The Zakynthos Debacle
KaMarkus is a recurrent volunteer at the Katelios Group and friend of Manu and Fiona's. For some time he and Manu have been talking about kayaking to Zakynthos, the island 14 miles or so to the south of Kefalonia. They were talking about it yesterday at the the potluck and I mentioned that I'd be keen on tagging along if they were okay with it. They were so just after six this morning we were on the beach.
We paddled steadily cutting through the placid blue surface with occasional short breaks to bail out our foot wells. At the hour mark Manu informed us that according to his GPS unit we were averaging 4.6 kilometers/hour. Markus and I countered that we were just warming up and would pick up the pace. We reached the midpoint just over an hour later still making about 4.5 kilometers an hour. We took a snack and picture break and paddled on.
As the day wore on the sea grew choppier and the current turned against us. The clouds burned off and the sun climbed high in the sky. Our pace dropped into the mid 3 kilometers/hour range. My shoulders ached with the strain of paddling. The waves grew in size crashing over the bow of my kayak. I gave up on bailing out my foot well.
I began checking my watch constantly. 9:30 soon changed to 10:00 with no apparent change in the size of the island before us.
10:15... 10:20.... At our estimated time of arrival I guessed we were still several miles off shore. Markus split off from Manu and I taking a direct course to port, our next stop after the cape. At eleven in the morning, with the shore near I surged ahead toward the limestone cliffs.
Ten minutes after the hour I arrived finding a network of caves at the base of cliff. The Blue caves as they're call are several semi-submerged caves bored out the limestone by millions of years of surf. While the kayaks are not so efficient in the open sea they were brilliant here. While we explored several tour groups came through in big power boats. They were only able to go in the larger cavern. In kayak I was able to venture down some of the more narrow and lower passages.
It would have been great snorkeling. However, we had more pressing matters in mind. Our plan was to kayak into Port Nikkolai on Zakynthos, hang out for the day and take the the 8pm ferry from the port back to our island. On the trip across the sea we had noted that the morning ferry was mysteriously absent. I paddled out of the caves and found Markus and Manu en route to the port.
We were all well past feeling fatigue and struggled into port Nikkolai about a quarter past noon. After pictures and securing the kayaks we set off to the port authority to see about this ferry. A close talking British lady at the petrol station near where we pulled out entered into conversation with Manu. He inquired about this absence of the ferry. She didn't know anything about it and suggested that we talk to Dmitri or who his sister Maritza who according to her ran things around here.
We thanked her and crossed the the street to the port authority building. In the office we found several men in smart looking nautical uniforms. Manu addressed them in rapid Greek and from the shaking of their heads it didn't look good.
“There are no ferries today,” Manu said confirming our suspicions. “They don't give a reason why just that there is no ferry today.”
A young Greek officer wearing glasses interjected.
“Or Wednesday,” Manu translated. They continued conversing in Greek. The officer gave him a slip of paper with a phone number. Manu dialed it and listened for a time. “A ferry leaves from Zakynthos town at 3 pm for Killini on the mainland. From there we can catch a 6 o'clock ferry to Poros [Poros is on Kefalonia about 10 kilometers from where we're staying].”
I checked my watch. It read 12:30. “How far away is Zakynthos town?”
“About 35 kilometers. We would need a pickup taxi to get the kayaks there. First, let's see if any of these boats are going our way.”
I looked out at the harbor. There were a handful of sailboats moored along the concrete board walk, a half dozen or so motorboats for the Blue Caves tours and another half dozen rough looking fishing trawlers around the bend.
With a deep breath we set off down the board walk. A yellow, red and black flag fluttered from the first boat we came to. Markus addressed the lady on deck in German. They had a brief conversation. Unfortunately, they would not sail until tomorrow.
Manu spoke to the two elderly British couples reclined in the back of the next boat flying the blue and white of the Greek flag. They too would not be departing until the morrow. They urged us to talk to Dmitri or his sister. “They handle things around here. There's his sister.” The squinty gentleman pointed toward a young, plump tout up on the road waving down passing cars with fliers for the Blue Cave tours. “She speaks perfect English,” one of the ladies added.
We moved on to the next boat flying the Czech colors. There was a portly man in swim trunks on the stern sporting a euro mullet. I apologized for bothering him and asked perchance if he was sailing anywhere near Kefalonia today. Rubbing his paunch he responded, “I cannot go to Kefalonia because I must stay here.” I thanked him for his time and we moved on.
The next boat flew Italian colors. The blonde on board, an American, living in Australia had approached us soon after landing kayaks inquiring where from we had rented our craft. We had had a brief conversation. She was sailing today but not in our direction.
Exhausting all the sail boats in the harbor we climbed up the stairs to the road and approached Dmitri's sister, Maritza. She was a young, full figured woman wearing a tight blue t-shirt and khaki Capri pants. She had her shiny black hair pulled back in a bun and wore huge Dolce and Gabana sunglasses.
We begged her pardon and explained our predicament whilst she handed out fliers to passing cars. We explained how we had kayaked over from Kefalonia intending to catch to ferry back only to realize there was mysteriously no ferry service today. We inquired as to whether she knew if any boats were going near Kefalonia today. Further, we said that we would be more than willing to compensate the Captain any such boat for the trouble.
