Kalimba

Autumn Interrail 2024 — Story #2

Taken directly from my travel journal

Theme song while reading this entry: 🎵 Burning Love by Elvis Presley

Today is the day I meet my travel buddy, Job. Tall, blonde, unmistakably Dutch, and with a voice that sounds like Frank Sinatra reincarnated into a modern accent. Also, someone who is indefinitely in love with playing the Kalimba. A promising start of my month and a half long train adventure from Bulgaria, through Greece, all the way to the Netherlands and back to Bulgaria. Mostly by train, from time to time by bus.

I took the 10:30 bus from Serres to Thessaloniki, waving goodbye to my friend Nikos at the station. The ride was unexpectedly stunning – landscapes shifting like scenes from a sleepy Mediterranean film. The moment you cross the border, boom: palm trees. Nature, apparently, doesn’t care about geopolitics.

At the massive Thessaloniki bus station, I hopped onto the next bus headed for Ioannina, where Job would be waiting. I had accidentally taken someone else’s seat, but balance was restored when they happily took mine instead. I squeezed all my belongings between my legs: my overstuffed backpack, a tote bag full of life’s essentials, and my ukulele. Cozy is one word. Spine-crushing is another.

Our bus driver seemed to have a side gig delivering mysterious packages. Every now and then, he’d pull over to drop one off. At one point, we even had a tire change, and all passengers used the moment for a quick smoke break – because Greece. Despite everything, we arrived only one hour late, which in Balkan Time basically counts as early.

Finally, we reached Ioannina, passing a gorgeous lake that felt like a soft welcome into the next chapter of my journey. I carried my things through the streets for a 17-minute walk to the accommodation. As I approached the alley, Job peeked out the front door. He had a new haircut!

The apartment was surprisingly spacious: two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room… and my “bedroom,” which was actually more of a public hallway. “The community space”, as I called it – no door. Full exposure. Community-style sleeping.

Desperate for a shower, I handed Job my ukulele and rinsed off the travel dust. Afterwards, we spent a ridiculous amount of time battling the awful WiFi to download an episode of De Mol – the Belgian reality show that would soon become the spiritual mascot of our interrail. It was filmed right here, in Ioannina. A sign? Probably. 

Little did I know, Job would have the intention of recreating some iconic scenes from it, with me being the photographer.

We headed out for an evening walk, past Ottoman-era city gates overlooking the lake. Birds glided over the calm waters, and older Greek men strolled with their hands crossed behind their backs – the ultimate grandpa pose.

We snapped a picture of the Byzantine flag for Job’s growing flag collection, wandered through the city center, and bought groceries for dinner.

Back at the apartment, we cooked gnocchi, listened to 60s oldies, and sang along. Then came De Mol – chaotic, clever, addictive. I had no idea how obsessed we’d become with it.

Tired, we went to bed. I returned to my open-plan community sleeping space and drifted into a dream where my sister flew away in a hot air balloon to escape her demanding ship job. Symbolic? Who knows. The brain does its thing.

And so, the adventure began.

“I can’t spend any more time taking care of the mundane,
of what doesn’t matter.
Stop, look correct and handle with care,
Let go of the clutter.
We might be dead by tomorrow,
And yet we spend life chasing it away?
Regret, contempt, conflict and sorrow
And that’s how we live every day?
I pack my luggage and sail away,
Unsure of the better times.
How would it look like for me during the day?
How do I stay warm in the night?
In some place, far far away,
I might find all the answers.
For now, I will run, I will sing, I will play,
The rest I can throw in the gutter.”

The next day, I woke up early – far too early for a backpacker on holiday – and even made Job breakfast in bed. A sweet gesture, in theory. In practice, he still managed to wake up at 13:00, like a confused Greek-style Sleeping Beauty.

Meanwhile, I had an early-morning work call about sociocracy, which, for the record, is a very cool governance model… even if my brain was still half in gnocchi mode from the night before.

In the afternoon, we hopped on a tiny boat to the island of Ioannina. A couple of euros, a bit of lake breeze, and suddenly we were stepping onto an island dotted with seven monasteries. Naturally, this meant only one thing:
Job insisted we recreate key scenes from the Belgian show De Mol.

Monk: peaceful, serene, spiritual.
Job: posing dramatically in random places in the forest.

In one of the monasteries, we met an actual monk who gifted us lokum – soft, sugary, unexpected hospitality. We sat on a bench afterwards, watching the water ripple gently under the afternoon sun, feeling both extremely touristy and extremely blessed.

Then came the forest.
Ah yes.
The legendary Minotaur chase scene re-enactment.
Filming in the forest inbetween the trees for no reason whatsoever, except that a Belgian TV show filmed here once. Zero regrets.

We took the boat back, cooked dinner, then set out to find a specific bar from De Mol where an iconic scene had been filmed. Of course, when we found it… it was closed. No music, no movement, no magic – just a dark, silent disappointment.

So we did what any reasonable interrailers would do.
We sat by the bay and watched the moon paint the lake silver. And honestly?
It was perfect.

And the story continues…

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