After
Barcelona……….
I’m going to attempt a
brief travelogue from memory, so that should be an interesting assignment for
me. I have kept a daily diary mind
you, but that’s for another time and place.
We finally left our
campsite in Mataro, the sunshine and sea air, having come for 3 days and stayed
13. Our interests were ignited for more of Spain, but not now. We wanted to get
across the Riviera as swiftly as possible, still smarting from our previous
weeks in France, which Paull has described in some fair detail.
We opted for the
motorways, being the fastest and smoothest way forward, and despite being the
most expensive…it seemed worth it!
I think we paid 50 Euros a day for the privilege. Halfway point of stopover was Arles. Arrived in the late afternoon to the
riverside port section, utilising the French “aire” parking….designated parking
places for motorhomes, often with some facilities from water, toilets, grey
water disposal, toilet disposal and sometimes electricity hook-up. And sometimes nothing. Arles offered us the latter. We parked besides 3 other campervans
facing the river. Paull unhitched
the bicycles so we could have a quick investigation of the town……I recall we
found a supermarket for some supplies and one of it’s aisles had a honey jar
broken in it which hadn’t been cleaned up, and sticky black footprints were being tramped in all
directions.
Dropping the food back
at the van, we then headed up along the riverside, swerving to avoid the many
deposits of dog poo littering the pavement. We ended up in a suburb where some youths were exerting
their bravado doing skids and revs in their small cars, and then had to push
the bikes down a tree-lined path that was glittering with broken glass, for
fear of a puncture should we apply any weight to the trusty steeds. That was enough of a first look at
Arles….home to Herman (our van) for some dinner. I’m sure we had a splendid repast, most probably having purchased
some chocolate mousse from the refrigerator section of the supermarket. Paull had noticed by this time that some
drug-dealing was being conducted at the other end of the carpark with youngsters
operating a courier service on their pushbikes. Another man had been seen having a close look at the parked
‘vans’, so our bikes were securely locked into place. It wasn’t the
most relaxed of places to spend the night……but we arose next morning early and
took off on foot this time to have a look at the ancient amphitheatre in
town…which was clearly falling apart and scaffolding was being erected for
renovations. Entered a small café
and partook of a last coffee and croissant, the girls no doubt enjoying a rich
hot chocolate…then over and out of Arles, onto the motorways again and headed
for the Italian border.
Can’t remember much of
the road trip, just seeing the Riviera towns pass by, all very busy and densely
packed onto the coastline. What I
do remember is the change as we passed into the mountains on the Italian border
coastline….and the TUNNELS!
Astonishing in their engineering and quantity. It was difficult driving
for Paull, as we only ever had 2 lanes and the flow of traffic was very fast
and the tunnels looked narrow! The
motorway pierced mountain after mountain, high above the coastal villages and
towns. The road via the coast though no doubt very scenic was as circuitous as
you can imagine, and I recall when programming “Jane” the GPS wonderwoman, the difference
in taking the motorway as compared to the coast road was about 7 hours longer
if you went via the coast. The other sight worth noting at this point aside
from the tunnels was the market gardens, olives groves and green houses that covered
virtually every bit of mountainous terrain as far as the eye could see. This was definitely Italy, and the
Italians green thumb a cultural landmark that continued to be evident in many
ways, in all the regions we visited.
I don’t know how much of this ‘tunnel vision’ the girls recall as
methinks they slept a lot of this time away.
We stopped at an
Italian “aire’, well “sosta” as they say in italiano….but it was right on the
sea in a crowded carpark full of factory workers cars…the end of day whistle
blew and out all the men poured and emptied the carpark as quick as you
like….but it didn’t look like the greatest stopover, so we headed on a short
distance to another ‘sosta’……a simple paddock/carpark in a small seaside town
called Spotomo.
Keen to get our first
whiff of Italian life, we rode our bikes into the town, and enjoyed our first
conversation with the Italian on the till of the supermarket.
An Indian man on a
bicycle rode by the van in the morning to collect the small council fee for the
‘sosta’ and soon after we headed east to destination Pisa. The thing I remember along that piece
of road, was sighting the hills on our left all cut back and stripped to white,
wondering about that, then noticing all along the highway large yards brimming
with big slabs of rectangular stone…then we saw the town sign….Carrara…….ahh…the
marble of Michelangelo
Before too long we
were approaching Pisa, scheduled by Jane for another ‘sosta’, if only to get
our bearings…this one was in a huge supermarket carpark full of African vendors
trying to offload absolute junk.
