Take your Mind Away from Covid-19
… and Plan a Ferryboat Ride Instead
Like the rest of the world, we’re fed-up with the whole sequestration thing, so my fiancé and I bought airline tickets to L.A. We scheduled late June, believing by then we can breathe without a facemask. Why book a flight in the middle of a pandemic? Because all of the discount travel sites--Orbitz, Travelocity, Priceline and such—are now offering ridiculously low prices. And get this … there’s no penalty for changing your reservation!
So what’s that got to do with ferryboats? Nothing, except this Covid thing won’t last forever, and in my estimation the best way to keep the quarantine blues away is to plan a trip, whether by plane, bicycle, car … or on a Zante ferryboat. Think about it.
A Zante Ferry?
A few years ago, I planted myself on a Greek island named Serifos, and spent five weeks in a villa overlooking the harbor while working on my third novel. Serifos is nothing short of awesome, and the Greek food, people, and water are to die for. But the best part of the trip was getting there from Athens via a Zante ferry.
Historically, Greece has the best ferryboat service in the world, and among many competitors, the Zante system is the cheapest and the most fun. Here’s what happened one evening in June:
We stood on the quay with a hundred other passengers waiting for the ferry to round the point. Minutes later the long, throaty whoooot! of the ship’s horn announced its arrival as it came into sight. Six-stories high with twin stacks, the 15,000-ton Zante ferry leaned hard to port as it made a tight, right turn and bore directly toward us, bone in her teeth and engines growling. I had seen it dozens of times, but I always love what comes next.
The Pirouette’
Churning well over twenty knots, the massive ship bore straight down on us. It loomed larger as it got closer, and then a mere fifty yards before crunching into the quay, the ferry slammed into full-reverse and literally spun on its keel like a ballet dancer until the stern lined up with the dock, it’s propellers hurling sheets of water as the twin stacks spewed thick, black smoke. While the ship backed to position, its massive stern boarding ramp simultaneously lowered into position.
And Then the Crush
Crewmen on the upper deck hurled two softball-sized “monkey fists” with long, thin ropes that arched toward the waiting dockhands below. When the fists bounced home, they were snatched up and the two heavy, attached stern lines were deftly secured to hydrant-sized cleats. With the lines winched tight and the stern snuggled home, the loading ramp hit with a loud bang. Immediately people, motor bikes, trucks, suitcases, busses, boxes of fruit and cans of olive oil and all manner of commerce, spewed from the great ship’s cavity onto land. Five, maybe six minutes later at most, the loading officer blew his whistle and I, along with my hundred fellow passengers, jostled our way toward the boarding ramp, each vying for a seat inside with a view.
To some it was total chaos, but to me, the entire maneuver was pure art form; the epitome of clockwork efficiency achieved through decades of ferrying people and cargo among the hundreds of Greek islands and linking them to the outside world. Overcome with admiration at the spectacle, I loudly applauded to the bemusement of the onlookers.
It might take you a day to fly to Greece, but the experience on one of their ferryboats is worth the trip. If you plan to fly in June, take your mask just in case.
From my memoir, Where Wild Olives Grow
