New Blog for Bike Trip!

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So those looking for news from Holland, Germany, France etc, point your browser at http://kcycle.blogspot.com...

Cinque Terre, and Ree-oh-mamamia

I had been told that this was not to be missed, even if it is a little out of the way. Having been there, I can say that this is not to be missed, even if it a little out of the way. And how far away is anywhere in Italy, especially when you are travelling east-west? In this case, not far at all.
The Cinque-Terre (http://www.cinqueterre.it/en/index.asp) is a national park bordering the west coast, consisting of five tiny towns. These used to have economies based on fishing and farming (mostly grapes and olives). Farming steep cliffs isn't easy, and over the last few hundred years the peoples there have terranced the entire area with dry fit rocks. Apparently there is more stonework there than in the entire great wall of China. Paths along the ocean link the towns (as does a train, now), and the area has become an extremely popular tourist destination. I aimed to find out why.
So feeling once again secure in my skills at navigating the trenitalia schedules, I hoof it out of freezin' Firenze, unaccosted by pickpockets, miscreants, and unfortunately, 20 year old Italian girls, to the station. My route to the QT will take me through Pisa, but the way the timing went, it made more sense to visit there on the way out. I did manage to freeze for an hour on the train platform in Pisa while waiting for my transfer.

No matter; it allowed me to track down the track and ticket office dedicated to the QT express. I suppose that this would be better marked in peak season (or there would be a multitude of people to follow around), but now it was tucked away wayyyy at the end of the station. The nice lady there told me I would need to detrain in Riomaggiore, as indicated on the ticket.
"Ree-oh-meeya-JORE-ay?"
"Nonono...Ree-oh-mah-jee-ORE-ay"
"Ree-oh...mah-ja-ROH-ray?"
"Nonono...Ree-oh-mah-jee-ORE-ay"
OK. Try again.
"Ree-oh...mee-JOH-ray?"
"Nonono!!...Ree-oh-mah-jee-ORE-ay!!!"
"Sigh".
It's like I drunk too much out of my collapsicable wine glass.
Well, wherever it was I was heading, I parked myself on the platform and waited for the train, which arrived and left in the span of seconds. This was pointed out to me in the Rick Steve's bible, so I was ready and able to board. I somehow managed to get in the wrong class of service, however, leaving me worried about getting caught with the rich folk holding a cattle car ticket. And wouldn't you know it, this would be the one time a conductor comes around checking tickets.
The fellow looks at my ticket and gives me a dirty look. Says something in Italian I don't understand at all. I'm thinking at this point it might be a good time to take my US buddy Dan Fitz's advice and talk highly of George Bush. Instead, I point at my map and stutter "Ree-oh...mah-ja-ROH-ray?"

"Nonono...Ree-oh-mah-jee-ORE-ay". And he leaves me alone. It is good to be incompetent sometimes.
Well, the trip is short, but scenic, and as soon as you can say "Ree-oh..." oh, forget that - I detrain in..that town.

Freezing in Firenze

Florence, day two of two. I'm up and at 'em early, hitting the sights like a man who witnessed a twenty year old across the street last night but went to bed alone. A quick sidewalk breakfast of a cappucino and a roll, and, in no particular order, I visit:

• Museum San Marco (old monestary with loads of Fra Angelico frescos, also the home of Salvadore, the bishop who ousted the Medicis from power, then took on the Pope and ended up hung and burned to a crisp in front of the cheering masses)
• Medici Chapel (Medici family basically ran Florence and helped usher in the Renaissance through support of scientists and humanist artists), with more Michaelangelo scuptures
• Uffiti Gallery, the big art museum in Florence. Home of the Birth of Venus. You know, the one with the hot chick in a clam.
• Duomo Baptistry (frescos and some of the first art that utilized mathematically created perspective drawing)
• Duomo Museum (more art)
• Museum of Science, with loads of medieval and Rennaisance science, including a bunch of Galileo stuff. Like his finger! Preserved like a Saint's relic! Something for the secular. I even broke the rules and took my picture with it. To be posted later. Or made into a shrine in the corner of my office.
• The Ponte Vecchio (bridge) with young lovers and gold merchants and locks on the gate (a gate at the middle of the bridge is loaded with locks inscribed with lovers' names; the guy locks it to the gate and throws the key into the river to symbolize the never ending affection. Except for the one or two combination locks)
• The Pitti Palace (yet more art)
• Some Internet updating
• Another big dinner
• Bed

OK. I'm dull Even I wish that Sussex would keep a blog. With pictures.

