I planned to head to Corfu by train and bus, but ended up at the Athens bus station by mistake. So to go with the flow, I bought a bus ticket to Ioannina and leave at 19:30.The bus station is incredibly outdated. It reminds me a lot of the time when Amanda and I travelled in Greece 23 years ago. The whole thing is worn out. The station is full of little travel offices which have been there forever, interspersed with numerous little shops selling the same stuff – Papadopoulos cookies, sesame seed honey bars, water and beer plus a few sandwiches and chocolate for the journey.
It is chaos. Taxis queuing and battling for the arriving travellers, buses fighting to get past the wandering passengers to their relevant stall out of the 40 dotted around the place. Lots of traders selling packets of tissues and sunglasses, plus a few mothers with babies begging for money. Chaos, but alive and real, the way the real people travel. Bizarrely, amid the madness and grime, a shining Mercedes dealer gleams its expensive models at the cash-strapped bus travellers.
I haven't had this kind of journey for many years. I bought the ticket for the 19:30 bus, and the journey take 6 hours. It means I will arrive in the middle of the night and I have no idea where I will sleep. I think simply that I have a tent, a sleeping bag and money - I'll find a way. It is one of the benefits of travelling alone. That kind of approach doesn't generally work as a couple (unless you find that exceptional partner who says “great, let's try!”).
2 hours before bus departure. I sit and let my mind wander, watching the chaos settle down after rush hour.
The whole time in Greece has been a reminder of that Interrail trip 23 years ago with Amanda. We spent 7 weeks in Greece in total, and in some way every trip back to the country has been an echo of that time. This time the resonance is Ioannina. Amanda and I stayed at Camping Patista in Kalamata, on the Peloponnese mainland, a 7-hour train journey south of Athens. While there, we both read Eleni, a harrowing story about the Greek Civil War from 1940-49 which followed many similar patterns to the Balkan wars in the 1990's – neighbour against neighbour, incited by the politicians to carry out incredible cruelty and violence.
Ioannina was one of t
he key towns to feature in Eleni's story. She was a Greek woman married to an American, and as such victimised by the Communist powers who took over her town. The American was away and she was left to fend for herself and her children. She arranged for the children, who were being forced to serve in the army, to escape. For this, she was tortured and finally killed.As we sat on the beach and in the campsite in 1986, we started to get a picture of village life in Greece at that time and looked up at the huge mountain overshadowing the bay of Kalamata. An old mountain village sat on top and thanks to our pensioner benefactors, Kay and Harold, we were introduced to the locals there. K & H (as we named them) had spent 5 months of the year for each of the past 8 years in Kalamata, and it seemed each year they took in a couple of youngsters and showed them sights around the area.
That summer, we were treated to Tiropita (cheese pie) lunch-time parties, local Ouzo and Wine, and various taverna lunches and dinners. Thanks to them, we were able to connect the things we read about with the atmosphere of the old and decrepit town. It was hard to believe a civil war had existed there less than 40 years previous.
As I look back, it is quite amazing to think it is really 23 years since Amanda and I were there. It's a hard concept to grasp. I don't really know why it's so hard. Maybe because I lost contact with Amanda many years ago, despite our pledges that we will always be friends. Or maybe because I just met a beautiful girl who reminds me of Amanda in certain ways (the freshness of spirit, a penchant for Russian wedding rings and the small squeezes of the fingers to say “I am here, I care about you”.) Or maybe simply the wonder of the passing of time and the chance to think about it with no time pressure or objective for the trip. And maybe it's a combination of that and more. I don't know. But I feel nostalgic.
The true meaning of the word Nostalgia comes from Homer's Odyssey. Lost and far from home, Odysseus feels “the longing to be again at the place he has been before”. Kalamata was a place where Amanda and I really started to learn what it was to love. And with the word Ioannina ringing in our ears, we talked about the wonderful Eleni story for hours. Now to see that word stencilled on the front window of the bus, I feel that, although it was a town I only read about, I am going back to that time of happiness and love between us and have a new chance to refresh my life, as we started our adult lives so freshly at the age of 19.
The bus journey is great. I manage to keep awake while it's still light and view the beautiful water and mountains along the way. I get an hour's solid sleep and follow this with half-dozing, half-dreaming to the sound of Greek music keeping the driver amused at the front of the bus. Luckily there is plenty of legroom and I feel very comfortable and happy with the journey. Just as we arrive in Ioannina, 2am, I see big sign saying “CAMPING”. Luckily, the bus station is a few hundred metres away and I head back after getting my huge rucksack.
It's clear that I am not experienced in this kind of travelling – my load is impossibly heavy. Have to jettison some stuff at my Dad's place. It's also clear that my tent is brand new and I haven't got a clue how to put it up. The best part of trying to work it out is the head-light which a friend advised me to buy, making the whole thing so much easier. The 10 minute job takes me an hour, but now I know. Each experience is making me a bit less soft and a bit more knowledgeable.
I awake to find the site is at the side of a beautiful lake and in the shadow of a forbidding mountain. I walk through the town and see how much the locals have tried to make it a modern looking place, with clothes shops and telecom centres everywhere. Still some of the charm of the old town exists, but homage to the past is almost deliberately avoided. It is hard to believe that terrible cruelty happened here just 60 years ago, but time and experience are healing, healing.
