It’s 10:30 AM on a sunny summer morning when my wife Cris and I arrive at the courtyard of St Martin-in-the-Fields, just next to Trafalgar Square in London. We’re early, having gotten off the Tube one stop early at Embankment, which gave us the chance to grab an expensive coffee along the way. Once we arrive, I’m reminded that my entry fee covered refreshments, including free coffee. Oh well, the race hasn’t even started, and I’m already making costly mistakes.
We’re waiting here until 11:45, when the 2024 edition of the Lupine Race begins. What’s the Lupine Race, you might ask? In a nutshell, it’s a race across Europe using only overland public transport. No airplanes, no cars —just good ol’ trains, buses, and ferries. To prevent participants from planning their routes in advance, the race requires them to pass through several intermediate checkpoints, which are only revealed once the race begins.
The first edition of the race took place in 2023, traveling from London to Istanbul. Unfortunately, I only learned about it after it had happened through Simon Calder’s chronicle in The Independent. I immediately looked it up online and signed up for the second edition, which would cover the 1,892 km (1,175 miles) from London to Tirana.
The Checkpoint Reveal
Cris patiently sits patiently beside me, waiting for the race to start. I’m feeling quite nervous. While other racers trickle in and begin mingling, I sit quietly, staring at the red envelope containing the race pack, which we are strictly forbidden from opening until the race begins. Inside, of course, are the locations of the intermediate checkpoints.
Five minutes before the start, Race Director James Finnerty takes the stage. This year’s race theme is film, and the storyline behind the route is that a certain famous Austrian bodybuilder-turned-movie-star has lost the script for his latest movie, The Albanian Connection. At the first checkpoint in Bruges, each of the 180 participants will need to pick up one line from the script (we knew about this location in advance; otherwise, booking a seat on the Eurostar would have been impossible or prohibitively expensive).
Next, we’ll need to do some location scouting at the second checkpoint, where we can choose between:
- The Contra Dam in Switzerland, where 007 performs an impressive bungee jump stunt in the opening of GoldenEye.
- The Plönlein in Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany, featured in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
- The iconic Oberbaum Bridge in Berlin, seen in Run Lola Run.
After that, all racers must pass through the Austrian city of Graz and deliver their script line at the Palais-Hotel Erzherzog Johann, right in the city centre.
From there, we’re given another choice between two possible checkpoints:
- The Grand Hotel in Rimini, on Italy’s Adriatic Coast.
- Union Square in Timișoara, Romania.
Finally, the race will conclude in Tirana, the capital of Albania, at a spot just off Skanderbeg Square, the city’s main plaza.
I realise that this year’s checkpoints are indirect, most of them requiring noticeable detours from the shortest route to Tirana. It should be fun! I don’t have much time to think about the checkpoints now (Rothenburg-ob-der-what? Where in Romania is Timișoara?), because the race is starting, and it’s time to GO, GO, GO!
Leg 1: London - Bruges
It’s 11:45, and I start running with the other racers towards Leicester Square Tube station. I have booked a seat on the next Eurostar train to Brussels, departing at 13:01. I have plenty of time to get to St Pancras, as the ticket gates close 30 minutes before departure (in practice, it’s often later than that, but don’t use that advice and blame me if you miss your train). Still, I run, however, for two reasons: 1) I’ve been building up adrenaline while waiting for the race to start, and 2) the sooner I can sit down and start planning my route, the better.
I don’t have to wait long for a Piccadilly Line train, and thanks to the rollout of 5G in the Underground tunnels, I can start planning my route. The first leg is straightforward: ride the Eurostar to Brussels Midi, and from there, make a 14-minute connection to a Belgian Intercity train to Bruges. I know I’ll need to push my way out of the Eurostar platform in Brussels, as the exit is only via of lifts and a small staircase, but I think I should be able to make it if there are no delays on the Eurostar.
If all goes to plan, I should reach the checkpoint in Bruges’ city centre by 18:00. I’ve even already bought a local bus ticket from the station to the city centre.
Of all the second checkpoint options, my favourite is the Contra Dam. I vaguely remember it from the film, and I’m sure it must be quite spectacular. It’s also close on the map to Graz, and the Swiss route is far more reliable, as Swiss trains are famously punctual —something I can’t say about Germany. However, I quickly confirm my suspicion: the dam is too remote to be a viable option if I want to stay competitive.
Berlin is quite far away, but it offers excellent connections, including night trains. The more scenic route via Rothenburg is more direct on the map, but requires several changes between regional and intercity trains.
There’s not much time to keep researching, though, as the train arrives at King’s Cross St. Pancras, and it’s time to get out of the Tube. It brings back memories of morning rush-hour commutes, switching from the Victoria to the Northern Line among hundreds of people through the tunnel maze. Even though it’s Saturday, it’s no different this time, but I manage to push my way through, climbing on the left side of the escalators, silently cursing the tourists headed to Platform ¾, seemingly oblivious to the dozen signs telling them to stand on the right. Still, when I check the time, it’s 12:02. Fantastic.
It doesn’t take long to pass through security, and thanks to my Spanish passport, I’m able to skip the queue for non-EU citizens at French immigration. I make my way through the crowds lining up for the next Paris departure, buy a bottle of water (not bringing one from home is my second costly mistake), and find a seat where I can pull out my laptop and properly plan my itinerary. Surprisingly, the station Wi-Fi works, albeit slowly, as you’d expect. In crowds like this, mobile data is useless, so I have to be patient.
You may be surprised that I’m carrying a laptop in a race where packing light is key, but I think it’s been invaluable. I’m still only travelling with a small backpack, but there’s so much more I can do with a big screen and keyboard compared to just a phone.
By the time my train begins boarding, I’ve finalised the first part of my plan: I’m going via Rothenburg. It’ll involve a night bus from Belgium to Germany and several trains across Germany, which isn’t ideal, but I prefer this route to the Berlin option. Rothenburg looks lovely, and I’ve never been there. Plus, the shorter distance and multiple connection options are a bonus.
As soon as I find my seat on the Eurostar, I plug in my phone charger. I can’t afford not to charge my phone, battery pack, laptop, or earbuds (in that order of priority) whenever I get the chance. A couple of minutes later, the person next to me arrives, and while moving to his window seat, he manages to destroy my USB adaptor with his leg. Thank God I carry a spare.
The bad news onboard is that there’s no phone reception, and the train Wi-Fi isn’t working for me at all. I anxiously wait for the train to leave, hoping to get a signal once we’re out of the station, refreshing web pages in the meantime to no avail.
I sigh with relief when the train departs on time, and during the journey, I manage to plan most of my route to Tirana, switching between the Wi-Fi and my phone’s data, refreshing everything a dozen times until it works. I even miraculously manage to book a night bus while I’m inside the Channel Tunnel. Meanwhile, my seatmate, an American visiting Europe for the first time, keeps asking questions about trains and borders, mentioning how cool it’d be to drive his car (which I imagine is some massive pickup truck) as fast as the train.