So, remember how cold it was? It just gets worse. This is a bone chilling cold, rushing down the Tuscan valleys from the north. Or something to that effect, as noted in my Michaelangelo novel. I finally give in and buy a new hat (toque) and gloves. What trendy Italian brands did i find? That would be, Levi and Champion. The added warmth was needed and fully appreciated. After all, my across-the-street friend has left the shutters closed!

I have used up my list of stuff to see in Florence, so I plan my next stop, the Cinque Terre coastline in north western Italy...

Enough of this Balogna; I'm off to Florence...

So there I was, tootling through the Tuscany hillside, with a brief stopover to change trains in Bologna. Thankfully short; the cold seems to be increasing as the trip continues, as one might expect, but hopefully as I head south things will get somewhat better. So south I head.
Florence is the first place I see the guide books warn about pickpockets, miscreants and ne'er do well's lurking around the train station, so I detrain on my guard. But the cold has followed me to Florence, and the seedier side of the population does not appear to want to brave the weather for the meager tourist trade this time of year. I escape unscathed, my pockets unpicked, fully creant and e'er well.
On the train trip down, I cosulted the RS bible for places to stay as usual, and programmed the three more likely ones into Teri. I'm early enough into town this time to be able to hit some sights if I get checked in quick enough. One promising place is, get this, the Oblate Sisters of the Assumption. I love assuming, so I'm going with my initial guess that the definition of 'oblate' in this case is 'a layperson dedicated to religious life' as opposed to 'having the shape of a spheroid generated by rotating an ellipse about its shorter axis'. Although, the latter does seem to be the classic nun shape, at least in 'The Sound of Music', Julie Andrews not withstanding.
As it stands, the closest hotel to the train station is also the closest hotel to the think of things: the Hotel Sole. I decide that if it even approaches the Milan hotel in cleanliness (let's call that -2dB Speronari) I'm there, and off to get down to the business of touristing. At first sight, it does not look promising. The lane is about ten feet wide, with tall buildings leaning out toward each other, blocking my GPS signal. The hotel is located on the third floor (that's three up from the street) of a derelict building. The ground and next two floors up are empty and under dusty construction. But, to my suprise, the hotel, once entered, is delightfully clean, and super cheap due to the season and construction. I toss my stuff in the room, and bug out to see the big sights. The Oblate Sisters will have to wait for next time (I assume).
So I've been reading this 'Agony and the Actsacy' book, not sure if I have mentioned that yet. About Michaelangelo and his life and art, which has a lot to do with Florence. So I'm running around looking at the little touches the author put in here and there (statues on corners, bridges, etc), and around the corner I run up against the Duomo. Well, not literally. It's kind of too big for that. And no, that's not my picture, but I do have plenty. Again I cannot upload from my camera at this cafe. But the duomo was, well, big, as you can see. I climbed aalllllll the way up (463 steps) to the tip of that dome, right to where the tippy top cone with the ball on it is, just in time for stunning sunset views of Florence and Tuscany. I can see why so many people come to visit and never leave.

The Duomo done, I clamber down the 463 steps to terra firma, and head up the street to the Accademia museum. The home of David. The Michaelangelo scupture. A whole couple of chapters in the book. I head in, and, unlike the common folk rushing to see the masterpiece, I take my time in the first gallery that holds four unfinished 'Prisoners' statues by Michaelangelo. I evaluate each in turn, checking out all 360 degrees, as the novel harps on how Michaelangelo preferred sculpture as it is the true art form that must be perfect fom all angles. This doesn't really hold true when the rear of the work is a big untouched hunk of marble. So, I head on down to where the main attraction is:

This guy is big! 17 feet, they say. I'd hate to see Goliath. But I do get to peruse this one in all 360 degrees, and from all sorts of other angles (no, Sussex, not that one) on an interactive computer exhibit from Stanford university, where the whole thing is scanned in 3D.