“There is no ferry today.”
“Yes, we know.”
“They,” she gestured to the fleet of Blue Cave tour powerboats, “They can not go. They are under contract.”
She drew in conspiratorially. “Some people came here and hired a boat to take them to Kefalonia and they paid two hundred euros.”
“Two hundred. That's more than we were looking to spend,” Manu said.
“Yes, I don't know exactly how much they paid but it was very expensive.”
“Would it be possible to get a taxi from here to Zakynthos town?”
“Yes, of course. I can call one for you. It would cost 35 euros.”
Manu looked at us for affirmation. Markus and I nodded. Seemed reasonable enough.
“At least 35 euros,” the tout added.
“Can we get a pick up taxi so we can take our kayaks.”
“I don't know,” she said turning her back to us to give a flier to a car that had slowed to a stop.
A man in his late twenties swaggered across the street toward us. He wore an untucked polo shirt, with jeans and sandals. His tawny cheeks wore a few days growth of stubble and his gelled and mussed hair glinted in his sunlight. His lips broke into a tight smile beneath a pair of wrap around Prada sunglasses. Without introductions I knew this had to be Dmitri.
“My friends, you have come from Kefalonia. Such a long way.”
We explained our situation concerning the ferry and the kayaks.
“There is no ferry today,” Dmitri reiterated. “There will be one tomorrow. You should eat at one of our fine restaurants here and then you can stay the night. I know a woman here with rooms. I don't know the price I'm sure it is very reasonable though.”
Manu explained that we had pressing business on Kefalonia early tomorrow morning and needed to get back tonight. He floated the idea of getting a taxi to Zakynthos town and taking the ferry from there at 3 o'clock.
“Yes, there are taxis I could call. It would be at least 40 euro though.”
“Could we get a pick up truck taxi so we can carry our kayaks as well.”
Dmitri turned his gaze down, our three kayaks stacked by the roadside reflecting in his sunglasses. “No,” he said sharply shaking his head. “Such a thing does not exist. It is impossible.”
“What do you mean impossible?”
“It is impossible. A ferry will come tomorrow.” With that Dmitri threw up his arms and walked away.
Somewhat mystified by the conversation we took off down the road to a large trendy looking open air restaurant. At five past one the only customers were one British couple finishing the last of their midday meal. We approached a middle aged woman at the hostess podium. She greet us with a tremulous smile as she reached into the podium for some menus.
“I'm sorry to bother you,” Manu said, “we wondered if you know where we can get a taxi.”
“Yes, a taxi.”
At that moment, the British couple lifted themselves ponderously from the table. “You would like check?” The lady said addressing them. They made their confirmation. “One minute,” the hostess said turning to us. Then she disappeared upstairs. The British couple puttered around a table offering olive oil for sale in various container sizes. The hostess was gone several minutes. I suddenly noticed that my shirt had stiffened with salt and sweat and what streaked with white. I was unshaven and probably didn't smell that good. Markus and Manu were both in similar bedraggled states.
The hostess appeared and scurried behind the bar where an antiquated cash register sat. The couple brought up two different sized containers of olive oil. Apparently, there was some question as to the price. The hostess came out from behind the bar and walked over to the table with the couple. She clarified the price and the couple set to discussing among themselves which to purchase. I checked my watch. A quarter past one. Finally, they decided on one and paid their bill. The hostess came out from the bar and walk absently past us.
“Taxi?”
“Oh,” she said turning around and held up a finger. “One minute.” Then she scurried off again.
Reenter Dmitri. His smile seemed a little tighter than before. “Hello, my friends. Perhaps I can make a call.”
He whipped out a cell phone punched in a number. After it rang several times he swore quietly and tried another and then another. While he was waiting he grabbed the restaurant portable and dialed another. With a phone to each ear he said, “No one is home.”
Finally, he got an answer. He put the his mobile down and began to rattle off Greek quickly into the portable. He looked at us, “How long are the kayaks?”
“Two and a half, three meters.”
The person on the other end apparently bulked at that because Dmitri immediately appeared to try to assure him that the kayaks were very flat. After some more Greek he spoke to us again. “It will be a fifty euro.”
“He can take the kayaks though?” Manu asked.
“I don't know. You talk to him.” Dmitri gave up the phone and walked off.
Manu began a rapid fire exchange in Greek. I heard a word that sounded like extortion. Then Manu hung up disgusted. “It's gone up to sixty euros. He says that he will be here in 20 minutes.”
Time Check: 1:20 PM
Now, we had only to wait. Manu suggested we grab a bite to eat. While he watched the kayaks Markus and I headed over to a little cafe offering a whole host of delectable items including gyros and spankopita. Walking in I quickly surmised the advertisements were a bit auspicious. Underneath the the plexiglass counter were a small collection of dry, yellowish pastries. I asked for one that said it was ham and cheese and paid the cashier two euros. After inquiring about the non-existent gyros Markus settled on the the same.
We then relieved Manu on kayak watch and wolfed down our lunches. Manu came back with several items. We set our bags down, took a seat and waited.