At 16:38, we arrive at Brussels Midi. I jump off the train, trying to overtake as many people as possible. The station is just as I remembered it: there’s a massive chokepoint exiting the Eurostar area, but I manage to reach the platform for my train to Bruges, which departs at 16:52.
Once aboard, I panic slightly as the departure time passes and the train remains stationary. Five minutes later, however, we’re moving, and I realise there’s no need to worry. I have just over an hour in Bruges, and the station is close to the main square, where the checkpoint is.
It’s time to polish the final details of my route. I’ve decided to take the Italian option, passing through Rimini and taking a ferry from Bari to Albania. The overland route via Timișoara looks interesting, but there’s no reliable way to cross from Timișoara to Serbia, with every option seemingly involving different buses and a shuttle across the border. As much as I try (and I will try again several times in the next day and a half), I can’t find a route through the Balkans that is faster than the ferry. Which isn’t ideal, as I’ll easily reach Bari by Monday afternoon, but the only ferry that day departs at 23:00. The hour-long journey passes quickly, and I’m still pondering this when we arrive in Bruges.
Getting off the train, I realise I’m at the opposite end of the platform from the exit, and I am glad to have a lengthy connection in Bruges. I don’t dawdle anyway. I run from the station to the bus stop and, luckily, catch a bus within minutes. After a brief sprint through Bruges’ pedestrianised streets —feeling like I’m in a spy movie chase— I reach the checkpoint at 18:05. It takes me a minute to find Bob, the Lupine Travel rep, as I was expecting him to wear one of the bright red race t-shirts. I copy my script line into my notes app and head back to the station.
With the checkpoint cleared, and having almost an hour before my next train, I decide to walk back to the station and enjoy the city. I’ve been to Bruges before, but its fairytale charm still captivates me. I take my mind off the race and soak in the atmosphere for the next half hour.
Leg 2: Bruges - Rothenburg ob der Tauber
While waiting for my train to Eastern Belgium, scheduled at 19:02, I decide to book my ticket for the ferry that’s going to take me, two days later, from the port of Bari in Italy to Durres in Albania, in case they sell out. The only option seems to be provided by GNV, although it is sold by other shipping companies.
After pondering about it for a while, I decide not to buy a seat ticket for €50, instead splurging €125 for a cabin with sea view, which is only slightly more expensive than an interior one. I know that the route I have just planned is not necessarily the one I will end up taking, but I still feel pretty confident in that ferry being my most likely option to reach Albania, as the route through Timișoara seems considerably slower, and there doesn’t seem any other one arriving early from Bari or any other port in Italy.
This will be the costliest mistake I made in the race, but oblivious of that fact I get a cold Coke Zero from one of the station vending machines to celebrate completing my plan. I try to start making the most of the 20 minutes I have left until my train arrives by preparing a spreadsheet with my itinerary, so I can access everything (train numbers, times, PDFs of tickets…) from a single place. I now have a plan, I only need to start executing it and continue to improve it as much as possible, adapting along the way if I face any hurdles.
The train comes packed, as I had already experienced in previous travels through Belgium, and I know there’s not going to be a way to grab a seat until we arrive to Brussels. I decide to take my mind of the race for a bit, put my earbuds in, and look at the Belgian countryside for the next hour, relaxing as much as I can while standing or seating in the train doorstep.
I’m bound to the city of Hasselt, which is just 20 km away from the Belgian border. I arrive there with a seven minute delay, at 21:13. Not that I’m in a hurry: my night bus to Frankfurt doesn’t depart until 00:05. I walk into town, wondering why the areas around train stations, at least in Europe, always seem to be so sketchy.
The streets of the city centre are decorated for the Virga Jesse festival, a religious festivity only held every 7 years, featuring the procession of an image of the Virgin Mary. Looking at the ornaments, I think to myself that it doesn’t seem too different from a Spanish verbena after all.
After wondering through very empty streets, I arrive to the Market Square, where there’s finally some people around. Travelling alone, and being a little tired, I give in to my worst instincts and decide to get some food from somewhere where I can order through a screen. My options seem to be a place called ‘French Tacos’ and KFC, and I’m ashamed to admit that I went to the later. Not that the other one was a better option, to be honest. While waiting for my sad chicken wrap to arrive, my hopes are shattered when I open the WhatsApp group shared by all racers and see that someone has posted a photo of himself in front of Cologne Cathedral just before 21:00.
That’s bad. They are 100 km ahead of me, and there are a lot more transport options out of Cologne than from Hasselt, where my only real option is the bus I’m taking. What am I going to do if it gets cancelled or severely delayed? A little bit later, I would realise that it probably didn’t matter. Being ahead at this point probably was important for the Berlin route, but I doubt there would be any way of getting to Rothenburg before my scheduled arrival at 8:51.
Still, I chastise myself. I have put myself in a weaker position by not questioning my route’s obvious flaws: one hour in Bruges? Yes, I had time to admire the sights, but at what cost? 3 hours in Hasselt? Why couldn’t I have taken a bus to Frankfurt from Brussels, where I could have alternative routes if I needed them? Or where at least I would have something to do instead of roaming in circles at night through a Belgian city I’ve never heard before without much to do. On the other hand, wandering aimlessly through Brussels at night didn’t seem very appealing anyway.
And with more than 2 hours to kill, I do precisely that, walking in circles around the city centre. I reminisce of my student days, where on late nights out I would have to wait to 7:30 for the metro to open to go back home, trying not to think about how I maybe had lost the race on the first day. At least it’s not raining…
And, of course, five minutes later, it starts to rain. Thankfully, it’s just a drizzle, as I had packed for summer weather and wasn’t carrying an umbrella or anything to cover myself. I’m quite glad that I always carry a waterproof cover for my backpack, which I promptly put on, knowing that my clothes, electronics, and passport are safe.
A little bit before 23:00, I get a notification from FlixBus: my bus to Frankfurt is going to be delayed by at least 32 minutes. I expected as much, as some people had boarded it earlier and where sharing stories on the WhatsApp group about having to give directions to the driver and a very circuitous route around Brussels. While I was feeling bad about my planning for day one, I still was grateful that I was only boarding that bus in Hasselt and not riding it for longer than I needed to.
After having circled the entire city centre of Hasselt at least three times, where I encountered a vigil in the Virga Jesse Basilica –quite a beautiful, albeit spooky thing, hearing chanting from outside in the middle of an otherwise empty and completely quiet street, I decide to make my way back to the station at 23:30.
It starts raining in earnest, but thankfully I’m able to take a seat in one of the local bus shelters. I had been smart enough to find the FlixBus stop when I first arrived, so I didn’t have to look for it in the darkness under the rain.
Trying to learn my lesson, I start researching again, trying to make up for some of the lost time. Although the bus is delayed for almost 45 minutes now, it’s expected to make up the time and reach Frankfurt at the scheduled time of 5:30 AM. I manage to find a way to get there 50 minutes earlier, by stepping off the bus at the Cologne Bonn Airport and catching a train there. However, I can’t find any connection departing earlier than my original 06:19 train to Würzburg.
