Bob

I called him Bob. No idea what his actual name was. He was lounging around outside one of the cafes, inviting people in for coffee. He was also a provider of information, and after we had grilled him for some time about where to get our tickets from, we thought it only polite to have a coffee.

It was still too early to get the tickets, but the ferry did leave that night - which was one night sooner than we expected. This was a good thing. Brindisi is basically a place to go if you want to go to Greece, and nothing else. Every other shop is a ticket shop, and every other person is some kind of traveller.

Bob was a friendly Greek, who spoke more languages than was good for him and knew everything about buying ferry tickets that was worth knowing, and many things that weren't.

But the reason I liked him was that he gave us the information before we had a coffee at his place, and was even friendly when we walked off. We came back after an hour, see. Good old Bob.

We went to a few ticket offices, just in case Bob had sold us a dummy, and then found the Interrail place. We had been told be several sources, including the Interrail web site and the back of the ticket itself, that we would only have to pay Port Tax of six Euros. What we were to find was, of course, this was complete and utter b******s.

It turns out that the one company that offered this service had closed for the year due to lack of demand. The place we were in did offer reduced fares for Interrail travellers, but still. We were told that we could pay €11 for a place out on the deck, €21 for a form of accommodation called only 'chair', and €31 for a cabin. The ferry was seventeen hours long.

Like the true backpackers we are, we asked for a place on the deck. Then we were told that we couldn't actually have a place on the deck. Why? Because it was too cold.

Honestly. That left us with the choice between 'chair' and 'cabin'. True backpackers would of course have chosen the chair. I, on the other hand, was a bit reluctant to have a chair when for only £6 more we could have a bed.

So we opted for a cabin. They were all four bed deals, which of course prompted the question:

"Can you arrange it so we share with two good looking Swedish girls?"

"Hohohoho", the chap said, in the exact tone of voice I would use if I wanted the person I was talking to to die. "No. You must provide your own girls!"

He gestured behind us. We turned around. There were four girls sat down, rummaging through bags. "There you are!" he declared brightly. "Girls!"

"Yes they are", I said quietly, hoping they were foreign and wouldn't think we had started that whole embarrassing conversation. Which, of course, we had.

Anyway, he was 'kind' enough to let us leave our bags at his office for the day. Without much else to do, we decided to go to the beach for the day. Bob had told us which number bus to catch, where to catch it from, and where to buy our tickets from. See? Every town should have a Bob.

We were still waiting for the bus an hour later. But we were in the right place at least. That was the main thing. Those four foreign girls had obviously come up with the same idea as us. As I sat and chain smoked my way through my last pack of cigarettes (every pack since our money had started to run out was my last pack), I glanced at the back of the book one of them was reading. There were a lot of Zs.

"German", I said to Karim with an air of intelligence.

Then Bob turned up again. He certainly gets around. He ran into a nearby restaurant and came out with flyers, telling us to mention him and we'd get a good deal. We asked him if there was anywhere he didn't work, and he said he worked everywhere, he was a friend of the people. Good old Bob.

The bus finally arrived, and indeed, the foreign-possibly-German girls got on with us. We validated our tickets, which is something we don't usually bother doing, but Bob had been so insistent about it we thought we'd better - otherwise we might show him up or something.

Then Bob appeared on the bus itself, just as the foreign-possibly-German girls were noticing that we had tickets and they didn't. Bob took control of the situation, having a word with the driver and sorting it all out. He took money off them, went to speak to the driver, brought back tickets for them, and then gave them their change. And he didn't even rip them off! I know! I was paying extra special attention and even counted the change as it was handed over!

Perhaps I should be more trusting. Bobs of the world must get a pretty raw deal.

Anyway, we chatted to Bob for a while, and then - after he had told us not to get off at the first beach stop because that beach was shingle, but instead take the next one which was sand - he jumped off. No doubt someone, somewhere, needed him.

Then we got talking to the foreign-possibly-German girls. It turned out they weren't German at all. I mean we should have known - they were all remarkably attractive. The clues were there.

It turned out they were Swedish.