And then we waited some more. 1:40 came and went. I keep furtive vigil on my watch as the minutes ticked by holding my breath as I saw a truck or other large vehicle roll into town and then pass us by. We began to discuss the possibility of staying the night at Port Nikkolai. I inquired about the mafia presence here in Greece as Dmitri seemed to try to be giving us an offer we couldn't refuse.
At five minutes to two a black Mercedes sedan appeared around the bend and rolled to a stop in front of the kayaks. A man in his mid 40's in slacks and a collared shirt got out of the car. His dark hair was combed back from his temples and he wore aviator style sunglasses.
“My friend,” he said, “you go to Zakynthos?”
We made a collective resigned sigh. Manu began speaking to the man in Greek and pointing at the kayaks.
“One minute,” the man said. He walked to the back of the taxi and popped open the trunk and then gestured for us to bring a kayak. Markus and I brought one over and worked it in. The driver put down the back seat and the kayak fit, kind of, with half of it hanging over the bumper. Unfortunately, loaded with one kayak the sedan had little room for anything else much less two more kayaks and three kayakers.
The driver stood there arms akimbo studying the kayak bow projecting from his vehicle as if with sheer mental will he could determine a solution. He lit on an idea and began conversing with Manu in Greek. They had a quick back and forth exchange. I heard that word again that sounded like 'extortion.'
Manu turned to us. “He has a friend who has truck but it will we 100 euros.”
“No. I'm for staying here tonight and taking the ferry tonight.”
“That is expensive. Alright, let's get the kayak.”
Markus and I went to remove the kayak from the trunk. The taxi driver had meanwhile taken out his phone and entered into a conversation in Greek with someone on the other end. We stacked the kayak with the others.
“There's the Zakynthos bus.” Manu said pointing at the large vehicle winding its way around the harbor toward us. “Aaron, see if you can flag it down.”
I crossed to the other side other of the road and held out my hand to hail it. The bus slowed to a stop. Then the taxi driver put down his phone and said something to the bus driver gesturing at the kayaks and and it rumbled on. I crossed street. The taxi driver was speaking to Markus and Manu
“My friend,” the he said. “For me to come from Zaknythos town it is 35 euro. It is expensive. Petrol is expensive. For two taxis...” He held his hands up and gave a little shrug. “I will call my friend. He will take your kayaks and I will take you in my car. 70 euros.”
We all gave yet another resigned sigh. Manu spoke, “Our ferry leaves at three. How long will it take your friend to get here.”
“Ten minutes. No more.”
I checked my watch. It had slipped into the 2nd hour of the afternoon. Manu, Markus and I looked at each other, worn and weary from the day's adventure. After a quick huddle centering around the dearth of options we all gave the okay.
Manu acknowledged our acceptance and the taxi driver got back on the phone with his friend.
“Ten minutes,” he said to us hanging up. Then he lit a cigarette and we waited some more. The driver inquired of Manu what we were doing on Zakythnos with three kayaks trying to get to Kefalonia. There were speaking in Greek so all I picked up of the taxi driver's response was the mentioning of Africa and the universal gesture of revolving the index around one's temple to indicate that someone has gone off the deep end.
Minutes ticked on. I inquired as to how far Zakynthos town was and how long would it take to get there. Manu repeated the question in Greek and translated back his response. “It's 35 kilometers but he says the road is good and fast and will take about twenty minutes to drive there.”
Twenty minutes past the hour we began to get more agitated. The taxi driver had another cigarette and called his friend again. “He will be here soon.”
As half past neared I suggested that we weren't going to make it and deal was off. The taxi driver said something to Manu in Greek.
“If we don't make the ferry we don't pay anything. How about that?” Markus piped in.
Sounded good to me. The taxi driver was sphinx behind his aviator sunglasses. Just then at 2:27 by my time piece a little red truck appeared around the bend about half a kilometer away.
“That's him.”
Markus and I picked up kayak in preparedness. The battered little red Fiat Fiere rattled to a stop behind the Mercedes. It was a little smaller than a Nissan Frontier. Markus and I hoisted the kayak up only to find the short bed strewn with various articles of rubbish, buckets, tarps and other assorted items. The truck's operator, a stout, curly haired man in a t-shirt and and blue and red swim trunks hopped out and shoved all the stuff toward the cab and gestured for us to put the kayak in. We did followed by the second. The stern hung pretty far out but two kayaks seemed to fit snugly enough. The third we had placed precariously on top of the other two.
As the man in swim trunks got out a rope the taxi driver ushered us into his sedan. We threw our bags (including our cameras unfortunately) in the back and got in. Manu took shotgun and Markus and I buckled up in the back seat.
Time Check: 2:33 pm
Finished with his handiwork, the man in swim trunks jumped in his truck and spun around in the middle or the road and peeled off. We followed suit close behind give us an opportunity to inspect the man's aforementioned handiwork. It consisted of a single slack rope tied around the front third of the kayaks. As we tore up an incline around a bend in the road the top kayak swayed toward the outside of the turn.
“Oh, this isn't going to be good,” Markus said.
The road snaked up sending the top kayak shifting back and forth with each turn. I gripped the seat firmly determined that we would come around crook in the road to find a ten foot kayak hurtling towards us.
