The prelude with the events leading to Mister Toad's Wild Ride took place mostly in Greece and that was in Part 1. (Ithaka: Mister Toad's Wild Ride Part 1)
Thinking back to the ride immediately starts off a slideshow from different parts of it but, just as with Bilbo, it's best to start at the beginning.
I was staying at Harry Loutas' place and he has a wonderful family who always made me feel I was part of it. This was also the best deal anyone could find for me so it was perfect. It was surprisingly inexpensive and it was a privilege to be there since his place was almost like a ranch with olive trees all over the place.
Harry's place was just outside Katakolo, a tiny town which woke up like the desert flowers after a Spring rain whenever the cruise ships came to port. In-between times were quiet with little sign of life in Katakolo but colors and people would burst out everywhere in greeting for the cruise ships with sometimes three or more of them in-port at the same time.
The cruise ships came for Olympia which was about twenty kilometers away so they would pile into buses with tinted windows and air conditioning so they could go to visit. There's no need for an editorial; that's just not my style for touring. If know exactly what will happen when I go somewhere, I probably won't do it.
I didn't really have any idea how much I didn't know of what would come on Mister Toad's Wild Ride but I said goodbye and then set out toward Patras where I would catch a ferry across the Ionian Sea up to the Adriatic Sea to Italy.
It didn't take even ten kilometers to discover this was a Really Bad Idea. I had never tried riding Haximoto, my 170 cc scooter, fully-laden like this previously and there were certain stability problems. There were certain huge stability problems since you haven't really talked to the Lord until you have ridden down a narrow Greek highway on a heavily-loaded scooter which was never designed for doing that ... and a bloody great truck goes blasting by you.
Ed: shouldn't that be Zeus in Greece?
It was since he will throw lightning bolts if you disrespect him.
Note: that's not 'zoose' but rather 'zee-us' so do tell the Greek fratboys they're doing it wrong.
The ride to Patras on the northern coast of the Peloponnese was about a hundred kilometers and everything will be in metric because it makes more sense than the American system of using cubits and whatnot. Pop quiz: how many inches in a mile? Answer: who cares.
Those one hundred kilometers were seriously terrifying but I couldn't go back because I couldn't afford the rates for the high season. Carry it through, Easy Rider.
Note: the answer really is 63,360 and I remembered it from early school because it was so weird and it's just stuck there ever since. If anyone ever asks, I can tell them. No-one ever did (larfs).
The plan, if any, was blown right from the top since I had hoped to catch the ferry to Brindisi, Italy, but I missed it. There wasn't a good move on staying in Patras so the solution was to take the next ferry but that one went to Ancona which is about five hundred kilometers north of where I intended.
The ferries are enormous and seem to have ten or more decks with everything from people to full-size big-rig trucks. I was surprised by the large commercial volume but the big-rig trucks didn't have any other way across the Ionian either.
Seeing Patras receding behind the ship's wake was mixed in the same way as flying out of Sydney when we left Australia years before. There's the anticipation for whatever comes but there's no blowing off the sadness in leaving something behind you will not likely see again.
It wasn't so long before Patras did recede and we were on what seemed an ocean going on forever. The ship sailed many hours to get there and much of the time there was a soft silence of many people who are all at once bored senseless but are all looking forward to something in the going.
That was goodbye, Greece.
Αντίο, Ελλάδα
Thinking back to the ride immediately starts off a slideshow from different parts of it but, just as with Bilbo, it's best to start at the beginning.
I was staying at Harry Loutas' place and he has a wonderful family who always made me feel I was part of it. This was also the best deal anyone could find for me so it was perfect. It was surprisingly inexpensive and it was a privilege to be there since his place was almost like a ranch with olive trees all over the place.
Harry's place was just outside Katakolo, a tiny town which woke up like the desert flowers after a Spring rain whenever the cruise ships came to port. In-between times were quiet with little sign of life in Katakolo but colors and people would burst out everywhere in greeting for the cruise ships with sometimes three or more of them in-port at the same time.
The cruise ships came for Olympia which was about twenty kilometers away so they would pile into buses with tinted windows and air conditioning so they could go to visit. There's no need for an editorial; that's just not my style for touring. If know exactly what will happen when I go somewhere, I probably won't do it.
I didn't really have any idea how much I didn't know of what would come on Mister Toad's Wild Ride but I said goodbye and then set out toward Patras where I would catch a ferry across the Ionian Sea up to the Adriatic Sea to Italy.
It didn't take even ten kilometers to discover this was a Really Bad Idea. I had never tried riding Haximoto, my 170 cc scooter, fully-laden like this previously and there were certain stability problems. There were certain huge stability problems since you haven't really talked to the Lord until you have ridden down a narrow Greek highway on a heavily-loaded scooter which was never designed for doing that ... and a bloody great truck goes blasting by you.
Ed: shouldn't that be Zeus in Greece?
It was since he will throw lightning bolts if you disrespect him.
Note: that's not 'zoose' but rather 'zee-us' so do tell the Greek fratboys they're doing it wrong.
The ride to Patras on the northern coast of the Peloponnese was about a hundred kilometers and everything will be in metric because it makes more sense than the American system of using cubits and whatnot. Pop quiz: how many inches in a mile? Answer: who cares.
Those one hundred kilometers were seriously terrifying but I couldn't go back because I couldn't afford the rates for the high season. Carry it through, Easy Rider.
Note: the answer really is 63,360 and I remembered it from early school because it was so weird and it's just stuck there ever since. If anyone ever asks, I can tell them. No-one ever did (larfs).
The plan, if any, was blown right from the top since I had hoped to catch the ferry to Brindisi, Italy, but I missed it. There wasn't a good move on staying in Patras so the solution was to take the next ferry but that one went to Ancona which is about five hundred kilometers north of where I intended.
The ferries are enormous and seem to have ten or more decks with everything from people to full-size big-rig trucks. I was surprised by the large commercial volume but the big-rig trucks didn't have any other way across the Ionian either.
Seeing Patras receding behind the ship's wake was mixed in the same way as flying out of Sydney when we left Australia years before. There's the anticipation for whatever comes but there's no blowing off the sadness in leaving something behind you will not likely see again.
It wasn't so long before Patras did recede and we were on what seemed an ocean going on forever. The ship sailed many hours to get there and much of the time there was a soft silence of many people who are all at once bored senseless but are all looking forward to something in the going.
That was goodbye, Greece.
Αντίο, Ελλάδα
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