tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64127288233539660082024-03-13T09:25:46.426-07:00It's not a holiday, it's an adventureTwo journos, 81 days, 11 countriesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-87782053426164610452010-09-23T14:28:00.000-07:002010-09-23T14:29:12.073-07:00Flip CupThe throb of the boat’s diesel engine reminded us where we were this morning, in case we forgot. I’d certainly drunk enough the night before to wipe a few brain cells. Soon the boat was gently rocking its way out of the harbour coaxing me back to sleep. Shortly before 9am I climbed out and went up for breakfast. Troy had arranged for breakfast to be pushed back an hour considering our late-night bonding session. Well, he was meant too, yet something somewhere went wrong. Breakfast had been served at 8 and it was now over. Only one person, the daughter of a sailor, had made breakfast in her keen interest of nautical life on the other side of the world. The rest of us, well, we would just have to wait for lunch. And what a wait it was. Many people despite their hangovers threw themselves into the routine of “getting some colour”. Those Aussies living abroad in the UK didn’t care if that colour was red.<br />“As long as we don’t go back white,” was the consensus.<br />The swim stop was a welcome distraction from the hunger pangs. The cool, clear water cleared my head certainly. The bell rang out as we warmed our bodies on deck, drying away the salt water. To get that food there was nearly a stampede. Soup, glorious soup. On we motored.<br />Early that afternoon we arrived at an island some 30km long but at no point, wider than 2km. In any case, we didn’t stray beyond the port. The island, 90 per cent national park, is most famous for its inland lake. It was once freshwater but monks long ago carved a channel to the ocean and saltwater ensued. Instead we sat at the “beach”. The beach was no more than a stretch of concrete. Still, after a big night, we were happy to chill out with Jono, Jo, Laura and Ash. We sat around nibbling on some snacks bought at the corner store and fought off wasps. Jo kept a kill count. I failed to register a single kill. Jono meanwhile registered about three in the process of protecting Jo. I just wanted to protect my eyes from old European men getting around in G-strings and older woman going topless. Still, we happily passed a couple of hours, sharing stories. With the sun getting low we found a bench on the dock in front of the boats and knocked back a few cheap beers from the corner store. Being a little too ambitious we bought a few too many with dinner time closing in. Troy earned a jumper not once but twice as we brought the session to a quick end. Dinner was an optional extra cooked by the captain. An assortment of meat was laid on our tables and we ate eagerly in tribute to their toil. The lamb was popular. And the way Troy described it you would not find better in the world. <br />“They’re marinated from the inside,” he enthused, “The lambs chew on salt encrusted herbs along the coast.” <br />Whatever the case it was certainly packed with flavour. The skinless sausages, a Croatian specialty, were well received too. And the local beer proved good again. A few of us were full-to-bursting. The tables were soon being cleared signalling happy hour would start. Tonight, Troy was keen for us to all try a hand at some drinking games, including beer pong and flip cup. Beer pong was the first challenge. This involved six cups “racked up” at either end of the tables in a triangle, half filled with beer. With a ping pong ball, the aim of the game was for each competitor to lob it into one of the cups. If it landed in your cup you had to drink. If it went in on the bounce you had to drink two. Whoever lost all their cups first lost and perhaps somewhat drunk in the process. We also played it in doubles. I neither won or got drunk but it was still fun. Compared to this, however, flip cup was a riot of fun. Teams of six sat facing each other at the table. In front of them was a plastic cup half filled with beer. On the count: “One, two, three, FLIP CUP,” the opponents at the head of the table would down their drink. The cup was then rested on the table’s edge and flipped with a gentle finger from beneath. As soon as the cup landed upside down on the table it was the next person’s go and so on down the line in a race to the end. The winning team would vote off a member of the opposing team, usually the biggest threat. If your team lost a member someone would have to drink their cup in the next round, to even up the cup count between the two teams. Between three teams of six this went on for more than an hour. Some people got merrily drunk and continued the party off the boat. We had opted out of the game and were happy to hit the sack at 11.<br />Sam (September 12)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-84102462032515111382010-09-23T14:27:00.000-07:002010-09-23T14:28:29.236-07:00I'm on a boat!We were thankful for our ensuite this morning even if it was a battle to access it. When the girls weren’t in there doing their makeup they were straightening their hair sitting on their bunks. I thought myself lucky Alysia had not brought her straightener on this trip. Packed, we checked out, set out for the port and our boat. Erring on the side of caution we started at the nearest line of boats.<br />“We’ll walk along the water toward where we saw the Katarina boats.”<br />We were glad we did because they do indeed dock at two different points. This saved us quite a bit of back and forward with heavy packs. The sail contractors checked our documents and directed us to our boat. We had to walk across the deck of three similar boats to find ours, all docked side by side. And not all boats being equal there was quite a step between some of them - to get onto ours Alysia had to take her pack off. The captain was sitting out the back, with his reading glass and a stern look on, going over some documents. He asked us to surrender our passports and told us to be back at 12. We left our bags and set out for brunch. The port had its own food court of sorts. Perfect. Souvlaki on pita would do the trick. As we sat and ate we watched people walking past in board shorts wearing thongs, talking like strained crows, we discovered we weren’t alone. We were not the great adventurers we thought. We were just more Aussies in this summer promised land. In fact we would discover later we numbered 17 on the vessel. Besides us there was just one other nationality, in three Italians, besides the Croatian crew of course. Still we were happy. Back on the boat we met Jono and Jowy, from Victoria, who had been based in London. With them was Ashleigh, a friend from their apartment block, and Laura (an old friend of Jowy.’s). Like most Aussie’s behaving badly abroad they smoked. We didn’t mind so much having come to expect it across Europe. Jono and Jo were holidaying their way back to Oz. Another Aussie jumped on board. We learned this tank of a man was our tour guide. <br />“How does an obvious gym-junkie become a tour guide?” I wondered to myself. “This could be interesting.<br />Our boat wasn’t the vintage sailing boat we had imagined it would be. It had three stories, the below deck cabins where we were, alongside the diesel engine and its fumes, the boarding deck, housing the saloon, the two communal toilets, two showers, the captain’s cabin, our guide’s cabin and one crew and the above deck, housing eight cabins in all plus a place to hang out the back with deck chairs.<br />Eventually we were allowed to drop our bags into our cabins. If we could negotiate a narrow set of stairs into the bowels of the beast. We’d saved some money doing it this way but only time would tell if it was a wise choice. On the plus side we had a cabin to ourselves, even if it didn’t have a ensuite. Everyone on board did. I grabbed the top bunk. The bottom, Alysia’s, was staggered out below mine. At my head was a porthole about 100mm in diameter. It had a glass window secured by a wing nut and a solid metal one over that. They had to be closed under “navigation”. <br />The group gathered in the “saloon”, where we would share many meals over the coming week. Troy, or Trojan as the tank was otherwise known, promised we’d be spoilt and brown by the end of the week. He should have said we’d be fat too. He ran through some of the rules with us but the most amusing was that the boat was “explicitly acoustic” and that all noise would have to cease at midnight. At about this point the boat started motoring toward our first port, Hvar. Following some introductions we all took a shot of Rakia (fire water). And almost everyone ordered their first beer. It was only 1pm and we would not eat for two more hours. <br />“This could be an interesting week.”<br />The group dispersed and explored the boat. People gathered on the top deck which appeared by design for this purpose. Sun chairs were quickly set out and the group settled in for some relaxation and more talk. Lunch rolled around quickly signalled by the clatter of a bell.<br />Seated back in the saloon our waiter quickly brought out steaming bowls of mushroom soup quickly followed by spag bol. For dessert it was ripe and tasty pear. We were all full to bursting. Done and dusted we were quickly introduced to another requisite duty. Yes, within minutes, nearly all were in the water off the side of the boat. <br />“What would our mothers think, swimming so soon after food?!” <br />The water was colder than in Greece but just as salty and well welcomed. The cloud of the morning had burned off to reveal a beautiful afternoon. Drying on deck the salt clung to our bodies occasionally itching. Water was a precious resource too so there would be no showering after swimming. By the end of the week we might all be true salt dogs. Relaxing on board the captain idled the engine back and we drifted up to the dock. Our first step off the boat we were in Hvar. After our Greek cruise and the use of tender boats I thought: “this I could get used to”. Troy put his hand on his head like a shark fin. He was not meant to lead walking tours.<br />“If I say kismish man everyone scatter,” he enthused.<br />It was almost a game. This first tour would be very rudimentary so there were little risk of conflict with professional tour leaders.<br />On our own, so to speak, we climbed the hill toward the Spanish-designed fortress built by the Venetians. The views of the port were well worth it. We saw little point to pay money to go in and this was soon vindicated by reports from others on our boat. Instead we took the time to find some Croatian fast food, get back to the boat, get showered before happy hour and the return of the hordes. We wished to avoid any battles for the two communal shower this week.<br />The draught beer was everything it should be on the boat and we had soon wiped the smile of a few pints. <br />“Time for Kiva Bar,” Troy announced.<br />It wasn’t much after 9 when we arrived, being a five minute walk from the boat. Waiting for us on the bar were some Rakia shots and they were a bit nicer than the “paint stripper” version downed art initiation. These were quickly followed by some beers. The place had a good vibe. But overall we could have been in any bar back home. The bulk of the patrons were Aussies on the Busabout tour. Busabout had three boats in dock that night and, again, they were mostly Australian. It wasn’t all bad though. Somehow being on the other side of the world made it perfectly acceptable to sing along to John Farnham’s You’re The Voice among other tragedies. At the bar people were paying the price for fun. With the customer wearing an old army helmet the bar staff would mix tequila and lemon in a glass by bashing them about the head.<br />“Bang, bang, bang, BANG,” the final blow a brutal glancing shot that would ring out across the room before the patron downed the shot. We just punished ourselves with the huge drinks. Metre-long straws sprung from pitchers of booze, containing eight shots, disappearing at frightening speed with the help of friends. Troy was in fine form too. Appearing at the doorway, on queue, the Baywatch them song roared from the speakers. He was “The Hoff” after all. Thoroughly enjoying this boozy evening I travelled back and forward to the bar. On my last journey I asked for another pitcher and also received six shots and another beer - all for the price of the pitcher. With the shots in one hand, the pitcher under my wing and the beer in the other hand I set off the find everyone. I did but at the final moment the pitcher slipped, smashing on the floor. Bugger. At least we had the shots and me, a beer, to console myself. This proved good company while I went to scrape the glass out of my thong-shod feet. Alysia soon found me and it was time to move to the next bar. For us though we called it a night, me staggering back to the boat, seeing double and triple.