The Nightmare Ferry

A small anecdote from Della's past for additional context...

Ross’s anxiety in the leadup to the ferry was obvious. 

This is a man who hasn’t printed anything out since 2007 and he made sure that our reservations were printed out, on actual paper, and in our hands before we left America.

And to be fair, I couldn’t really blame him, because my own previous experience with a European ferry journey was less than ideal…

The year was 2014. I was going to school for my MA in Brighton, England, and had met Allex and Joyce (instant best friends) just a few months earlier. 

We’d already done a few international trips together, but before the year was over we really wanted to find a way to get to Greece and Italy - ‘one last hurrah’, as we explained it to our parents.

(Editor’s note: there have been many more ‘hurrahs’ since then) 

The cheapest (and therefore best) way to plan out the trip was to fly to Greece first, spend some days there, take an overnight ferry across to the east coast of Italy (one less night to pay for in a hostel!), and then fly back to the UK from Rome. Allex booked the tickets and filled out the forms for us, but the information kept getting rejected when she tried to submit online. So she contacted the company, and they explained that it was totally fine and not a big deal - we would just have to fill out the forms indicating that we were 3 men, of British nationality, and they’d be booked no problem. We were all perplexed and a little apprehensive about this, because it certainly felt like the first step to getting trafficked, but our non-refundable plane tickets and hostels were already booked…so we reasoned that at this stage it would be a waste of money NOT to go.

So off we went to Greece, to the island of Corfu, staying for a few nights at a hostel nicknamed “the Pink Palace” (you’ll have to ask me more about that in person), and then finally the night came for our overnight ferry journey to Italy. 

The ferry was meant to depart at midnight, and we were expected to arrive at the port a few hours early for check-in. So at around 9pm, after finishing dinner, we arrived. When we got there it was, to use Ross’s term, ‘abject chaos’. There were hundreds of people loitering around with their bags near a small office off of the dock, some chatting, some kicking around soccer balls, others with their eyes closed appearing to be asleep. The office was dimly lit with low ceilings and no personality, and a long twisting line of people spilling out the door. Assuming this was the check-in line, we joined immediately. And slowly, very slowly, we crawled toward the counter. As we got closer to the front, we started thinking about our tickets - you know, the ones for three British men - and started wondering what we would do if they flat-out rejected us and didn’t let us board. 

When we arrived at the front there was a very short exchange and we were blissfully checked in without issue, and told to wait outside. 

So we went back outside to join the mass of people slowly accumulating on the dock, totally unsure what it was going to be like on the ferry. Our tickets didn’t have seat numbers, room numbers - nothing. Would it be like a hostel - just a bunch of beds in a large room? - or was there some check-in process once aboard to assign us a spot?

It was now nearing midnight and we’d received no further instruction from anybody.

In fact, looking around, did anybody even work here? It was hard to tell. 

At the far end of the dock a ferry pulled up and opened up the loading dock. But it didn’t look like a passenger ferry, in fact - it sort of looked like a cargo ferry. Some people started walking toward the ferry but were quickly moved back by a man who appeared with a whistle, tweeting it incessantly, indicating that everybody was to back up and stand behind a line of paint on the ground. I’m not sure how many people were outside at this point but my guess would be 400-500. And now we were all standing behind an arbitrary line on the ground, staring at a ferry that might be ours,  listening for further instruction. 

Suddenly, the whistle blew again, and now the man was motioning that we were allowed to board.

In a flash, the people at the front started full-on SPRINTING towards the boat, with all their bags rolling behind them or tucked up under their arms. 

And then total pandemonium ensued, as mob mentality took over and everyone around us started to do the same.

Panicked (and with no obvious reason why we were doing so), the three of us started running, too. We got to the loading zone with a throng of the slowpokes and another worker tried to take our bags off of us to put in the luggage hold (we outright refused - what are we, stupid?? …🤨). So we lugged our bags up to the deck to find our beds, and upon entering the main floor of the ferry, we suddenly understood why people were running…this was an every-man-for-himself, find-a-spot-on-the-floor-and-hunker-down type situation. There were people setting up camp everywhere…on the benches, on the loungers, near what I assumed was the dining area. Some smart people had staked out floor spots near wall outlets. Others had come prepared with pillows, blankets, and food. Others had somehow known that all the lights would be on all night and brought eye masks and earplugs. Some people with a VIP pass had access to a dark room nearby with rows of seats oriented like a theatre. 

But the three of us had none of those things. We were tired, irritated, and convinced this must be illegal. 

So we found a spot of non-prime floor space and huddled together to try and get some sleep. We figured the faster we went to sleep, the faster it would be over.

But sleep proved elusive. A few hours into the night we crawled - literally crawled, to avoid being detected - into the theatre room and found a few seats at the back that somehow hadn’t been claimed, and stayed there til morning. 

(Allex/Joyce, if you’re reading this and have any photos, please send so I can add them in as proof!)

When we arrived in Italy, it was a swift exit off the ferry and right onto a bus that would take us to Rome. And from there, the rest of the trip was absolutely fine. 

But the thought of that bright room, looking like a straight-up refugee camp, remains totally haunting to this day, so when Ross expressed his anxieties about the ferry trip, what could I say?? At least we didn’t have to fake our identities this time??

Luckily, this most recent experience was nothing like that one. There was order, procedure, meal tickets, a bar, and most importantly - our own room, with beds and a private bathroom. 

We napped. We played yahtzee. We stared out at the sunset on the ocean. Read books. Wrote blogs. We (I) drank a bottle of wine. There was a surprisingly nice dinner!

For those on the fence about ferry travel…I have to say, it’s 10/10 worth it.

Just make sure you pick one with a bedroom.