I ran across the first serious glitch in my travel plans. All went smoothly in Turkey, and I appeared at the Istanbul train station at 7:30 am waiting for the 8:20 am train to Greece. There was nobody at the ticket counter yet, but that was regular. By 8:15, I got worried, as did others waiting for tix, and eventually I found somebody that worked there. After a bit of an ado, he informed me that due to the railroad workers strike in Greece, the train was canceled.

Bad news! He added that the strike will not settle soon, so at least the next 2 days worth of trains will not come. Sigh. Okay, secondary plan. Off to the main bus station.

An hour later I find myself at the otogar, the main bus station in Istanbul. There is one bus to Greece, going to Athens (a bit out of the way, but workable), leaving at 10 am. Unfortunately, it's full. I make a grave mistake in admitting that I have no reservation, and ask to wait in case of cancellations. Two other backpacking couples show up in a similar bind, yet they claim (truthfully or not) that they had reservations, and the bus company must have lost them.

I investigate tertiary options. There is a town close to the border to Greece called Ipsala, for which a 10:05 bus leaves. Okay, that's the fall-back.

Back to the original bus company. Wait... Wait... 10 am comes and goes. The bus is still waiting. Wait... The guy emerges after conducting a head-count on the bus. 4 free seats - the two couples go, I'm out. It's 10:10, so I've missed the other bus as well.

I manage to catch the following bus to Ipsala at 12:30. I find myself sitting next to a very nice Turkish chap named Mehmed. With his non-existent English and my non-existent Turkish, we manage to chat on and off for the 5 hour bus trip about his painting, Turkey regions, California, the Internet, smoking, fiction books, etc. Pretty cool stuff. At the last big town in Turkey, he gets off, we say out good-bye’s, and the bus is off to Ipsala...

...or is it? The bus stops in 5 minutes at a tiny corner, where I am escorted off the large nice bus onto a minibus (like a minivan) packed to the rim with about 20 people. My backpack barely squeezes in. Apparently, not enough folks are going to Ipsala, so the real bus canceled that leg, and they are using "local transport".

After a hot, crowded, slow half hour ride, they gesture for me to get off at a random corner in the middle of nowhere, pointing in one direction while saying "Greka" and another saying "Ipsala". Off I go...

Fortunately, there is a taxi nearby - that stops as I get his attention. He speaks a little English, and informs me that the Greek border is 6 km down the road they pointed. I pay him to take me to save the hike.

Getting out of Turkey in passport control is a breeze. Crossing the border on foot is not allowed, though, so I wait for a crossing vehicle to get a ride to the Greek side. On the Greek side, entry with a US passport proves to be very hassle-free (compared to the Turks who seem to be processed for 30 mins each).

Now I find myself in Greece, with $50 changed into Drakmas (at a ridiculous rate - border crossing rip-offs, so it's really $40 worth), a worthless Eurail pass due to the strike, a backpack, no signs of a town, and no bus until 8:30 am the following morning. What to do now?

Hitch-hike. The cars go by without notice. A truck does the same. There are a couple of trucks that are stopped at the border for hassles with paperwork. One has an English chap who seems to be pretty mad, and the other a guy who does not speak much English. He finishes first - I ask him where he is off to, he says Patras (I've never heard of the town), but I ask for a ride to Alexandrapoulis - the closest town. He agrees, so I'm off in his 18-wheeler.

My savior’s name is Attila, a father of 3 (who reminds me a little by his intonations, behavior, and in general, or my dad) who is from Hungary but working for a Swedish company delivering an empty truck back to Sweden having dropped off watermelons in Turkey.

I find out where he is going, and it's just about perfect - where the ferry for Italy leaves from. He agrees to take me as far as the last big town of the day and I don't push it. We chat quite a bit. After I buy him a measly dinner (I have to really push in order to be allowed to pay) and tell him my plans, he agrees to let me come with him the next day. There is a spare place to sleep in the cab of the truck which I use with my sleeping bag.

The truck is limited to 85 km/hour digitally, so it's a slow ride across Greece which takes about 30 hours. We stop often for a swim in the Med, which feels wonderful after sitting for 4 hour stretches in the cab.

Eventually, I find myself in Patras. We exchange info, I invite him and his family to California, which he agrees to visit, but can only do it in his dreams or if he wins the lottery. Given his Hungarian, German, and rather limited English, any my English, Russian, and rather limited Spanish (trivial German), we seem to do pretty well at understanding each other.

I would have preferred to see Greece not from behind the windshield of an 18-wheeler, but it was pretty cool to see the splendor of the islands off the coast never-the-less. I did miss the ferry by 2 hours, so had to spend an extra day in Patras, but life goes on.

From Patras, it was time to catch the Ferry to Italy and then trains on to Paris. It was a pretty cool adventure crossing Greece with Attila the Hun. Just goes to show you that some of life's more interesting adventures happen when plans fall apart. Those plans falling apart were not quite over, as my first train travels through Italy revealed.