The “good” and “fast” road was a narrow, two-lane asphalt thoroughfare winding along the rolling and rugged cliffs overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The views of the deep blue Ionian sea and white sands beaches far below were breathtaking. It would have a beautiful drive if not for the fact that we were taking the roads along sheer cliffs at well above posted speed limits and under constant threat of being pummeled by an errant kayak.
We raced down a steep incline right on the bumper of the little red pickup. Sparks flew as it bottomed out at the end down slope and charged up the equally sharp incline. We all sat in dazed silence. Pangs of cramps shot through my fingers. I lessened my hold on the seat and then we quickly reapplied when I noticed the truck was quickly decelerated. The taxi's brakes screeched. We crawled up behind the truck slower and slower until it finally came to a stop on the middle of the hill next to a country taverna. Our taxi whipped around the truck as it began to roll backwards and pulled into the taverna's gravel car park.
The man in swim trunks was furiously working the key, the truck's starter turning over again and again but not catching as the vehicle rolled back down the hill. Hitting the bottom it coursed back up the other side and suddenly revved to life. Roaring the truck tore up the incline. Then the engine coughed sending a spasm through the vehicle. It puttered to a stop just past the taverna and began rolling backwards. The driver turned the wheel guiding it to a rest in the car park.
The man in swim trunks cranked the engine again and again with no avail. He and our driver exchanged some words in Greek that appeared to become heated. Then the man leapt out of the truck and disappeared around a hedge row into the taverna.
Time Check: 2:39 pm
Markus and I were of course extremely curious as to what what going but our queries fell on deaf ears. The taxi driver began conversing with Manu in Greek. When they were finished Manu translated for us. “If we can't get the truck going he's offering to put the kayaks on the ferry for us tomorrow.” Markus and I both shrugged. In the middle of nowhere, we three kayaks we were definitely out of options now.
Not two minutes after he entered, the man in swim trunks came bounding out, a clear plastic jug full of an amber liquid swinging in his grasp. He twisted off the gas cap and tipped the container up. It sloshed forth toward the gas tank collar. Most of the fluid appeared to stream down the side of the truck. Emptying the jug's contents the man in swim trunks chucked the container down and hopped in the cab.
He leaned hard on the key. The starter growled in resistance. He cranked it again and again. The taxi driver shouted something at the man in swim trunks. His response was vehement. The engine turned over and sprung to life. The man gunned it and roared out of the car park in a plume of dust. Our driver started his car and took off in hot pursuit.
Time Check: 2:44 pm
We quickly caught the truck and continued our high speed ride through the countryside. Soon after pulling out of the taverna I noted a sign showing that Zakynthos town being 20 km farther on. We left the rolling hills entering in on a more flattened landscape. However, it came with more congestion. We were soon stacked up behind a people mover and a big diesel truck.
On a short straight away our taxi driver whipped around the whole lot including our accomplice vehicle. Looking out the back window I saw that the red truck had pulled the same maneuver. Our driver said something to Manu who subsequently pulled his phone out of a dry bag. The cab driver dictated a phone number.
Meanwhile, we were zipping through a sleepy village. The taxi rounded a corner flying past a 30 km speed limit sign and underneath a flashing school zone light. The first number didn't seem to work so the driver gave Manu another as we weaved in and out of traffic.
The next ten minutes consisted of a mix of high speed driving, running red lights, passing on blind turns. We quickly lost sight of the red truck with the kayaks. At three minutes before the hour I saw a sign announcing that Zakynthos town as being a scant 5 kilometers away.
Time Check: 2:59 pm
We hit the Zakynthos town city limits. Speeding underneath a red light we ran into traffic and got stopped by the next light. The taxi driver nudged the cab into the median past a moped but due to the cross traffic judged it and unwise traffic to take off just yet. Before the light turned green we jetted off cutting off the vehicles in front us.
Rounding a turn the harbor came into the view. The taxi driver flew down the wide concrete quay past several large ships to the very end were a ferry was moored. He screeched to a halt. The khaki uniformed official signaled for the the driver to continue up the ramp into the bowels of the craft. We leapt out. The driver immediately approached the official and began speaking rapidly. The official shook his head and gestured for us to get on.
The driver popped open the trunk and we removed all of our gear while he and Manu exchanged phone numbers and money. With our gear slung over our shoulders we trudged toward the ramp.
Suddenly, tires squealed and I looked up to see the little red truck power sliding onto the quay. It charged up the pier at full speed treads still smoking. Coming even with the ferry, the truck's driver slammed on the brakes. They locked in a metallic cacophony and the vehicle entered a slide. Just before the truck dove off the wharf the brakes grabbed hold and the truck seized to a quivering halt. Unphased, the driver whipped it into reverse and swung back coming to the edge of the ramp. Leaping out of the cab he shook the rope loose and we hustled the kayaks on to the ferry amidst a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. Manu shook hands with the taxi driver and the man and swim trunks.
Waving, we stepped onto the ferry as it was casting off the mooring lines. The ferry lurched away from the dock and the realization that we had made it (with our kayaks) suddenly swept over us. We stood in stunned, relieved silence as the berth doors closed on image of the two men, the black Mercedes and little red pick up truck on the quay in Zakynthos.