The bus eventually arrives at 00:45, and I jump in with a couple of fellow racers that ask me what I’ve been doing in Hasselt for more than three hours. I honestly wander that myself too. It’s already Sunday, of course. Day two of the race.
Aboard, everybody is already sleeping. I take my jumper out of my backpack and fold it to use it as a pillow, setting myself up for sleep too. I find this much more comfortable, adjustable, and less prone to cause tons of sweat and neck pain than one of those horrific U-shaped neck pillows. I set an alarm at 2:30, before reaching Cologne Airport, and another one at 5:20, as I definitely don’t want to accidentally oversleep and wake up in Prague, the final destination of the bus.
I can’t sleep though, and I am not really surprised by that. I put my earbuds back on and look through the window, trying to see if we gain some time arriving in Maastrich, the next stop, which is just a little over 20 km away. We actually do, which is encouraging. If we get to Cologne Airport roughly in time, then it won’t be necessary to change to a train there to get to Frankfurt, and I can just stay on the bus. I much prefer that option, as it’s warm an cosy in there, as opposed to having to wait for more than an hour and forty minutes at Frankfurt Station at that time of the morning. I’m still awake when we reach the Airport, and I’m quite glad that we depart there much closer to schedule than I could have though possible back in Hasselt. I’m finally able to sleep, even if it’s just for less than two hours.
At around 5:30, we arrive to Frankfurt, the bus having pulled a trick not often seen by making up a really long delay. I guess the empty roads at night make that sort of thing possible. Anyway, it’s time to head from the bus to the train station, which is just around the corner. There’s plenty of people around, but once again I wonder why it’s always so sketchy around train stations… well, specially this one, I have to say.
I know next to nothing about Frankfurt, only that it’s the financial capital of Germany, where the ECB is headquartered, and consequently where that big Euro sign that pops in the news every time there are economic problems in Europe is. I won’t be able to learn more this time, though, apart from admiring it’s quite grandiose train station. Well, Hauptbahnhof I guess.
I have a little time kill before my train, but I decide against having breakfast: I’m not feeling hungry at all, actually quite the opposite, the prospect of some station food at this hour of the morning is a bit revolting. I refuse to pay for the station toilet, I’ll just wait for the train to go and wash my teeth. Until then, I do get a pack of chewing gum from a vending machine, for my own sake and the one of any poor soul that comes within 3 feet of me.
I board the 6:19 ICE21 to Würzburg, knowing full well that I’m going to take seven different trains through Germany today. Praying that the usual shenanigans of Deutsche Bahn leave me unscathed, I finally make it into the train’s washroom and freshen up a little bit. That’s better. My bottle of deo is going to have to hard job at least until Monday evening, as I won’t be encountering a shower until the ferry. They say hygiene is the first casualty of travel.
While I look at the train display and fantasise for a second on how easy it would be to ride it to its final destination, Vienna, and make it to Graz skipping the next checkpoint entirely, I come back to earth quite soon. My way into Rothenburg is as straightforward as possible, which is to say: not much. This year, the organisers of the race have decided to set the checkpoints a little bit away from the most direct routes, which is great as it allows for a greater degree of variability.
Rothenburg is the perfect example of that: situated in quite a good place coming from Bruges to Graz, it is however not located on the main railway. Instead, a little branch line connects to it in a station called Steinach (b Rothenburg Ob Der Tauber), that serves just as a point of interchange. The rail line from there to Rothenburg proper is serviced by a shuttle train service that runs once every hour in each direction, arriving at nine minutes to the hour and leaving five minutes past.
My path is clear for now: change at Würzburg to a regional train bound for Treuchtlingen, change at Steinach and arrive at Rothenburg at 8:51. Now comes the interesting part. The soonest I can theoretically make it out of Rothenburg is 9:05, but that is going to be almost impossible. The checkpoint, situated in the picturesque Plönlein ensemble, is more than a kilometre away from the station. It could be doable taking a taxi right out of the station (the race rules allow taxis within city limits), if there were any, and back. However, we need to do two separate things to clear the checkpoint: taking a selfie in front of the Plönlein and getting a receipt from a local business. I don’t think all of that is doable in a 14 minute timeframe on a Sunday morning in a small German town, where getting said receipt is not going to be as straightforward as it would be in a bigger city.
The next train leaves Rothenburg at 10:05. That one should be easy to make, and there is a route that would allow me to get to Graz at 19:14, going via Nuremberg and Linz. The problem? Seat reservations for the German high-speed train between Nuremberg and Linz are sold out online. I think can book a ticket outside the Interrail pass, but it would be over £100 (later I would discover that that wasn’t possible either, as the reservation process would stop when no available seats were found). I would spend that kind of money If I absolutely needed to, but apart from arriving earlier to Graz I wouldn’t achieve much.
Let me explain: I obviously want to get to Graz as soon as possible, in case I need to recalculate my route or to leave room for delays. However, as far as I can see, I can’t get out of there until at least 21:00, and I have no way to get to the next checkpoint, Rimini, until 09:11 on Monday.
My current plan is to take an Intercity train from Steinach to the Southern Bavarian city of Rosenheim, and from there hop on a train to Salzburg, where I can connect to Graz, getting there at 20:14. It’s a shame I can’t get an earlier train to Salzburg, as I have almost 2 hours of slack: I well could leave Rothenburg on the 11:05 train to Steinach and still make all of my connections. I won’t, of course, as you need to move as fast as you can to account for possible future delays.
On my way to Rothenburg I realise there’s another option I haven’t considered before. There seems to be a bus at 09:32 from there to to a nearby town, Dombühl, which is in a different rail line, connecting directly to Nuremberg, where I could get by around 12:30. It is an interesting possibility, although I would need to find a way out of Nuremberg that didn’t involve the sold-out train to Graz, which doesn’t seem highly likely.
Anyway, at 7:32 we arrive in Würzburg and is time to change to the regional train, which is already waiting on its platform. I start to realise that there are a lot of fellow racers travelling down this exact route, more than I had expected. I relax for a bit looking at the beautiful mountain landscapes, change trains at Steinach, and before I know it we’re pulling into Rothenburg. It’s showtime.
Here’s when I truly realise how many racers are following an itinerary similar to mine, I’d estimate around 20. Some of them run to catch a taxi, undoutebly trying to make it back in time to catch the same train back to Steinach at 09:05. Most of us start walking to the checkpoint. It must be quite a sight. In a rural German town, early on a quiet and rainy Sunday morning, suddenly appear a group of people walking more or less together, most of them wearing bright red t-shirts.
Before heading into town, I first try to enter the station building: the Nuremberg to Linz train that I mentioned earlier appeared fully sold out in every place I looked online, but perhaps I could still get a seat from the station’s ticket machine. No luck: the station hall is closed.