Onward ho. We espied a
camping sign, followed it and landed in a good campsite on the outskirts of
Pisa, with the Leaning Tower popping it’s head just in view. It was a green, grassy and leafy few
acres that felt peaceful. It was hot and the swimming pool had opened only
yesterday, and we even met another Sydney family (mum, dad and 2 girls of same
age as our own) also in a campervan doing a similar trip but in a shorter
timeframe)….Both sets of girls were somewhat starved of interactions with other
children, so lapped up the time we had there together, especially by the pool,
as did us parents who hadn’t really met any other ‘aussies’ and the cultural
ease and exchange was refreshing.
We did cycle to see
the Tower early the next morning, and it was leaning very precariously to my
eye, and all the tourists were getting that photo shot done with them holding
out the arm to look as though they were supporting the Tower. We did eat at a
pizzeria one night, down a little alleyway and the pizza was a lot of bread and
a little filling, and we did then get lost on our bikes trying to ride home,
only to discover the real grand hub of Pisa on the river, tracked our way back
to where we had come from (the pizzeria), tried again, went down one way
streets the wrong way without lighting nor helmets (though it didn’t seem to matter
that much in Italy) back through the underpass that was terribly noisy with
fast cars before Mhikky found it all too much (and it was 9.30pm by now) and
she rode home crying with fatigue.
Before leaving Pisa
Paull had to find a gas bottle dealer (the continuation of the famous gas
bottle fiasco of Europe) which he did manage over a 2 hour period, with us
parked in a very hot carpark. (Remember how we had to get a gas bottle in
France, which wasn’t straight forward, and then which couldn’t be filled up
again outside of France, hence the Italian bottle next…all with different
connections of course…)
Onto Sienna. Found another campsite there…also
expensive like the Pisa one (twice as much as others). It was very hot in
Sienna and the pool wasn’t yet open to enjoy, but it was a very shaded mature
tree campsite. It was a very
beautiful city anyway, and we arrived off the bus into a square full of flowers
on sale for Saturday market….and the colour, variety and presentation of the
plants had that Italian twist of style that is again a cultural fact. The town
was of course cobbled, ancient, decorative and unique. The lack of public toilets was an
ongoing difficulty that was becoming the norm across Europe….we did find some
off the main square, a lucrative business indeed at 50c a pop, run by a man and
deftly conducted by his son who was forceful and pedantic, though clearly good
at his job. (Organising wi-fi was another heroic feat which Paull managed in
Sienna, again not a straightforward business….but gratefully accomplished
none-the-less. The identical problem to that identified in France yet solved in
less than a minute!
Next stop Assisi near
Perugia. Paull had a friend there whose
address we had used to send schoolwork to from Sydney. Another fiasco
therein…..the Italian postal service (customs department) had held back the 3
parcels so we had to enter into an email discussion that caused them to be
released but not at the same time…complications. To pass the time we camped at
the lovely Lago Trasimeno nearby to Perugia, beside an ancient town on a hill
called Castiglione. Here we could cycle at long last, around the lake through
natural bushland and around the town in general. We stayed there at least 5 days, despite the rain coming and
going. A late night Saturday town festival was another feature with rockbands,
drumming bands, jazz bands and traditional musicians and dancers…and a lot of
people. The Italian produce
of the town was exceptionally delicious as you might imagine…..gorgeous olive
oils, various salamis and cheeses of lovely taste and quality. It must have been about now we
discovered the cherry season to be in full swing….my favourite fruit……and from
then on I was able to feast upon delicious and juicy dark red cherries in every
region. And the cappuccinos
across Italy were worth the wait….after 2 months in the Philippines where
Nescafe 3 in 1 was all the go, and England has failed to understand the art of
coffee…here we were in the coffee centre of the planet! At 1 Euro a cup too….shame on the
Australian counterpart where it is triple that!
Well we returned to
Perugia on and off to collect the school work from Paull’s old friend there. I
had lived in Perugia in 1977 for 3 months with a girlfriend….it was of course
more sprawling these days, but not much can change around the Centro, and it
hadn’t…no room to move. The most
noticeable change was me, thankfully, as I recalled the many experiences of the
time, and the next visit there in 1982 with Mum when I was at a height of
confusion, arrogance and selfishness…..the details too horrible to give
airspace too, but thankfully and mercifully have been dealt with by the grace
of God. It was a good reminder of
how things do move on.