<br />Sam (September 11)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-1020029731051495952010-09-23T13:56:00.000-07:002010-09-23T13:57:04.718-07:00A fine day to be finedIf an empty tin of tar had a tongue that is what my mouth felt like. There was no headache upon waking just that awful taste. Three litres of dark beer will do that I guess. Still we rose at a reasonable hour and were well on time for the airport. As the key rattled into the letter box we turned for the door and said a quiet goodbye to Hostel Hobo Bear. Micky, on reception, gave me straight forward instructions the night before: “Get the tram three stops back past the train station and get a bus to the airport for 35 kuna (six Aussie dollars).” With a light rain falling we got on the tram, riding it for free, as we were told. Although we had to stand we were in good spirits. One stop past the train station an official looking man in a jacket, white shirt and hat, asked us for our tickets. “This must be some sort of mistake,” I thought. The hostel told us we could ride the tram for free - this was the free zone. Alysia protested and despite the language barrier it seemed to work. But at the next stop the instruction was simple: “Get off.” At this point my suspicions were running high. Is he legitimate or does he just prey on tourists hoping to score some cash. He pulled out a leather pouch and pointed to some text and the price, 200 kuna. A chorus of disgruntled locals sparked up around us seemingly unhappy we had abused their transport system. Doing my best to keep cool - my protests we were dumb tourists falling on deaf ears - I handed over just the 200 kuna. Luckily we were allowed back on the tram, the next stop being the one we wanted. Despite being a little agitated we stood quietly on the tram as it ratted along for a few more minutes. With some relief we got off. But this would be short lived. The guard had approached a colleague and cornered us as we tried to walk off the platform. They wanted another 200 kuna. Apparently the fine I had paid was only for one of us. It was only the fact we weren’t riding any further they desisted and let us go. My blood boiled. Yet I exhaled slowly and we walked away. We had done the wrong thing, apparently, giving us no leg to stand on. I did feel hard done by though. There was no malice in our actions. The local woman screaming obscenities across the platform at the guards seemingly had no excuse though. In a moment our experience of Zagreb soured and in the next moment a local had offered us directions to where we were going. In that act I resolved to remember Zagreb as a good place. <br />A little confused we walked along the front of what looked like a large car park and found row after row of buses and a Eurolines office. In through the doors I was ready to ask someone at the desk if it was them who offered the transfer service when I saw a guy waving someone else through. <br />“Airport transfer this way,” he gestured through the doors.<br />Fetching Alysia we threw the bags underneath and jumped on. Mickey was right when he said it was only 35 kuna each. We travelled to the airport without so much as a word between us. We were still digesting what had happened on the tram. <br />“Are we any more forgiving of tourists in Australia? Would a guard simply instruct the person to buy a ticket?”<br />We arrived at the airport before check in had opened for our domestic flight to Split. It was a good chance to grab breakfast and we took a seat at the terminal’s only café. The coffee and strudel were welcomed. And watching people, ourselves a little drained, we passed almost the next hour without trying. I rearranged my bags, weary of how much my checked luggage would weigh, though the bottles of booze would have to stay put. <br />We were greeted warmly at check in and though Alysia’s bag was over the 15kg stipulation it was sent down the conveyor without drama. My bag was more than three kilos over though, where Alysia’s had weighed 16kg, mine was near 19kg. I was instructed to take it down to another conveyor. The sign above it read “security”. This sign evoked images of zips flying and contents being strewn. I even gulped at the thought of a cavity search. Did I look suspect? I need not have worried though. The bag was given a cursory blast by the xray and sent on to the plane. Thank goodness for that. And we didn’t have to pay any extra for excess baggage. Our passage through security wasn’t a drama either. Yet one can see why more and more people are avoiding air travel when they can. Soon enough we’d be on that plane and our worries behind us.<br />Touch down in Split was smooth and better yet my ears didn’t hurt having been such a short flight. Closer to half an hour in fact than an hour. The airport was no bigger than a domestic job back in Oz. We grabbed our bags and got some clues for travelling into Split.<br />“Split coach outside the doors. Thirty-five Kuna,” the girl at information said.<br />A short time later our bus had arrived and we were on it. A rocky ridge line rose high on our left and followed our path south to Split. More houses constructed with large red bricks, roughly laid, lined the narrow road. Veggie gardens were common. And nether were unregistered or just unused cars on foot paths. Otherwise it was pretty enough. The white metropolis of apartment blocks on the horizon could best be aesthetically described as utilitarian. What would this place be like over all? The roads widened and grew into dual lanes. This would not last long as we were soon at the port: the city’s transportation terminus. Saddled with the bags once again and equipped with the world’s vaguest directions we set out for the hostel. Up the hill, go through the lights and cross the road. Yeah okay, might help if you had said what side of the road we were on in the first place or maybe a street name. Across the road at the lights, a sign pointed to “hostel” and amazingly we found it. As simple as this sounded there were several ways we could have gone wrong. Check in was a cinch too. An eight-bed dorm with a pair of roommates already well set up with a clothes line along the bunks. Time to go explore. <br />Along the marina we walked, back the way we came, finding some pizza. Yep, pizza, who would have thought we would ever eat pizza again. But this was enormous pizza. One slice required its own postcode.<br />Fed we walked back toward the hostel but this time down into the walled city, dating back to Roman times. The fact this is a living, breathing, museum is most unusual. People sell goods and live within this stone city. For quite a while we strolled aimlessly. Late in the afternoon we decided to head back to the hostel buying some beach towels from the markets on the way. We never packed anything more than a travel towel each as we had never planned to go to Croatia.<br />Back in our room, we met our roomies, an Aussie couple who had been travelling for about two months already and had another three to go. It was their second night in Split and the first long-term stop they had made and they were getting comfortable on their top bunk.<br />There was one computer to share between all the occupants of the room so we were lucky to have our own.<br />Cleaned up we set off in search of food, back along the marina, and further. We found some interesting little taverns serving food but by the time we had agreed on where to eat, the place was full. The owner said it would be near an hour if we wanted to eat, before we’d be seated.<br />“No thanks.”<br />Pizza it would be. Yet with light rain falling there was nowhere to sit. Back to the hostel it was, this time with a whole pizza of the type we had tried for lunch. It was twice the size of a large Dominos pizza and plenty tasty. <br />More roomies greeted us back in the hostel, two girls from the UK and another Australian, all of whom were heading out on the sail boats tomorrow. Seemed to be a popular choice. <br />While the others stayed up reading, with our full bellies, we soon crawled into bed exhausted from a full day.<br />Sam (September 10)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-21843805736730955402010-09-19T09:08:00.001-07:002010-09-19T09:15:04.289-07:00A day at the lakes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIFxNOV_t0seSDx-BWyNmr5zDwFK1KEkvVy-6GyaDr_yfISk1VTI3gywadaDdNZLnfAO_oDz5IouROAj58H2YjgC5hMc9OnRNIMsLrpkoC2z2T4q_bMycXTNSwGRoH-VTzSJv4xAVReU9/s1600/innsbruck+to+croatia+086.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIFxNOV_t0seSDx-BWyNmr5zDwFK1KEkvVy-6GyaDr_yfISk1VTI3gywadaDdNZLnfAO_oDz5IouROAj58H2YjgC5hMc9OnRNIMsLrpkoC2z2T4q_bMycXTNSwGRoH-VTzSJv4xAVReU9/s320/innsbruck+to+croatia+086.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518658794431378034" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWJVJlO4pZXFWwCoS16ggPEb6ssUJZrmpzrn2EMxOBe-1w-w4L-OmhEms2nfyMeUgsRR7YV7qbG4PsxmtTnYVVEh_llMXl0YTwTvYAnNbR3jPsoC7KjOzErPFTad2Sy6ZeZ1I8XsFtXyD/s1600/innsbruck+to+croatia+063.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWJVJlO4pZXFWwCoS16ggPEb6ssUJZrmpzrn2EMxOBe-1w-w4L-OmhEms2nfyMeUgsRR7YV7qbG4PsxmtTnYVVEh_llMXl0YTwTvYAnNbR3jPsoC7KjOzErPFTad2Sy6ZeZ1I8XsFtXyD/s320/innsbruck+to+croatia+063.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518658785545162162" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus0KanKec75rdS7avSkfUFUP3hRxryU6YBJZDBd1bkOhvcsnlqJJa1BYcJ3h6bGFmJsX7rOpNG978GN6d81XhbBAwKcfYo2FZ_2VTQqpWjYORkhAajGwQC8ILwxmgN9AAkglCNWV1el9u/s1600/innsbruck+to+croatia+038.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus0KanKec75rdS7avSkfUFUP3hRxryU6YBJZDBd1bkOhvcsnlqJJa1BYcJ3h6bGFmJsX7rOpNG978GN6d81XhbBAwKcfYo2FZ_2VTQqpWjYORkhAajGwQC8ILwxmgN9AAkglCNWV1el9u/s320/innsbruck+to+croatia+038.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518658780806441250" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtj5CRLIb9akbnrX0Tk6HBkzh0JAyu4J0mPk7GQipUUo0f4srcwQ-LxCqDFQJ5hwYp3y6SZixgwBMHktZP7UZBGVun2e69gbxe7rtHcJvmYAoGTlsGtYrkI-Rr7y4_1CCxTSoI92t8Kjq/s1600/innsbruck+to+croatia+029.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtj5CRLIb9akbnrX0Tk6HBkzh0JAyu4J0mPk7GQipUUo0f4srcwQ-LxCqDFQJ5hwYp3y6SZixgwBMHktZP7UZBGVun2e69gbxe7rtHcJvmYAoGTlsGtYrkI-Rr7y4_1CCxTSoI92t8Kjq/s320/innsbruck+to+croatia+029.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518658773797443170" /></a><br />We woke early for our excursion to Plitvice Lakes. It was a national park we had been told about by our Couchsurfing friends, Leover and Bernadette when they stayed with us. The photos they showed us of the lakes and waterfalls, of the bluest blue you can imagine had stuck with us and often when planning this trip we had dreamed of doing Croatia, simply because of what we had heard of these lakes.<br />Now that we finally had the opportunity go, we were taking it, especially since it hadn’t been a part of our original plan.<br />The night before, we had asked the hostel staff what would be the best way of getting to the national park, given it was at least a two hour drive south east of Zagreb. From what we had managed to find online, most people caught a bus to the park and either stayed there or caught the bus back, which could sometimes be tricky.<br />Mickey told us that a mini bus could take us there, more conveniently than the public bus and it could pick us up just down the road from the hostel. It would be a return trip and we would pay our entry to the park when we got there.<br />That sounded sweet and Michael, the other Aussie staying at the hostel also wanted to go.<br />So with the mini bus booked for us by the staff, all we had to do was be at the corner at 8.50 in the morning.<br />So bright and early we were up, only to find the sky overcast and threatening rain. It wouldn’t have surprised us. It had stormed the night before to the point where it knocked out the television reception. It had poured with rain and the forecast for today was for more showers.<br />On the bus, it wasn’t long before the skies opened and rain drops were slapping against the windscreen.<br />It wouldn’t be much fun walked around a national park in the rain.<br />Once we were out of the city, the scenery changed dramatically and the countryside we passed through was quite pretty. It seemed every second house on the main road had rooms to rent, cheap too, and some were even giving them away free, obviously if you bought something else like dinner I presume.<br />The park was extremely popular during summer and had become even more so we were sure since Leover and Bernadette had been there the year before.<br />As we approached the park, it seemed fate was again on our side as the clouds parted and the sun began to shine.<br />By the time we stopped, it was almost hot and I was regretting wearing my jeans.<br />Our driver bought out entry tickets and then we all went our separate ways as we entered the park. There were several trails you could walk, taking as little as two hours to as many as eight.