With heavy hearts we tear ourselves away from Botec after three wonderful days. The daily stage is short, we head for the coastal town of Salande, from where we want to take the ferry to Corfu and thus Greece. Christina, a friend of Louie has persuaded us to visit her parents in Corfu. Hoping for a nice introduction to Greece, we board the overpriced ferry and arrive in the capital an hour later than expected. We have just crossed a time zone boundary! Corfu surpasses our wildest premonitions when it comes to tourist exhaustion. Soon after our arrival we find ourselves in the pottery studio of our parents, are graciously served a coffee and otherwise feel rather like a nuisance. Completely unenthusiastic, the mother answers my questions, but doesn’t ask us a single counter-question. Neither our trip nor the daughter’s life in Switzerland seems to be of interest. Christina’s colleague, who should have offered us a place to stay, doesn’t answer his phone and when he does, he tells us that he doesn’t know anything, isn’t there and unfortunately can’t help us. In the meantime it is dark night and we are forced to find a safe place for our tent in nocturnal Corfu.
After studying the city map on Maps.me we decide to try the sailing club. We chat up an older gentleman and he sends us in French accent to a certain Dimitri who can help us. Dimitri looks at us a little bit confused and doubts his competence for such decisions, but he says that nobody would mind if we pitched our tent on the club area for one night. WC there, water tap there.
So we soon cook our delayed dinner right next to the “Old Fortress of Corfu”, wondering about our strange situation and the first impressions of this new people. We spend the night next to club beats and sea rabbits. The next day we set off early to cross the island lengthwise and leave by the quickest route. We are both glad to be back on the mainland in the afternoon, but somewhat regret the unnecessary expense of the ferry and the missed Albanian coastal stretches. The day brings unexpectedly many meters of altitude and towards evening we pull into a shell right by the sea at a long sandy stand near Loutsa. A thunderstorm is coming up, the first of many as will be seen.
In the night we escape fortunately a full flooding of the tent, move this in the morning however hurriedly into the dusty, but dry first floor, since fast it is clear that today is not to be thought of bicycle driving.
The only restaurant, which does not yet make a winter break, is located two houses away and quickly becomes our today’s place to stay. To celebrate the forced break day, we first treat ourselves to a delicious breakfast with scrambled eggs Greek style and then make friends with some of the German paraglider pilots who are also stuck. The day passes with card games, blog writing, ferry research and watching the rain spectacle.
With the weather still very uncertain, we break down our tent the next morning. The waves are still rolling onto the beach with impressive size and regularity, and Louie’s fingers are twitching. “There must be surfing here!” he keeps saying. A few kilometers further on, we actually discover them: the Greek surfing scene! Louie borrows a board and is soon surfing in a T-shirt next to the neoprene-clad locals on the crests of the waves. The scene is impressive: on the horizon the threatening thundercloud is illuminated by lightning and here on the beach a handful of guys are chasing the waves. In the meantime it has started to rain. When we finally reach Preveza 30 km later, we are decently soaked despite our rain gear. Thanks to a great bakery and a delicious coffee we warm up again a bit. We gather our strength for a crucial undertaking: Today we want to cross the underwater tunnel from Preveza towards Voniza. From Daniel- a CH-tourer in the opposite direction- we learned a few days ago that the tunnel is closed for bikes, but “isch voll iisi, münder absolutely mache!” The tunnel saves us a few hundred kilometers of road and is therefore quickly planned.
In pouring rain we drive to the entrance. An important looking pickup truck is parked right in front of it. Confidently we overtake it and head straight for the entrance. In no time at all, the yellow pickup, now flashing, has overtaken us and is blocking our way. “No!” says the non-communicative official.
With some adrenaline in our blood we cycle on the breakdown lane in the opposite direction and start to give a thumbs up for every bigger vehicle. By now it is raining cats and dogs and our situation seems pretty hopeless. When the flashing vehicle briefly clears the tunnel entrance, we sense our chance and cycle through the rain again towards the entrance. Too early rejoiced; in rapid speed the vehicle overtakes us from behind and blocks us again the way. Without further ado, I go to the window and ask the two officials if they can perhaps take us to the other side? The tunnel is only a little longer than a kilometer and the pickup would have plenty of room for our bikes. “No, not possible,” is the answer, and one of them hands me a piece of paper with some telephone numbers through the window slit. Instead of phoning through the numbers of the cab companies, we keep trying with our hopeful thumbs, but without success. Various tourists wave us friendly from their huge campers, to then press the gas motivated and let us continue to stand in the rain.
Then suddenly we see how the pickup turns off and actually disappears on the access road. Our chance! With some fear of a high bus or more troublesome difficulties we swing again on our bicycles and start to carry out the original plan: Passage on our own. Fortunately, there is a sufficiently wide sidewalk and little traffic along the entire route. We step on the gas and are all too aware of the numerous surveillance cameras. Shortly before the end of the tunnel, a vehicle overtakes us. A yellow, flashing pick-up. At least we are now already on the other side and we have calculated that the time saved will give us a certain “fine budget”. The official greets with the old familiar “It is not allowed to drive with bicycle. Only with bus or cab.” To my timid objection that there had just been no traffic at all, and therefore we had assumed we could just drive through quickly, he explains that traffic was stopped as soon as we were spotted on the security cameras.
The words “police” and “we called” come up, but somewhat confused and relieved we realize that we apparently get off with a reprimand and are allowed to move on unmolested! What a relief! Even the rain has withdrawn for a few hours to consult for the next storm program and gives us a break.