Next stop Roma down
south a bit. Landed in a peaceful campsite on a river. It was hot and the pool
was open here. We were able to catch the train into Rome….but not too often, as
it was a bit shabby, and the tourist throngs hardly appealing. We took the girls to see the Vatican
City, couldn’t go in as there was a Mass on, were astounded by the hordes of
hawkers trying to get you to sign up for a tour, some very aggressively. Netty’s highlight there was meeting
another Filipino man. We headed outta there quicksmart, caught a train to a
quiet suburb and found a good lunchtime eatery for Italians, and next door a
fresh gelateria with marvellous gelato.
Another trip into Roma
we saw the Colosseum, and notably the lewd Italians dressed up in Roman
soldiers garb seeking money for the privilege of being photographed in their
presence. Several gapped tooth, tattooed and hungover looking centurions were
calling suggestively after attractive women, smacking their lips before
assailing the next potential customer. Doubtless their counterparts of 2,000
years ago were little different!
We took the girls into a 3D place where they could experience ancient
Rome in an interactive,hands-on, digital and experiential set-up.
I should mention some
of the lovely countryside we drove through…vineyards, crops and the endless
hilltop towns perched so high, evidence of the need to build protected towns
beyond the reach of marauding armies.
We had been having
some regular family meltdowns since having arrived in Europe, a combination of
a lot of factors, such as :
· spending 24 hours every day with your family in
a very small metal box
· like having to teach your children and the natural resistance
they have to that, especially in the circumstances of being all around the
world in very lovely places full of new sounds, sights, smells!
· Like reflecting upon your own life with some
stark reminders of the bad choices you made in the same places 30 years before.
· Like just feeling homesick.
· Like not having the usual diversions or escapes
to retreat to when things go a bit pear-shaped.
We received support
from friends back home …but of course there was no getting away from
ourselves. We prayed and pleaded
with God on many an occasion for help. The good news for those who shared our
burdens is that the meltdowns seem to have subsided, as the realisation dawned
somewhere along the way, that there was a remedy available to us. Simply forgiving
one another for all our irritations and foolishnesses and bad moods and all
that “stuff’ that families engage in.
Initially hard to swallow but it always worked, and then we could all get on with enjoying
ourselves and surroundings afresh.
Sweet relief!
After Roma, we drove
across Italy to the East side on the Adriatic coast. We headed to a small town
called Lido del Sole in Puglia, but as we approached it emanated a strange
aura….like a ghost town……sort of empty and waiting for people to arrive. It was also shabby. Well, there we were, tired after along drive,
and decided we had better stay.
The campsite was in fact ‘getting ready’ for action, scheduled we were
told in about 2 weeks hence. One side of the campsite would be filled with Croatians,
the other full of Italians. It was
quite a peaceful place as it turned out and I think we stayed there 3 nights.
As far as the beach was concerned - to Australians used to pristine expanses of
clean white sands and the like for beaches, this one had rubbish washed up on
it, the sands were grey, and when we came back from our stroll along the beach
we had black oil spots on our soles, which took a good deal of serious soapy
scrubbing to clear.
The first whole day
there, we got a lift to the nearby town called Rodi de Gargano, which was our
first real taste of Southern Italy, where the people were traditional in their
ways and very warm in their interactions.
Elderly men walked the Centro dressed in their better clothes. The butcher spent some time telling us
the attributes of various cuts of meat, how you cook them etc. We really enjoyed our morning in that
town, with swallows darting in and about the rooves of the buildings. We also discovered a delicious new
fruit called the ‘nespolo’ which I must remember to enquire of Katoomba’s Mr
Todarello Fruiterer extraordinaire if it is grown in Australia, and if not why
not!