The day had broken calm and partly cloudy. Ripples of waves lapped lazily against the shore. It was a perfect day for taking a low profile open top kayak onto the open sea. As perfect as you could hope for anyway. Manu estimated that at 5 kilometers/hour we would make the cape 20 kilometers away in 4 hours.
We paddled steadily cutting through the placid blue surface with occasional short breaks to bail out our foot wells. At the hour mark Manu informed us that according to his GPS unit we were averaging 4.6 kilometers/hour. Markus and I countered that we were just warming up and would pick up the pace. We reached the midpoint just over an hour later still making about 4.5 kilometers an hour. We took a snack and picture break and paddled on.
As the day wore on the sea grew choppier and the current turned against us. The clouds burned off and the sun climbed high in the sky. Our pace dropped into the mid 3 kilometers/hour range. My shoulders ached with the strain of paddling. The waves grew in size crashing over the bow of my kayak. I gave up on bailing out my foot well.
I began checking my watch constantly. 9:30 soon changed to 10:00 with no apparent change in the size of the island before us.
10:15... 10:20.... At our estimated time of arrival I guessed we were still several miles off shore. Markus split off from Manu and I taking a direct course to port, our next stop after the cape. At eleven in the morning, with the shore near I surged ahead toward the limestone cliffs.
Ten minutes after the hour I arrived finding a network of caves at the base of cliff. The Blue caves as they're call are several semi-submerged caves bored out the limestone by millions of years of surf. While the kayaks are not so efficient in the open sea they were brilliant here. While we explored several tour groups came through in big power boats. They were only able to go in the larger cavern. In kayak I was able to venture down some of the more narrow and lower passages.
It would have been great snorkeling. However, we had more pressing matters in mind. Our plan was to kayak into Port Nikkolai on Zakynthos, hang out for the day and take the the 8pm ferry from the port back to our island. On the trip across the sea we had noted that the morning ferry was mysteriously absent. I paddled out of the caves and found Markus and Manu en route to the port.
We were all well past feeling fatigue and struggled into port Nikkolai about a quarter past noon. After pictures and securing the kayaks we set off to the port authority to see about this ferry. A close talking British lady at the petrol station near where we pulled out entered into conversation with Manu. He inquired about this absence of the ferry. She didn't know anything about it and suggested that we talk to Dmitri or who his sister Maritza who according to her ran things around here.
We thanked her and crossed the the street to the port authority building. In the office we found several men in smart looking nautical uniforms. Manu addressed them in rapid Greek and from the shaking of their heads it didn't look good.
“There are no ferries today,” Manu said confirming our suspicions. “They don't give a reason why just that there is no ferry today.”
A young Greek officer wearing glasses interjected.
“Or Wednesday,” Manu translated. They continued conversing in Greek. The officer gave him a slip of paper with a phone number. Manu dialed it and listened for a time. “A ferry leaves from Zakynthos town at 3 pm for Killini on the mainland. From there we can catch a 6 o'clock ferry to Poros [Poros is on Kefalonia about 10 kilometers from where we're staying].”
I checked my watch. It read 12:30. “How far away is Zakynthos town?”
“About 35 kilometers. We would need a pickup taxi to get the kayaks there. First, let's see if any of these boats are going our way.”
I looked out at the harbor. There were a handful of sailboats moored along the concrete board walk, a half dozen or so motorboats for the Blue Caves tours and another half dozen rough looking fishing trawlers around the bend.
With a deep breath we set off down the board walk. A yellow, red and black flag fluttered from the first boat we came to. Markus addressed the lady on deck in German. They had a brief conversation. Unfortunately, they would not sail until tomorrow.
Manu spoke to the two elderly British couples reclined in the back of the next boat flying the blue and white of the Greek flag. They too would not be departing until the morrow. They urged us to talk to Dmitri or his sister. “They handle things around here. There's his sister.” The squinty gentleman pointed toward a young, plump tout up on the road waving down passing cars with fliers for the Blue Cave tours. “She speaks perfect English,” one of the ladies added.
We moved on to the next boat flying the Czech colors. There was a portly man in swim trunks on the stern sporting a euro mullet. I apologized for bothering him and asked perchance if he was sailing anywhere near Kefalonia today. Rubbing his paunch he responded, “I cannot go to Kefalonia because I must stay here.” I thanked him for his time and we moved on.
The next boat flew Italian colors. The blonde on board, an American, living in Australia had approached us soon after landing kayaks inquiring where from we had rented our craft. We had had a brief conversation. She was sailing today but not in our direction.
Exhausting all the sail boats in the harbor we climbed up the stairs to the road and approached Dmitri's sister, Maritza. She was a young, full figured woman wearing a tight blue t-shirt and khaki Capri pants. She had her shiny black hair pulled back in a bun and wore huge Dolce and Gabana sunglasses.
We begged her pardon and explained our predicament whilst she handed out fliers to passing cars. We explained how we had kayaked over from Kefalonia intending to catch to ferry back only to realize there was mysteriously no ferry service today. We inquired as to whether she knew if any boats were going near Kefalonia today. Further, we said that we would be more than willing to compensate the Captain any such boat for the trouble.
