Tag Archives: ferry

Posts that include ferry travel and the commentary that comes with it.

054- Finding a friggin’ ferry from France

The ripple effects of the British Coal Miners strike  resulted in French ports that closed and opened in ways that seemed random to this ignorant traveller trying to catch a ferry to Ireland.   Like any good story of a quest, the pursuit for an open port added a new cast of characters along the way that enriched my summer adventure.  And while the situation maybe caused more stress than I was used to, I still loved France. 

Saturday, 21 July 1984, 9:15AM, still en route to Ireland aboard the St. Killian II ferry

Arriving in Cherbourg for the ferry, not knowing what to do first, I was quite lucky to run into Sandra, a California girl.  She had tried the ferry the day before when the port was closed. On Friday, Sandra knew right where to go. Best of all, Cherbourg was still open!  Unfortunately, we found out at the station that the Irish Continental ferry doesn’t dock in Cherbourg until Sunday. What rotten luck.

With that news, it was back to the train station for both of us. The last hope for getting to Ireland was getting to Le Havre by 6PM. If all the stars lined up, there was a shot at connecting via a number of stops and making it to Le Havre by 5:17PM. Great!

We hopped the first train from Cherbourg to Caen, where I had been headed originally. Next Caen to Bernay. Then Bernay to Rouen. During all this train travel, I worked furiously on 7 pre-stamped postcards that I wanted to mail before leaving France.

In Rouen, we had a two hour wait that we filled by looking for eats, followed by lunch in the park. Sandra had packed away a jar of Skippy peanut butter sent from home and made me a sandwich. Things were looking up!

Find the Friggin Ferry from France

Limited to the powers of a Eurail Pass, it took quite a few train trips and transfers to get from Cherbourg to Le Havre.

We caught the last connection on this hasty trip to Le Havre, and as we pulled into the station, I finished my last post card. Judging by a map of the port area we picked up, the Irish Continental dock was a short walk from the train station. With 40 minutes before setting sail, we decided to walk.

The map proved to be out of scale and too light on details and landmarks for our navigational needs. Finding the waterfront proved to be time consuming with scarce minutes ticking away. Sandra and I turned up in an area of seedy bars along the wharf, but no sign of our ship.

The time came for decisive action, so I started asking anybody around for directions in my limited French. A truck driver took us to a nearby store where a man and woman teamed up explain to us. The man drew a map, telling us in French where to go while his wife interpreted into English. Very very nice couple.

The time passed as we followed the man’s directions. We still couldn’t see any ship and pessimism began setting in. Fortunately, a number of likely French road signs led us to the Irish Continental gate at 5:58, however the gate was locked and area around it deserted. Now I was hoppin’ mad.

In the distance, over a warehouse roof, we saw a green smokestack puffing up a cloud. We figured that had to be the ship’s smokestack preparing to ship off.  We navigated our way there, breaking into a trot, fully laden with our packs. This was the home stretch— do or die…

Sandra pooped out, but I figured if I could get them to stop for me, they’d wait for Sandra. I continued my jog, holding tight to my pack. When I caught a glimpse of the entire ship pulled up to the wharf, I was relieved to see the nose was still in the upright position while they finished loading cars.  We had time.

St. Killian II Ferry sketch

St. Killian II loading final cars. Artist rendering of what it looked like speeding into the cone of a ferry loading cars.

Sandra caught up and after we paid our 25 franc port tax, we hurried on board, not stopping until we were deep inside the ship.

As it turned out, the ship didn’t depart for another 30 minutes. Safe inside, and sweating like pigs, if pigs do in fact perspire as rumors suggest, we put or packs down where the cruise director instructed us and found some seats next to the huge windows for a rest.

The St. Killian II outclassed all the other ferries I’ve seen so far. The ship is constantly being cleaned and has all sorts of facilities for passenger use, including a cinema.

Once under way, we passed the time by eating, reading and playing rummy. The only thing the ship lacked was a convenient way for non-cabin passengers to catch some sleep. Many people crashed on the carpeted floors, as Sandra and I eventually did. The air conditioning seemed to be at 50 degrees all the time, so I had to pull out my vest. Things were still chilly, so I put on two of the comfy oval chairs together and rolled up into a ball trying to stay warm. Sleep eventually overcame me, but not easily.

