. Cars zipped pass as we looked around. I spotted something on the other side that looked like a bus station. What? Really you think that that it? Everyone sputtered.
"It has to be. Look, there is even an over pass." We wheeled our bikes near and as we got closer, horror struck. The stairs were perfectly designed to save space. They spiraled up forty feet high, twisting seven times at least. A nightmare. Gen and I took off leaving our bikes behind to check into the supposed-bus station. Brazil is big into bus travel so bus stations are a friendly place to me. Indeed it was a bus station. Upon entering we were met with some stray dogs and Gen offered them the dog treats she had gotten for such occasions. After finding the ticket office and asking about timing (they run every half hour) we asked about our bikes. Gen had read many blogs and forums talking about bikes on buses and they all seemed to say it was doable. We had however made the treacherous journey to the bus station without really knowing. As the lady at the ticket office called to asked we crossed our fingers, prayed and manifested a good result.
After hanging up she replied, "Yes, that should be fine." Our hearts melted, something had gone right. Now all we had to worry about was getting across the eight lane highway in one piece. As we walked back along the edge of the highway to the twisting over pass, I daydreamed a funny scene.
Back on the other side we prepped our bikes. Two at a time we lifted our bikes over the barricades, timing had to be perfect. Once we all were over the first barricade we would bolt across the highway, reminding ourselves that all the drivers we stunt drivers. We would be fine. There was only three barricades to get over and plenty of shoulder. And we were very reflective and illuminated. Completely doable. Deep breaths and we were off sprinting across the interstate, bikes fully loaded, cleats clapping away on the pavement. One section done, we were going to make it.
I snapped back to reality when we reached the other side and were again talking with Em and Georgia. We had recently been talking about the movie Bowfinger, I must have been inspired. Georgia had been thinking the same thing. How amusing it would have been, but frightfully scary and dangerous. Luckily just a bit further down the highway was an overpass with a ramp, a safe reasonable way over.
We all made it to the bus station with tickets purchased and we were one step closer. Twenty minutes before the bus left we went to get our bikes packed. There was some confusion, one man said we couldn't take our bikes. Another said bring them over here. They got packed we got on the bus and luckily we were on our way to Patras, finally one step closer.

Chapter Four: The Night Walk
Having gotten a late bus we arrived in Patras around 11p.m. On our previous adventures in Patras we had felt perfectly safe and enjoyed the city very much. We got off the bus and put our front wheels back on our bikes and loaded our bags and stuff back on. We puzzled around looking for a place to stay. Gen and I had read about the youth hostel. It hadn't gotten the greatest reviews and we weren't exactly sure where it was. One of the bus station employees, sensing our confusion, asked if we were looking for the youth hostel. He gave us directions and we were on our way. Having not followed the directions properly we returned to the bus station. He offered to walk with us there.
We took off, Georgia leading and chatting with him. The streets were lined with people, it was eerie. Five or ten minutes later we arrived at an old stone building. We thanked the man. "We are not leaving our bikes out here, we can all agree," Georgia said. The nice Patras we knew had changed, or we just were in a really different neighborhood. An old man arrived at the door, "Come in. Bring your bikes." A wave of relief washed over us. It was the first place anyone had said that or even understood.
There was a first floor room that smelled strongly of potato pearls. We were just happy to be able to wheel our bikes in. The man said if we left them we wouldn't be able to find them in the morning. Georgia told us how the guy who showed us where the hostel was had said there was a big problem recently with people coming from Tunisia and Egypt. That is who most of those people hanging around the streets were. Exhausted we fell into bed, but not until after a long queries of, "Wait. . . wait. . . wait," as the old man shuffled about fixing things up and receiving our money, showing us the lock and what not. If the smell wasn't enough the beds were the type you didn't want to touch and the bathroom was a place to avoid, especially since when Georgia and I went to brush our teeth the old man was there doing his business with a lack of closed door. I was surprised when I heard a muffled excuse me rather than a grunted, "Wait."
We slept in and rushed out of the hostel at close to eleven. It was Sunday, Gods day, which means no food day to us. If we hadn't been so rushed and late and ruffled by the traveling we would have been prepared. We have gotten used to Sunday's lack of open shops. We all had very little food. We set off getting our tickets for the ferry. It was to leave at six, we could board before that.
We found a cafe and settled in. Drank expensive tea and played cards. Gen wandered and searched for any open shop. Patras is a carnival city so awesome jams were blasting from the street speakers. As we sat there many of the peddlers tried their luck with us. Where may I ask am I going to put that fake Prada purse and when will i have time to watch your pirated DVDs. We struck up a convo with one guy from Nigeria who said that New York was horrible people push you down and shoot you. I changes the subject to Nigeria after that. After we overstayed our welcome at the cafe we ventured on to find something, anything. Upon leaving a family with a mother and some children came to try their luck with us for a second time. Em and I had just gotten a slices of pizza, they were pushing tissues. The mother tried literally stealing my pizza from my hands. She then went to bother Em, so enraged from the lady shoving the tissues in her face Emma grabbed them and threw them across the street with a loud "NO." The lady only slightly shocked persisted. Emma was more shocked at her self, feeling terribly about the way she acted. "that is no way to treat anyone" she says. The children got the point. We quickly left on our bikes. Along the way we ran into a ferocious beast. An eight month old male English Bulldog named Duro. He was hilarious, just as bulldogs often are. He hilariously nipped at Emma and her shoes and bags. He had an extremely large under bite. His owner was very helpful in trying to find something open for us. But as we had learned from everyone else we had asked there was nothing open on Sunday.
Defeated we left for the port where we would wait out the rest of the time. The port was fenced in keeping the men milling about on the streets out. That didn't stop their jeering. Gen ventured out again to get another salad from a cafe she had found on her wanderings. When she came back she told stories of the people jumping the fence and trying to break into a truck. It seemed scary out there. The time finally came and we were able to board our giant ship headed for Italy. Off we go!

Photos: Playing cards on ferry number one; Em and Georgia are tiny compared to ferry number two; the whole ferry