Time to head north
again, so off we went to Guilianova, one of many seaside resorts between
Pescara and Ancona. There appeared
to be a 40 km strip along the beach, with a cycle way (hallelujah) connecting
the lot. The beach had a continuum
of deckchairs for as far as the eye could see and all the accompanying bars, volleyball
courts, crèches, entertainment arenas and such holiday activities. It was a
very well run campsite with all the trimmings. It boasted a lovely large
swimming pool, crystal clear and with a small waterslide that never ceased to
attract most children and a good handful of adults to boot! The weather was
warm if not hot so we settled in, beside Nederland’s caravan neighbours, who
like most Dutch people we’d met and were very friendly and interactive. The
most memorable aspect to this place for the girls would have to have been the
“Glu Team” – 2 men and 2 women who were in charge of the holiday entertainment
for the coming summer months. Such
festivities were clearly a standard offering for the Italian beach summer
holidays. They were on deck 6 days
a week from dawn to midnight, starting the days on the beach with body
stretches for any interested takers with Enya music lilting on the sea breeze
to accompany us…after that there were various activities for children of all
ages, aqua aerobics in the Adriatic….a very still and shallow sea. I couldn’t
keep track of all they had on offer, but at 9pm each night it all took off
again with gusto for the evening extravaganza beginning with “Baby Dances” (At
9pm!), then some hour or so of stage presentation of skits, songs and audience
participation….and by 11pm it was time for anyone to disco together to very
loud music. That first night caused us to realise that setting up our Herman so
close to the beach and entertainment area meant no peace and quiet until
midnight every night. After about
6 nights we packed up to travel further north, as you can only put up with so
much ‘noise’.
We were bound for
Venezia. We stayed that night in another sosta in a small town called Mesolo,
parked beside a golden field of ripe wheat. It was a surprising little town, with yet another small town
configuration differing from any other we’d seen…all terribly old, cobbled and
beautiful. The café bars are always open first thing in the mornings, so we
enjoyed the Italian start to the day, coffee and pastry. It wasn’t too far to our
chosen campsite east of Venice, a town called Jesolo, a campsite called
Waikiki. It turned out that east
of Venice was another monumental tourist strip along the coast, and at the camp
we had chosen it was full of Germans from Bavaria who were having school
holidays. We headed to the
beach the next day and stood on it rather dumbstruck by the scene. It was very crowded with families, people
with very white skin were sunbaking themselves into the land of skin cancer
without a care in the world. They nonchalantly exposed vast swathes of reddened
flesh, only to return day after day for more of the same. Venice is the closest seacoast to
southern Germany, and people were thrilling to escape a long cold winter and
bask in Italy’s warmth. Indian hawkers
walked the sands offering colourful towels, kites, hair plaiting, massage,
plastic jewels. All manner of body
shape was out there with a lack of self-consciousness that was refreshing.
The Waikiki was a
large acreage of pine forest….but here again, the Italians green thumb has
enabled them to adapt and prune the pine in such a way that they look like
giant elegant bonsai en masse.
Netty had her 12th
birthday here, and we celebrated by eating out at a trattoria specialising in
seafoods. The girls chose
something fitting their age like gnocchi and chips! But the parents feasted on
a 7 course banquet (only 25 Euro per head) which was all different seafoods
cooked with the skill of Italians who know everything about how to make simple
food absolutely delectable.
Being the cook in our family, and being pretty good at it, this meal was
a wonderful gift to me, one not to be forgotten, or repeated no doubt.
We did venture by
public transport into Venice one day. It took us 2 hours each way, bus, bus,
boat. We disembarked near the Piazza San Marco which meant with seemingly every
other tourist bound for Venice. It
was more crowded than usual because there was a large and important parade of
various branches of the Italian marine regiments. We saw some immaculately tailored uniforms with a startling
array of medals, epaulettes, ornamental swords, tassled head dresses as well as
parade ground marching. We heard
that the President of the Republic had been the guest of honour.
The narrow winding
streets were crowded with tourists, as were the narrow winding canals packed
with gondolas. The shops were
brimming with fabulous glassware, jewellery, leather goods, decorative masks,
marionettes , hats and costumes….so much so that it was a bit repellent. Paull had warned me that Venice was
groaning under the pressures of relentless tourism and the consequent
overcrowding. I experienced it
first hand trying to order a snack, where I was ignored while local patrons
were served during the lunch hour rush.
A couple of hours was
as much as we could bear, so we found our way back to the wharf and were very
relieved to depart!
There ends 5 weeks in
Italy. A great time had by all.
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| Parked up in Arles |
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| Lago Trasimeno |
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| Fountain Roma |
|
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| Roman matrons |
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| Street eatery Roma |
|
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| Flower market Siena |
|
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| Plaza San Marco Venice |
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| Netty is 12 |
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| Red man, sand model and Adriatic, Jesolo |