Rothenburg is really beautiful town, and I regret not having time to properly explore it, but at the same time I’m glad that the race has discovered this medieval town to me. Quoting the Austrian body-builder-turned-movie-star the race is themed around of, I’ll be back.
At 9:05 I arrive to the checkpoint, which is situated in the Plönlein, probably the most scenic spot in town and the location shown in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I take the required selfie in front of it and leave, searching for an ATM to get a receipt. I locate three in a decent location going back to the station.
It starts raining more intensely, and the first ATM doesn’t give receipts. The next one refuses to accept any of my cards. The third one doesn’t either. It’s 09:25. It’s going to be difficult to get that 09:32 bus out of here, but I never really seriously thought about taking it. I hadn’t committed not to take it either, so not being able to make that decision is a bit frustrating.
Having arrive just opposite the train station, I look to the other side of the street and spot a gas station just a few dozen metres ahead. Great, I’ll definitely be able to get a receipt there, and get something caffeinated while I’m at it. I exit the gas station shop at 9:32, and I mentally abandon any hopes of catching the bus. Only days later would I find out that, in fact, to get that bus you had to call at least 90 minutes before departure, to a phone line that only opens at 09:00.
Arriving to the train station, I see the red Deutsche Bahn ticket machine right there on the platform. I’ll blame sleep deprivation for not spotting it earlier. It doesn’t really matter, though. Tickets are sold out there too.
Leg 3: Rothenburg ob der Tauber - Graz
At 10:05 I take the small train out of Rothenburg to Steinach, the station on the main rail line. According to my original plan of reaching Salzburg changing trains in Rosenheim, I don’t need to, since the next train out of Rothenburg at 11:05 would be enough, as the direct train to Rosenheim doesn’t leave Steinach untill 11:58.
While I would love to wait sightseeing around Rothenburg, as the Steinach station is literally in the middle of the countryside, I know that moving as fast as I can allows me to stay ahead of delays as much as possible. And by taking this train, I can get to Rosenheim half an hour earlier, with a more convoluted route involving transferring in Treuchtlingen and Augsburg.
There’s also a second reason to leave Rothenburg now: I have spotted a different route to Salzburg. For this, I would need to go back to Würzburg, then take a high speed train to Munich, where the train to Salzburg I originally planned on catching in Rosenheim actually departs from. While this route involves more transfers (at least if going directly to Rosenheim), and going back first, the connections are made in bigger rail hubs, where I could have more options to get out if I became stranded because of delays or cancellations.
Pondering about which route to take, the train arrives to Steinach at the scheduled time of 10:20. I need to decide fast: if I’m going to take the Rosenheim route, I need to take the 10:24 train to Treuchtlingen to avoid waiting for one and a half hours. Otherwise, I could take the train back to Würzburg at 10:33.
I finally decide to let the train to Treuchtlingen go. Going through Würzburg and Munich, able to jump to another route into Austria if I need to, seems a safer option.
I arrive in Würzburg att 11:16, having plenty of time to catch my high speed train to Munich at 11:31. A little bit more than half an hour later, a slightly ironic moment happens when I pass through Steinach (b Rothenburg ob der Tauber) for the third time. Yup, I’ve been down, up, and down again this same railway for the past four and a half hours, and I’m really glad I’m finally able to leave it behind.
Sleep catches up with me on the way to Munich, and I spend most of the time nodding off, instead of visiting the Restaurant cart as I had intended. I also start to look for a faster alternative to reach Tirana from Graz, especially changing the route to go through Timișoara instead of Rimini. Could I have missed something?
After a pretty uneventful transfer in Munich, I board the train to Salzburg. This one is operated by ÖBB, the Austrian company, and I realise that I haven’t had any significant issues with the German trains in all day. I don’t want to jinx it anyway, as I still have more than an hour to travel through German Railways.
Surprisingly, the Austrian rolling stock has carts where seats aren’t arranged in rows, but in old school compartments! I welcome the novelty for this relatively short ride, but looking at that legroom I still pray that I have no one sitting in front of me. Being tall has its disadvantadges.
We arrive into Salzburg, and I just get a slight glimpse of the city as the train crosses over the Salzach River. I’ve never been to Austria before, and it’s been in my bucket list for the longest time. Planning to just step outside of Graz station for a quick trip to the checkpoint there, I won’t really be able to say that I’ve been to Austria after this trip. I need to come back here properly.
I step out of the station for a couple of minutes to stretch my legs a bit and get a bit of fresh air. The station building is quite nice, with a white façade. I don’t have time for much in a 15 minute connection, so I head back and board the 16:16 Intercity train to Salzburg.
The ride is going to take four hours, and to my dismay I find that the whole train is laid out with opposing seats, and quite close at that. Why on earth would someone design a train carriage like that? Do Austrians enjoy staring at the face of strangers for hours on end? Unfortunately this time the train is almost full, so I just get ready to compress my legs for a long period of time. It won’t be long til I yearn for a good ol’ middle seat on a Ryanair flight. At least there I don’t have constantly be alert to avoid kicking someone inadvertently.
The train crosses the country from West to East, across the Alps, meandering through different mountain railways. A couple of times, it actually pulls into a remote branch line before reversing to join the mainline again. The views are gorgeous.
I’m still trying to figure out a faster way from Graz to Tirana via the Balkans, as I have made sure that I’m already on the fastest Italian route. I also realise then that my ferry ticket cannot be used to board. I need to check-in somewhere beforehand. There’s just a cryptic message in the ticket PDF, but it doesn’t say where one actually has to go to do the check-in. Neither does the shipping company’s website, because why would it?
Looking online (not in any official source, mind you, as there are none, instead relying on traveler’s reports), it seems that the check-in location is two kilometres away from the main port entrance. It appears on Google Maps as GNV (the name of the shipping company), so that looks legit. Apparently, the check-in needs to be done at least three hours before the scheduled departure time. I’m glad that I figured that out ahead of time, as I initially had planned to make a longer stop in Rimini to do some sightseeing –especially of Alberti’s Tempio Malatestiano, and eat a piadina or even some ragù. Now it seems that I will need to leave as soon as possible.
It seems that I’m not the only one just learning about the confusing check-in procedures for the ferry, as people start to send questions to the shared WhatsApp group.
I furiously change from one tab to another on my phone, glancing occasionally to the window to catch a different breathtaking mountainous landscape. Unfortunately it seems that my side of the train is always facing obstacles, so, to avoid staring constantly over the four passengers seating at the other side, I’m forced to get up from time to time and look from the door window. Not that I’m complaining, as stretching my legs feels fantastic being stuck on that seat.
I can’t find any route through the Balkans. I find quite good connections into Albania from multiple places, especially North Macedonia, but the difficult part is getting to any of those places from Timisoara. After looking for what must have been close to two hours, I concede my defeat and decide to fully commit to my Italian plan. Time to sit back and not relax too much, as I need to remind myself constantly to keep my legs in place.
