thebigtrip (Italy/Greece)

 NAPOLI

The train arrives at 10.30pm and we walk out to find the foyer of the station  is hosting a criminal convention. Hungry looking dogs mingle near the biglietti booths while pickpockets, frauds, taxi drivers and touts fall on anything looking lost and carrying luggage. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a homeless guy crashed out next to the info counter happily combing the hair on his enormous belly. I look at Ren. She looks at me. Hairy belly belches. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Virus di Misteri is in full swing when I crawl next door for a caffe. I gesticulate wildly and establish in broken italian that I'm looking for a place to eat. "You go to my brother's Pizzeria. Peppino will feed you. Pizza buona," the owner orders. I arrive at Peppinos and order in italian, confident that it's understood I'll eat anything except fish. I'm served an undercooked diavola topped with capers and foul-smelling anchovies swimming in a thick soup of oil. It's somewhere around then that I decided to give in and just speak english.

BRINDISI

We got ripped off - plain and simple. We were tired. We were vulnerable. We simply didn't care anymore. After seven hours of train-hopping, broken sleep and bad bread rolls we followed the sign that said "Suckers here," mistakenly reading "Interrail ferry tickets to Greece".

PATROS

I ask for a passport stamp. She looks at me incredulously... "No. No. No. It's free yes?" She doesn't seem to understand where I'm coming from. Good then. We're on even terms. I can't help gawking at her hideous eyeshadow. Thick layers of blue and black in Evil Dead style. She smiles and her teeth are a sickly yellow. "Welcome to Greece," she says and beams.

THE PELOPONNESE

Heading toward Corinth and the landcape on either side of the road is dominated by the shells of half-built homes. Can't work out if this is pre or post boom - they all look like they've been standing here, like graves, for a very long time. Half realised dreams - waiting for something to happen.

NAFPLIO

In retrospect it was grossly insensitive but I had to know what was happening. "Why are you crying?" I ask her. The woman wipes her face, looks up tiredly to the television where the results of each region are being tallied up and looks into me. Cars outisde, filled with flag-waving revellers, horns blasting in celebration, unlock our connection. "This government... " she says "This is very bad for me." I see it then. I can do absolutely nothing to comfort her.

"Take a swig of this Oz," he says and without a second thought it's down my throat. A nasty stew of cheap wine, beer, aniseed and bourbon. We're ranting now in some dark Nafplio street, freeform, over acoustic, flute and drum. "Here in the belly of the gods," I sing - hopelessly lost in song.

Two swift knocks and then the hotel owner is standing there, mouth agape, in the doorway. I can only imagine what it must have looked like. Two naked girls. Two almost naked guys, empty beer bottles strewn over the table, and me, wearing nothing but a sock - chilli peppers style. The Canadian guy is the first to speak. "Parakolo," he says - over and over again. It's the only Greek he knows.

ATHENS

Every town has at least one happy dog - most places have several - friendly little strays who'll show you to the best outdoor eateries in town. All big toothed grins and waging tails. Saw one in Athens catch the metro from Monastraki to Piraeus. No doubt he had a ferry to catch. Little hobos and best friends. Except the Santorini bunch - very druggy paranoid and untrusting.

"You only have half an hour," the ticket guy says after a smirk. "No problem." We bolt, madly, up flights of ancient stairs, eyes wild and breathless, dodging other tourists, finding gaps, weaving, dodging, weaving - and there it is. The Parthenon. I was generous and gave it ten minutes. Another five for the museum, and five more for the views. That was that. The Acropolis kicked in under half an hour.

"What did he say?" the English girl asks. "I've got 20 minutes to get out or he'll call the Police," says Ben. I watch him frantically stuffing his pack, ashen-faced, half-gone, saying "Oh my God. Oh My God" over and over. The English girl agrees to meet him in the square the next day to bring him anything he's left behind. I direct him to the Festos hotel around the corner. And then he's gone. So much for the relaxing kick-back with a 'J'.

MONEMVASSIA

There had to be something wrong. The view of the rock outcrop of Monemvassia from the balcony was incredible. The shower worked. The bed was comfortable. The water was hot and we'd only paid 4000 drachma. I spotted the first little bugger just before sunset. An hour later the room was a buzzing banquet hall of mosquitoes, and we were, it seemed, the main course.

EATING

Sorbillo, Via Tribunale, Napoli

Hapto - Evati Daily Market, Nafplio

VRossi - Via Palestro, Roma - The Best Coffee in Rome

Piccadilly - Dallo Stadio, Firenze

CRASHING

Foresteria Valdise - Venice Methodist Style.