1:15PM- still aboard the St. Killian II ferry

Maybe the best part of this trip was breakfast! All of my favorites were there for
£4.70— eggs (over easy and scrambled), sausage, bacon, rolls, coffee, juice, and even terrible oatmeal. It was an all-you-can-eat affair, and as previously demonstrated, I can eat a lot.

The rest of the voyage kind of slid by. I was trying to plan out my next two weeks in Ireland and England before I pick up my tour of the USSR. Even with Let’s Go, I’m at a loss for what to do.

005- Night ferry to Crete

Now on the road for a couple of days, with my trusty Berlitz phrasebook for reference, I eased into the travelers routine.  It became increasingly obvious that as a 6’4″ redhead, towering above a sea of shorter, dark-haired people on the streets of Greece, I screamed of foreign-ness and was a natural magnet for hawkers.  (Ok, wardrobe choices didn’t help me out in this regard.) Sticking out so much took getting used to, and only gradually did I learn to deal with this.  As I left Athens I also had my first exposure to Romani (gypsies).  That episode may read politically incorrect by today’s standards, but this was 1984 and I wrote it like I heard it.  Heads up! 

Thursday, 17 May 1984, 3:00PM, Clare’s House, Athens

Today is check out day at Clare’s House, provided that the proprietor got my ferry ticket as we discussed this morning.  I should be on the 6:30PM boat to Crete. I’ll tell more of that and some Athens stories later.

8:17PM, en route to Crete, aboard the ferry Kantia

First, I’ll run down what I did before I left Athens and then I’ll start the ferry ride story.

Friday, 18 May 1984, 8:11AM, Iraklion, Crete, courtyard of Hotel Hania

So much to say, but first let’s get me caught up. Spent yesterday in Athens on my own. Went to the Theater of Dionysious, the Agoura, the Plaka and the National Archaeological Museum. I was surprised to find out I could make out the Greek inscriptions on the box seats in the ancient theater– well at least well enough to sound out the words.

First week out, made it to the Acropolis

I finally made it to the Acropolis.

Yesterday, I also came to the realization that I was very spottable as a tourist. It happened before when I was with Michael and Kathy. People always ask me whether I want to buy this, or do I want directions. Later, when I was walking alone through Syntagma Square, a rather pudgy guy saw my UCLA t-shirt and started a conversation that went like this:

“Hey, UCLA Bruins! You from the States?”

“Yes”.

“What part?”

“Los Angeles”.

“Oh, Los Angeles Lakers. How did they do?”

“I don’t know. The playoffs were still going on when I left.”

“How about hockey?” I began to get suspicious when a Greek sounds interested in hockey.

“You in Athens long?” he asked.

“No. I’m leaving tonight for the islands.”

“You need ticket? Come on, let’s go to travel agency right around the corner.”

“I already have a ticket. Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll buy you a beer and we can watch the entertainment.”

Fortunately, Uncle Dale warned me about the old “I”ll buy you a beer” trick where it ends up costing me a fortune.

“No, really, I have to do a lot of things before I leave tonight.”

“When you going?”

“Seven, but I have to go to the bank, the post office, my hotel, and my laundry is dirty too,” I lied.

“Oh, oh well.” So I went into the bank and when I passed through the square again, there was my buddy, searching the crowd for his next sucker. Then he saw me. “Hey, I’m insulted now!” he said.

“Sorry,” jeez I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.

I returned to the hotel, collected my laundry, paid my bills, packed up and caught the bus to the harbor, Piraeus. I didn’t know which stop to get off at and the bus took so many detours that I couldn’t keep up on my map  (and the street names were only sporadically marked). An old man, noticing me fumbling with the map, tried to give me directions as best he could.

After I got off the bus, two boat owners and a policeman directed me to my ship that was to take off in 10 minutes. I hopped in through the car loading deck and walked up a few levels of stairs to the higher decks until I reached the top. All of the rooms were crowded with huge women and children and dirty looking men, with all their belongings scattered about their blankets on the floor of the cabin.

