Leaving Pompei was much easier than the day before and our trip to Bari to drop off the car occurred without incident, despite some really high speed maniacs on the Autostada.

We asked for directions to the airport so we could return the car and congratulated ourselves when we got there. We had driven a car for three weeks in Italy and were returning it unscathed. Barry checked the odometer and we'd clocked 3050 kilometres. What a great trip, paid for using our Airmiles!

In the airport, Barry checked the internet to confirm the booking and on-island transit details for Corfu; and Connor and Margaret, seasoned travellers at this point, went to double check the "Information lady's" advice that we take a cab to the ferry (40 euros). NOT! We discovered there was a public bus for 1.20 euros each so, needless to say, that was our new plan. Then, being the incredible travellers we are, we went back to information and asked if we could buy from the driver (no, we must buy upstairs in the newspaper store). Ah, so we did that and got out to the bus stop with 4 minutes to spare! Ha, genius! Then, we noticed one of our tickets was not a ticket at all - it was the back cardboard part of the ticket stub booklet, so Connor did the one minute dash back upstairs to get the ticket. He made it with time to spare, and we were off. Our directions were to take Bus 16 to Central station and Bus 20 to the port. Easy.

We got to Central station and transferred onto the #20 bus. We had gone about 6 blocks when Connor does what we seasoned travellers do; he asked the bus driver if we were on the right bus. The bus driver gave him a terse answer, in Italian, and a woman started yelling at the bus driver, probably about his rude behaviour. Then an elderly man told Connor, in Italian, that we were on the wrong bus. However, when we tried to get off, he told us not to. In Italian. Then he told Connor, in Italian, that we were supposed to take the "20/" bus, not the "20" bus. Ahhh!!! Makes perfect sense. NOT! Anyway, he then showed us where to get off and cross to the other side of the street to catch the #6 bus.

While waiting, we decided to double-check what we were doing by asking a storekeeper. The entire neighbourhood got involved this time! They had a debate about which bus and where and what and why, with hand waving gestures going on the entire time. It was CRAZY! Finally, a bus pulled up and the neighbourhood walked us to the bus doors, told the driver everything that had happened to us, and told him to tell us, in English, that we had the right bus. He said,

"This is the right bus."

And we were off. The people on the bus had overheard the story and immediately told Margaret to have a seat (she was standing because it's easier with a backpack), and then the discussion was on regarding English as the international language vs. others such as German or Chinese. This entire conversation was completely in Italian, but hand waving is an absolutely international language of its own, so we understood most of it and found it very funny. We got on the new bus with several other backpack and suitcase laden people (a good clue that we were on the right bus this time). We had to buy new tickets, which were more expensive than our previous ones, which still were valid, but, hey, when in Bari...

At the Porto, Barry and the kids went on reconnaissance while Margaret guarded the back packs. They returned with pizza and drinks. We waited to high-five ourselves until we were actually on the ferry. It was a good thing we waited because at 8:30 PM, when we were supposed to board, we ended up waiting and waiting while the ferry unloaded and unloaded for an hour!!!

Finally, we boarded and settled in, pleased with our Pullman seats, enjoying our leg room, and hoping to have a good night's sleep.