The Student & Traveler's Inn - no hot water but good location in the Plaka area of Athens. Try the Hotel Dioskourous around the corner instead.

ONLINE

Mondialnet - friendly cafe in Firenze

Lava Cafe - Where these pages were knocked up

LONDON

Very difficult to find the words I wanted to say but 'see you in June' seemed to be the one thing that came out as intended: I'll miss you. I'll see you again.

Must dig out the lonely planet and dream with my eyes wide open.

VENICE

He regarded Italy as a third world country cause his hotel booking got screwed up. That was as far as our conversation went.

Having no other place to stay, he hooked up with two standed Spanish guys wjo pitched their tent outside the airport on the grass by the carpark.

We made our way precariously accross the highway - froggerstyle - and waited for the bus which arrived, conveniently, on the side we'd just come from.

Tronchetto - the Port Kembla of Venice.

The people seemed to have a spring in their step and a song on their lips. Gondola crooners; buskers; ristorante bands; anyone; everyone. You pass by a song on every bridge and hear another from the next canal as you reach the corner.

BOLOGNA

We get to the hostel after a bus journey well out into the sticks through a very industrial-looking Bologna. Francesco, 3 days fresh out of Nth Sydney, likens it to staying at a hostel in Penrith...

Not only is this place full, but the only other hostel in town is closed down for repairs, and every other pensioni, albergo, spare room and barn within a 60 mile radius is booked solid for the annual children's book festival. Three hours of disapointment and chaos - this was Bologna.

FIRENZE

I should have realised after being ignored for 15 minutes and not seeing anyone other than disaproving locals that things were going to be bad. The Bruschetta resembled pureed heinz tomato soup on stale oily bread. I tried to be generous and remarked that perhaps this was a regional variation. The pasta that came after sealed it - the ristorante was shithouse.

Sex, drugs, music and travel seem to provide most of us with life's essential yardsticks.

ROMA

Rome is just this massive, massive place. I feel like a tiny federation shuttle approaching a giant BORG cube.

The guy, whose face muscles can't settle long enough for them to form a face you would remember , is very dodge, and his cat is aggressive - this is always a bad sign.

She storms off downstairs seeking blood and returns with dodgy guy. They proceed to discommunicate. She gets angry. He forgets how to speak or understand English. "Non Capito!" and the whole mess ends in tears.

The place can't seem to decide whether it is a gelato bar, yogurt bar, fruiteria, cafe, osteria, trattoria, or taverna - and the whole healthy bright colour scheme makes me feel ten years older than I am. Someone, I forget who, musters up the courage to ask two simple words - "Quattro Birra?". "Ci," says the waiter and there is a collective sigh of relief.

I got out of trouble by simply handing over a cigarette. The American girls got their chance, in the distraction, to run; dodgy guy got a smoke, and the mad violin player with one gold tooth played on oblivious... and after all this drama I still managed to get my shot of the beautiful girl sitting in the third storey window.

Onward then through the rivers of tourists and asian vendors selling dick-shaped plastic toys to the stinking crowded hellhole that is the Trevi Fountain - I threw a coin over my shoulder regardless. I didn't chance a second, not wanting to push my luck too far.

The toilet floor is covered in... let's just say, liquid. There are... let's just say, things, floating in this liquid. The showers don't work. There's no security and you can't smoke in the building. Still, it aint so bad - we don't have to share it with the annoying American girl.

The Metro stinks like an old jumper that hasn't been washed in years - stale and smoky. There's no courtesy, you just do what you like, and anything goes with regard to the escalators. Still those buskers... man, they're good.

It seems to have become a means of bonding for us all - our complete intolerance of Americans abroad - Christ, even the Canadians are annoying. And don't get me started on the Australians.

I was overcome considerably, and for the first time in many many years, approached one of the quieter side altars and prayed. I think I asked for help, for the confusion to be lifted, for a sign...

Can a kazoo be soulful? Yes. It's the great lost instrument of the blues.

We'd just seen the Pope in the flesh. Il Papo - the big JP. It must have been quite an emotional moment for many of the people in the square that day but I just felt like the short guy at the gig - I just didn't see it.

From out of nowhere I hear a shrill 'Coo-eee' and she appears in the distance. 'G'day Digger,' she says when I reach her. 'Let's get out of here before we discover part two of the I shat myself in the ancient roman ruins story'.

Ren gets stuck into the cashier - the cashier gives as good back - Rich, Tom and I sink out of our seats and dribble out the door, knowing that we can never come back to this beautiful place again. They had served the best coffee in all of Rome.