It’s already night when we arrive into Graz. The way to the checkpoint is quite straightforward, as there is a tram that gets you there in just 10 minutes. I try to buy them online, to no avail, as I haven’t seen an app as terrible as Graz Municipal Transport’s one in quite some time. I need to remind myself that no everything has to be booked online. Getting a ticket from the machine at the stop takes just seconds and a tram pulls up almost immediately. I’m once again surprised by the size of the pack of fellow racers that start to drip into the tram stop.
Nine minutes later and I’m in front of the Palais-Hotel Erzherzog Johann. This is a staffed checkpoint, but there won’t be anyone here until tomorrow, so a selfie is used for validation.
The other competitors opt for the tram to go back to the station. I instead decide to take the the 20 minute walk. It feels really good to stretch my legs for a bit, and I have plenty of time before my next train.
Leg 4: Graz - Rimini
Back at Graz station I grab a couple of sandwiches from the supermarket there, pocketing the receipt as further proof of my pass there. Oh, the delights of European cuisine. Right, let’s get to my plan to reach Rimini. First, I need to catch a train to the Slovenia’s second largest city, Maribor. There’s one at 21:01, however it requires seat reservations and those are sold out. I still could book a normal ticket for just 14 Euros, but I decide against it, since the next train, scheduled at 21:38, would get me there 45 minutes before my next connection, a night bus to Venice (well, Venezia Mestre, aka Bad Venice). The earlier train doesn’t unblock any other connection, so I don’t see the point of waiting at night at the Maribor bus station, which I’m sure is lovely, and paying money for the privilege.
For some reason I expected an Austrian-operated train, instead this is operated by the Slovenian national railway, which is great because they seem to have more sensible ideas on how to place seats on carriages.
10 minutes into the ride, still in the outskirts of Graz the train suddenly stops to a halt. I don’t think to much of that. Perhaps a faster train is overtaking us or whatever. However, I then glance on the information display and I see the announcement there: 47 minute delay. That’s bad. Really bad. Theoretically, it makes it impossible for me to catch the night bus, potentially leaving me stranded overnight without a way into Italy. That’s not a sure thing anyway, as FlixBuses rarely run on time, specially in intermediate stops, and I’m trying to catch a service that actually originates in Budapest, going all the way to Milan.
After a minute of panic, I start to draft my alternatives. I can’t leave this train, as the intermediate stations would leave me definitely stranded overnight in small towns, but it’s actually not that bad. I could continue on this same train all the way to Ljubliana and from there catch a different night bus to Italy, arriving in Rimini just minutes after my original plan thanks to faster connections. In any case, the ferry schedule means that, as long as I’m able to go through Rimini and into the port of Bari by 20:00, I’m good.
A while later, however, the announced delay disappears from the screen as suddenly as it app and I go back into the calmness of following my original plan. Arriving into Maribor, I spot again a smaller bunch of racers, and we introduce ourselves.
I meet lovely people, like Alex, Ben, and the father and son team of David and Viktor. We make our way from the train to the bus station, where I finally relent and pay to use a public toilet. While waiting for our bus, we chat about the race an plot alternative crossings through the Adriatic that would theoretically exploit loopholes in the race rules: jet skis? blimps? swimming really really fast?
The bus finally arrives with just 20 minutes of delay, and it turns out than me and Alex, who is even taller than me, share the same row of seats. We cramp into position and I’m secretly glad of learning that he actually is getting of earlier in Trieste, so with a bit of luck I’ll be able to stretch my legs a bit for the second half of the ride. My mind is too tired to think too much into that, does he know something that I don’t? It doesn’t really matter I guess, my plan is quite solid. I don’t even bother
I should be able to sleep immediately, as I’m probably running on just about three hours of total sleeping time since Saturday morning. Unsurprisingly, I can’t. Soon, the clock strikes midnight. It’s Monday, day three of the race. I finally find a podcast that sends me straight into sleeping.
Around two hours later, Alex, my seat companion, wakes me up from what must have been quite deep sleep. Not completely aware of my surroundings, I look up to find an Italian border policeman with the boldest frosted tips I’ve seen since probably the early oughts.
“Passaporto?” I ask with a very sleepy voice.
“Passaporto”, he promtly replies.
I give him my battered red Spanish passport, he looks at it for half a second and gives it back to me. So much for the Schengen Area, I guess. There are a few tourists from the Americas on our bus, and they are not as lucky as us. They get their passports taken out of the bus for inspection.
Alex and I start looking uneasily at the clock, as we are already quite delayed and we don’t know how much this unexpected border control is supposed to last. After what feels like an eternity, but was probably like 15 minutes, the police comes back into the bus and starts handing back the passports. We leave after the time we were supposed to arrive in Trieste.
It takes longer than I had supossed to get into Trieste. The city is just across the border, but to get into the station the bus has descended through a mountain road and crossed the entire city. I can’t believe there was a better route to get there. We arrive to the stop with a delay of more than 40 minutes, and the driver doesn’t seem at all bothered, taking his sweet time to restart the journey. “It’ll be OK”, I tell to myself, “we’ll probably make back the time on the highway to Venice”.
We pull into Venice Airport, the stop just before mine, with still 40 minutes of delay. I had felt safe with my connection time of 38 minutes, but now it seems that I’ll be one or two minutes late for that. I look for an alternative route to Rimini, and find a connection an hour later that would still leave me in Rimini just a couple of minutes behind my original schedule. That is of course made possible by the use of two high speed trains to and from Bologna, the connecting point. I sigh as that means losing my original €15 seat reservation from Bologna to Rimini and forking an additional €30 for the two new high speed trains.
I share my woes with fellow racer David, sitting just behind me, and he points out the fact that he’s taking a regional train at 05:53 and then connecting in Bologna to the same train I had originally booked. I thank him so much for the help (it wouldn’t have affected my position in the race significantly, but has saved me quite a bit of money), and feel so stupid for searching in the Interrail app for trains from Venezia Mestre to Rimini instead of to Bologna, which would have revealed me this instantly. Looking back at this moment now, I’m not so harsh on myself: it was, after all 5 AM and I was running on 5 hours of sleep after two days. Oh, I’m so looking forward to boarding the ferry. The prospect of a bed and a shower gives me strength.
We finally arrive in Venezia Mestre at 05:40, two minutes after my original train had departed. Nevermind, I’m soon back on track in the 05:53 Regionale Veloce to Bologna Centrale. And I’m cold. Really really cold, even though I’m wearing my jumper. The train A/C is set to full blast, in anticipation for an August day in Italy, but it’s 6 AM, so it’s cold outside, and the train is literally empty. I leave my original seat on the upper floor and go through the train until I find a slightly warmer spot. As we pass through Padova and Ferrara, the train slowly fills in, until it arrives fully packed in Bologna at 07:46.
I step out of the station for five minutes to take a look at the characteristic red buildings and porticoes. I’ve been in Bologna not that long ago, and for the first time since Bruges I don’t feel remorseful passing through some beautiful place without taking the slightest look at it.
