Off the Couch and On the Road

I suppose I have been lucky so far – I haven’t been mugged, pickpocketed, scammed, arrested or chased by wild animals (man or beast), and for that I am incredibly grateful.

I arrived in Bari from an uneventful ferry ride with the guarantee from at least 3 people that the money exchange would be open (the one in Dubrovnik being closed when I left). Unsurprisingly perhaps, it wasn’t, and there was not an ATM in sight. So I was alone at the port with 3 euros to my name, at 11pm at night with not a bus in sight. Thankfully an older Australian couple hailed a taxi and asked if I wanted to share.

“Um, yes but I only have 3 euros, I just need to get to my hostel near the station,” I said hesitatingly.

They waved my concerns aside, “Don’t worry about it,” they said. “Can’t have you sitting in the dark by yourself.”

We arrived at their hotel and asked the driver how much it was to my hostel. “10 euros,” he replied. They didn’t flinch and handed me a 10 euro note.

“It’s too kind of you,” I said, unwilling to take it but not wanting to be left on a street corner in the dark.

“No, take it,” they said. “Have a drink on us when you get your money and have a wonderful trip.”

I was so grateful I couldn’t speak, and kind of managed to smile and nod, sighing with relief as we sped off that it would all turn out ok after all. Until we arrived at the hostel, an old concrete unit block in a dark alley with no lights. The driver threw my bag out and drove off, and I rang the buzzer to gain entry. Noone answered.

After 10 minutes of buzzing and wondering what exactly I should do, I fell back on the old Penshurst faithful and buzzed a neighbour, claiming I forgot my keys. It worked, and I found the hostel door, knocking and ringing the bell for another 10 minutes before sitting down on the corridor stairwell. I could sleep in the corridor, I mused, at least it’s inside, and it would only be until morning.

As I was contemplating this, a neighbour opened his door and looked at me. I shrugged.

“Where is hostel man?” He asked. I shrugged again, apologising for waking them up with my knocking.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said, gesturing me inside his apartment. His wife joined us, lending me her phone to try calling the hostel owner, who’s number was dissconnected.

Soon, they had me with a cup of coffee, a sofa, pillow and blanket, with the offer that I could stay as long as I needed to. I smiled and thanked them gratefully, my head hitting the pillow and sleeping for a precious few hours before daylight.

The next morning, I crept out, leaving a thank you note, and spoke to the hostel owner who was preparing breakfast. He denied that he was in any way at fault, and when I waved my confirmation email under his nose, he rolled his eyes.

“In Italy,” he said condesendingly, “we write our time in 24 hour, so you told me you would arrive at 11 in the morning.” The fact I am Australian, the website is in English, and my entire email was in English did not seem to convince him otherwise.

In the end, I managed to catch a bus back down to the port, pick up my ticket to Greece, and board my ferry without any more dramas. True, I wasn’t mugged, pickpocketed, scammed, arrested or chased by wild animals, but it’s the little things that matter most, and the kindness of strangers that lets us know we aren’t alone.

-Sarah