“There is no ferry today.”
“Yes, we know.”
“They,” she gestured to the fleet of Blue Cave tour powerboats, “They can not go. They are under contract.”
She drew in conspiratorially. “Some people came here and hired a boat to take them to Kefalonia and they paid two hundred euros.”
“Two hundred. That's more than we were looking to spend,” Manu said.
“Yes, I don't know exactly how much they paid but it was very expensive.”
“Would it be possible to get a taxi from here to Zakynthos town?”
“Yes, of course. I can call one for you. It would cost 35 euros.”
Manu looked at us for affirmation. Markus and I nodded. Seemed reasonable enough.
“At least 35 euros,” the tout added.
“Can we get a pick up taxi so we can take our kayaks.”
“I don't know,” she said turning her back to us to give a flier to a car that had slowed to a stop.
A man in his late twenties swaggered across the street toward us. He wore an untucked polo shirt, with jeans and sandals. His tawny cheeks wore a few days growth of stubble and his gelled and mussed hair glinted in his sunlight. His lips broke into a tight smile beneath a pair of wrap around Prada sunglasses. Without introductions I knew this had to be Dmitri.
“My friends, you have come from Kefalonia. Such a long way.”
We explained our situation concerning the ferry and the kayaks.
“There is no ferry today,” Dmitri reiterated. “There will be one tomorrow. You should eat at one of our fine restaurants here and then you can stay the night. I know a woman here with rooms. I don't know the price I'm sure it is very reasonable though.”
Manu explained that we had pressing business on Kefalonia early tomorrow morning and needed to get back tonight. He floated the idea of getting a taxi to Zakynthos town and taking the ferry from there at 3 o'clock.
“Yes, there are taxis I could call. It would be at least 40 euro though.”
“Could we get a pick up truck taxi so we can carry our kayaks as well.”
Dmitri turned his gaze down, our three kayaks stacked by the roadside reflecting in his sunglasses. “No,” he said sharply shaking his head. “Such a thing does not exist. It is impossible.”
“What do you mean impossible?”
“It is impossible. A ferry will come tomorrow.” With that Dmitri threw up his arms and walked away.
Somewhat mystified by the conversation we took off down the road to a large trendy looking open air restaurant. At five past one the only customers were one British couple finishing the last of their midday meal. We approached a middle aged woman at the hostess podium. She greet us with a tremulous smile as she reached into the podium for some menus.
“I'm sorry to bother you,” Manu said, “we wondered if you know where we can get a taxi.”
“Yes, a taxi.”
At that moment, the British couple lifted themselves ponderously from the table. “You would like check?” The lady said addressing them. They made their confirmation. “One minute,” the hostess said turning to us. Then she disappeared upstairs. The British couple puttered around a table offering olive oil for sale in various container sizes. The hostess was gone several minutes. I suddenly noticed that my shirt had stiffened with salt and sweat and what streaked with white. I was unshaven and probably didn't smell that good. Markus and Manu were both in similar bedraggled states.
The hostess appeared and scurried behind the bar where an antiquated cash register sat. The couple brought up two different sized containers of olive oil. Apparently, there was some question as to the price. The hostess came out from behind the bar and walked over to the table with the couple. She clarified the price and the couple set to discussing among themselves which to purchase. I checked my watch. A quarter past one. Finally, they decided on one and paid their bill. The hostess came out from the bar and walk absently past us.
“Taxi?”
“Oh,” she said turning around and held up a finger. “One minute.” Then she scurried off again.
Reenter Dmitri. His smile seemed a little tighter than before. “Hello, my friends. Perhaps I can make a call.”
He whipped out a cell phone punched in a number. After it rang several times he swore quietly and tried another and then another. While he was waiting he grabbed the restaurant portable and dialed another. With a phone to each ear he said, “No one is home.”
Finally, he got an answer. He put the his mobile down and began to rattle off Greek quickly into the portable. He looked at us, “How long are the kayaks?”
“Two and a half, three meters.”
The person on the other end apparently bulked at that because Dmitri immediately appeared to try to assure him that the kayaks were very flat. After some more Greek he spoke to us again. “It will be a fifty euro.”
“He can take the kayaks though?” Manu asked.
“I don't know. You talk to him.” Dmitri gave up the phone and walked off.
Manu began a rapid fire exchange in Greek. I heard a word that sounded like extortion. Then Manu hung up disgusted. “It's gone up to sixty euros. He says that he will be here in 20 minutes.”
Time Check: 1:20 PM
Now, we had only to wait. Manu suggested we grab a bite to eat. While he watched the kayaks Markus and I headed over to a little cafe offering a whole host of delectable items including gyros and spankopita. Walking in I quickly surmised the advertisements were a bit auspicious. Underneath the the plexiglass counter were a small collection of dry, yellowish pastries. I asked for one that said it was ham and cheese and paid the cashier two euros. After inquiring about the non-existent gyros Markus settled on the the same.
We then relieved Manu on kayak watch and wolfed down our lunches. Manu came back with several items. We set our bags down, took a seat and waited.
