Paxos to Kefalonia

 Today was a complicated plan. In the summer they run ferries from here to Kefalonia and it would be a no brainer to take a boat over. In the winter it’s a different story. To get there first I need to take a ferry from Gaios to Lefkimmi, the south end of Corfu. Then the ferry company runs a transfer service to take me to Corfu airport. The plane flys direct to Kefalonia but with one stop in Lefkada along the way. With a 7:30 am taxi pickup to get me to my 7:45 am ferry, we should be right as rain.

I packed up my bag and waited outside for the cab. He was early and we made the ride to the port in a couple minutes, before boarding even started. The fast ferry is smaller and only seats 50 or so people. Everyone is piling on the as we cross the gangway the attendant isn’t checking for tickets, he knows everyone already. People are chatting with their friends and family, smoking, or listening to music to pass the time.

We make it to Lefkimmi in short time and I wait in my seat for the all clear so I can disembark. Nobody is standing or saying anything so I sit. After five minutes the ferry pulls away. Shit, that was my stop. By my knowledge this is the only port we go to on this sailing so our next destination is a mystery. Based on the size of the boat and where we are it could be either Corfu town or Igoumenitsa. If it’s Corfu town that works just fine for me, I’ll be closer to the airport anyway. Igoumenitsa would be less fortunate. I would have to take another ferry, and probably a slower one, back to Corfu to make my plane. Chances are good that I’d still get there on time since the booking is relatively late.

I’m nervously checking our location on the map waiting for some indication that we won’t be crossing the strait back to the mainland. Lucky me, the boat goes to town. I disembark at ten, plenty of time to catch my flight at two. Maybe too much time. Luckily I have some errands. The first mission is to buy more lip balm and toothpaste both of which I exhausted in Paxos. The other is to get my jacket which I accidentally left behind in my room in Corfu. Again, I finished it all too fast and got to enjoy some time doing nothing at a cafe.

To get to the airport I walked to the square where all the busses come. Corfu has an absurdly confusing bus system where you have to buy a ticket for the correct “color” of bus. Blue, green, pink, or yellow. They’re all run by the same company and some of the tickets cost the same price. Why they bother to differentiate is beyond me. I bought my blue bus ticket and went to the stop only to discover that this was a green bus and the posted schedule on the stop told me I wasn’t going to get a bus in time for my flight. I waited long enough to see which schedule was correct and bailed to the nearby taxi rank. What a convoluted trip to the airport. 

The airport itself is a ghost town. They size it for the summer peak and in the winter it only uses a fraction of its capabilities. There is one terminal and right now there are more staffers working the duty free than the single open check in counter. The old man behind the counter at the cafe started to hawk a latte to me, presumably out of boredom. There are only two commercial departures today, mine and the daily flight to Athens. Ten passengers boarded the plane in Corfu.

I landed in a similarly deserted airport and scooped up my bag. After some fiddling I checked on how I was going to get to my hotel. There is a bus line that connect the two but in the low season it barely runs, I would have to sleep rough and come back tomorrow. A smooth taxi ride followed where the driver gave me a rundown on the place I had just landed. The same story all the locals across the Ionians told me. Don’t come, it’s the low season. Whatever.

The largest city on the island, Argostoli, was leveled by an earthquake in the 50s. All the buildings look like they were rebuilt at the same time and in a hurry. The town is preparing for Christmas and there is an ice skating rink being set up in the square with refrigerant. A Californian tradition as well. The mountains here look alarmingly like the Santa Monicas and I find myself consciously reminding myself that I’m not back in SoCal.

Where am I?

Everywhere I go in Argostoli people are speaking to me in Greek and getting surprised when I can’t follow them. This happened a little bit in other places but people here really think I look like I’m from here. The shock that I’m not British really knocks them out.

I wandered the waterfront and grabbed a drink. Everything is deserted. Apparently in years past they got enough winter tourism that most businesses stayed open year round. Things are changing in a post-Brexit world.