Let there be Light....
When you last heard from us, Sara was describing us sitting in the New Port bar in Corfu town. I was nursing a pint. Sara had a cheeky Ouzo. It was midnight and very warm...
We had been told to be at the departure gate at 01.00, so we were there somewhat before that. I love to be early, so I lie blatantly to Sara about the time. This time, however, she didn't mind, as joining us on the boat was a Classic Car rally. There were polished cars of every type. We spotted Ferrari, Lotus, Bugatti and even a little Fiat 500. All shining under the harbour lights. Did I mention that it was hot?
There was just a little breeze, now. Cooling us as we trooped into the departure area. Actually, as I looked around, I could see that we were in the arrivals area. But no matter, just because you have a brand new port building, doesn't mean you have to use it properly. The crowd of mainly young Italian travellers reverted to stereotype by yelling, gesticulating, posturing and generally carrying-on. We were an Oasis of stoic, English calm amongst the Latin maelstrom.
The weather, too, remained hot. And sultry.
Then the happy, relaxed and motivated port staff reacted to the good-humoured hammering on the glass doors by opening the correct departure doors. These were located behind us. The crowd surged back past us and out of the door. We were now very much at the back of the queue. We arrived outside into the hot and rather humid night.
However, we were rewarded by the friendly staff, who repaid our correct behaviour by pointing out that there was actually a bus parked there. It would take us the 400m to where the ship would dock in air-conditioned comfort.
The Italian youth ran down the dock, set on getting to the front of the queue and bagging the best place on the boat to kip down. We sat on the bus. Which then roared into life, as the caffeine-crazed driver lurched from side to side down the rather thin pier, scattered the marauding Italians in all directions and depositing half a dozen rather shaken Brits and a nun (of unknown pedigree) in pole position.
We stood at the end of the dock and watched the breathless youths arrive. We were rather smug
Now, two important things should be mentioned at this point. There was no sign of a boat and it was getting rather windy. There were flickers of lightening in the distance...
I had just noticed that there were two small shelters with thin, slatted wooden sides when the storm hit...
As thunder, lightening, rain and gale-force winds burst suddenly around us, we legged it for the nearest shelter. Fifty people crammed into a space big enough for twenty. Shelter was almost exactly what this structure didn't provide.
I have seen big storms before, but I have never been that close to one that I felt I should offer it a cigarette afterwards and ask it how it was for them.
Rain sprayed through the gaps in the side. Thunder crashed all around us in binaural splendour. Lightening flashed every few seconds. And this was proper lightening. The stuff that looks like lightening drawn by a 5 year old. A helmeted cyclist was wimpering softly. He asked me if we were in any danger. I said that I was sure we would be fine. I lied for the second time that day...
Then Sara had a brainwave. We were carrying sleeping mats that might afford some protection from the weather. We produced these and an odd thing happened. A bunch of frightened Italian teenagers suddenly reached collectively into their race memory and produced a classic tortoise shield formation that the 10th Legion would be proud of. Ave, dude!
However, the rain was now blustering in all directions so we were soon wet and cold. The Cyclist asked me if I thought we would survive. I mentioned some old guff about Farriday Cages and the insulating properties of wood. I assured him we'd be safe unless the Tsunami got us. He looked at the crashing waves and thrashing rain. He then stood on the wooden bench. And whimpered again.
By now, the soaking legionaries were getting desperate. One woman tried to borrow the nun's brolly. We shouted her down. I mean, you can't go around robbing nuns just because you're wet, scared and want your mamma.
Another couple tried to persuade us to run back to the terminal building. We declined. We'd seen that movie. They get nearly there and then the lightening/T Rex/Sharknado/Alien gets them.
I was convinced that the boat would not be arriving and had told the cyclist we were stuck there. He was just asking if anyone had any Rosary beads when the boat suddenly appeared out of the maelstrom. From nowhere. Backwards. Talk about showing off!
So on we piled. The wet legionaries, the nun, the catatonic cyclist and about 50 vintage cars in need of a good polish and, in the case of a couple of convertibles, now offering fishing rights.
We found a table with a couple of bench seats and were about to make ourselves comfortable when some spotty oik told us in Italian that he had bagged them for his mates.
That was probably a mistake. Sara was tired, cross, soaked through and desperate for equally large measures of wine and sleep. She explained this to the unfortunate lad eyeball to eyeball and with certain colourful phrases that probably hadn't formed part of the Italian school curriculum.
He fought his corner with sulks and mutters, but his heart wasn't in it. Eventually they all slunk away.
Just as well, within 10 minutes Sara was asleep and snoring happily. Sleep might be difficult for the rest of us....
