Welcome To Italy

Casey writes:

When we booked tickets for the ferry from Albania to Italy, we thought we'd be entering a modern, efficient and exciting European country. Instead, we faced thirteen hours on a ferry with similarities to a Vietnamese refugee boat, followed by an immigration process at the Italian border port which was more chaotic than the recent Eritrean refugee mob attack at Calais!

Upon taking our seats for the nine hour overnight ferry journey, we watched as families with screaming children streamed in, in their hundreds. The parents seemed oblivious to the fact that their children were tearing up and down the aisles, screaming and yelling at the tops of their lungs. This was primarily because the parents entered arguing, also screaming and yelling at the tops of their lungs. Then, instead of taking their seats, these passengers started claiming sections of the carpet, on which to lie down and spread out their belongings. Soon, hundreds of bodies were strewn throughout the deck, with chairs being dismantled so that their bases could be used as mattresses. There was nowhere to walk, no way out in an emergency (but that didn't matter because there didn't seem to be any life jackets anyway) and definitely no possibility of sleeping. I turned my back for a second, leaving my bag on my seat, and the next thing I knew my own seat was being dismantled by a bloke so that his darling wife would have something soft to lay her head on while she slept on the floor and blocked the aisle. Needless to say, I snatched it back with plenty of attitude. It brought a new meaning to the phrase 'he stole my seat'... because he did... literally! At 3:30am, still unable to sleep due to the unnecessarily bright lights and crowds of people talking, I went for a walk and decided to use the loo. Mistake. All three of the toilets in the ladies' room were smeared with faeces. Yep, not just a forgotten flush job, but a seemingly purposeful attempt to disgrace the facilities, with no chance for anyone to use the toilets. Brilliant! I marched into the men's toilets, only to find that this time, two out of the three toilets had received the same fate. I used the only clean toilet on the entire deck, and slunk back to my seat, disgusted by my fellow Italian and Albanian passengers. Why didn't I just use the toilets on a lower deck? I would have if the stairs weren't blocked and full of sleeping passengers! So I sat the rest of the night in my seat, protecting it from the constantly marauding seat thieves, and even with a cardigan, jacket and two scarves, I couldn't arm myself against the air conditioning. Approximately six blankets were provided for the several hundred passengers, and Richard's attempt to get one for me was met by an angry Italian man ready for a fist fight.

Our ferry arrived at the Italian port of Bari at 11am, three hours late. Ok, I accept that the Italians aren't known for their punctuality, but I wanted my breakfast! Hungry and tired, we joined the queue of pushers and shovers to disembark. Once finally off the ferry, we thought we had escaped the worst of it... but we were wrong. We joined a massive crowd of hundreds of people - which I can only describe as pandemonium - as we attempted to queue for the immigration building. It was hot standing in the direct sun, and with people pushing and shoving with extreme force from every direction, we were stuck in a massive mob. The security guard realised his job was beyond him, and ran inside with his tail between his legs, leaving the crowd to pry open and jump the metal barricades and force themselves harder against the closed glass doors. There was yelling, wailing, crying, and plenty of anger. I could not believe we were in a seemingly developed European country. It felt third-world. Richard and I kept passing glances with smirks and raised eyebrows and an urge to burst out laughing. Every twenty minutes or so, the doors would open, and the frenzied mob would come alive once more. The only way to survive was to push as hard as we could, with all our might... otherwise we were sure to be trampled. An hour and a half in this pandemonium and my bags felt like they weighed a hundred kilos. I couldn't put them down, I couldn't sit down and I couldn't get out of the sun. At one point I may have used a fat Albanian man's stomach as a bag-rest, but in the crush I can't be completely sure if it was his stomach or his suitcase. Suddenly, in a final mad scramble of yelling, pushing and kicking, we were inside! The immigration official didn't even look at my passport; he just bent the corner back enough for a half hearted stamp and threw it back at me. Our bags were not even checked and the process was over in less than thirty seconds, leaving me flabbergasted as to why we were forced to wait outside for an hour and a half, with my fellow humans acting like animals.

Italy,you've given us a baptism of fire. I've always dreamed of visiting you, your beautiful land and your glamorous cosmopolitan cities. Instead, your security guards cowered away while a mob went wild on your shores. You sure have a lot of work to redeem yourself. All I can say is that you better make bloody good pizza!