And then we waited some more. 1:40 came and went. I keep furtive vigil on my watch as the minutes ticked by holding my breath as I saw a truck or other large vehicle roll into town and then pass us by. We began to discuss the possibility of staying the night at Port Nikkolai. I inquired about the mafia presence here in Greece as Dmitri seemed to try to be giving us an offer we couldn't refuse.
At five minutes to two a black Mercedes sedan appeared around the bend and rolled to a stop in front of the kayaks. A man in his mid 40's in slacks and a collared shirt got out of the car. His dark hair was combed back from his temples and he wore aviator style sunglasses.
“My friend,” he said, “you go to Zakynthos?”
We made a collective resigned sigh. Manu began speaking to the man in Greek and pointing at the kayaks.
“One minute,” the man said. He walked to the back of the taxi and popped open the trunk and then gestured for us to bring a kayak. Markus and I brought one over and worked it in. The driver put down the back seat and the kayak fit, kind of, with half of it hanging over the bumper. Unfortunately, loaded with one kayak the sedan had little room for anything else much less two more kayaks and three kayakers.
The driver stood there arms akimbo studying the kayak bow projecting from his vehicle as if with sheer mental will he could determine a solution. He lit on an idea and began conversing with Manu in Greek. They had a quick back and forth exchange. I heard that word again that sounded like 'extortion.'
Manu turned to us. “He has a friend who has truck but it will we 100 euros.”
“No. I'm for staying here tonight and taking the ferry tonight.”
“That is expensive. Alright, let's get the kayak.”
Markus and I went to remove the kayak from the trunk. The taxi driver had meanwhile taken out his phone and entered into a conversation in Greek with someone on the other end. We stacked the kayak with the others.
“There's the Zakynthos bus.” Manu said pointing at the large vehicle winding its way around the harbor toward us. “Aaron, see if you can flag it down.”
I crossed to the other side other of the road and held out my hand to hail it. The bus slowed to a stop. Then the taxi driver put down his phone and said something to the bus driver gesturing at the kayaks and and it rumbled on. I crossed street. The taxi driver was speaking to Markus and Manu
“My friend,” the he said. “For me to come from Zaknythos town it is 35 euro. It is expensive. Petrol is expensive. For two taxis...” He held his hands up and gave a little shrug. “I will call my friend. He will take your kayaks and I will take you in my car. 70 euros.”
We all gave yet another resigned sigh. Manu spoke, “Our ferry leaves at three. How long will it take your friend to get here.”
“Ten minutes. No more.”
I checked my watch. It had slipped into the 2nd hour of the afternoon. Manu, Markus and I looked at each other, worn and weary from the day's adventure. After a quick huddle centering around the dearth of options we all gave the okay.
Manu acknowledged our acceptance and the taxi driver got back on the phone with his friend.
“Ten minutes,” he said to us hanging up. Then he lit a cigarette and we waited some more. The driver inquired of Manu what we were doing on Zakythnos with three kayaks trying to get to Kefalonia. There were speaking in Greek so all I picked up of the taxi driver's response was the mentioning of Africa and the universal gesture of revolving the index around one's temple to indicate that someone has gone off the deep end.
Minutes ticked on. I inquired as to how far Zakynthos town was and how long would it take to get there. Manu repeated the question in Greek and translated back his response. “It's 35 kilometers but he says the road is good and fast and will take about twenty minutes to drive there.”
Twenty minutes past the hour we began to get more agitated. The taxi driver had another cigarette and called his friend again. “He will be here soon.”
As half past neared I suggested that we weren't going to make it and deal was off. The taxi driver said something to Manu in Greek.
“If we don't make the ferry we don't pay anything. How about that?” Markus piped in.
Sounded good to me. The taxi driver was sphinx behind his aviator sunglasses. Just then at 2:27 by my time piece a little red truck appeared around the bend about half a kilometer away.
“That's him.”
Markus and I picked up kayak in preparedness. The battered little red Fiat Fiere rattled to a stop behind the Mercedes. It was a little smaller than a Nissan Frontier. Markus and I hoisted the kayak up only to find the short bed strewn with various articles of rubbish, buckets, tarps and other assorted items. The truck's operator, a stout, curly haired man in a t-shirt and and blue and red swim trunks hopped out and shoved all the stuff toward the cab and gestured for us to put the kayak in. We did followed by the second. The stern hung pretty far out but two kayaks seemed to fit snugly enough. The third we had placed precariously on top of the other two.
As the man in swim trunks got out a rope the taxi driver ushered us into his sedan. We threw our bags (including our cameras unfortunately) in the back and got in. Manu took shotgun and Markus and I buckled up in the back seat.
Time Check: 2:33 pm
Finished with his handiwork, the man in swim trunks jumped in his truck and spun around in the middle or the road and peeled off. We followed suit close behind give us an opportunity to inspect the man's aforementioned handiwork. It consisted of a single slack rope tied around the front third of the kayaks. As we tore up an incline around a bend in the road the top kayak swayed toward the outside of the turn.
“Oh, this isn't going to be good,” Markus said.
The road snaked up sending the top kayak shifting back and forth with each turn. I gripped the seat firmly determined that we would come around crook in the road to find a ten foot kayak hurtling towards us.
