I remember it the ship overflowing to capacity of people fleeing from Albania after the fall of the regime.
It is perhaps the first mental image I have of this country.
Albania, stuck in the middle, was invisible.
I don't remember if I ever posed the problem [and it's not a good thing]. I don't remember the treatment given to the twenty thousand to whom the landing was "granted". (I can imagine. And it's not a good thing)
In Bari, perhaps the memory of that landing marked forever the idea of the East.
Situation 1: boarding in Bari.
The large square of the bend of Marisabella, where one waits for embarkation towards Croatia, Montenegro, Albania, looks like a refugee camp.
I felt an immense shame.
Bari Italy, offers travelers (not everyone: cruise passengers have another terminal, another treatment) a show of dirt, disorganization, squalor.
The marquees, which have the sole merit of protecting them from the fierce sun, seem white from afar; instead they are filthy; the few stone benches where you can sit are encrusted with crap and very uncomfortable; the prefabricated toilets far exceed the limits of decency. Outside the aforementioned prefabricated buildings there are wash houses such as those found on the lowest category campsites.
I order a coffee in one of the refreshment points that boast the restaurant-bar sign. Before drinking it, I ask for water.
The bartender replies that "We don't give water." If we give it to you we must give it to everyone. "
Bari, Italy. What a shame.
Situation 1 bis: boarding in Durres.
Two black eagles on a red background enclose the inscription "Welcome to Albania" which overlooks the glass door of the modern structure of the ferry terminal at the port of Durres.
It seems to be at an airport. Air conditioning inside, rows of metal armchairs inside and outside, under the sloping roof (the eagle's wings, or rather, the dove).
Tourist office, beverage vending machine, bar, as well as customs posts. There are even two relaxing armchairs that lull after inserting a coin. The toilets are spotless. The shame experienced in Bari has a flare of return.
Durres / Bari 1 to 0.
Situation 2: landing in Durres.
Regardless of the arrival time, which depends on the shipping companies (not a veil but a pitiful blanket, please), the landing in Durazzo is quick and painless. Many border police booths await cars, so the queue to get out of the port involves a short wait.
If the agents were not one meter or more above the ground level, and the travelers one meter or more below, so it is necessary to get out of the car, raise the head, hold the documents raised - the forms of authority have a thousand ways of to reveal - it would be a perfect transition.
Situation 2 bis: landing in Bari.
Still disregarding the time of arrival (see above), and considering what is good and right to authorize only the driver to go to the garage-bridges to take the car, inviting passengers to wait on the quay, it is inhuman to leave children, the elderly and every being alive under the scorching sun for over 45 minutes.
Not even the appearance of a tarpaulin, a canopy, a pagliarella.
All crammed together waiting for the cars, once they get out of the belly of the ferry, make a wide circle to find themselves at the starting point.
The paradox is that two (only two) customs control posts are located right next to the point where the ferry docks, but even more paradoxical is that by making the cars go around, two columns are formed that hinder each other: on the one hand the cars that have to leave the ship (while the passengers are waiting in the sun), on the other those already exits that have to pass the checks.
I don't think a science arc is needed to guess that it would be enough to move the cages to the bottom of the loop path that the cars are forced to take to lighten the situation.
Waiting involves a good deal of patience. Waiting in situations of discomfort can lead to unusual reactions.
The shame experienced at embarking gets dressed up in fury.
Bari / Durres 0 to 1.
Bari, Italy. What a shock.
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