The Journey

I’d be lying if I said this trip was spontaneous.

I’ve thought about it for years, maybe even decades.

Pack up the car on a sunny morning, no working days in sight. Leave town by mid-afternoon, going south to warmer weather, culture, and fine sand beaches.  I had visualized it even before I watched Andy Dufresne escape into Mexico in Shawshank Redemption.  And because I lived in San Diego, California almost all of my life, I always imagined driving south into Mexico. But now I live in Sofia, Bulgaria, so this summer trip will take us south into Greece and the Mediterranean Sea and…

Again, I’d be lying if I said there was no plan or ideal destinations in mind. I’ve been studying maps of the region, researching ferries to islands, and have already made a few reservations in Greece. Beyond Greece, my girlfriend and I plan on taking a ferry to Italy. We have no set plan once there, only countless places of interest. After that, we’re thinking about looping back along the coast of Croatia, Montenegro, and Albania as we eventually return to Sofia. 

It is a dream that will soon become a reality. I’m excited. We leave in three short weeks. And I only have a few basic worries about the trip which-- now that I think of them-- makes me remember that worrying is a complete waste of time. Will our car make the journey without breaking down? Will we have enough money to last the entire summer? Will the relationship between my girlfriend and I thrive or suffer during our forty days on the road? If I worry about any of this, will it make a difference? No. Things will happen and the trip will unfold the way it was meant to. Though most of us don’t like to admit it, so much is outside of our control.

This might be the most frightening thing about the journey.

The First Story: Thassos, Greece

The roadside motel was a few miles south of Kavala. It was supposed to be nice because it was on the Greek coast and they advertised it as a “resort,” but it had the feel of a depressed, barren truck stop off a one-lane highway. The vibe at the reception desk was like something from a Twilight Zone episode. After seeing our tiny, pink-heavy room and confirming that the online pictures were of some other place, we headed to the nearby beach to check it out. The clouds rolled in as the sun set behind the mountains. The sandy beach was across the road, down a weed-ridden dirt alley. The area was empty; a ghost town. A stream of suspect run-off flowed into the small swimming area. 

Bugs were everywhere: sand fleas, gnats, mosquitos. We tried to have a drink right there on the water, to get acclimated, but my girlfriend couldn’t take it. It was the bugs. There were too many. She was swatting and shifting as she sat there, then got up and said “Fuck!” as she swiped a bug off her leg.

I took a big drink of Greek beer. “We need an escape route, huh.”

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yeah, I made a mistake,” I said as I looked out into the Mediterranean, shocked that it wasn’t more impressive. Maybe feeling a bit spoiled because it didn’t look like much. I was disappointed at the crappy motel-like room I’d found and paid for online. I was expecting more. I was expecting any Greek town on the coast to be beautiful; picturesque; something out of a movie.

“Let’s get the hell outta’ here.”

“OK,” Julia said with a big smile on her face.

When we got back to the Twilight Zone after dinner, we cancelled our reservations for the next few days and decided to drive and upgrade to the island of Thassos the next morning. 

We drove fast to Keramoti, barely making it to the ferry boat in time.  I drove our little car right onto the boat like I did that kind of thing everyday. The ferry ride was short. Seagulls guided us the whole way because Romanians and Bulgarians and Serbians were throwing crackers and assorted junk food off the  top deck for seagulls to catch in mid air. Those seagulls put on a show, timing it, swooping down to catch the salty food in one smooth, gliding motion.

“Those seagulls are good,” I said.

“Yeah,” Julia said, “They don’t fly to where the food is. They go to where it’s gonna’ be.”

That’s the trick, I thought. The key to survival. The key to success: Don’t go where it is, go to where it’s gonna be.

We drove around Thassos town for a while and got lost, but it was a small place so we were bound to find our way eventually. An hour later we found our hotel. It was better than the one that felt like a roadside motel, and the rate was cheaper.

The friendly Greek guy at the reception pointed to a few good beaches on the map and circled them. We drove straight to one of his recommendations-- a beach called 'Paradise.' It sounded like just what we were looking for. After forty minutes of driving on steep, pine tree-lined, windy roads, we made it to Paradise.

It was worth it.