<br />It was a popular place for hikers and many we passed at the entry were equip with hiking poles. I felt more than a little inappropriately dressed in my thongs.<br />Our first mistake was getting stuck behind a tour group of oldies down a narrow descending track to the valley floor. As we have discovered, Europeans have little regard for queues, personal space and sharing a path with others and this was no different, making overtaking difficult. By the time we started making some headway, we were at the edge of one of the first of the park’s many lakes.<br />And it was as described, the most amazing shade of blue, crystal clear and sparkling. Swimming and fishing was forbidden and there were hundreds of fish in the water at the lake’s edge and easily visible.<br />A waterfall cascaded over a cliff and here the path forked.<br />The tour group of oldies veered in the direction of the waterfall while we followed the path according to the walking track we had decided to follow.<br />The mud track was soon replaced by a timber walkway, made of roughly cut logs that actually went over small lakes and waterfalls. There was an abundant of wildlife and hundreds of people walking the tracks.<br />As we wound our way up the hills surrounding the valley, our view across the lakes only become more spectacular.<br />We found a lookout with a stunning view of the main lakes and the waterfall that separated the higher from the lower.<br />As we walked back down, I remarked to Sam how cool it would be to see a bear, as there were some living in the park, as well as plenty of deer.<br />Sam asked what on earth did I want to see bear for because he would shit himself. I just wanted a cool photo.<br />But we didn’t see a bear or any deer either for that matter.<br />Over a hill and heading down towards the upper lake we had seen earlier, a large clearing held a restaurant, souvenir shop and also the ferry departure point. We hadn’t known it before entering the park that a small ferry, more of a tiny barge really, crossed the upper lake at various points and each park entry entitled the bearer to one ferry trip and one road train trip to a different area of the park.<br />Sam and I decided to have some lunch before we jumped on the ferry as we had no idea what was on the other side of how long it would take us to get back.<br />The bus was picking us up at 5pm.<br />We jumped on the end of the queue and watched as a tour group of oldies pushed in front of us, led by their Croatian tour guide who had obviously done this many times before.<br />Queue jumping is something we have run into constantly during this trip but on this day, in the heat, surrounded by rude old people, Sam and I had had enough. Holding hands, we started to basically barricade the line, not allowing anyone else to push in.<br />After waiting for at least an hour, Sam and I finally edged to the front of the queue only to have to wait again as another tour guide insisted her entire group make it onto the boat in one go.<br />We’d pretty much had it at this pint and if the fat lady waiting next to us tried anything funny I was ready to push her big butt into the water.<br />All aboard and we slowly shunted our way across the lake at the pace of a snail. The water was just as blue as everywhere else within the park.<br />At the dock, we got our bearings and tried to figure out how we could start making our way back towards the pick up point.<br />Off the barge, we climbed step after step, and cross bridge after bridge, stuck behind the oldies that had got off on the boat before. When we finally managed to past them, we set off at a brisk pace, passing waterfalls, still pools of water, and crossing wooden catwalks.<br />Heading in the direction of a road train, we stumbled out onto the road to find a group of at least 100 people waiting as well. Great, another queue.<br />As we filed to the back of the line, we overheard someone say it would be a half hour wait and prepared ourselves to seethe.<br />But just as we were debating whether or not to walk back, the road train (a bus with three carriages, set high on monster truck-sized wheels), came around the corner and stopped right in front of us.<br />We were first on the last carriage and enjoyed the 10 minute ride back to the closest stop to where we needed to be. Then it was just a short walk to the pick up point. <br />We were about an hour early, and we preferred that to being late and decided to grab a beer and wait.<br />It was by far the worse beer I’ve had to date and several bees that were hanging around convinced me to leave it anyway.<br />Back on the bus for the two-hour ride home, which seemed to pass quite quickly as Sam and I once again succumbed to Contiki bus syndrome, which has meant we now fall asleep almost instantly on buses.<br />In the hostel, we met our room mates for the night, cousins from England before heading out in search of dinner.<br />We asked the guy working in our hostel that evening if he could recommend anywhere to eat and he suggested a brewery just up the road.<br />We found it easily enough and it reminded us of the breweries we had visited with Anne-Marie in Dusseldorf.<br />We sat outside at a large table, surrounded by at least a hundred people of various ages enjoying a mid week drink.<br />We ordered two of the most alcoholic beers, recommended to us by the waiter and some dinner.<br />The beer was tasty and so was the food. It was big, there was plenty of it and we wasted no time getting into it.<br />Full of beer, we were content and then Michael walked in, another Aussie staying at our hostel we had met the night before. He joined our table, ordered some dinner and we all ordered more beer.<br />It was a good night, with beer, talk of home and politics of all things.<br />Sam bought a few beers to go, a litre each and eight per cent. There was no way any of us could finish them.<br />We had an early night because we had to leave in the morning for Split.<br />Alysia (September 9)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-48101639967380233792010-09-10T13:01:00.000-07:002010-09-10T14:32:45.784-07:00A train, a hobo and a porno"It's the Harry Potter train," Alysia exclaimed. Well it wasn't a steam train but we were seated in our own compartment for our trip to Zagreb. It was a pleasant surprise having risen early to get the train. And to know we were definitely in one of the rear three carriages: We would not be shunted off to Slovakia or somewhere equally out of the way. Austria, sensing our disappointment, turned on her best weather to fare us well - cold and rain. There was plenty of time for reflection too. Had we been too critical of Vienna? Probably. The fact we didn't enjoy it; perhaps a reflection on how uncultured we are. In five years time our take on her might be completely different.<br />Alysia was dozing before we had even left the outer suburbs and it was at about this time I gathered enough motivation to blog. The countryside, though, would soon prove a distraction. Like most places across Europe, being summer, there was a lot of corn being grown. To my surprise though there were also what appeared to be family gardens with which to put food on the table or perhaps earn a little money. <br />About three hours out of Vienna our train pulled up in the country's south for "16 minutes". Here the door of our apartment was yanked back and two burly cops said "passports". They were quickly scanned, stamped and returned. Before I could think "you forgot to close the door" more people were standing over us. "Passports". Okay? This time we got a stamp signifing our entry to Croatia. Before them it was the Austrians making sure we were leaving. Before we could process all this a Croatian women was asking us if we had anything to declare. Of course we did not. Alysia looked at me and I back at her. "Is that it?" We were half expecting someone to come and check our tickets for the fourth time but no one came. The whole experience made us realise how lucky we are, being from Australia, passing easily through immigration everywhere. Not like the Iraqis we watched Romania turn away on our brief connection there a week earlier, or in London at the very start of our adventure. <br />Onward the train rolled toward Zagreb. To fill the time I tried to learn us some Croatian/Serbian without much progress. Without hearing the words we had no idea if we would pronounce them right. The easiest would would be "pardon" which, like in English, is "excuse me". Sorry is something else altogether and thank you is hvala.<br />The train arrived in Zagreb more than six hours after we left but, impressively, on time. From the platform we found the free inner city tram. We travelled the three stops as told to find our hostel - Hobo Bear - just off the main road. We weren't entirely sure we had found it though as there was no signage screaming "hostel" like we'd seen everywhere else. But what really set the pulse racing was the notice on the entrance door to the office/common room that advised the hostel was closed due to water problems. Thankfully this was not the case; someone had just forgoten to take the sign down.<br />With the bags deposited in the room, basement dungeo that smelt of damp but was clean and had character, we set out to explore Zagreb knowing virtually nothing about it. We found an old Roman church on the hill and nearby the daily markets. But what we really wanted was a meal to sit down to. We found this in the city's old town. Virtually every building in this strip was pastel coloured and sold food. Alysia ordered a pizza and I was persuaded into a rib eye steak for 70 Kuna - 14 aussie dollars. Both were well received leaving us rather stuffed.<br />This probably explained our lack of zest when it came to exploring in what little was left of the afternoon. The main square pointed every which way to muesums but none grabbed us. Instead we sat by a fountain and watched numerous parents and grandparents tempt fate, getting the little 'uns excited about the water before dragging them away all despondent.<br />Our last ditch attempt at exploring was short lived, yet we were for once thankful, for our feeble effort ended within a few steps of the hostel when the rain started teaming down. Inside things were a lot drier including the humour. Particularly from the two South London boys occupying the lounge. The frivolity peaked though with their presentation of the Nobel Peace Prize to Michael, from Melbourne. He discovered the porn channel showing Anal Explosion. They only wished it was Big Titties instead.<br />Sam (September 8)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-90690074124328184332010-09-10T12:13:00.000-07:002010-09-10T12:58:22.770-07:00Vienna ... yawnWe took our time departing Innsbruck for Vienna. The train didn't leave until 11 and we already had our tickets. The train station was just downstairs, literally under the hotel. We took our time at breakfast, checked out and found our platform.<br />The train ride to Vienna was not nearly as picturesque as the one coming into Innsbruck. Within about 10 minutes of our journey, the alps were behind us and rolling hills the only thing of any interest to break up the scenery.<br />It was a loooong trip, about five hours and there was no breaks in between. It was a direct ride and by the time we rolled on into Vienna, we were both starving.<br />Off the train and we were left to tackle the simple matter of finding our hostel.<br />Sam was the expert on this one and we followed his map to our digs, maybe 800m up the road.<br />It was said to be the oldest hostel in Austria, if not Eastern Europe. It was owned and run by a couple in their 70s who had both travelled extensively when they were younger. They set up the hostel about 35 years ago and it must have a capacity for a least 100 guests. <br />Checking in, we had a private double room with ensuite which was not actually in the main hostel building, but another across the street, The Yellow House. We had access to all the facilities of the main building which included to our delight a laundry (amazing what excites you after months of living out of a suitcase), an immaculate kitchen, a huge common area and dining room plus a bar.<br />It also had a selection of guitars and a piano for any musos keens for an impromptu jam session.<br />The staff were helpful and there were a stack of people staying there.<br />We were excited to be staying in such a cool place and were looking forward to exploring Vienna the next day.<br />Meanwhile, we had discovered about 8pm that the Ibis in Innsbruck had overcharged us. We had booked on Wotif and had been charged for our first night on Sam's credit card and then charged again for our full stay on arrival, for two nights. Like I said we had questioned it at the time but seemed satisfied with the reception chick's answer.<br />But now here it was, in black and white on Sam's bank statement and we knew they had stuffed up.<br />We got on Skype and called the hotel to complain but only got some guy who said he could't help us and to call back in the morning.