But, after fifteen or twenty minutes, I have long exhausted my patience for looking at a naked man that isn't in the mirror, and head back to the hopping part of town. I wander around the central shopping district, about four large blocks with lots of little streets, nooks and crannies, filled with high end shops and low end street vendors. The shops include about 90% of the advertisers in a typical issue of Cosmopolitan; the vendors sell "the same handbag - for you, ten euro", and other knockoff leather, electronics etc. Nothing much is catching my eye (well, other than a few $2000 watches and the tall high heeled boots walking all over the place), so my wallet escapes unscathed. Until I decide that, in spite of the chilly weather, it's time for more gelato. I pop into a ritzy cafe and order a cone with three dollops. That would be, oh, fifteen euro!!! I double check that. Yes, the most expensive ice cream I ever hope to pay for. Yes, it was good, but let's be real. That's over twenty bucks. Almost my hotel rate.

Oh well. Even with that unexpected hit, I'm still up for a fancier than normal dinner, as the hotel was 30 euro per night. I have full on feast of mixed meats, pasta, wine, dessert, coffee, the only thing missing would be a date, I suppose. I read more Ecstacy and Agone instead. Then, suitably warmed up by a half bottle of rosso, I head back to bed so as to hammer through the remaining cornucopia of sights the next day.

Remember how I described the buildings as about ten feet apart? I go into my room, and directly across the street is the apartment of some young thing, practicing her dance moves in the mirror, obviously readying herself for a night of driving those young Italian boys crazy. I look at her (well, shame on me). She looks at me. She closes her shutters. Sigh. To be twenty again. Or rich. Or twenty and rich.

Maybe I wouldn't have to read while I eat.

Padua (or, is that Padova?) and Ravenna

So there I am, leaving Venice. Seems like weeks ago. Oh yes, it was weeks ago. Sorry about that. Rather than guess about transfers and train schedules, I buy my bigglietto to Padua only, to determine my next leg to Ravenna later. I consciensously write down from the departures post all the stops along the way, then notice that the list stops at the stop that is listed as the "via" city on my ticket. Am I learning something about the train ticket system? As it turns out, no. At this point I figure that I would have to detrain at my "via" town and read their schedule to determine further stops. Still not sure if this is always true or not. Anyway, on to Padua (or is that Padova).
What's the big deal here? Or there? The Scrovegni Chapel. Built buy Enrico Scrovegni in order to correct the sins of (and subsquently release him from eternal damnation) his father, the evil usurer Reginaldo. I didn't know that heaven and hell worked that way. Wait a second; that's pretty much the spiel of televangelists, I suppose.Anywho, this place is filled with Giotto art, groundbreaking in its time for revolutionalizing fresco art. Protected from the elements by admission of only 25 people at a time through a series of temperature and humidity gates, it is one of Italy's more spectacular chapels. Or so I've been told. Once again, I am stymied my 'site under restoration' signs. Son of a beeyotch! Italian art and buildings are in the shop as often as their Fiats!
Well, my bad for not bothering to check ahead. I drop into town to see what else there is to see. Hmmm. Museum? Closed Monday. Checjed out the old University (where Galileo and Copernicus actually discovered the theory of gravity through analyses of beer bongs centuries befor Newton). Good to see that their modern counterparts were keeping up their end. There were girls and boys about, dressed up in odd clownish outfits, covered with flour, standing on benches reading some sort of list, pausing to chug something alchoholic out of a coke bottle after every sentence.
This is from a little video of this to analyse upon my return; I am interested in the scholarly aspects of this ritual:

Further through town, I checked out the Prato Della Valle:

Which I thought might be a Nascar track from the 1600s. Nascart? Checking online, I find that they actually race Ferraris there occasionally...
From that idyllic spot, it was a short jaunt to yet another basilica with to visit another dead saint, this time it's St Anthony. The Basilica of St Anthony (aptly named), is one of the most popular pilgrimmage sites in Itally, St Anthony being a rather popular saint: he is the patron saint of travelers (hooray), amputees, donkeys (I don't make this up - it's from the RS guide), etc etc etc. Inside, it is somewhat obvious that this is a pilgrimmage site; plenty of locals coming in, crossing themselves, rushing to the relics, praying, general pilgrim type stuff. Most chapels I see are set up more as tourist attractions than this. Who was this guy? Young aristocrat, gave up the rich life, and as he had quite the gift of gab, St Francis (you'll meet him in a future posting) sent him on the speaking tour. Along the way he did some handy miracles like bringing back to life a stabbed wife, re-attaching the foot of a young man, that kind of thing. He died early, so the church honoured him by, well what else? Made him a saint (that's good), built him a cathedral (again; nice touch), then dug up his bones, and putting his jaw, tongue and vocal chords on display (too freaky for me), while the rest of him gets stuck in a sarcophagus in another section of the church, where pilgrims come to leave pictures of things they need help with. There are sickly looking kids, old people, a few pictures of crashed cars (?), all lining up to be the next miracle on XXXIVth street.
That pretty well did it for me and Padua (or is that Padova). On to Ravenna, first passing through the University on the way back to see how many passed out students I could find. None. Just the occassional dusting of flour sprinkled around as mute witness to the earlier festivities...
So, an hour and ahalf later, it's arrival at Revenna!

There's not much to Ravenna. But, I managed to get completely turned around there. My trusty Rick Steve's guide is completely wrong when it describes how to get to the Hotel Diana. His map does nto reflect reality, or the GPS. So after a it's back to the cheap and nasty hotel right by the train station. Ahhh, the Hotel Ravenna, in all it's smokey glory. You really know what you are getting in to when the hotel doesn't have the imagination to come up with a better name than that. But on the up side, 40 euro is pretty well the best rate I've seen anywhere, which means dinner should be a four star affair. I dump the gear and head out to suss out the tour route for the next day, as all the sites are now closed, it being early evening. The sussing done (mmm...sussing....), I pop into the local Internet joint to post the Oberbozen-Vicenza story (man, that was a while ago). Somehow, a couple hours on the computer only cost 2 euro, so I am now totally stoked to blow bucks on fine food. Some big mixed (mista) meat plate, the obligatory 1/2 bottle of wine, ravioli, dessert, oh my god. I just roll myself back to the hotel and deflate for the night.
Attractions aren't opening anytime early, so I sleep in 'till nine, then hit the shower. Where I discover the best thing about my cheap room. I have been placed in the handicapped suite, so the bathroom is one big tiled room with the shower head up and next to the toilet. I was able to sh*t, shower and shave sitting down the entire time. Yes, you girls reading this are probably disgusted by that admission, but every guy out there is agreeing with me that all I needed was a beer fridge and a TV remote and I would be in real man-heaven. No damned somber cherubs with harps hanging around in MY tiled paradise.
Somehow, I tear myself away from that happy place, check out, check my bags and head out to find out what in Ravenna is getting renovated during my visit. The museum? No! It is quite open, and open quiet. I am the first and only one there, so there is a security guard walking along with me, opening each room for me as I go. From there, the Basilica de San Vitale, the real reason I did the side trip to this Ravenna. This church was put up about 600AD, and is one of most Byzantine (think Turkey) (the country, not the bird) churches in Italy.

The layout is octagonal as opposed to the traditional cross layout. All mosaic similar to San Marcos in Venice, but much older style art. Very cool.

