Travelling Light

          Last week was all about travelling. During the four days it took us to get from Plymouth to Athens, we took seven trains, two coaches, one ferry and two taxis, spending one night with relatives, another in an hotel and a third at sea. Yes, it would have been quicker – and cheaper – to fly, but we chose not to and, having done so, determined that we should relish both journey and destination alike. We’ll be away for almost six weeks, so packing took a little consideration: no flying means no weight restrictions, but we still would have to drag all our stuff around, so we settled for a manageable, medium-sized roller case each and a couple of small back-packs.

          Whatever the means of travel, journeys are always beyond your control: you make your bookings, assemble your documents, buy your insurance and set off in hope that the infrastructures are not disrupted by strikes, weather, technical failures or the kind of natural disasters that insurers shy away from. Now, if you’re expecting me to relate a tale of woe, you will be relieved to learn that everything went according to plan. There was just one panicky run for a connection but, for the sake of proportionality, I won’t dwell on that. Better to stress that we did enjoy the overall experience.

          Unlike planes, trains have seating configurations that are conducive to conversation with fellow passengers, some of whom can be interesting. Jean Paul, for example, started talking to me as soon as we sat opposite each other on the busy Eurostar to Paris. He seemed to me the epitome of a Eurostar customer, a Belgian whose employers operate from different European capitals, whose grown-up children are being schooled internationally and who is himself about to take up a post as head of a United Nations meteorological unit in Geneva. We had socio-political discussions all the way to Gare du Nord and never once did we talk about the weather. When we disembarked, trailing our cases behind us, he waved a cheery goodbye and strode off along the platform with his stylish overnight bag slung over one shoulder.

          But long-distance ferries, with their generous public spaces, afford the best opportunities for interacting with strangers – the proviso being that nobody wants to lumber themselves for too long with a boring companion. Hence, it was only toward the end of our passage that we got talking to the Norwegian lesbian couple we had seen at dinner. They were on their way to their holiday home on the island of Lesbos with their little dog Billie (Jean King). When I commented on their modest baggage, they told us that they had cycled from Norway to Italy (with Billie in a travel cage), sent their bikes home with a courier and would be taking another ferry via Piraeus after parting company with us at Athens railway station. I was impressed by the extent of their Nordic endeavour, but it was almost eclipsed by dogged determination of the Australian father-and-son duo who subsequently joined us during the wait for disembarkation. They were part-way through an ambitious Euro-culture tour to mark the son’s graduation from high school. With their noticeably small rucksacks and dishevelled but practical clothing, they were undertaking a sort of modern-day, low-budget version of the educational ‘grand tour’ indulged in by the wealthy English in the era of the Enlightenment. They were about half-way through but showing no lack of enthusiasm for the myriad museums they had yet to broach. The six of us, being the only pedestrians on the ferry, stuck together for the journey from the port via taxi, coach and train to Athens, where we parted company like friends.

          The Airbnb apartment we have rented in Athens is, in many respects, similar to our own home, so we have played it pretty safe, accommodation-wise. We may also have played it safe wardrobe-wise, since I notice that most of the clothes I brought are still on their hangers and look likely to remain there for the duration.