<br />I might also mention here that while we had intended to go to Salzburg between Innsbruck and Vienna, to do the Sound of Music tour, I had taken one for the team and told Sam it was OK to skip it.<br />I wish I had't.<br />The next day, we had intended to leave the hostel bright and early but it was closer to noon by the time we sorted out our call to the Ibis.<br />This time we got the manager who had already been informed of the situation it seemed. She was very apologetic and said the mistake had already been rectified and our credit card refunded.<br />Sorted. We headed up to the train station to buy our ticket for the next stage of our journey to Zagreb.<br />The plan now was to train it to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, spend two nights there, visit the Plitvice Lakes and then head down to Split to start our eight days sailing tour.<br />Buying our tickets was much easier than expected if not pricey. But the ticket lady was helpful and nice and that always goes a long way with us.<br />We hopped on the underground to head into the city, about which we didn't know much.<br />This was probably our second mistake.<br />Vienna is boring.<br />We had expected opera and classical music stuff and some sort of horses that prance and stuff but the whole city was sterile, dull. It had no vibe, no atmosphere, no nothing.<br />We wandered around the main square of the old town and found the museum quarter, which as the name suggests is full of museums.<br />We even found the plague monument mentioned in Lonely Planet and still we were disppointed.<br />The place simply had nothing that interested us. Even the food we had already sampled during our time in Innsbruck and we ended up having McDonald's for lunch.<br />By 4pm, we were back at the hostel, blogging, waiting for happy hour to start and pretty much biding our time until we could leave.<br />Our train tickets to Zagreb were not good until the day after tommorow so we were stuck in Vienna for at least another full day.<br />Despairing of what we were going to do, we consulted the Lonely Planet for suggestions, thinking maybe there was a possible day trip out of the city to some amazing place with a castle and a moat or something.<br />It was called Slovakia, and yes, it was a whole other country. Vienna is so boring it doesn't even have any cool day trips, you have to leave Austria to do something good.<br />Slovakia's Bratislava sounded like it fit the bill - a beautiful old town with a castle and a moat (Sam has a thing for moats) and it was only an hour's train ride from Vienna.<br />Happy that we could escape the city and clock up another country to our tally, we had the plan sorted.<br />After more cheap beers at the hostel bar, we went to a local pub just metres up the road recommended to us by the hostel where we could get schnitzel and chips for six euro. <br />The schnitzel was good but I didn't like the beer there and we headed back to our room after dinner.<br />But then the next day, disaster struck.<br />We were getting ready to go out, moats and castles waiting, when I found a grey hair.<br />Actually several.<br />I am 26 and I found grey hairs - in my head if there was need to clarify.<br />It was a devestating moment. At first Sam tried to pretend they were not really there and then conceded that maybe it was caused by me going back to brunette (?).<br />Boys simply don't understand. Already most people we have met on the trip are younger than us by several years, having seen more of the world than we have at this point and now I'm going prematurely grey.<br />I was about due for a minor stress meltdown.<br />Consequently, by the time Sam coaxed me out of it, it was after midday.<br />We decided to go to the train station anyway to see when the train to Slovakia was leaving and how much the tickets were.<br />But it turns out they didn't leave from that station and it would be a pain in the arse to get there.<br />So back around we turned to look for lunch.<br />For several weeks now we have been craving something that isn't pizza or pasta. Thai or Chinese seemed like the perfect alternative to Italian/European food.<br />There was a Chinese restauarant across the road from the train station we had seen the day before and we headed to it, unbothered by how much it would probably cost us.<br />We ordered what seemed like a banquet for two, there was so much food and we took our time eating it.<br />Sam ate and ate and ate til he was fit to bursting and then, still wanted coffee.<br />Turns out a mocca in Austrian is an expresso and not a mocha, chocolate and coffee, so Sam had to drink mine as well.<br />He was a very full boy by the time we got back to the hostel.<br />With more washing to be done, not knowing when we would have a chance during the next few weeks, Sam hit the laundry again while I caught up on the blog.<br />We gave happy hour a miss tonight though, as tempting as the beers were at two euro a pop for half a litre.<br />We had to get up super early the next day to go to Zagreb. The train left at 7.03am but not from the station nearest to us. We would have to catch the underground a few stops along to our station to get our direct train to Zagreb.<br />We also had to pack, something that should have been made easier by the fact that this afternoon we posted the beer steins and Killepitsch back to Australia. Turns out there was two kilos of weight in that alone I had been lugging around. Still my bag seemed no lighter without it.<br />Hopefully Zagreb would have more to offer than Vienna had, a city of disappointment.<br />Alysia (September 5,6,7)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-45010382972538925692010-09-07T09:26:00.000-07:002010-09-07T09:41:05.331-07:00The hills are alive!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_a5UA3RZ7u0PNQU-VC8AfXy9KqrfHv6l-plwrAVp-J2sph4jV4fTmbFRbC-1F15SpwWOOvP1hhEn7XFciB_yiGhTiOeT6F_8Tu6lmoKnSHnHPZFc8WwP1xchMcRcW9P-ylEiG-rabOM68/s1600/DSC_0185.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_a5UA3RZ7u0PNQU-VC8AfXy9KqrfHv6l-plwrAVp-J2sph4jV4fTmbFRbC-1F15SpwWOOvP1hhEn7XFciB_yiGhTiOeT6F_8Tu6lmoKnSHnHPZFc8WwP1xchMcRcW9P-ylEiG-rabOM68/s320/DSC_0185.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514212399062282466" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcO995KWKH4jzL7Bg2xUk_1r9hSpd26XxZo4nUPWUfxauOpBKEkkFXih_JBaZewbxxz7orUBMBFMGzu3N-xmuVlPwqNbZx0uMJYgM0n2HH4vespf6wXY_6eru8fAKZxiS5qXtrje0NCD4/s1600/DSC_0180.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcO995KWKH4jzL7Bg2xUk_1r9hSpd26XxZo4nUPWUfxauOpBKEkkFXih_JBaZewbxxz7orUBMBFMGzu3N-xmuVlPwqNbZx0uMJYgM0n2HH4vespf6wXY_6eru8fAKZxiS5qXtrje0NCD4/s320/DSC_0180.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514212389730180482" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNHAsBNsuMjOxh8MiNiq0N6b3zc1uXnq548bYd98tOkKxFxkU1mK65OzwHOurcg9Uen9gIdKEAxxOJoxmVqJwKWOIR4nID9CWBiav_Upmfza7LeCgQbyzRvMi5nlKJlxrh0pR7Gtg1nGU/s1600/DSC_0173.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNHAsBNsuMjOxh8MiNiq0N6b3zc1uXnq548bYd98tOkKxFxkU1mK65OzwHOurcg9Uen9gIdKEAxxOJoxmVqJwKWOIR4nID9CWBiav_Upmfza7LeCgQbyzRvMi5nlKJlxrh0pR7Gtg1nGU/s320/DSC_0173.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514212378294494322" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2j9E3xwqA1TKnKMOoB4_dXyKaiiCCPpWk5LSHCml7hKTN6Pf2ihSPIemYq5GZHfbHfxMLN1Faz3O1-djGfWlDv0Fwr1_4J8r23EXZImRTHtaaP51XmsJ6-w0BwYlRB7xVkUIMSy5gh7SI/s1600/DSC_0171.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2j9E3xwqA1TKnKMOoB4_dXyKaiiCCPpWk5LSHCml7hKTN6Pf2ihSPIemYq5GZHfbHfxMLN1Faz3O1-djGfWlDv0Fwr1_4J8r23EXZImRTHtaaP51XmsJ6-w0BwYlRB7xVkUIMSy5gh7SI/s320/DSC_0171.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514212373555494290" /></a><br />Austria - it was the prettiest place by far we have yet visited.<br />We left Venice on Friday morning, checking out of our hotel before it began to rain (the first we had seen in weeks).<br />At the train station, we bought tickets to Innsbruck, Austria, a smallish town in the alps and according to Sam it would be a very scenic trip. I bloody well hoped so.<br />It was a seven hour train ride with two changes - one at Verona and another within Austria, about half an hour from Innsbruck.<br />The guy who sold us the tickets also managed to book it so they only cost us 20 euro each instead of the 100-odd euro we were expecting. He told us though that we would have to buy tickets at our second change, Brenner, in Austria to the final destination because then it was with Austrian railways and not Italian.<br />No worries. We boarded with plenty of time, watched the rain begin to fall and were soon whizzing out of Venice.<br />The change at Verona was just under two hours and with the arrival time ticking over on Sam’s watch, and a glimpse of a sign saying Verona, naturally when the train stopped, I thought we had arrived. Sam was not convinced and asked me again and again if this was the right stop. Unfortunately we were in the last carriage at the very end of a long, long platform and there was not a sign to be seen.<br />Weighed down as we were with our bags there was no time for one of us to get off, check, and jump back on. So we hopped off.<br />Checking the tickets we realised our error. We were in Verona alright, just not the right Verona station.<br />We wanted Verona Nuove and we were at Verona something else.<br />Bugger me.<br />We hit the underground walkway until we got to the station to find out where the hell we were. We couldn’t be far from the right station because the time was right for us to have arrived.<br />Turns out we got off six minutes too early and the next train heading to the right station was about half an hour away.<br />Luckily for us, our connecting train to Brenner in Austria was an hour wait, during which we had figured we would get some lunch etc.<br />So it wasn’t disastrous but I suppose it could have been.<br />Back on the right platform, Sam whipped across the tracks to find us some lunch while I kicked myself and cursed TrenItalia for not having more signs on the platforms.<br />Our six-minute train ride went off without a hitch and we made it to our connecting train with 10 minutes to spare.<br />It seemed that within half an hour of our journey, the scenery had completely changed. High mountain ranges shot up either side of the valley the railway line meandered through and the lush green of grapevines abounded.<br />It wasn’t long before first Sam then I were pointing out to the other things of interest, including several things that looked like castles, set high on the mountain range.<br />It was stunningly beautiful and I have no idea why we didn’t pull out our cameras and start snapping away.<br />As the hours passed, the peaks of the mountains only seemed to get higher and the vegetation even more lush and green.<br />Houses with wooden trim and colourful flower boxes sprung up everywhere and tiny towns dominated by a central church spire passed us by every few minutes.<br />When I saw my first peak covered in snow, I’m pretty sure I squealed.<br />I’ve seen snow before, played in it, frozen my arse off in it, but this was different.<br />We were entering the region of the Austrian alps and the view was spectacular.<br />The sky was a brilliant blue, the houses and towns like something out of a fairytale and then white-topped mountains encircled the lot.<br />The last few hours flew by as we sat in awe of the environment we passed.<br />Like I said, we stupidly did not take any photos, though it did cross my mind. The windows on the train were so filthy I didn’t think they would do the scenery justice.<br />Finally, the train terminated at Brenner and we had to buy our onward tickets to Innsbruck.<br />The next train was in about half an hour but buying a ticket was more tricky than anticipated.<br />The ticket machine seemed to have every destination in all of Austria listed except the one we wanted.<br />Frustrated, we made to walk away in search of an employee when a German woman stopped us and asked if the machine was broken.<br />No, we told her, but Innsbruck is not listed.<br />She flagged a guy walking past and asked him (I surmise because it was in German) how to buy tickets to Innsbruck.<br />He started to walk away and the woman followed, so we followed her.<br />He led us to a train with Innsbruck on the destination window.<br />She told us that apparently we could buy them on the train so we all boarded.<br />Several others around us seemed just as confused and waited with expectation for the train dude to come along and ask for our tickets.<br />We had only six stops to Innsbruck and the scenery was just as picturesque, if not more so than what we had already seen.<br />Still no train guy and we were getting close to our stop. There was a chance we had got this seven-hour trip for 40 euro between us - a European bargain.<br />We arrived in Innsbruck without seeing any train dude and without having to buy a ticket.