Our first real encounter with the Italian siesta came not in Cinque Terra, Florence or Rome, but in Bari, a coastal town which essentially is built around the ferry trade (or so it would seem). After avoiding this relaxed custom for over two weeks, we arrived by train, to find a strangely quiet town awaiting us. With only fast food stores and gelati vendors still apparently awake, we had the good part of the afternoon to kill, waiting for the Italians to wake up.
After camping out in the Port office for several hours, somebody finally deigned to re-open the ticket desk, and we were able to secure our passage out of Bari, bound for Dubrovnik, Croatia. Ticket in hand, we had only a trifling five hour wait for the ferry to depart. At least now, Bari was showing some signs of life, and after an exhaustive search of the town, we found what was apparently the sole supermarket in the region to secure provisions for our journey.
After a traditional backpacker's dinner of preserved meats, cheese and bread (eaten in the unlikely setting of a ticket office lobby), we cleared passport control and were allowed to walk the substantial distance to the ferry itself. As we boarded, there was a quiet but intense struggle to find a seat that might also double as a bed for evening. We thought that we'd been lucky, as we claimed a large leather couch in the darker 'bar' area, which did not look like it would be used for any kind of festive purposes on this particular evening. With everything seemingly taken care of, we relaxed and waited another couple of hours for the boat to start chugging its way across to Croatia.
It was to be one of the most mind-numbingly boring nights of our trip. Our chosen position turned out to be less than ideal, at the mercy of the most incredible air-conditioning that we've experienced over in Europe. It conditioned the air, and subsequently us, all night long. It has been some time since I've worn a jumper, but that night I was forced to pull out the polar-fleece that had been languishing in the bottom of my backpack.
It would be a lie to say that nobody managed to get any sleep, though those who did were for the most part chemically assisted. The remainder of us endured a restless night, soothed only by the chugging of the motors, and the enthusiastic banter of one small group who seemed to be enjoying the voyage... all night long.
Lest this post become yet another 'whinge blog', I must say that it was quite spectacular to see the sun coming up over the sea, revealing the Croatian coastline, wreathed in morning fog. As we entered the harbor of Dubrovnik, the morning light was just hitting the red roofs, giving us a spectacularly picturesque first impression of the town.
As we departed the boat and received the obligatory passport stamps, we were accosted by an army of eager locals, all of whom were eager to sell us accommodation. Though initially skeptical of these offers, the fact of the matter is that we had nothing arranged, and after some shrewd bargaining on Klaus' behalf, we secured a small apartment for just what we would have paid, had we gone to a standard hostel (which, our information indicated, may well already have been booked out). For this bargain price, we would get beds (some sharing involved), a kitchenette, air conditioning (an absolute blessing) and a view to die for out over Dubrovnik.
Thus ends the tale of our voyage. Having dropped our packs and taken off our shoes, we proceeded to make use of our new lodgings.
For the next two days, we'd do little more than sleep.
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