Bari, Italy is a sleepy, small seaside town, which seems
only relevant to get ferry passengers to Greece, Croatia, or Albania. But
that’s how it seems on paper and the Roma Termini train station. Really, it’s
slightly more complicated than that.
I suppose the wonder of travel and the fun of it begins when
your expectations don’t quite meet the reality. And navigating through that
actuality & confusion is the delight, even though it may not seem like it
at the time.
A 2 ½ hour train ride from Rome dumped us (me & fellow
traveller, Joanne) in the Bari train station. And expectation #1: the train
station would be near the port. How big could Bari be? Big enough to take a
particular bus to the port: specifically the 22 “slash” bus. Several people at
the bus stop told us this using a hand gesture slicing through the air. I say
several people because we just didn’t get it the first couple of times. And we
really didn’t get it until we saw the bus number...22/. Yea!
The 22/ bus took us to the other side of town...seaside.
Expectation #2: the port would look like a port with boats and ferries and
people lining up boarding them, something like Civitaveccia when I went to
Sardegna. We hadn’t bought our ferry tickets to Dubrovnik yet, and the only
thing we knew was that there were overnight ferries. But, no, Bari’s port
looked more like a loading dock with no real passengers in sight.
Dropped at the ferry station, it was pretty deserted. One lone
attendant told us to come back at 5:00. Feeling hungry and not wanting to wait
5 hours in an empty waiting room, we waited for the “22/” bus to take us back
into the heart of Bari for a bite to eat.
We didn’t reach the heart of Bari, but found a very cool
restaurant on a side street and had a lovely sandwich and a glass of wine and
just relaxed, thinking of the contrast in chaos from Rome to Bari.
Walking back to the port was when we stumbled upon Bari the
“real” city! Loads of restaurants, shops, little cafes, people, scooters! Hey,
where had we been?
Back at the ferry station, there was more life! Not much,
but definitely more than before. In fact, there were guys behind a glass enclosure
looking like they could sell a ferry ticket. I took the lead this time and
approached them and, speaking slowly, told them that we wanted to buy a ticket
to Dubrovnik. Reply: “Infopoint.” Huh? He must have misunderstood me. I didn’t
need information (little did I know); I needed a ticket. Speaking even more
slowly and using fewer words, I again expressed my interest in purchasing a
ticket. Reply #2: “Infopoint.” I wasn’t alone in my confusion. Joanne didn’t
get it either. Alright, I spoke even slower, but added hand gestures. Reply #3,
with anger & frustration & a gesture of his own: “Madam, I tell you
once, I tell you twice...Infopoint!”
Infopoint was two people standing behind a little table and
a hand-written sign that said “Infopoint.” Right....
“We need a ticket to Dubrovnik!” A little desperate now
because who knew if we were missing a ferry or something!
“Take the white bus”. White bus? What white bus? Nobody
mentioned a white bus?
They pointed to a shuttle bus waiting outside. We hadn’t
noticed it when we had come in. Again, desperation set in and I told Joanne,
the triathlete, to run and catch the bus. Who knew where it was going, but our
entry into Dubrovnik seemed to depend on it!
Breathless and taking our place on the shuttle, we soon
discovered that the “white bus” was taking us about 3 kms down the road to a
wide area where ferry companies were selling tickets to Greece, Croatia, and
Albania. Ahhhh....
No need to ask why one needs to go a mile and ½ down the
road to buy a ticket all to come back to the station to go through security
& board the ferry. Just be happy that we found our “white” bus. J
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