<br />It was also about 20 degrees cooler than when we had left Venice. Um, why are we here again? I hate the cold. It’s pretty, but cold.<br />We checked into our hotel, the easiest affair yet given the Ibis was above the railway station.<br />We had booked on Wotif the night before but then the woman asked for a credit card payment as well, which we thought odd at the time and questioned but seemed satisfied with her response for some reason.<br />It was an Ibis, actually much bigger than the other ones I have been in, and we had a view from our room of the alps - covered in snow!!!<br />We were both starving and the Burger King across the road beckoned.<br />It was about 7pm by this stage.<br />We were both a little excited, carrying on like stupid tourists. I think the high altitude must have touched us in the head.<br />After dinner we set off on a walk, freezing our arses off mind you. The time in the Mediterranean must have thinned our blood a little.<br />Sam was dead keen on finding some schnapps and I just wanted beer.<br />We found a supermarket about to close and snuck in to buy a six pack, some lollies and peach schnapps.<br />With our supplies we continued our wander until by accident we stumbled across the Alt Stadt, or old town.<br />This was tourist central, even given the late hour and we also learned a wine festival was in swing.<br />We promised ourselves we’d come back tomorrow, wanting an early-ish night.<br />Back in the hotel, we discovered we had no fridge and of course the beer was not cold - it’s actually hard to find beer that’s cold over here.<br />So Sam went to reception to ask for ice, while I took advantage of the first decent internet connection we’d had in weeks.<br />We had some beers and were excited to discover all that Innsbruck held the next day.<br />Alysia (September 3)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-86989393177582288372010-09-05T09:23:00.001-07:002010-09-07T11:16:52.082-07:00Venice - city of love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vfoaOG0ORgsEPcCXk_Nk2T8GHsKmTwxc43aTSUV0W_LoVPxAqomrAbSr4f5oGT6OXt6AoTEpruVfwRBqCxDTn9PU4CQIY7FiYCfyXiUUND6bXQcWIUzyKsiM563_pQoM7RMmPqtIDG0y/s1600/venezia+005.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4vfoaOG0ORgsEPcCXk_Nk2T8GHsKmTwxc43aTSUV0W_LoVPxAqomrAbSr4f5oGT6OXt6AoTEpruVfwRBqCxDTn9PU4CQIY7FiYCfyXiUUND6bXQcWIUzyKsiM563_pQoM7RMmPqtIDG0y/s320/venezia+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513466650800501506" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgEIZY4KYH2BE6fIDpQqSZ_MvM_zy-7L0CxNxQZo-hyqul5HRA9xIADgK4QPFicdc539qgoSjmhppyGvuBG-Zb5YPnW9e6eHng6hxTycXLpjY9HR9_YZyY6IBRGkAUNF8BbemyeUsKO83/s1600/venezia+026.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgEIZY4KYH2BE6fIDpQqSZ_MvM_zy-7L0CxNxQZo-hyqul5HRA9xIADgK4QPFicdc539qgoSjmhppyGvuBG-Zb5YPnW9e6eHng6hxTycXLpjY9HR9_YZyY6IBRGkAUNF8BbemyeUsKO83/s320/venezia+026.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513466649246560706" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZFeUh5YBbJovHzZExeqLhfEZhFRBW5G9QNAJFoM_Bx_nbEd_JqvFCE7WinbzLMBaSYxX3neU49rhfHrb7XuRR5lDt4YZbmc1s2gGch3_IZMJS70FpIsE0zZLhAmAIFIs__jwpphTQfvf/s1600/venezia+017.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZFeUh5YBbJovHzZExeqLhfEZhFRBW5G9QNAJFoM_Bx_nbEd_JqvFCE7WinbzLMBaSYxX3neU49rhfHrb7XuRR5lDt4YZbmc1s2gGch3_IZMJS70FpIsE0zZLhAmAIFIs__jwpphTQfvf/s320/venezia+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513466641098351474" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYIw5Lf1_Qsa9G0QZxnSTfBx9CQx65hEPnrbaRhxCbvU08MSHn9ePJB38zbTSd1k3p1kKvxv8AVYsNv7haHfn3x6PK9koXf2B6r5Z3GJMSXnzocyRK6R3zRwzgi1pEPwA-1X2Vm1StieP/s1600/venezia+018.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgYIw5Lf1_Qsa9G0QZxnSTfBx9CQx65hEPnrbaRhxCbvU08MSHn9ePJB38zbTSd1k3p1kKvxv8AVYsNv7haHfn3x6PK9koXf2B6r5Z3GJMSXnzocyRK6R3zRwzgi1pEPwA-1X2Vm1StieP/s320/venezia+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513466630802196370" /></a><br />We woke in Athens port about 6am, ready to scoff down breakfast and disembark. We had been told our bags would be waiting for us in port. It was a sad morning, the last with our Contiki friends apart from Mai and Clinton whom we would be meeting in Venice.<br />We had a 11am flight to catch from Athens airport and it was a 40 minute trip from the port. By the time we had picked up our bags and said our goodbyes, it was about 7.30.<br />We shared a taxi with Mai and Clinton, our bags overflowing from the taxi’s boot and tied down by our at first gruff driver.<br />He had bargained hard for our fare, trying to stiff us for 90 euro. We had been told not to pay more than 35 or 40 and managed only to get him down to 50, with an extra 10 if we liked the way he drove.<br />Squished in, we braced ourselves for some classic Greek driving as our taxi driver became tour guide.<br />The old Athens airport had been right in the centre of the city but had been moved about eight years ago to help cut pollution. Air pollution had been damaging the Acropolis. Consequently, the new airport was now three days by telephone from the city.<br />The guy was a crack up.<br />“Do you know that California is a Greek word,” he asked, having learned Mai and Clinton were from the sunshine state in the US.<br />“Cali comes from the Greek word for good, which comes from the …” <br />If anyone has seen My Big Fat Greek Wedding, he was exactly like the father in it. Mai and I couldn’t help but laugh.<br />We arrived at the airport just before 9am and were surprised to find check in for our flight hadn’t opened. We were flying Tarom Airlines, a Romanian airline, to Venice via Bucharest.<br />Mai and Clinton weren’t flying out until 2pm.<br />But our timing seemed near perfect. Check in opened within minutes of us lining up and we were one of the first put through.<br />After arranging a place and time to meet the Californians in Venice, Sam and I passed through passport control and security without a hiccup and waited for our flight to board.<br />The airport had free wifi and I happily chatted away with various people on Facebook until the gate opened.<br />Everything was going too easily and once again I think I jinxed us by mentioning this as we passed through the gate and onto the plane.<br />We had managed to nab the emergency exit seats, scoring some extra legroom and a fellow Aussie in the seat next to us to boot.<br />He had also been travelling for about two months and had been all over Europe - running with the bulls in Spain, partying in Mykonos and Croatia and was now heading to Budapest in Hungary.<br />He was fun to chat with but his fixation on the Romanian hostesses being vampires quickly grew old.<br />The flight was short and soon we landed in Bucharest.<br />What should have been a short walk through the transfers area to our next gate was held up by a stupid-looking security guard who insisted no one could pass in transit to meet their next flight until “the company” arrived.<br />Who the company was and why we had to wait he could not explain. Some people had connecting flights to meet within the hour while Sam and I at least at the luxury of a couple of hours.<br />Finally, after about half an hour of waiting and more and more confused people joining the rabble, a nasty looking woman from Tarom Airlines showed us.<br />She was the reason we hadn’t been allowed to pass through security as she had to check our boarding passes. The whole thing was ridiculous.<br />However, for the poor guy who had been on the phone telling whomever that he wasn’t going to make it because he was going to miss his flight, he still couldn’t go anywhere, as he was waiting on British Airways.<br />After that hiccup it was smooth sailing and Sam and I found a power outlet near our gate and got typing.<br />Another short flight, accompanied by the exact same food we had had on the flight to Bucharest and we landed in Venice about 4pm.<br />We were back in Italy and I was pleased because the Greek language had largely bypassed me.<br />We bought tickets for the water bus direct to San Marco which turned out to be expensive but probably better in the long run. The cheaper tickets were all stops and according to Mai and Clinton who caught one later that afternoon took about an hour and a half.<br />Ours took about half an hour and bar one other couple, we were the only ones on it. This was great because it meant as we sailed in, we had the run of the boat to take photos.<br />Venice is a sight to see. Pictures do not do it justice.<br />What surprised me was how choppy and rough the water was, at least in the Grand Canal and the lagoon. <br />However, anxiety gnawed at me.<br />We had booked our accommodation while in Athens and printed off a map that came with our confirmation in Patmos. The printing wasn’t fantastic and everyone on every website had warned - you will get lost in Venice.<br />I didn’t mind the idea of that so much - without my huge and heavy backpack. As it was, the longer Sam and I wore those things, the crankier we got.<br />Off the boat and onto the dock, we virtually faced San Marco Piazza, the most famous of Venice’s sights. <br />It was about 6pm and not nearly as busy as I imagined it must be during the middle of the day and Sam and I set off in the direction our hotel was in.<br />The place was so amazing to look at, we almost didn’t notice when we arrived at the bridge near where our hotel was supposed to be. This was about all we had managed to make of the map - a general location We had no idea what the hotel looked like and scanning our surrounds we couldn’t see it. We finally asked a man selling artwork on the bridge if he knew where it was and he pointed in the direction of a porch by the canal.<br />Within 30 seconds we had found our hotel, just 20 metres from a canal.<br />The lovely hotel owner, Alberto, checked us in, gave us a map of the city and offered to point out to us anything we might need.<br />Up another flight of stairs and we were in our room, spacey with a beautiful bathroom.<br />We also asked Alberto if we could stay an extra two nights, having decided once we saw the place that we couldn’t be bothered moving to our other digs for the last two nights. That hostel was in an entirely different district of Venice and would be a bitch to get to.<br />It didn’t take long before we were out and exploring and within minutes we were at the Rialto Bridge, the most famous of all Venice’s bridges, built in the 1500s.<br />It is one of only four bridges that span the Grand Canal.<br />Photos were in order but by this time we were both hungry and we found a little out of the way restaurant on the way back to our hotel to have dinner.<br />Squid ink spaghetti and scaloppine with marsala sauce and some red wine to wash it down and we were pretty happy little travellers.<br />It had been a long day that had started very early and it was to bed for us.<br />Alysia (August 30)<br /><br />Venice Day Two<br />Our first day in Venice was spent very romantically doing washing. Contiki partying and Greek isle sailing had taken its toll on our wardrobes and we were in desperate need of clean clothes. Even my mammoth supply of underwear had run low.<br />Alberto pointed us in the direction of a coin laundry and we managed to negotiate the maze of streets without any trouble to find it.<br />The man working there took our money with pleasure - our most expensive laundry yet at six euro a load plus four for drying. With two loads - one of colours and one of whites - it added up.<br />We left the machines to do their thing and wandered around in the vicinity of the laundry, taking a few snaps as we went.<br />We didn't want to loiter too far in case we got lost and the loads were finished within 40 minutes, which might account for some items not being quite clean.<br />But we didn't want to waste too much time on chores and I was keen to explore this beautiful city.<br />We dumped the laundry and made for the main square, after buying a guide book from a nearby vendor.<br />In the middle of San Marco we had a fine vantage point for the basilica, the palace of the doges, the clock tower and the bell tower.<br />We referred to our guide book when necessary but on the whole we didn't recognise the names of any of the architects or artists whose work we were admiring so it was a little pointless.<br />We snapped away like hundreds of others around us and head towards the water.<br />This was where we had got off the water boat the afternoon before and we set off in a direction we thought would bring us back around to the Grand Canal at some point, so we wouldn't get too lost.<br />This was pretty much how we spent the afternoon - wandering around, taking photos of buildings, canals, boats. The place is just a delight to be in.<br />We grabbed a quick pizza for lunch and remarked on the lack of seating in the city, forcing tourists to sit on the steps of bridges and the sides of one of the 200-odd churches.