The 08:00 Intercity leaves the Station. I have just realised, looking on the departure boards, that this train goes all the way from Milan, in the North, to Lecce, in the far South. It takes more than 11 hours to make the full journey and I’m quite awed. This service acts quite literally as the backbone of transport across the slender boot-shaped Italian peninsula.
A few kilometres short of Rimini, the train crosses over the Rubicon River, which I find quite appropriate as we are entering the final stretch of the race. Alea iacta est.
We arrive to Rimini at 09:11 and the rain is pouring furiously outside the station. I buy an umbrella from one of the astute vendors that congregate in the station entrance, and make my way to the checkpoint, the Grand Hotel, situated on the seaside. I have looked up the way from the station, and it’s just a straight line, 1 km down from the station. A few metres on the way, I decide to double-check on Google Maps, just in case, and yeah, it’s on a straight line, but from the other side of the station.
I finally make it to the checkpoint, stopping on the way back at a Carrefour Express to get a little bit of caffeine and a receipt to complete my checkpoint validation. I arrive to the station with 40 minutes to spare. I won’t have time to explore Rimini in full as I had planned initially, before I discovered the whole carfuffle that was boarding the ferry in Bari; but at least I’m going to be able to see the Tempio Malatestiano. Having studied Art History at Uni, this has been in my bucket list for the longest time.
Leg 5: Rimini - Tirana
The finish line is approaching slowly but surely, but it still feels quite far away. For now, it’s time to wait for the 10:40 Freccia Rossa high-speed train to Bari, which should get me there almost 5 hours later. It’s a long journey, crossing most of Italy’s East Coast from North to South.
The train has a 25 minute delay, which doesn’t bother me too much. Once again, as long as I can make it into the port of Bari before 20:00, it’ll be fine. I pass the time chatting and getting to know more racers that are traveling in the same train, including Bram, who ended second last year after a breathtaking final sprint in Istanbul.
Eventually the train pulls into the station, and I go to my seat. It’s time to ensure that my plan for the final section of the race is spot-on. First, it’s the matter of the check-in procedure in Bari. There are contradictory sources online. Some say to go directly to the location marked as GNV ticket office, 2 km away from the main port entrance. Others say to go directly to that main entrance (marked as the one in front of the poetically named Titti Twister Pizzeria), from where it’s possible to take a free shuttle bus that takes you to the ticket office. Not knowing which of those is right, I check the bus routes from the station. It makes sense to check at the port entrance first and then go to the ticket office if needed, as the rout is more straightforward that way.
With that out of the way, I set to check if the 23:00 GNV ferry to Durres is the only one departing today. Some things I’ve read make me think that may not be the case. I go to the port website, which must have been last updated in 2006, and check the departures… and to my dismay, there’s actually another ferry, also departing at 23:00.
How could I’ve missed that? Well, I actually know how. I had seen a few listings for a ferry departing from Bari at 23:00, but soon discovered that they seemed to be selling tickets for the same boat. That was, in fact the case with Adria, another shipping company, which was selling tickets for the same GNV ferry. Trying to finish my plans as quickly as possible on Saturday, I had set myself for a great case of confirmation bias, and didn’t notice that one of those listings was different.
The situation is interesting. Both ferries have a scheduled departure time, but the one I’ve just discovered, the Rigel II, operated by Ventouris, is supposed to arrive to Durres at 08:00. The GNV Blu, the one I had originally booked, is scheduled to arrive at 08:45. I know better than to trust ferry schedules, though. I already have experience with how lax they are. So I need real data. I know that there are websites that track ships, so I Google “flightradar24 for ships” and get directed to marinetraffic.com. I find both ships in there, but the data for the last voyages is locked behind a paywall. It’s ok, I think, I don’t mind paying 3 or 4 pounds to access the information… to my dismay, the plan that would reveal that costs €89 a month!! Ok, let’s look elsewhere.
Fortunately, whoever is behind marinetraffic.live has decided to put out the data for the past 7 days for free. I painstakingly copy it to a spreadsheet as the website does some weird thing with its table formatting, but in no time I have it ready. Both vessels only do the Bari -Durres route and back, so comparing them will be easy.
My first instinct is to look for actual departure times and see how close to schedule they are. Two seconds later, I realise that, unless there is some massive a consistent difference screaming to me, this doesn’t make too much sense, as it will come down to mostly luck. No, what I need to find is which vessel is faster. And to my surprise, there is a big difference. One of them does the 120 nautical miles journey in 7.85 hours on average, while the other takes 9.06. There are no outstanding samples in the dataset, so this is feels quite conclusive.
Of course, the one that is noticeably faster is the one that I didn’t book. I set myself to swiftly amend that mistake. First, I need to check if there are actually tickets available on the Rigel II, which fortunately there are. Now, I just need to make peace with the fact that I’m going to spend €125 on a journey for which I already have tickets for. I could of course pay less than half that and travel on a seat on deck, but getting a bed and a shower tonight is non-negotiable for me at this point. I know it’s worth it. The pack of racers arriving tonight at the Port of Bari is going to be quite sizeable, and, if my suspicions are correct, a lot of them would have made the same mistake I had and booked a ticket on the GNV blu. This is the single factor that could get me a spot on the top ten finishers.
Now, let me give a bit of context. I didn’t entry the race thinking I was going to be able to win it. I’m just the kind of nerd that thoroughly enjoys putting together itineraries, puzzling together different bits of information, and the challenge of doing it with no preparation made it all the more exciting. I knew that most people don’t actually try to compete for the win, instead doing the more sensible thing and stopping between trains and buses to actually experience something from the places we pass through, so I thought that if I didn’t do too badly I had a solid chance of finishing among the first 20 or 25. Of course, that I didn’t think I was going to dispute the win didn’t mean that I was going to try to. And now the chance to do that was just a button and a hundred odd quid away. There’s nothing to think about. Let’s book the sucker.
Trying to cut some of my losses, I try to find if there is a way to get a refund for the GNV ticket. It turns out that I could get half of it back, as long as I cancel it two hours before departure, but the catch is that it needs to be done over the phone. I think the odds of that phone line actually working are close to zero, and it was a safe bet. Throughout the day I try to call a couple of times, giving up in both occasions after hearing their awful waiting music for half an hour. At least I have a plan B if something were to happen to the Ventouris ferry, I guess.
With still hours to go, I nod off for a bit, come back for a moment, look at the Adriatic on my side of the window, smile to the cute puppy travelling next to me, and repeat.
We arrive in Bari at 16:00, and a handful of fellow racers and I make our way to the bus stop to try and catch the number 50 bus to the port entrance (the one in front of the aforementioned Titti Twister Pizzeria). 15 minutes after it was supposed to appear, I realise that I would be there by now if I had simply walked, so I set off to do just that. 5 minutes later it starts to rain once again. The way to the port takes me through the ancient part of town, where nonne sit at their front doors selling orecchiette and other delightful pasta shapes. Of all the things I’ve been forced to pass through without stopping, this is perhaps the most painful.
