I had planned, and purchased, a daytime ferry from Italy to Albania long in advance of the race. I treated myself to the most spacious cabin, a family room with a window to enjoy the view during the crossing, and a double bed if it turned out to be too rough.
Alas, such luxury was not to be, as ten days before I was due to set sail, the ship was cancelled. Rebooking seemed to only be possible by phone call – to an Italian office. After a couple of days of panic, I realised I could refund online without penalty (this wasn’t general policy, but did apply for services to Albania) and shop again.
Fortunately there was a departure at two minutes to midnight on Friday, which would still allow enough time to reach the final checkpoint in Tirana. But with two months having elapsed, prices were considerably higher, and room options fewer. A sea view now pointless with travel being overnight, I settled for a much smaller inside cabin. Sadly this only saved €30 compared to my originally-booked family room.
This hasty replan – completed just 3 days before I set off for London – still seemingly put me in a favourable position. My (new) ticket clearly stated it needed to be printed, which would have been a challenge once I was out on the road. So I carefully – and somewhat smugly – transported the small slip of paper through seven countries before eventually arriving at the port of Bari.
That smugness would have resulted in denied boarding, were it not for warnings from faster racers. For the ticket is just the start. First, it must be exchanged for a boarding pass. You might imagine you could do this at the ferry terminal, since the ferry companies all have desks there, and it’s where the ferry leaves from.
You would be wrong. The exchange must be made at another facility, 2km across the port. No local buses serve this location; as a foot passenger, you must take a shuttle bus from the terminal. None of this is ever mentioned in, for instance, your booking email, nor discussed on the ferry company websites – I can only hope this post helps a few people! I met an unsurprisingly-confused older Italian man in the bus shelter and explained the process to him through the magic of google translate. In return, when an unmarked van turned up a bit later he confirmed that this was indeed the shuttle (the driver apparently spoke no English).
After a 6 minute drive down a bumpy track (too heavy with lorry traffic to be a viable walk) we reached the counters. There a disinterested man on his phone issued my boarding pass in an impressive two minutes – but the shuttle only lingered for one. So I waited another thirty (in 32°C heat) for the bus to complete a lap of the port. Total round trip was almost an hour – and at no point did I need my paper ticket…
So if you want to take this journey yourself, definitely allow enough slack for this needlessly-complicated procedure. But not too much, as the passenger terminal is a bleak place to spend an evening:
Fortunately I had company: the ferry formed a natural bottleneck for the race so I was joined on an uncomfortable steel bench by a couple of other participants. Our tales of adventure, recent and historic, filled what turned out to be a several hour wait. The screens declared our ferry ready for boarding at 21:30, which triggered a queue / crowd to collect at the security lane; we correctly chose to ignore this, as the barriers weren’t lifted for another 90 minutes.
At that point only some passengers were let through; others, including myself, were gestured away with no explanation besides repeated shouts of “dopo”. I suspect the issue was that I had booked with GNV, who operated my original ferry – but this later sailing was an Adria service.
Ten minutes later the rest of us were deemed acceptable. Security screening was not universal, but by random selection; I was randomly selected. Border control followed, where presumably I exited the Schengen zone – although I received no stamp to prove it.
Emerging into the cool evening air, I finally got a look at AF Francesca – moored the next pier along. Another queue had formed, for far-too-small buses to convey passengers the short distance around the port. Consulting a man dressed entirely in camouflage, he approved our request to walk, which took all of three minutes. Dodging traffic on the vehicle ramp, I had to navigate two more steps of the check-in dance: surrendering my hard-earned boarding pass to be allowed out of the parking garage, and then trading my passport for a cabin key.
First impressions weren’t favourable, but in retrospect – and having later seen the public seating and shared bathrooms – my room was perfectly acceptable. It may have cost more than each of the (far nicer) hotels I’d used that week, but none of those had transported me to a new country!
I watched our departure (and a surprise firework display) from the upper deck, returning to my cabin to find the temperature had much improved. As it was nearly 1am, I settled into bed promptly and got six hours of surprisingly good rest before morning announcements began to be broadcast. Some of these didn’t strike me as worthy of disturbing sleeping guests, informing us that first the duty free, and then the snack bar, had opened. More relevant was the call for cabin passengers to vacate.
I took the time to grab a shower before heeding the second such request, around 7:45. You could probably stay for longer – we were still half an hour away from port – but I was keen to retrieve my passport. Just after 8:30 – well over an hour ahead of our published arrival time – I once again ran the gauntlet of the exit ramp to set foot in the final country of my tour: Albania.