<br />Sam still wasn't feeling the best and we headed back to the hotel in mid afternoon. <br />That evening we met Mai and Clinton for dinner. They had this great little guide book that had a list of restaurants they wanted to check out.<br />We ended up at a little place called alla Madonna or something like that that specialised in seafood.<br />We hadn't given it much thought before getting there, but it made sense that Venice would have great seafood.<br />We ordered wine and shared a cold seafood appetiser between the four of us.<br />For mains there was fried calamari, grilled prawns, whole red mullet and squid in ink sauce and polenta.<br />It was all good and we were glad we had got to the restaurant early as it filled up quickly.<br />We headed back to Mai and Clinton's five-star hotel to admire the view from the terrace below.<br />It overlooked the Grand Canal and the church and other sights Sam and I had walked to that day. It was beautiful. <br />More wine was consumed before Sam and I bid farewell and headed back to our own modest digs.<br />As we passed through San Marco, we had the luxury of being two of less than a dozen people in the piazza that is usually crowded with thousands of tourists.<br />Venice doesn't have much of a nightlife and we had read that a visit to the Piazza after dark was well worth it.<br />The buildings were lit beautifully and it was lovely standing in the cool night air admiring it without the hordes.<br />Alysia (August 31)<br /><br />Venice Day Three<br />The third day passed much in the same way as the one before, minus the washing. Sam and I set off after breakfast in the hotel for a wander, but in the opposite direction.<br />We were determined to get lost this day which we had found difficult yesterday.<br />Yet everything we had read about Venice told us we would get lost.<br />We walked over the Rialto Bridge and found the locals fresh produce and seafood market. The restaurant we had eaten at the night before had been very near here so we were glad to know the produce was fresh.<br />Beyond the markets and we kept walking, turning around only when we found a dead end at a canal with no bridge.<br />This happened at one point opposite Venice's Casino, a very posh affair set on the Grand Canal.<br />We contemplated getting the water bus ... somewhere ... but didn;t really know where to go. We talked about going to Murano, where the famous Murano glass is blown into amazing objects and jewellery but decided against it as there was such an abundance on the main island anyway and we weren't going to buy any.<br />As we walked back toward the hotel, we stopped to admire plenty of wine bottle stoppers, with decorative glass on top but knew that for the price they weren't the real deal anyway.<br />We're quite picky with what we buy at the moment because we are so conscious of the weight of our bags, especially as we have several more flights before we go home.<br />At the moment the plan is to head from Venice into Slovenia, then Ausria, dart into Switzerland for a few days and make our way up to Paris.<br />The idea of spending a lot of time in France is becoming less appealing to us, though we can't really say why.<br />We had originally thought we would go from Venice to Verona to see Juliet's Balcony, and who knows, we still might.<br />Today was also exciting because it was the day we knew Clinton was going to propose to Mai on a gondola. He had spilled the beans to us in Athens and while she knew they were going on a gondola, she had no idea what was in store.<br />We thought about it often as we wouldn't meet up with them until tomorrow, when we were going to the beach at Lido.<br />In the afternoon, we started researching where we might go after Venice, given we only had one more day here.<br />Typing in random nearby countries into Google, we found a tour company that ran a tour starting in Croatia and ending in Prague.<br />The idea had appeal and the price was right.<br />There was also another tour, an eight-day sailing around Croatia but the dates didn't work for us, even though it sounded amazing.<br />We liked the idea and decided that from Prague we could head west as planned to Paris.<br />Dinner was a truly typical Sam and Alysia affair. Anyone who has had lunch with us in Tamworth knows how long it can take us to work out what we want to eat. This was proving to be one of those nights. So far we had been splashing out probably more than we should have been on food and we really needed to cut back. Our excuse always seemed to be "but when will we ever be in Florence/Pisa/Rome/Sorrento again".<br />After walking around for almost two hours looking for somewhere to eat, we finally stopped at a small out of the way restaurant somewhere near the Rialto. The place was pretty much empty and we decided, unsurprisingly, to splash out "because we were in Venice".<br />I had the clam spaghetti - which was sooo good - while Sam had gnocchi in fish sauce, that was soooo yummy.<br />Main was grilled prawns for me - disappointing - and Sam had mixed fried seafood.<br />It was another expensive dinner but so tasty.<br />Alysia (September 1)<br /><br />Venice Day Four<br />Our last day in Venice we met up with Mai and Clinton at 10 to catch a boat to Lido, the island between the sea and the main island of Venice.<br />As discussed, we had our best surprised faces on for when Mai and Clinton told us their news, unsure whether or not Clinton would tell Mai we had already known.<br />"we're engaged!" Mai blurted.<br />"Congratulations!"<br />She was so excited and hadn't been able to tell her family or anyone. There was handshaking and hugs and we set off for the boat to Lido while Mai filled me in on the proposal.<br />A gondola, champagne and an opera singer - how romantic! Clinton had planned it months ago and Mai had had no idea what he was up to.<br />We bought out tickets to Lido, but couldn't work out where to validate them. Italy has this bizarre thing where you buy tickets then you have to validate them before you use them.<br />As the boat pulled into the dock, I spied a box that looked right and raced off to get my ticket stamped. The others were not so quick and I was first back to the boat. Without thinking I jumped on, thinking the others would be able to jump on before it left. But in Venice the boats don't wait for anybody and it pulled out, with the others still on the dock.<br />I waved goodbye and told them I would meet them there.<br />The next stop was only a five minute trip up the canal and I decided to hop off there and catch them on the next one, rather than wait like a Nigel at Lido.<br />Reunited on the next boat, it was maybe a 20-minute trip to Lido. It looked very different to Venice proper and more like a beach town you might find in Australia.<br />We walked up the main drag until we were on the other side of the island. It was a 10-minute walk, that's how narrow the island is, although it is rather long.<br />Here was the free beach, with beach chairs and umbrella which you of course paid for the privilege of using.<br />The sand of was soft but grey in colour and the water as flat as the Bay. It was kind of funny when Mai and Clinton said it looked "rough".<br />We spent several hours lying in the sun, people watching and ignoring the sarong vendors walking the beach.<br />Pizza and beer for lunch - this was becoming a bad habit - and Sam and I decided to head back to the main island to do some more research and book the tour we had found the day before to Prague. Mai and Clinton said they were going to go to Murano but told us later they ended up coming back too.<br />Back in the hotel and back online, we found another tour with the same company that went from Split in Croatia to Istanbul via Bosnia, Serbia and Bulgaria. It was only a six-day tour which would give us five days in Istanbul. Both Sam and I had said after our visit to Kusadasi that we would have loved to go to Istanbul. The only thing would be getting from there to Paris.<br />And wouldn't you know it, there were cheap flights from Istanbul to Paris on the day we wanted.<br />We were sold on the idea. But what to do in the meantime. We had to get to Croatia anyhow to start this tour, what would we do there?<br />The eight-day sailing tour resurfaced and we liked the sound of it even more. BUt could we afford it?<br />We were just over 40 days in and had 40-plus days left.<br />The two tours would cost us the equivalent of $3000 Australian for 14 days. It was better value than the Contiki tours, but the digs wouldn't be four-star either.<br />We decided to do it and started the booking process. We would go to Austria for the week in between, head down to Split, then start the tours.<br />But somewhere in the booking process, the net crashed and we couldn't finish the booking.<br />We weren't too worried, we would fix it up in Austria.<br />Austria, now that was exciting. Sam had been reading up on it and I knew virtually nothing about this place he wanted to go to called Innsbruck. Apparently, the scenery was really pretty and we could catch the train there.<br />So we booked accommodation in Innsbruck at the Ibis on Wotif. We knew where we were headed now we just had to get there.<br />You can't book train tickets online in Italy so we would just have to wing it when we got to the station in the morning and hope it wasn't too expensive.<br />That night, we met Mai and Clinton again for our final dinner.<br />We bought a bottle of champagne on the way to their hotel to celebrate their engagement and admired their new room. The air conditioning unit had started leaking into the wall and from the ceiling and they had been moved to a balcony room overlooking the Grand Canal.<br />The view was sensational.<br />The annual gondola races on each September were on in three days' time and some sort of official blessing ceremony was taking place at the church opposite their hotel - of which we had a perfect view from their balcony.<br />We drank the champagne, took photos and then headed out to dinner - another place they had read about in that guide book of theirs.<br />This one was more out of the way and it took more than a bit of wandering to find it.<br />It took us past the Bridge of Sighs, one of the most famous of Venice's bridges and we have to say the most disappointing. Because of some sort of restoration work, the entire thing is covered in and surrounded by advertising billboards. It makes the whole thing look horribly tacky and the bridge itself is completely lost in it.<br />Dinner was very much not a toursity place, given the entire menu was in Italian and the waiters looked like if we asked for one in English they would kick us out. Some guesswork ensued and a few casual questions to the waiter to determine what some dishes were before we made our order.<br />The waiter dismissed our wine order and chose for us, as he did when our second courses arrived.<br />It was more seafood of course and it was fantastic.<br />We stopped for a late night expresso on the way back to Mai and Clinton's hotel, where we left them. Sam and I were going to go on a gondola ride.<br />It was close to 11pm and the cost more than if we had gone during the day, but ti was worth it. I hadn't heard the city so quiet since we had arrived. The water in the canals was still and there was so little other traffic. There was also no tourists snapping pictures as we passed under the bridge they were standing on.<br />Mai had said that as Clinton proposed, they had passed under a very busy bridge and everyone watching had clapped.<br />The ride lasted about 40 minutes and our gondolier pointed out buildings of interest on the way.<br />It was the perfect way to cap off our time in Venezia.<br />Alysia (September 2)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-5946677648370714202010-09-05T09:22:00.001-07:002010-09-07T10:14:12.635-07:00Crete and Santorini<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sp1EXVGq33riOg-m9h98svGrJscWwSTlNDPFaeBf_TG95nwhJpYXmnDE5FlIjX0aAQZM5mnROP9qSUVn-0IrfL_G28sO0J_Yb6YEV5VOxFw589Z8f4LwY77sQBcHSMjnUGYPFoe9aDBy/s1600/Santorini+Sam+022.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sp1EXVGq33riOg-m9h98svGrJscWwSTlNDPFaeBf_TG95nwhJpYXmnDE5FlIjX0aAQZM5mnROP9qSUVn-0IrfL_G28sO0J_Yb6YEV5VOxFw589Z8f4LwY77sQBcHSMjnUGYPFoe9aDBy/s320/Santorini+Sam+022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514221066242541042" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfNyZaz3p7Y0-q4LHql7QsjC7lYXZiF9uE3mGGpm-9SRdNHJeBJlGtF5QeJnKEXFttaV0dRfCm9tMgngcJxS7OXbnqGxA_oZrgTcNbIeUe_5_6zz5zHlIBpYnFn4BK6dIzJM1W_znYOCt/s1600/rome+to+venice+510.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfNyZaz3p7Y0-q4LHql7QsjC7lYXZiF9uE3mGGpm-9SRdNHJeBJlGtF5QeJnKEXFttaV0dRfCm9tMgngcJxS7OXbnqGxA_oZrgTcNbIeUe_5_6zz5zHlIBpYnFn4BK6dIzJM1W_znYOCt/s320/rome+to+venice+510.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514221057374030066" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKk-3X8YXV0XtkjrGOM0RTtSHwMLJtwfsHZSew3wv16xMrvczEf7Fg7HHAV6p_XZ1PBf5e1eWwvlY07tpkqsA51qk4-f-y6fuhmSZK3dP0VY_kqvmpcXUbLIGw2unOck_X14KiABTnF09/s1600/rome+to+venice+495.