Arriving at the port entrance with a couple other racers, I sigh when I see two big ships waiting there. To the left, the Rigel II, and to the right the GNV Blu. I make do with my patchy Italian to ask the security guard there where to go to do the check-in. “Varco della Vittoria”, she replies, as if it were obvious. I show her the map with the GNV office location and asks if it’s there. She confirms it, and points out that we can take a bus to get there. Since Google maps only shows a GNV office, I ask her if that’s also the location for Ventouris. She confirms it, and we make our way via bus to the location.
These ferries primary users are not foot passengers, but rather by truckers and other drivers, and it shows. The entrance to the check-in area is a desolate industrial zone, with no pavement for pedestrians to walk. Anyway, we arrive there and we meet with other smarter participants that went there directly. We are around 10 in total, and to my delight, there’s only three of us in the Ventouris Ferry. Granted, more people will probably arrive later, but it seems that most have had the same false impression I had originally that there was only one ferry. I start to realise I may have a chance to end the race in the top. Adrenalin starts kicking in, which is not very practical as for now I just have to patiently wait for hours.
Anyway, I collect my boarding pass and board the minibus that takes us to the other side of the port (the one we originally visited), where the boarding terminal and the ships are. A long queue for passport control ensues, but after almost two hours since I arrived at the check-in office, I’m finally walking into the vessel.
I’m not completely sure if I’m gonna have to share my 4-berth cabin with someone else, so I take my chance while I’m alone to immediately go to the bathroom and have a shower. Oh, that feels so good. Being clean for the first time in three days, I put on new clothes, including the red race t-shirt (I thought for a while if that made me easier to spot and put me on a disadvantage for the final sprint, but then I realised that it wasn’t really going to make a big difference).
Feeling like a million dollars after that shower, I climb onto the upper deck and get a beer out there while watching the last rays of sun disappear over Bari. I look overboard and see the GNV Blu waiting at the other side of the port. The race is probably going to be decided by which of the two ferries departs first, but there’s no sense in stressing too much: for the next 11 hours, there’s not much I can do to change my fortunes. Hopefully the departure won’t be delayed by too much (I expect at least 15-30 minutes as ferries are never predictable).
I’m enjoying my beer when Alex appears on deck. I had seen him last getting off the bus in Trieste, and had expected to catch him in Rimini, but apparently he was running later than I was and barely made it to Bari in time for the ferry boarding process.
I go to my cabin once again to lay down for a bit, and quite to my surprise I realise I’m still the only one there. Hopefully it’ll stay that way. I review my plans for tomorrow. Once the ferry arrives in Durres, the first thing is going to disembark as soon as possible, so I’ll need to mount guard early near the stairs. Then, hoping that I face no issues on the border. The bus terminal where buses to Tirana depart is just a short walk away from the port, going through an overpass.
I need to decide what to do once I get there: go immediately for the bus, or try to go to a nearby ATM first, as I only have 200 Lek (around €2) with me. This is just to be completely sure that no one will reject my money, but I’m quite convinced that Euros would be accepted basically everywhere.
Once in Tirana, the bus station where we arrive is just 150 metres out of the city limits as defined by Google Maps. This is important as, according to the race rules, taxis are only allowed within that area. As the only other option to get to the finish point are buses, a taxi is the only way to compete the race. My plan is to run out of the station, cross the highway that goes into the city at that point to get on the right hand side, and go on a few metres until the Mercure hotel, as I think that getting a taxi there will probably be easier, while also giving me a recognisable point well within the city limits.
Once I’m happy I’m totally familiar with the details of the plan, I relax on my bed for a while. I don’t want to go to sleep just yet, though, I want to know when we depart and if that happens before or after the other ship does. At 22:48, I’m brushing my teeth when I hear an increase in the ship engine’s noises. Are we departing? I look through the window and see everything standing still. Too early, I thought, although the increased noises may signal that we’re preparing to depart. I look at my phone, however, and see a message on the race’s WhatsApp group: “Ventouris is moving”. In disbelief, I look out of my window: oh my God, I can see the port structures slowly getting behind!
Overcame with excitement, I climb onto the poop deck to see it properly. And there it is, Bari, and, more importantly, the GNV Blu, getting smaller. Well, now the dice is really cast. If I don’t mess up I’m probably going to end in the top 10 of the race. After watching the full moon over the pitch-black Adriatic sea for a while, it’s finally time to sleep in a proper bed.
The alarm rings at 06:00, and the sun is already out judging by the light coming in through the window. I press snooze a few more times that I would like to admit, but a few minutes after 07:00 I’m out of my room, just as one of the employees is doing the rounds, knocking on doors for people to get out and leave their key cards. Inside the ship, everything looks normal, with the usual movements in preparation for arrival, but most passengers are having their coffee in the main cafeteria.
I take a little stroll on the upper deck for a while. After squinting my eyes, I see a small white point in the horizon. That’s the GNV Blu, where the other racers are. I don’t know exactly when they left Bari, but it looks like we’ve definitely being gaining distance over them throughout the night.
I have to come back quickly from my thoughts, as I realise that we’re approaching the Port of Durres. It’s time to prepare to disembark. I asked earlier which stairs would be use for that, and the reply was all of them. Back inside the vessel, I see a sizeable group starting to form a sort of queue around the main staircase, in front of reception. That’s not where I want to be, though.
I position myself in the staircase where we boarded from, which gives direct access to the off ramp. There, there’s only two other people, although a larger queue, including the rest of the racers, starts to form soon after I arrived. We don’t have to wait long, and as the clock strikes 8 AM o’clock I’m stepping onto firm ground.
After many years of late arrivals into Gatwick, Stansted, Heathrow, and Luton, I’ve developed a sort of racewalking skill to overtake people before joining the queues at passport control, going fast but not running, as you want to avoid that as much as possible in security areas. I deploy it sucessfully and I manage to arrive first to the border control. I’m positively surprised at how quickly that goes, and I’m also the first passing it.
Now there’s not much time to check routes or alternatives. I know what I need to to do, I know my way, I just need to do it.
I start climbing the overpass to get to the bus terminal, worried as I look back and I don’t see anyone coming after me. Do they know something that I don’t? Are they just taking longer to pass through the border controls? I can’t stay to check, as I need to get on with my plan. I have decided not to make the three to five minute detour to the ATM and just hope that my Euros are accepted. If there was a bus departing immediately, that would give me a huge lead and I can’t afford not to try getting it.
As I had expected, the bus terminal, nothing more than an open car park with almost no signs, it’s completely chaotic. I have to go around it completely until I find the bus to Tirana. By that time, the other racers are already there too. Oh well, an immediate departure was a long shot. For some reason, the driver insists that I put my small backpack in the luggage compartment, although a lot of people will board the bus later with larger things. At least I manage to get a seat next to the back door, so I should be able to leave quickly.
