meechays overseas: July 2012

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 12^th 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.