The Grand Finale

It wouldn't be a proper Jenna/Kendall holiday without a few (entertaining!) near-disasters; the last few days of our trip turned out to be probably the most eventful of all.

Saturday morning the two of us were up and away from Sicily and headed towards Bari, a port town on Italy's eastern coast. The plan was to take the midnight ferry from Bari overnight to Dubrovnik, Croatia and spend our last two and a half days in a brand new country. But even the best laid plans...

We traveled for a good fourteen hours, up from Catania to Messina, across the channel - the train itself was actually loaded onto the ferry, up to Naples, over to Caserto (where, as Jenna remarked, "This is the kind of place where you can just feel the Mafia presence.") and finally to Bari. At 11:40pm.

The two of us frantically hailed a cab and raced to the port, where our taxi driver oh-so-thoughtfully dropped us off where the cars were being loaded onto the ferry. Helpful? Not quite. We were then directed around a large gate to enter the ferry once a policeman told us "Non avete tempo fare biglieterrie." Walking that length led us to a massive ticket area that resembled a third world refugee camp; there were people camping out everywhere and more gates in place so that we couldn't even see how to enter the building. We rushed back, confused, to the same place we were originally dropped off, but this time the policeman had changed his tune and insisted that we go to the building to purchase our tickets. What?! Back at the building, there was an angry mob forming - really, my description of the refugee camp was no joke, and it was composed mainly of eastern European men - which was disturbing enough in and of itself. It got better, though: I finally lost my temper and began yelling at a security guard who still wouldn't let us in the building. As I desperately tried to explain in Italian and English that we needed tickets for the ferry to Dubrovnik right that instant, the first English speakers we had heard in hours came out of the building, overheard me, and regretfully informed us it was sold out. Not only was that ferry sold out, but the next one wasn't until 10pm the following night.

Fantastic.

After we bought our tickets for approximately 24 hours later, and unsuccessfully begged that same policeman to let us on the ship anyway ("I'll stand in a corner all night long! I don't care, just get me to Croatia!"), we found ourselves abandoned in Bari around 1 in the morning. Bari is another one of those places in which you don't exactly want to linger, so we called around and found a hotel. After we checked in, we immediately set out in search of a bar because, let's face it, a drink was very much in order. Jenna and I walked a couple of blocks and came across the first open stores we had seen yet: a dingy restaurant that was no longer serving food and, next to it, some sort of bakery-type place called Croissant. Clearly we had reached the height of Italian culture.

We had an Italian beer that we never had to pay for and then went next door for a snack - the place was crawling with sleazy Italians and we quickly made our escape. We decided to use Sunday as a rest day and our last chance to enjoy Italian cuisine, so after sleeping in as late as possible we came down to check out of our hotel and get a recommendation for a good restaurant. The receptionist looked at us rather pityingly and said, "It's Sunday. Nothing is open."

She wasn't joking. (There's a reason that Lonely Planet calls Bari "an exasperating city at best.") We eventually found ourselves at one of the two open places in the whole town: the Train Station Bar. (The other place was the McDonalds across the street and yes, we eventually ate dinner there many hours later.) The absurdity of the entire situation kept us in stitches (thank heavens that I did have someone to laugh with - dealing with all of that alone would have been no laughing matter). After some food and a couple of drinks, we took the bus to the public beach and paid an entrance fee to wade in the disgustingly-seaweed-filled water, to nap in the lounge chairs, and to get hustled out when the clouds gathered and the rain came. Even the weather thwarted us!

Back in town we headed to the godforsaken port once more, giving ourselves ample time to take the bus and find out where we were supposed to go. We arrived around 7:30 and boarding time was 8. Again, the place was completely bewildering, with people camped out everywhere and gates all over the place, and security guards and cops enforcing... what, exactly?, and crowds gathering in confusion every few minutes. My favorite moment came when Jenna and I were upstairs in the 'lounge' area at least an hour later, still trying to find out where to board. We approached one policeman for the second or third time, and he told us to "go straight ahead and to the stairs, then," points emphatically downward, "UP."

At long last we boarded and finally pulled away from Bari around midnight. Thank God! We were invited to sit with a group of guys from Australia and New Zealand and, in true Aussie/Kiwi fashion, they proved themselves to be crude, vulgar, tasteless and, well, downright hilarious. We were highly entertained throughout the night on what would have otherwise been another tedious voyage.

With a couple hours of sleep behind us, we woke up finally! to a new day on the other side of the Adriatic Sea. Jenna and I had read about an enticing sounding island in the bay very close to Dubrovnik itself, and we basically made a beeline for Lokram and its nude beach. That's right: we bared all on the rocks of Croatia. Beyond that memorable experience, we wandered around the rest of the island and explored its abandoned monastery and other attractions. The place was beautiful and very relaxed.

Back on the mainland we spent some time in Dubrovnik's Old Town, with one final nice meal out together and an evening to savor the vibrant city. In the morning, we (and our new friend from the hostel, Richie) had the chance to truly appreciate why Dubrovnik was named a World Heritage site with a walk around the Old Town's medieval walls. The place is absolutely stunning. Probably, as a whole, the most photogenic city I've ever seen, actually.

My flight was that afternoon, and after staying as long as I possibly could, I parted ways with Jenna and raced to the airport just in time to catch my flight to Manchester. Nick, one of the guys that had taken me and Colby out in Skipton earlier in the summer (it feels like a lifetime ago!), goes to school at U of Manchester and kindly offered to put me up for the night. It wouldn't be a last night on this trip-of-all-trips without something crazy happening. Unfortunately the notable events of the night were my getting sick and vomiting not once, not twice, but eight times at his house. Yuck! Not sure if I've ever been that wretchedly ill before in my life; I think I can blame it on the Croatian tap water. Nick was a really good sport about the whole ordeal, but I feel like a horrible guest. Needless to say, we didn't go for a taste of Manchester's nightlife that particular evening.

The next morning - August 9th, to be exact - I was on another plane and by that afternoon I was back in Durham. I just squeaked past the airline debacle, thank goodness. After just one night of sleep and many hours of frantic packing at home I took a bus out of town and was in Charlottesville the very next day. Hard to believe that the summer adventures are over and that fourth year is already here. Wish me luck...

Thanks for reading!