The “good” and “fast” road was a narrow, two-lane asphalt thoroughfare winding along the rolling and rugged cliffs overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The views of the deep blue Ionian sea and white sands beaches far below were breathtaking. It would have a beautiful drive if not for the fact that we were taking the roads along sheer cliffs at well above posted speed limits and under constant threat of being pummeled by an errant kayak.
We raced down a steep incline right on the bumper of the little red pickup. Sparks flew as it bottomed out at the end down slope and charged up the equally sharp incline. We all sat in dazed silence. Pangs of cramps shot through my fingers. I lessened my hold on the seat and then we quickly reapplied when I noticed the truck was quickly decelerated. The taxi's brakes screeched. We crawled up behind the truck slower and slower until it finally came to a stop on the middle of the hill next to a country taverna. Our taxi whipped around the truck as it began to roll backwards and pulled into the taverna's gravel car park.
The man in swim trunks was furiously working the key, the truck's starter turning over again and again but not catching as the vehicle rolled back down the hill. Hitting the bottom it coursed back up the other side and suddenly revved to life. Roaring the truck tore up the incline. Then the engine coughed sending a spasm through the vehicle. It puttered to a stop just past the taverna and began rolling backwards. The driver turned the wheel guiding it to a rest in the car park.
The man in swim trunks cranked the engine again and again with no avail. He and our driver exchanged some words in Greek that appeared to become heated. Then the man leapt out of the truck and disappeared around a hedge row into the taverna.
Time Check: 2:39 pm
Markus and I were of course extremely curious as to what what going but our queries fell on deaf ears. The taxi driver began conversing with Manu in Greek. When they were finished Manu translated for us. “If we can't get the truck going he's offering to put the kayaks on the ferry for us tomorrow.” Markus and I both shrugged. In the middle of nowhere, we three kayaks we were definitely out of options now.
Not two minutes after he entered, the man in swim trunks came bounding out, a clear plastic jug full of an amber liquid swinging in his grasp. He twisted off the gas cap and tipped the container up. It sloshed forth toward the gas tank collar. Most of the fluid appeared to stream down the side of the truck. Emptying the jug's contents the man in swim trunks chucked the container down and hopped in the cab.
He leaned hard on the key. The starter growled in resistance. He cranked it again and again. The taxi driver shouted something at the man in swim trunks. His response was vehement. The engine turned over and sprung to life. The man gunned it and roared out of the car park in a plume of dust. Our driver started his car and took off in hot pursuit.
Time Check: 2:44 pm
We quickly caught the truck and continued our high speed ride through the countryside. Soon after pulling out of the taverna I noted a sign showing that Zakynthos town being 20 km farther on. We left the rolling hills entering in on a more flattened landscape. However, it came with more congestion. We were soon stacked up behind a people mover and a big diesel truck.
On a short straight away our taxi driver whipped around the whole lot including our accomplice vehicle. Looking out the back window I saw that the red truck had pulled the same maneuver. Our driver said something to Manu who subsequently pulled his phone out of a dry bag. The cab driver dictated a phone number.
Meanwhile, we were zipping through a sleepy village. The taxi rounded a corner flying past a 30 km speed limit sign and underneath a flashing school zone light. The first number didn't seem to work so the driver gave Manu another as we weaved in and out of traffic.
The next ten minutes consisted of a mix of high speed driving, running red lights, passing on blind turns. We quickly lost sight of the red truck with the kayaks. At three minutes before the hour I saw a sign announcing that Zakynthos town as being a scant 5 kilometers away.
Time Check: 2:59 pm
We hit the Zakynthos town city limits. Speeding underneath a red light we ran into traffic and got stopped by the next light. The taxi driver nudged the cab into the median past a moped but due to the cross traffic judged it and unwise traffic to take off just yet. Before the light turned green we jetted off cutting off the vehicles in front us.
Rounding a turn the harbor came into the view. The taxi driver flew down the wide concrete quay past several large ships to the very end were a ferry was moored. He screeched to a halt. The khaki uniformed official signaled for the the driver to continue up the ramp into the bowels of the craft. We leapt out. The driver immediately approached the official and began speaking rapidly. The official shook his head and gestured for us to get on.
The driver popped open the trunk and we removed all of our gear while he and Manu exchanged phone numbers and money. With our gear slung over our shoulders we trudged toward the ramp.
Suddenly, tires squealed and I looked up to see the little red truck power sliding onto the quay. It charged up the pier at full speed treads still smoking. Coming even with the ferry, the truck's driver slammed on the brakes. They locked in a metallic cacophony and the vehicle entered a slide. Just before the truck dove off the wharf the brakes grabbed hold and the truck seized to a quivering halt. Unphased, the driver whipped it into reverse and swung back coming to the edge of the ramp. Leaping out of the cab he shook the rope loose and we hustled the kayaks on to the ferry amidst a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. Manu shook hands with the taxi driver and the man and swim trunks.
Waving, we stepped onto the ferry as it was casting off the mooring lines. The ferry lurched away from the dock and the realization that we had made it (with our kayaks) suddenly swept over us. We stood in stunned, relieved silence as the berth doors closed on image of the two men, the black Mercedes and little red pick up truck on the quay in Zakynthos.
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