Earlier versions of Christ, clean shaven, like the Romans portrayed him.
Next to the basilica is a little mausoleum (Galla Placidia); more of the same type of mosaics, but in a smaller, more intimate, well, death room. No body parts on display, happily.
There were a couple other churches of the same era in town I popped into as well, with similar mosaic art but of not quite the same scale. Then, around the cormer from one of them, there's a little mausoleum labeled "Dante's Tomb". I always wondered where in hell that was.
Get it? Where in.. oh, forget it.
And nearby is the Dante museum. My interest is piqued; I head on in, to find various trinkets and histories about that divinely comedic fellow. Then I see the box where the local monks hid his remains in when they broke into his crypt because the Pope wanted to steal the body and put it on display in Florence and what the hell was with these medieval priests anyway? That did it for me in Ravenna, so it was back to grab a panini, cappucio, the bags, and tickets to the next stop on the magical body part tour. Wgere would that be? Why Florence, of course. I know, don't call you Florence.
This would be my introduction to the hills of Tuscany, which snuck up on me as I was reading on the train along the way. We had a loong tunnel , which popped us out in the middle of a sunny valley, like something out of one of those movies with titles like "Under the Tuscan Sun" or something like that. The only difference that it being fall, all the trees are changing color; it was spectacular. And if I were at someplace that I could access my pictures at (I don't know how Steve Raffo is pulling that off, must have the divine assistance of the GSM, I suppose), I would show you how that looked. Maybe on the next installment I'll be able to back-fill this post.
Till then, I am currently in Rome and it's late, so I am going to do what the Romans do...

Three Nights in a Sinking City

Yikes; I must get caught up. It's about nine or ten towns since the last update - that's what staying little coastal towns will do to your Internet access, I suppose.
In any case, we pick up the story in Venice. City of Canals. The Sinking City. That's all the nicknames I know for it. And I made the last one up. I left off arriving at my hotel after wandering the streets, with, alas, no Venetian cutey patootie awaiting my arrival. On the other hand, that means that any pictures would be rated PG13 (at the very least). And I have finally found an Internet joint that I can get my pictures uploaded, so for your viewing pleasure: a photo from my camera:

Get it? That's a bit of Italian humour there..."camera" means "room", and it's from my "camera"...oh, forget it. Thank goodness for wine and collapsicable cups.
It's going to be two nights, and a full day and a bit, so the next morning, I treat myself to a little extra sleep, which means I'm up on the streets at about 9am. Holy cow. It's...sunny! Clear clear skies above, which makes for less-than-drab pictures...

No, we weren't being nuked at the instant the picture was taken; I had yet to adjust the exposure to take into account that big shiny thing up there.

That above shot is San Marcos square, which in reality looks more like this:

My camera (room) is about three 'blocks' (canals) behind that big, church-like structure. A stone's throw from the famous Bridge of Sighs (sigh) and attached to the Doge's Palace. The Doge was the figurehead of the Venetian aristocracy/government back in the days. They had no formal governing documents, just this group of rich guys that ran things through discussion for centuries, rather succesfully, at that. Anywho, the head honcho is the Doge. Elected for life, the guy:

• doesn't make any decisions
• can't leave the building without special accompaniment
• can't leave the city without permission, and only for a couple days at most

The Doge was essentially a position to show off the republic's wealth and power. Visiting emmissaries had to wind their way though the actual working (senate) areas of the palace to meet the Doge, and were wowed along the way with art, wealth, an armoury, etc etc etc. Bad guys got a similar tour, to the courts were, after sentencing, would cross a canal to the prisons over the afore-mentioned Bridge of Sighs (sigh):

The story is that the prisoners would get their last view of Venice before being locked up in the pokey as they crossed the bridge, hence the sighs (sigh).

So, I wind my way around the various rooms of priceless treasures and maps and gold and stuff, following the roped off directions. I ended up next to a young lady from Wales. Together we toured through the jails. But it ends up the same; I've forgotten her name, so there will be no juicy details. But, it was good to actually chat using more than single syllables, and without mucho hand-waving (that always gets the point across when speaking to someone of another language).

Oh, what else did I see in Venice...St Mark's Basilica (that church-like building in the photo above). Wow. Look that one up online for some interesting interiors. Checked out a couple other curches and the Accademia art gallery; none of which allow photos inside, so all I have are my jumbled memories of lots of pictures of the Madonna (no, not that one; I'm certain the Pope would disapprove). The Madonna and Child. There must be a billion paintings of those two, with various saints, apostles, kings, etc making appearances. Man, that was some book tour, I suppose.