As we’re waiting for the bus to fill up and depart, I realise that, unless something goes very wrong, I’m guaranteed to finish in the top 7.
Eventually, the coach fills up to the brim and departs at 08:30, with the aisle full of people standing. I have no problem paying for my ticket in Euros, which is a relief. That’s how coaches work in Albania, by the way, someone goes through the bus once it has departed collecting the fee from every passenger. Why they use such an obviously bad system is mystifying to me.
Endgame
After a bumpy and hot coach ride, which included a poor old woman having a heatstroke, we arrive into Tirana’s North & South Bus Terminal at 09:05. 15 trains, 3 buses, and one ferry later, it all comes down to the final sprint through the capital’s car-packed streets.
Before stepping off the bus, I have requested a ride in the Albanian Uber alternative, Patoko, to pick me up from the Mercure hotel, which is the landmark I’m aiming for just inside the Tirana city limits.
I had been looking from the bus window and the traffic looks as horrible as expected. There’s not much time to think though. I push my way off the bus, scramble to find my backpack in the luggage compartment, and run the 500 m separating me from the Mercure Hotel.
Just off my heels, I can see the team of two, Ian and John, behind me. I cross the underpass below the highway, having to force drivers to stop in the zebra crossings. The Patoko app doesn’t seem to have booked any car yet, so I’ll need to stop a taxi.
As I approach the hotel, I look back and see a taxi approaching, but Ian and John, being behind me, are able to take it. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been to not realise that, since we are on the right side of the road, with the traffic going into the city, being in the lead of the pack actually puts you in a disadvantage. Anyway, there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk.
A minute or less later, I reach the hotel. There are no taxis waiting there, as I kind of expected, since there didn’t appear to be much space in front from the satellite map. As I look for a taxi, I see Bram waiving as he passes in his own ride, which he had prearranged. Damn, it’s not looking good.
Seconds later, I spot a taxi and wave him to stop. I jump in quickly and just say “Skandeberg, Opera”, as the checkpoint is located just 250m behind Tirana’s Opera House in Skandeber Square. As the driver starts accelerating, I ask him “Euro OK?” to which he gives his approval, and I sigh in relief. I wait until we are stuck in traffic, just a few meters later, to show him a map with the exact location of the checkpoint.
He doesn’t understand at first, trying to tell me that he of course knows where the Opera, one of the most iconic landmarks in the city, is. I finally manage to make him understand that the location I’m aiming for is not exactly the Opera, and after putting on his reading glasses, checking the map, and calling someone to ask for directions, all is clear.
The ride must have taken more than 20 minutes, but in my head everything went way quicker, even if at times I felt that we could have been going faster if we weren’t sticking so much to the taxi/bus lane, blocked by another vehicle dropping off or picking up passengers ahead. At some points, the driver starts zig-zagging and I almost cheer him.
The driver was a lovely old man who knew enough English words to ask where I was from. When I replied that I was from Spain, he didn’t follow with the usual “Real Madrid, Barcelona” that I’ve heard from taxi drivers in some many different corners of the world. Instead, he takes a USB drive, plugs it into the car stereo, and, while the car is stopped at a red light, starts searching for something while I stare confusingly. Finally, he founds what he was searching, presses play and Julio Iglesias starts blaring from the speakers. I sincerely laugh up loud as I definitely wasn’t expecting that.
After following the straight road for more than 3 km, we arrive in Skandeberg Square, but since the traffic here is one-way only, we have to go all the way around it while I wonder if it would have been faster to just run from there (most certainly it wouldn’t have since the traffic there was moving surprisingly quickly). At this point, I don’t really know where I stand in the race. Some of my fellow competitors were live streaming their locations, but I wasn’t paying attention to that, instead focusing on my own run.
When the car is about to rich final right turn, coming into the street where the finish line is located, I decide to leave there and use the pedestrian green light there to cross the street, as that is probably going to be shorter than waiting to get to the location, but on the wrong side of the street, and having to brave my way through traffic after also having waited that red light in the taxi. The meter reads 660 Lek (€6.65), but I don’t have time to faff around, so I just give him a 10 Euro note, say thank you and step off the car, managing to get to the pedestrian green light in time. There’s just 80 meters between me and the finish point.
While double-checking the location live on Google Maps, I approach it, when, 30 or 40 metres before it, I see Alex standing in the pavement, trying to find his way. I don’t really know what to do, and I don’t really think. Instinct takes over and I just start running as fast as I can. I obviously spook him as I overtake him, and he has quick reflexes and starts running side-by-side.
Now, before I tell you what happens at the end, I need to clarify a couple of things. First, the finish line location is the backyard of a co-working space, accessible from a short narrow alley. Second, the winning condition is shaking the hand of race director James.
Back to the race. Just after Alex starts sprinting by my side, I spot the small flag of Lupine Racing that marks the entrance to the backyard. Alex and I turn into the alleyway at the same time, bumping at the sides of the quite narrow gate. As soon as we turn, we see James standing there at the end, 15 metres away from us, extending his right hand. SHIT, WE’RE RUNNING FOR THE WIN.
Alex is on the right side, I’m on the left. I give it my all and we go neck and neck, but Alex manages to gain just enough centimetres to reach James’s hand first. I realise that and probably focus too much into that, rather than the fact that I’m still running at full speed and there’s a wall less than two metres in front of me. It takes a couple of milliseconds to process, and by that time I’m really close to the wall. I try to stop abruptly, but trip and hit the wall head-first.
Fortunately nothing major happened. I was just unlucky to break my glasses, and I sticked one of the broken ends into my left eyebrow. Nothing that a few stitches couldn’t fix, though, and with the fantastic and caring support of the Lupine team, who took me to the hospital, and the great attention from the medical staff there, I was back in no-time, in time to celebrate with all the people that had come in both ferries.
Epilogue
After celebrating with the rest of the competitors, getting my card swallowed by an ATM (my luck had clearly run out that day) and getting my prescribed antibiotics from the pharmacy, I went to have a quick lunch in one of the lovely parks in the centre of Tirana –I then realised that I hadn’t eaten anything since Sunday night. I picked up Cris, who had taken the sensible rout to Albania, flying in three hours instead of racing for three days, and went on to have a nice holiday traveling around the country’s beaches and historic cities. But that’s another story.
I had the opportunity to meet some of the other racers at a little dinner we did that same Tuesday in Tirana, and, of course, in the big race party on Saturday. I am jut amazed at how awesome everybody was. It’s one of the healthiest communities I’ve ever seen. I’m frankly impressed just by the fact that the race WhatsApp group, with 130 participants, stayed completely civil and on-topic. And of course the lovely and dedicated team from Lupine Travel, who have been incredibly supportive and patient with everyone.
The Lupine Race has been one of the most exhilarating things I’ve ever done. Not many other races allow you to compete while drinking a cold lager sailing through the Adriatic. I can’t wait for next year’s… but I’ll maybe carry a helmet. Just in case.
