10 September to 19 September

I expected to have some cabinmates on a night ferry from Brindisi, Italy to Corfu, Greece, but was upgraded to a private cabin when I checked in. I suspect many cabins were empty. Most people apparently just paid for a seat then planned to sleep on the couches throughout the ship’s lounges. Passengers were already sprawled out claiming their places.

After five months in Italy I was accustomed to communicating in Italian and was surprised that the crew prefered English. They were predominately Romanian.

I enjoyed the sunset from the deck before we promptly set off at 8pm.

It was not an easy decision to leave Italy. The Italian I’d learned, while in college, came back to me and I’d been enjoying my conversations with the locals. Going to Corfu would be leaving that and much more behind. But the desire to move on proved stronger. Exactly where to wasn’t clear. I had thought of both Greece and Albania. Corfu, although in Greece, was just across from Albania so going there gave me more time to think things through.

I had a decent dinner in the cafeteria, went outside for some fresh air, then went to bed in my comfortable, but windowless cabin.

I’d been told wake-up would be at 4am, so dutifully set my alarm. But at 3:45am there was a loud knock at my door and the request for my room key. We were already docked. I had little time to prepare before disembarking in Corfu.

I was soon following the crew’s directions and walking down the many flights of stairs I’d taken up in an elevator, which was now out-of-order. It was a young man’s unenviable task to carry down all the luggage. Reunited with my bag, I walked off the ship into the darkness of the wee hours with no game plan. I could see in the distance someone waving to me. As I neared, a women with heavily accented English told me to leave through the gate. Nothing was open in the area anyway.

Fortunately I’d gotten off the ship in a hurry. I’d assumed it would be staying in Corfu, but was scheduled to set off not long after.

A small group of travelers were gathered a short distance away. I made some inquiries. They were waiting for a taxi to take them to another port. When the driver arrived it took him some time and an impressive amount of skill to load the five of them and all their bags into his car. When they left, I was standing alone. One of the travelers however had kindly asked the driver beforehand to call for another car. About ten minutes later a taxi pulled up.

I was surprised the driver spoke English well. As it turns out most people on Corfu do. He asked me where I wanted to go. “Somewhere that is open please.” I replied. His first stop did not look promising. “Is there a hotel in the old town that might be open?” I asked. I had not figured on arriving so early, even though Greece time was an hour later, and somehow had not looked into accommodations beforehand.

He pulled up to the Konstantinaoupolis Hotel. I could see little of it, but the entrance door was lit and inviting. A man was setting up tables in the cafe outside. “Perfect.” I said.

I squeezed into the old-fashioned cage elevator up to the reception on the second floor. A charming woman, heavily pregnant, offered me a cozy, quiet room that looked out on a square in the back. At that hour the only sound came from the cooing of the pigeons who’d nested below my window. After admiring the dawning light I happily got into bed and slept for another few hours.

The man at the cafe I’d seen upon arrival was there when I came down for breakfast. He asked me where I was from. We spent the next hour talking about NYC, where he’d lived for 30 years and the diner he’d worked at on Madison Avenue. I knew the diner well, but rarely went because of their exorbitant prices. He’d been born in Greece and came back to care for his ailing father. (It wouldn’t be the last time I spoke to people who had spent years living and working in the US.)

I’d spent a lot of time in NY, as both a customer and waitress, in Greek diners. I ordered one of my favorite meals: a tomato, feta omelette with toast and potatoes. It was surprisingly disappointing, and cost more than the fancy diner charged on Madison Avenue.

Corfu Town is beautiful. Unfortunately much of it is hidden behind tee-shirts and other items for sale. Perhaps understandably because tourists packed the streets at every turn. Yet, I was told this was “quiet.” Apparently July and August are much more crowded. I still managed to wander down some empty lanes, except for the cats, but it was a challenge to see traces of the town Corfu once was.

I rented a car and left Corfu Town to explore the rest of the island and find a picturesque, low-key, seaside town where I could stay a week or so.

This turned out to be much more difficult than I had imagined. Places that had been recommended were packed with tourists, and as the day neared evening and I began looking with a less critical eye for accommodations, found everywhere was booked.

I finally ended up in a rather fancy hotel. It wasn’t cozy and quaint, but it was on the shore and the bed was to die for. I stayed there for two pleasant nights, but it wasn’t really what I’d come to Corfu for.

I spent some hours looking at my options on the internet and decided to take my chances on an apartment with a terrace in a small beach town.

The town of Kamanaki consisted of two tavernas, some homes, no shops, and a small beach with crystal clear water. Its quaintness aka “very little to do there” and an extremely steep road that descended from the highway kept the visiting population low. The apartment was small, but clean and the view from the terrace was lovely. The only noise came from the sound of the sea, besides the cats–they are everywhere–fighting for their territory. I spent my days swimming, reading, practicing the little Greek I knew–mostly remembered from my time as a waitress– and dining on fresh seafood.

I’d found what I was looking for.