Oh, what else to say about Venice? I continued my fill of cappuccios, gelati (one gelato, two gelati?), panini (I am buying a panani cooker if I come home), etc. Whilst wandering around one night I saw a local rock band unloading for a gig somewhere; drums, amps etc all being offloaded from a gondola. I've done some interesting gigs in my day, but nothing like that...

Spent one happy evening reading more of the Michaelangelo "Agony and the Ecstacy" novel while doing laundry. It was somewhat overdue. Another night with my Rick Steve's book to plan the next installment, a collapsical cup of vino rosso, then up early for the trip to Padua and Ravenna...

So, early to rise the next morning, and onto the slow #1 vaporetto back to the train station. Snapping madly at every building on the way back. But my favorite had to be the boat I would hope to one day pilot myself...

OK, you can't see it at that resolution: it's the Guiness Draft deliver boat! In lieu of that, here's a more traditional "farewell to Venice" shot...

The Great Train Incident, and Arrival in Venice

That sounds ominous. Happy to say, it isn't. I did, however, have a small train incident (or two) along the way. That ticket machine, while rather helpful, does not give copious amounts of details regarding layovers when changing trains. As in none. I trust that it knows what is going on, and I suppose it does, as long as trains are on time. Well, the Bolzano-Verona run wasn't as fast as anticipated I suppose, and we pulled in to Verona probably just as the Verona-Vicenza run left the station.
Can the second ticket be used again? I suppose so. While the first leg ticket actually has specific train details on it, the second is an open ticket, good for any run of that departure/arrival combination (I think), but...on that train type? Recall that there are Regular, Intercity, Eurostar, etc runs available. Not knowing, I look at the info/ticketing area, which is chock full of people queued up for tickets. I look at my Rick Steves book, which says that refunds are long and complicated. I look at the ticket, and the 4 Euro price, and finally look at the trash bin. In she goes, and I buy a ticket for the next train out (15 minutes later, but a different train type than my previous ticket). I'll have to ask about that sometime.
And it's a good thing I buy the ticket. While most train rides start and end with no site of a conductor, this time one does come by, looking for valid tickets. Without one, I'd be out a pretty good chunk of coin (more than my still-jingling Pirate's Booty, I can tell you). Conductor takes ticket, and points out that, in my haste, I forgot to validate it before getting on the train (thus making it good for that particular trip). I stammer out a bunch of stuff in English, and he shakes his head at me, and lets me off that hook. It's good to look so pathetic sometimes.
Now, Vicenza (Veh-CHEN-zah, if you're wondering), is a quick stop along the way. The home of the famous Palladio (if you haven't heard of him, you might have heard of the Palladian style of architecture), there's a pile of Palladian palaces and places to peek at and perambulate about. I was there for the quick tour, which meant the Olympic Theater.
One of the oldest indoor theaters left, this has seating in the old Roman style (semi-circular benches), with a central stage and a backdrop using tricks of perspective to appear to be streets of Naples. Or Florence. Or something like that. Very cool, and worth the stop in itself. One day I'll post some pictures. Finished up there, and zipped up to see the local cathedral dedicated to a local saint (sorry. didn't go in, so my memory for that name is about the same as for any of the people I meet along the way...). I found it somewhat humorous that next to the cathedral was the "Minerva Bar", serving up libations to whoever still worships that pre-christian god, I suppose. But next to that was the museum of archeology, where I perused dead Roman soldiers from the time BC (they would no doubt hang at the Minerva Bar, given the chance), and a bunch of reaaally old stuff (stone venus idols, that kind of thing). It's the Discovery Channel in real life! But time was tickin', so back towards the train staion I go. Stopping for another capucchio, of course. A little miffed, I got, as I saw a decent print of Palladian stuff alng the way, but the store had no shipping tubes. I made my mental note to find one of those for future use, then made it to the station, huffing and puffing with my back pack on my back. I buy my ticket to Venice, and head out to the tracks to wait. About now I check my ticket against the big departures schedule, and see that although I chose the earlier departure, I am actually on the milk run and will get there a half hour later than I could have. Oh well, I saved a few bucks on the cheap train.
On the other hand, that train being populated chiefly, it seems, by a fourth-grader field trip, I got to endure an hour of screaming children. Screaming children sound very much the same in Italian as they do in English. I could even make out the repitition after a while.
Well, we finally arrive in Venice Proper (the St Lucia station, on the island), and I realize that I have about 45 minutes to get to my hotel before they lock up for the night. I buy a map, and the three-day vaporetto (boat bus) pass, then jump on the #82 fast boat to St Marco square, where I will be living (well, near there, unless I miss my hotel check in time...). In my haste, I choose the wrong #82, of course, which, although it makes no real difference in arrival time, means the route is outside Venice's Grand Canal, and out in the industrial lagoon. Sigh.
Well, we make it out and around, with brief glimpses of the grandeur of the main city, then all of a sudden come around to the square.
Which is awesome. And there are tourists everywhere. I haven't seen those anywhere else in my travels thus far. Loads of asians, clicking away furiously with their digital SLRs. Made me feel at home.
We deboat (if you can detrain, and deplane, you can deboat), and I have Teri out, locked in to the hotel location, and off I go. Only being 300 meters from the dock, I did not have far to go. It was down an extremely narrow alley, though, which I probably would have missed. But there it was, and there waiting for me was, well, kind of a cutey patootey on the late shift. She checks me in (but doesn't check me out), and I'm free to find my next capuccio, panini, beer and/or (but probably and) wine. I do a quick tour around the square to get my bearings, then settle down to a gorgonzoli pasta thing with salad and wine and tiramisu... Oh my. I take another walk about to settle down the feed, and head back to the hotel to see if the... oh, who am I kidding. If she told me her name I'd probably forget it anyways.