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIKk-3X8YXV0XtkjrGOM0RTtSHwMLJtwfsHZSew3wv16xMrvczEf7Fg7HHAV6p_XZ1PBf5e1eWwvlY07tpkqsA51qk4-f-y6fuhmSZK3dP0VY_kqvmpcXUbLIGw2unOck_X14KiABTnF09/s320/rome+to+venice+495.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514221049180759122" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimB_1XQrdIW6aSL4YqrNdHapVjmQ_m6F9xdMT6XOLHUsLiMBlncBeFXUGC0phMYyejiLYtHWr8MbC9XvWcGQ5w-5pqVkgdvXmUKiRmQ6qqhWn3c_fAN1PZeshvpmE-3ll9CHS3n5Kgxuu6/s1600/rome+to+venice+470.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimB_1XQrdIW6aSL4YqrNdHapVjmQ_m6F9xdMT6XOLHUsLiMBlncBeFXUGC0phMYyejiLYtHWr8MbC9XvWcGQ5w-5pqVkgdvXmUKiRmQ6qqhWn3c_fAN1PZeshvpmE-3ll9CHS3n5Kgxuu6/s320/rome+to+venice+470.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514221043906624466" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkszRzpHBlOg4V5W5r0hdVQ401vtAww4zzg11rJLOmm77A2oS9vJldPcltavkwFSDlSrAfbAZm4jTLPMTBcW00CE2IP0xt-_GMuFvSl8P73ibadb_Oq0-lRD_IBcBRDbVZOLqoZpC7DSH/s1600/rome+to+venice+447.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkszRzpHBlOg4V5W5r0hdVQ401vtAww4zzg11rJLOmm77A2oS9vJldPcltavkwFSDlSrAfbAZm4jTLPMTBcW00CE2IP0xt-_GMuFvSl8P73ibadb_Oq0-lRD_IBcBRDbVZOLqoZpC7DSH/s320/rome+to+venice+447.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514221035176820994" /></a><br />It was our last full day of island hopping and we had two stops - Crete and Santorini.<br />I had high hopes for Crete having studied the Minoan civilisation in year 12 and the palace of Knossos. Unfortunately while this was an optional excursion, no one else on the tour was interested in Greek mythology, no thanks to Dom our Contiki tour manager who didn’t highlight it as a tour worth doing.<br />So we decided instead to wander the city and explore it at our leisure. This also meant for the first time in weeks that we could sleep in and get off the ship when we wanted to.<br />The problem with this was, it was Sunday and nothing in Crete opened until 9-ish, meaning 9.30, 10, 10.30. We had to be back on the ship by 11. We had docked at 7am which meant the first couple of hours were virtually pointless unless you went on either of the excursions.<br />We took a long time to get going that morning, not least because of the drinks the night before.<br />When we finally managed to stagger off the ship, it was only 9.30 and it was already proving that it was going to be another of those unbearably hot days that had been coming thick and fast since we arrived in the Mediterranean. In fact, apart from one day in Florence and the day I stacked it in Siena, we had had sunshine almost every day.<br />So, off the boat and we wandered in the direction Dom had directed us, toward an old Venetian fortress closed to the public, situated on the headland.<br />It was much as you would expect a fortress to be and we didn’t spend long standing in the sun admiring it.<br />We wandered up into the town but it proved to be much as Dom described, quiet and not much to see.<br />Sam and I decided to give calling his parents a shot with his Greek phone card he had yet had a chance to use.<br />However, for whatever reason, the line wouldn’t connect and we were left more frustrated and cranky that the hot weather had already incited.<br />We walked back to the ship for our 11am meeting with Dom to discuss the Santorini excursion that afternoon and the disembarking process for the morning.<br />Dom explained that in the morning, we would wake docked in the port at Athens. We would have to leave our luggage outside our cabin door before midnight that evening so it could be taken to the dock by the porters, ready for us to collect when we got off. It would be another leap of faith like when we surrendered our passports.<br />Speaking of passports we had to collect them after our Santorini excursion and settle our on board account.<br />The whole ship was cashless, everything was charged to your room account including drinks and beauty treatments. Thanks to my hobbit feet, I had racked up quite a bill at the beauty salon.<br />With only a few more hours of free time on board the ship before Santorini, I kicked back on the pool deck in the sun while Sam took the time to catch up on some more sleep.<br />We were expecting big things from Santorini that afternoon. Dom had talked up the excursion we were going to go on, an island tour to the town of Oia, where many of the famous Greek postcards are snapped. White buildings, blue doors and windows and the famous blue domed churches on a cliff overlooking the sea and the other town of Fira.<br />We were anxious to see it for ourselves.<br />We docked about 4pm and had to catch a tender boat to the island itself, the island not really having a port. The island itself is amazing to look at. It used to be a circle but was partly destroyed by a volcano about 2500 years ago, leaving it a crescent shape with two out posts. It is also reputed to be where the lost city of Atlantis lies, the golden city claimed by the sea. The eruption was so huge, it changed the climate of the northern hemisphere. Ash from the eruption has been found in places as far away as California and evidence has been found in trees all over the world.<br />It changed the face of the island entirely, the island itself now an amazing environment of volcanic rock and pumice stone. The cliffs are steep and the homes of the inhabitants perched precariously on their edge. Many are built into the cliffs, like cave houses.<br />To get to the top, our bus had to follow a narrow road that zigged and zagged up the cliff face. It was some spectacular driving on our driver’s behalf.<br />As we drove, our tour guide gave us a history of the island, the volcano and the people who lived there today.<br />The island only gets about 10 to 12 inches (250mm to 300mm) of rain a year but sits at about 76 per cent humidity most of the time. Irrigation is impossible because of the rainfall but the moisture in the air makes some agriculture possible and in fact the volcanic soil is some of the best in the world.<br />The trip to Oia, the prettiest of the two towns, took about half an hour by bus. Others not participating on the excursion could catch the cable car or donkey - yes donkey - up the cliff side to Fira.<br />The heat and humidity in Oia was oppressive. We were soaked in sweat within minutes of getting out of the bus and our energy levels were pretty low.<br />When our tour guide released us for the whole hour we had in the town free, we hastened to see this amazing landscape and view we had heard so much about.<br />And it was beautiful. It was just as had been described - pristine white buildings built onto the cliff face, accented by blue doors and windows overlooking the sea. Blue dome churches; it was all there. The sun was beating down but we were determined to get the pictures we had come for.<br />Click, click, click. And it was back to the relative comfort of the bus. We were going back to the town of Fira, the capital of Santorini and where we had to find our way back down to the tender boats below, waiting to take us back to the cruise ship.<br />We had three options, walk the 600-odd steps to the bottom, ride a donkey down those same steps or catch the cable car which took less than three minutes.<br />When we had first been told about this excursion, many on our group loved the sound of the donkey, but as the day had worn on, the idea of riding a smelly donkey that the cruise ship advised us not to, became less appealing. Many were still keen, but we opted out and even the more adventurous of our bunch chose the bar for a few drinks over the 20-minute uncomfortable ride.<br />By this time, a strange natural phenomenon had occurred. What looked like low clouds has descended over the island, greying the sky and the humidity jumped to at least 98 per cent. I say 98 per cent and not 100 because it didn’t rain but they were humidity clouds. This was apparently where they got the moisture for agriculture without it ever raining. If we were sticky before, we were saturated now. Everything felt uncomfortable and the wind on this side of the island had blown up a gale.<br />We had less than an hour to make our way to the cable car or donkey and board the ship.<br />At the cable car, a large queue had formed and Sam and I decided to stop for a drink at a cliffside bar before heading down. The waiter offered us a seat protected from the wind but Sam wanted the table on the edge, that made it feel like you were sitting on air. And on a calm day it would have been spectacular. We could see down into the posh hotels than lined the cliff and the restaurants, the infinity pools and even the donkeys meandering their way down the 600-odd steps.<br />But I got the impression it was usually windy there when the waiter brought out our bill encased in a plastic tube so it wouldn’t blow away.<br />It was so windy, we had to hold onto our empty beer bottles once they had been poured so they wouldn’t blow away.<br />We hopped on the cable car for a quick ride down the cliffs and were hurried onto a tender boat.<br />The shower that night was the most welcome I have had since we arrived in London, six weeks ago.<br />It was our final dinner with many new friends before we docked in Athens.<br />We ate in the restaurant and had an early night. Most of us had to pack to put our bags out for the porters to collect and I knew that mine would need an entire repack.<br />Luckily, Sam was nice enough to do this for me. I had our Turkish rug and a few trinkets I had picked up here and there to get in and there was no way I would have managed it.<br />I think we got them out about 11.45 and then it was time for bed.<br />Alysia (August 29)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-16980576079492668902010-09-05T09:21:00.000-07:002010-09-07T09:48:20.256-07:00Why I love Turkey<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMUAeXXSpbe_ljLFVS1OwzLmHXsXPtHV-il0pfT4PuDlRUyzeabO-s3j26RqM5u0E_Oen64-ZgpokwfZyqn8Lgu_0ZaBK2BwiDTU3vmRUe7ZavEODXgK6pkj3QCvyfWvlEcmEd3USCa_C/s1600/rome+to+venice+405.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidMUAeXXSpbe_ljLFVS1OwzLmHXsXPtHV-il0pfT4PuDlRUyzeabO-s3j26RqM5u0E_Oen64-ZgpokwfZyqn8Lgu_0ZaBK2BwiDTU3vmRUe7ZavEODXgK6pkj3QCvyfWvlEcmEd3USCa_C/s320/rome+to+venice+405.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214401172266274" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDTHjvz3sMfofJiAhiOTKQU79XUTjQLCsu8L8lF9F23OWmTVYjZkrdOm0dDVgYKazEmaaP-CauuNCVwqRSBiwxwYh4DntXRhw8tWh6jKuEgASVYzQHNMM_LHyHr6kTl1__WTtP94G6dA0/s1600/rome+to+venice+400.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFDTHjvz3sMfofJiAhiOTKQU79XUTjQLCsu8L8lF9F23OWmTVYjZkrdOm0dDVgYKazEmaaP-CauuNCVwqRSBiwxwYh4DntXRhw8tWh6jKuEgASVYzQHNMM_LHyHr6kTl1__WTtP94G6dA0/s320/rome+to+venice+400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214398753908610" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge30G0BrovTZyb5c0gAVrjYb8EDGU2PcvmscS2ZZ9LSa8hZO0oa7_esBSq7jpiGpvnACyA36YtCRGmLSbeTnt4zQVRGk4aaVlx0DYvm_UJp5cijQBU-0qhUKxbHmjBMuEUO7xAV1g8_0la/s1600/rome+to+venice+386.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge30G0BrovTZyb5c0gAVrjYb8EDGU2PcvmscS2ZZ9LSa8hZO0oa7_esBSq7jpiGpvnACyA36YtCRGmLSbeTnt4zQVRGk4aaVlx0DYvm_UJp5cijQBU-0qhUKxbHmjBMuEUO7xAV1g8_0la/s320/rome+to+venice+386.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214387720526498" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfX7FadISARQdqLCyep_mVMiiTKxOO42Wuwy1sSGY1Okbz6IOqBYBe49MkOHeLemb5MVIqHOgkudE5lcabeiPVQENwBUAhr0R8znhf2W8Q1BGUmi6wH8bNyapYlVEJ6gAHBhPyQZTTXKg/s1600/rome+to+venice+380.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRfX7FadISARQdqLCyep_mVMiiTKxOO42Wuwy1sSGY1Okbz6IOqBYBe49MkOHeLemb5MVIqHOgkudE5lcabeiPVQENwBUAhr0R8znhf2W8Q1BGUmi6wH8bNyapYlVEJ6gAHBhPyQZTTXKg/s320/rome+to+venice+380.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214386308641170" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivmbyAnkNj4Egjrh9YSpYfzcOan-jFW9hc5MV1KRsxwXRHFHt57zVxnIoA0fz1VCxxlilG2cRGRT0E7uhnOYi8Q55hfQX0FX4GHD1g_uXeiM7cl5bCDvNU2Z9HmkobemcgzU65j2rmBg2/s1600/rome+to+venice+372.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivmbyAnkNj4Egjrh9YSpYfzcOan-jFW9hc5MV1KRsxwXRHFHt57zVxnIoA0fz1VCxxlilG2cRGRT0E7uhnOYi8Q55hfQX0FX4GHD1g_uXeiM7cl5bCDvNU2Z9HmkobemcgzU65j2rmBg2/s320/rome+to+venice+372.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214375849905218" /></a><br />Oh my god, I love Turkey! Not the gobble gobble kind either but the amazing shopping and rugs Turkey.<br />Today was another super early start for our excursion. We were going to visit the ancient city of Ephesus, a short bus ride from the port, uncovered during excavations 140 years ago and still being excavated today.