When you last heard from us, Sara was describing us sitting in the New Port bar in Corfu town. I was nursing a pint. Sara had a cheeky Ouzo. It was midnight and very warm...
We had been told to be at the departure gate at 01.00, so we were there somewhat before that. I love to be early, so I lie blatantly to Sara about the time. This time, however, she didn't mind, as joining us on the boat was a Classic Car rally. There were polished cars of every type. We spotted Ferrari, Lotus, Bugatti and even a little Fiat 500. All shining under the harbour lights. Did I mention that it was hot?
There was just a little breeze, now. Cooling us as we trooped into the departure area. Actually, as I looked around, I could see that we were in the arrivals area. But no matter, just because you have a brand new port building, doesn't mean you have to use it properly. The crowd of mainly young Italian travellers reverted to stereotype by yelling, gesticulating, posturing and generally carrying-on. We were an Oasis of stoic, English calm amongst the Latin maelstrom.
The weather, too, remained hot. And sultry.
Then the happy, relaxed and motivated port staff reacted to the good-humoured hammering on the glass doors by opening the correct departure doors. These were located behind us. The crowd surged back past us and out of the door. We were now very much at the back of the queue. We arrived outside into the hot and rather humid night.
However, we were rewarded by the friendly staff, who repaid our correct behaviour by pointing out that there was actually a bus parked there. It would take us the 400m to where the ship would dock in air-conditioned comfort.
The Italian youth ran down the dock, set on getting to the front of the queue and bagging the best place on the boat to kip down. We sat on the bus. Which then roared into life, as the caffeine-crazed driver lurched from side to side down the rather thin pier, scattered the marauding Italians in all directions and depositing half a dozen rather shaken Brits and a nun (of unknown pedigree) in pole position.
We stood at the end of the dock and watched the breathless youths arrive. We were rather smug
Now, two important things should be mentioned at this point. There was no sign of a boat and it was getting rather windy. There were flickers of lightening in the distance...
I had just noticed that there were two small shelters with thin, slatted wooden sides when the storm hit...
As thunder, lightening, rain and gale-force winds burst suddenly around us, we legged it for the nearest shelter. Fifty people crammed into a space big enough for twenty. Shelter was almost exactly what this structure didn't provide.
I have seen big storms before, but I have never been that close to one that I felt I should offer it a cigarette afterwards and ask it how it was for them.
Rain sprayed through the gaps in the side. Thunder crashed all around us in binaural splendour. Lightening flashed every few seconds. And this was proper lightening. The stuff that looks like lightening drawn by a 5 year old. A helmeted cyclist was wimpering softly. He asked me if we were in any danger. I said that I was sure we would be fine. I lied for the second time that day...
Then Sara had a brainwave. We were carrying sleeping mats that might afford some protection from the weather. We produced these and an odd thing happened. A bunch of frightened Italian teenagers suddenly reached collectively into their race memory and produced a classic tortoise shield formation that the 10th Legion would be proud of. Ave, dude!
However, the rain was now blustering in all directions so we were soon wet and cold. The Cyclist asked me if I thought we would survive. I mentioned some old guff about Farriday Cages and the insulating properties of wood. I assured him we'd be safe unless the Tsunami got us. He looked at the crashing waves and thrashing rain. He then stood on the wooden bench. And whimpered again.
By now, the soaking legionaries were getting desperate. One woman tried to borrow the nun's brolly. We shouted her down. I mean, you can't go around robbing nuns just because you're wet, scared and want your mamma.
Another couple tried to persuade us to run back to the terminal building. We declined. We'd seen that movie. They get nearly there and then the lightening/T Rex/Sharknado/Alien gets them.
I was convinced that the boat would not be arriving and had told the cyclist we were stuck there. He was just asking if anyone had any Rosary beads when the boat suddenly appeared out of the maelstrom. From nowhere. Backwards. Talk about showing off!
So on we piled. The wet legionaries, the nun, the catatonic cyclist and about 50 vintage cars in need of a good polish and, in the case of a couple of convertibles, now offering fishing rights.
We found a table with a couple of bench seats and were about to make ourselves comfortable when some spotty oik told us in Italian that he had bagged them for his mates.
That was probably a mistake. Sara was tired, cross, soaked through and desperate for equally large measures of wine and sleep. She explained this to the unfortunate lad eyeball to eyeball and with certain colourful phrases that probably hadn't formed part of the Italian school curriculum.
He fought his corner with sulks and mutters, but his heart wasn't in it. Eventually they all slunk away.
Just as well, within 10 minutes Sara was asleep and snoring happily. Sleep might be difficult for the rest of us....