Yodeling in Italian

I hope to get somewhat caught up here; it's Monday night in Ravenna (which isn't much, but that's a story for later), and there is a few days to commit to bits and bytes...
Last told, I was hitting the sack in Bolzano. Slept like a bambino, with the window open to the cold alpine air and two quilts keeping me toasty. Next morning it was up early to make the first tram ride up to OberBozen, which is, well, over Bozen... The tram station is, thankfully, open, but as usual, empty. I try to read the German signs instructing me when and how much the tram will run, then feed a ten euro bill into the ticket machine. Change is then spat out in fifty cent pieces. Big gold coins. Lots of 'em. I felt like a pirate. With my booty. Mmm...Pirate's Booty...
Anywho, another couple shows up. Obviously newlyweds (or acting as such), they ask me if I can take a picture of them, in Italian. I mean, they ask in Italian. How can the picture be in Italian? Unless, I guess, it's one of those worth a thousand words, which would be Italian words in this case. Now I'm either really stretching these attempts at humour, or that last wine shot was one too many. So, I respond in English, which they do as well. Fellow from New Zealand, with his Phillipino wife. Picture taken, the Tram dude shows up, and the couple start conversing with him in German. I feel so inadequate. But local language is not a necessity to ride, so up we go. Ten minutes of climbing hills dotted with orchards, and views to die for.
No, I still haven't gotten the camera picture uploading working yet, this is another pic stolen from someone else's site. But That's where I was, and that was pretty much what the weather was. Pretty sweet. Which the air wasn't. It was smack dab in the middle of field fertilization time. Hoowee. That stunkenhausen.
So, OberBozen, aside from the views, is UberBore-zen this time of year. There isn't much up there other than a few cafes and hotels (all closed), and an outdoor athletic area that I thought rather nice: tennis courts, basketball, all enclosed by hockey rink boards for eventual flooding and freezing. Marty would be happy to see it at full international dimensions. Boards were steel-reinforced plastic, very nice. Oh yeah, that reminded me that I saw a poster for local hockey while down in town; their team is the Bolzano Foxes. I gave a half-hearted effort at finding a jersey while in town, but the touristy region didn't have anything like that, unfortunately. They appear to be in 7th place out of 8 teams in their division though, so probably not a jersey of honour...
Back to the mountaintop. With nothing to do but sight-see, I plug the return location into Teri as a waypoint, and head out into the fields to find some Earth Pyramids. These things are formed by, well, it's pretty obvious when you see them:

Each one has a rock on top that protected the remainder from the eroding water etc. Pretty funky. I wish I saw one. I kept hiking down and down, and passing signs pointing back, and backtracking, and, well, I gave up. Points for honesty?
I slogged back up to the Tram station and rode down to town. I wanted to get away relatively early, as I had a stop in Vicenza planned on the way to Venice. So a quick cappucio and streudel, pick up the backpack and off to the train station. Once again, the ticket machine takes care of all my connections and I board with my tickets to Vicenza with the train change in Verona in hand!

Octobirrafest in Balzano

All right. Where was I. Yes, heading back to Bergamo from Lake Como. A quick reversal of the same train ride(s) out; I change once more in Lecco, with a half hour to grab a cappuchio and panini. Turns out that was unnecessary, as Claudia's family was good and ready to once again stuff me with home cookin', as well as another episode of the Beautiful. I'm getting hooked.
This was not to be a long stay (well, except for the three course meal), and as quick as a lick (of the spoon) I'm on the 3pm train to Munich. But, getting off in Bozano, up high in the Italian Alps.
Up there, the livin' is easy, the population is more Germanic than Italian, and you expect to see Julie Andrews come over the mountain with a guitar case in hand. This was apparent before even getting there, for the Alps just scream "ach der leiber!" as the train weaves up and into them mountains. As soon as I detrain (if you can deplane, I'm sure you can deplane), I'm already looking forward to a Germany/Austria/Switzerland vacation. Next year. On a bike. Or maybe skiis. But I'm getting waay ahead of myself here. This place must absolutely rock in about a month, though; this is alpine ski central. Without the touristy bit. Still seems largely untouched by people like me.
So, before I set out to touch this place, I do the obligatory tour of Rick Steve's recommended hotels, and end up at the Albergo-Gasthof Feichter.
That's how they did it on the sign. "Feichter" is in bold. Wondering why, I just Babelfish-translated "Feichter" from German to English. Oddly enough, it translates from "feichter" to "more feichter". Try it for yourself. How much more Feichter can you get than bold-face?
Anyway, cool alpine hotel, my room is five floors up the stairs to the verrrry top. Best room so far, for cheap cheap cheap. But I'm not it Bolzano to sit in a room; I'm there with one aim in mind, to see Otzi the Iceman. It's getting on in the day, so I head down Leo Da Vinci lane to the museum, noticing...a cafe...with...apple streudels...and cappucino...
I have a picture of THAT, too. My goodness. Rather tasty.
OK, detour aside, it's off to the museum of Tirol, which has all you need to know about the iceman, including, well, the iceman himself. I rented the audio guide that steps you through the whole arheological history of the region, narrated by a British guy and girl, trading witty banter, until you get to the freezer displaying Otzi. They them solemnly remind you that this is the remains of a human body, and they won't say anything as you pay your respects.
Rather touching, except that they didn't mind cracking jokes about a couple of medieval skeletons in another display. Oh well. Maybe they're related to the iceman. Or at least they know who's paying the bills in this museum.
They also have all his closthes, accoutrements, etc, with great explainations of it all. Totally worth the trip.
Then, I headed of to find an Internet cafe, which was full, so off to dinner. This place, Hopken and Co., serving bavarian cuisine and home mede beer. What kind do I want? What do you have? Four kinds. Well, let's start at the top and work through them all, a couple of times... That, and some potato and beef and potato burgerstraatenfrickaseen stew stuff, and, another streudel, and I'm almost good for the night. Almost.
I stop by a couple of shops for neccessities (bottle of wine, chunk of cheese, apples, candies for snackin'), a quick check of a big bookshops small English section, then back to the hotel to drop it off.
I hit the Internet spot late (that was the last installment), and had them burn my camera pics to CDROM before heading to bed. Next day? Next Installment...