Looking for a crew member to tell me where to go (travelling 3rd class passage) I finally wandered outside and sat on a bench to cool off on deck. I was dripping sweat by this time.

The ship took off at 7:00PM sharp and I sat on deck wondering why I might want to go back inside where it was crowded and stuffy. A few folks came outside to watch us take off.  Among them was an Australian/South African guy who noticed the American flag on my backpack and struck up a conversation.

“Bloody scum of the Earth, them gypsies.” (So that’s who they were!) “Can’t you just smell’m? Throw a bar of soap in there and they’d all jump overboard. Scum of the earth!”

Calvin (or maybe Kelvin, if you adjust for the accent) left his wife inside with them, but after it started getting cold on deck, we moved inside and joined her on a couch in the foyer area. On the floor near us were two stout women on two separate blankets. One woman snoring away, the other slapping away a dirty kid.

Mel, Calvin’s wife, said that some man came by one of the women, checked out the pile of clothes she was sleeping near, picked up a coat, went through the pockets, found nothing, tried it on, found it too large, dropped it and walked away. The menfolk kept coming by and checking us out.  Calvin pointed out how you don’t take your eyes off your things with gypsies around. So I didn’t.

Mel broke out a bottle of wine, I came up with a loaf of bread (long roll actually) and Calvin supplied some salami. When the little gypsy kid saw it, she started calling for a piece. The man with her was telling me to cut off a piece. Calvin said “Oh awlright, but I hope she chokes.” So I gave the kid part of my slice. The man said, “No, cut a piece,” (rough translation). Calvin bleated out a couple of expletives. The kid didn’t get it.

So we sat there for a while, Calvin going on at length about the gypsies, who are about like the “coloreds” in South Africa who for some reason knock out their front teeth (?).

Then Calvin left for a walk while Mel and I watched the bags. Calvin found bunk accommodations in sort of a long corridor, about 14 to a room, so we moved there, where I spent a sleepless night– uncomfortable with by backpacks in my bunk, my shoes off, piled behind me and my watch stuffed in them. Gypsy-paranoid, I opened my eyes a number of times while I was dozing to see them checking us out as they passed by our bunks.

The trip took exactly 12 hours. When I got off the ferry in Iraklion, I took a cab to the tourist office for maps and info. Only 100 drachma and the driver was very nice. I found this place where I am now, and am waiting for it to open up to see if I can get a room.

12:37PM, Palace of Knossos, Crete

It turned out that the Hotel Hania had an irritable proprietor who does in fact get obnoxious with single males guests, just like the “Let’s Go” guidebook warned. All I asked was if I could see the room first. The proprietor threw my passport back at me, so I left.

Went down to the youth hostel and got a place for 180 drachs. It’s in a room of bunk beds for 10. I threw my bags on the mattress and took out my sleeping bag, hit the bathroom and brushed my teeth and went upstairs for breakfast (bread, jam and butter with coffee– a pretty standard meal here).  As I ate, I sat on the balcony, looking around town and listening to the swallows darting around in the fresh morning air.

When I went back to the dorm room, my sleeping bag was gone, assumed stolen. Thank God I took my other backpack to breakfast. It’s got my next 13 weeks wellbeing in it– tickets, travelers checks, etc. So many expensive lessons to learn. I hope this is the last, but I doubt it.

The longer I stay in Greece, the more the negative things outnumber the positive ones. I did get on the wrong bus to Knossos through and the fare taker re-directed me to another bus and didn’t charge me. Nice guy.

Knossos is kind of a letdown, like an old Walt Disney attempted historical re-creation. I myself can point out a number of architectural suspicions I have about the restoration.

It just occurred to me that I’m starving. I must eat something besides bread and pastry and coffee. I bought a 1.5 liter water bottle that fits in my backpack– that will save me.

Knossos is swarming with tourists. Most plump, red-faced, middle-aged German couples. Hardly anyone speaks English– even me!

My first artistic rendering of an interesting place.

My first artistic rendering of an interesting place.

I think it stinks that they take these classical Greek monuments and cage them up and make the world pay to see them. I’m leaving!