Mountain Ghost Town – Igoumenitsa – Raisin People

The first time we took a ferry from Greece to Italy, we drove to the port. Now driving to the port sounds like a perfectly simple venture, but it is not when a blonde is driving (mum) and an 11-year-old is reading the map (me).
So upon seeing the sign that said ‘Igoumenitsa’ we were all like YAY!

Then the glee came to a sudden halt around the time we were up a kilometre high cliff, clinging to the back of our seats and trying not to swerve off into the black abyss. (You know what’s not fun? Mountain drives at night. Learn from me!)
It should have taken about 2 hours, but because blonde driver thought it would be the best bet to go 10km per hour while anxiously smoking a cigarette, it took us more like 5 hours.
Seriously.

But in the mountain scattered along were tiny villages. Well, if a village is two tin shacks, a petrol pump leaning over a cliff and a donkey that looks like it has the plague, then it’s a village. And who inhabited these towns? Raisin people! These people clearly defied death, they were so wrinkled that they had wrinkles in their lines. One woman was so hunched over that you had to stand behind her to talk to her because her head was peering at you from under her ass!
And these people just walked the mountain with their walking-dead donkeys. I have no idea how they went the distance they did. There were no houses around for about a 20km stretch and there the Raisin People were, out collecting wood.

When we reached the end of the mountain I was so happy and vowed to never return to that road.
But we did. A month later. Map in my hand. Cigarette in hers.
At least it was daylight on the second go…

Driving Around Europe In A Tiny Orange Car

Back in 2005, because we’re abnormal and couldn’t just go to Disneyland like regular people, we decided that we would drive all the way from Greece through Italy, through France, up to Switzerland, back to France, down into Spain and all the way back again. Which we did. In a month. In a tiny orange car.
We stayed in camp sites, which we arrived at too late on a few occasions and ended up either sleeping in the car or on a wall (it made sense at the time).
We saw Rome, Pisa, Vatican City, Zurich, Nice, Geneva, Barcelona, Sitges, etc. and yet my favourite place was a tiny town in Italy called Angri beside Pompei. Where everyone had funny narrow heads. Standards?
Did I mention we did it twice? We did it twice.

Maybeimabnormal.com

Travelling Time – 13 years and counting!

I began travelling full-time when I was 6 years old. Obviously not by myself, otherwise this blog would be way cooler and my parents would either be dead or champions in neglectfulness and douchebaggery. Together with my older brother and madre, we set off from London and headed with hopes of glory to Greece.

Greece is a long story for another day, but it’s safe to say it included a lot of drama, feta, sunburn and malakies. Which is Greek for ‘bullshit’. You feel so intelligent now you can’t stop reading at this point, don’t you? Yeah, you do. You genius you ^_^

Somehow from having modestly awesome dreams for the Meditteranean, we ended up going to the following countries. All of them have not been lived in, yet all of them have been visited and considered: England, Scotland, Greece, Italy, France, Spain, Austria, Switzerland, Portugal, Tunisia, Bulgaria, Romania, Canada, U.S.A., Panama and Guadeloupe (where we are currently). Right now you’re asking yourself “Where are her marbles?” but I’m sure you’re feeling acceptably inadequate right now, right? No? Moving on.

Out of the countries listed, we have lived in England (6 years + another year when I was 12), Scotland (a total of about 2 years on three separate occasions, because it takes me that long to think maybefuckingnot), Greece (10 years, my longest time anywhere which ended with an abrupt welcome in 2012.