<br />It was a Roman and Greek city built by a general of Alexander the Great’s for the Ephesian people. Apparently, Alexander had promised it to them during his travels through the region but died before he could make good on this oath. So his mate, a general under him, came back and built the city. But then, the people didn’t want to move to it, already living comfortably elsewhere. So the general stopped up all the drainage in their town and it flooded, forcing the inhabitants to move to his new city of Ephesus.<br />It is one of the archaeological wonders of the world and some of it is very well preserved. It is similar to Pompeii and the forum in Rome, given it was Roman architecture but the most amazing thing about Ephesus is its size. Only 13 per cent of the city has been uncovered in 140 years of excavations. The rest of it still lays buried beneath tonnes of earth and who knows what treasures they will find if they ever excavate the lot.<br />The site includes some Roman baths, toilets, a library, a theatre (that could seat 24,000 spectators) and many more temples as well as residential houses. Ephesus is where Antony and Cleopatra honeymooned: the boulevard they walked on is still preserved today.<br />And it’s accessible. Almost the entire site of Ephesus can be touched, walked on, climbed over and sat on, making it much more engaging than Pompeii and the forum.<br />Our guide, Emre, was very knowledgeable and a hoot to boot. We wandered the site for about an hour, taking in only about one kilometre of the vast city.<br />It was only 9am but it was getting hot. The heat we have experienced since being in Italy and Greece has been stifling at times.<br />Bypassing the guy selling photos on his camel for one euro, we boarded the bus to head back towards the port (it had been about a half hour drive) to visit the Ottoman Rug Gallery. This could have been one of those cheesy things the tour guides are known for, where they take you to certain stores in the hope of getting kickbacks from sales. And it was, but it was also very interesting.<br />Turkey is renowned for its rugs. For centuries, Turkish women have traditionally handmade the most elaborate, intricate and spectacular rugs. The difference between Turkish rugs and other rugs from around the world is that Turkish rugs are always double knotted, making them more long lasting and resilient to traffic.<br />As this was all being explained to us by the store manager, his minions unrolled dozens and dozens of rugs in various sizes, colours and patterns and some of them were very beautiful. There were rugs as small as a placemat while others would fill a large lounge room. There were “magic carpets” that changed colour as you spun them around as the lay of the weave hit the light (if you said the magic words abracadabra). He explained that while the smallest rugs could be created in as few as three weeks, some of the larger ones could take up to several years to complete and would be worked on by several women. On the other hand, a very intricate and rare rug he showed us, about the size of a pillow case took four years by one woman who worked on it for just two hours a day. But her work was much sought after and it was in silk.<br />They had rugs made of cotton on cotton, wool on cotton, silk on cotton and silk on silk, with the latter obviously fetching a higher price. These were Turkey’s answer to the Renaissance arts.<br />The tradition of rug making was slowly disappearing in Turkey and this store was part of a co-operative working with local villages to on-sell the rugs produced by the women on a world market.<br />And as Kylie said I would, I bought one.<br />After drinking our apple tea and examining all the rugs before us, almost everyone in our group left the moment the time came for the minions to start the hard sell. Sam and I left our move a fraction late and got spotted eyeing one rug too closely.<br />“You like?” one of the minions asked.<br />“Yes, they are all beautiful,” I said.<br />“I get you a price.”<br />Curious more than anything to know how much these artworks went for, we waited to find out.<br />The larger rug I had my eye on was about 500 euro. It was about a fifth larger than a doormat.<br />No way. But there was another and much smaller rug I had liked from the moment it was rolled out. It was tiny in comparison to what we had seen, about the size of placemat but a big longer. It was mostly red in colour that kind of took on a pinky hue in a certain light.<br />“How much for this one?” I asked.<br />A few calculations and our “special Contiki discount” because “you are young and not rich”.<br />“120 euro.”<br />Sam and I visibly gulped and made to walk away. Apparently it was usually 300 euro but for us it was a very special price.<br />“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t afford that. I am a poor student.” Hehe.<br />“You like it, yes?”<br />“Yes, I like it but I can’t pay that much.”<br />“How much you pay then?”<br />“I can’t, I can’t.”<br />“How about, just for you then, let’s say 100 euro we have a deal?”<br />“I’m sorry, no that’s too much money. I love it but I can’t pay that much.”<br />“You tell me then how much you pay?”<br />At this point Sam chipped in with “60 euro”.<br />Now it was the salesman’s turn to be shocked and to tell the truth so was I. I probably would never have gone that low. The salesman swallowed, looked a tad cranky. <br />“Let me ask the boss, I can’t decide on such a low price.”<br />He turned to the owner and spluttered something in Turkish with much hand gesturing. I’m sure we were being called all sorts of horrid names.<br />“70, I can do it for 70.”<br />Done.<br />So we bought a rug and it was promptly rolled up, wrapped up and with its care instructions tucked into the bag we were out of there before we bought anything else. I thought we got a good deal.<br />Our rug took four weeks to make, is handmade and will outlast us. “Turkish rugs will last 3, 4, 500 years even in high traffic areas,” they tell us. We will use it as a wall hanging because it’s so small.<br />Leaving the rug store, we found the rest of the group ready to hit the Turkish baths. Having declined the offer of being pummelled by a hairy Turkish man, Sam and I decided to continue shopping in the bazaar instead.<br />Did I mention I love Turkey?<br />I loved every shop, every little thing they sold there - except Turkish delight which you could get five boxes of for 10 euro.<br />The hukas I really liked the look of. They are the big water pipes that people smoke flavoured tobacco out of. Now Sam and I had no interest in using them to smoke but they were beautifully crafted and very Turkish.<br />We particularly liked the look of the copper ones, engraved and hand painted with intricate patterns around the base. They came in all sizes but the one we liked was about 60cm tall and weighed much less than what we thought to look at, coming in at just under 900 grams.<br />I know this, because we bought one and posted it home.<br />But before I get to that, we shopped around for the huka. The first shop we tried the guy offered it to us for 60 euro and it was nice but instinct told us we might get a better price.<br />So we wandered in and out of a dozen shops selling the same things. The delicate tea sets were so beautiful and I desperately wanted one but had no idea how I would get it home.<br />Finally, in a shop that looked like all the others, selling the same things, we found a huka that seemed, actually exactly the same but the guy had cornered us this time.<br />“How much?”<br />“120 euro,” he said.<br />“Seriously? What’s your best price?”<br />“100 euro.”<br />Well, we can get the same one around the corner for 50 euro,” we said.<br />“50 euro?”<br />“Yep, 50. If we can pay that, we will got back to the other guy.”<br />“You are honest, so I respect that. I will sell it to you for 50 euro.”<br />Another deal done.<br />God I love Turkey.<br />Now we had this whopping huka and a Turkish rug. This was going to make my pack a lot heavier.<br />As we left the store, I saw a sign for the post office and we decided that if it was reasonable we would post back the huka, as the guy had put it in a box for us.<br />When the guy at the post office deigned to notice us, he was actually quite helpful. Like I said, the huka weighed about 900 grams, which with the box and newspaper he stuffed into it took it up to about a kilo. To send it back to Australia would cost us 20 euro, but to not have to carry it around for the next five weeks, there was no questioning the value.<br />While stuffing our box, the post office guy asked how much we had paid for it. When we told him 50, he seemed quite impressed. I asked him if we had got a good price or been ripped off and he said, “no that good.”<br />Hopefully, it gets there. Kate I sent it to you by the way.<br />The job done, we power walked back to the ship, having left ourselves about five minutes to get back on board.<br />We made it with plenty of time, as many others were late, but it was close.<br />Stowing our bags away in our cabin, it was time for lunch on board. Pretty much more of the same as the day before.<br />Today, however, after lunch I had booked in for some desperately needed attention at the beauty salon.<br />My hair had become unmanageable and dry and my feet … oh yeah they were bad. Weeks of walking around for between four and nine hours a day had left the heels hard and cracked, the soles dry and my nails were, well, a Greek tragedy.<br />I had only booked in for a shampoo and cut, along with the pedicure but as the woman put my feet into the spa bath to soak, she talked me into a manicure as well while we were waiting.<br />Loving the attention after weeks on the go, in and out of hotels, train stations, bus stations and airports, it was so nice to actually relax for a few hours of luxury.<br />My finger nails weren’t nearly as tragic as my toe nails and this was a pretty no fuss affair though the hand and arm massage were lovely.<br />Then we got to the feet.<br />With the pumice stone she set to work and the expression on her face said it all.<br />“I know, I’m sorry. They are awful,” I said.<br />She smiled wryly and said “yes, but I have seen worse … not much worse.”<br />Fantastic, I had hobbit feet.<br />I’m sure this pedicure took much longer than the woman had anticipated but she won in the end. Humiliated as I was it wasn’t difficult to talk me into buying some pedi scrub and foot lotion.<br />After she was done with my feet and I resembled something human again, she moved onto my hair.<br />It needed a good trim and I wanted a fringe again.<br />She took to me with scissors and the result … probably not what I would have done but it’s grown on me. I don’t think I have had a fringe this short since primary school.<br />She also managed to talk me into buying some conditioner, which since I actually needed some I was happy to do.<br />Pretty and pampered, by the time we were finished it was ready to disembark at Patmos, the third stop on our island hopping cruise.<br />Patmos was a disappointment. We had opted to go on the scenic island tour excursion which included a stop at St John’s grotto, the place where John had apparently written the Book of Revelations.<br />Not being religious I was still interested to see this holy site, which is said to be second only to Jeruselum. It attracts thousands and thousands of pilgrims every year.<br />The scenic island tour was a bus trip. It was very hot and the tour guide had a very monotonous voice that encouraged one to sleep rather than ask questions.<br />Patmos is a small island that has a huge water shortage. They ship in water from Crete and the island has no hospital. Pregnant women due to give birth have to leave for the mainland or Crete at least a month before.<br />Compared to Mykonos, it had little charm and compared to some of the other places we had seen like Cyprus, it had little beauty. It was quite a barren place that people apparently spent millions of euros on to live and vacation to during summer.<br />Personally I didn’t see it.<br />Then came St John’s grotto. So this was a cave basically that John was exiled to from Turkey. He was very old at the time and it was here he allegedly heard God speak to him and he wrote the Book of Revelations.<br />Now it has been proven that a dude by the name of John did live here for some time and did write the book.<br />But, you go in this cave and there are some niches in the wall that have been gilded in gold. This one was where he “used to put his hand to help him stand” up and this one “he used to rest his head and sleep ”. And people are worshipping these holes in the walls. It was bizarre. There is also no proof this is what they were used for at all. There is also a section in the rock ceiling where three lines meet in the overhang. This is apparently where John heard the voice of the Lord and so powerful it was that it cracked the rock into three - the Holy Trinity.<br />Now, that to me is downright bogus and I hate when the church profit off bogus. It’s not free to visit the cave and monastery constructed above it in the 15th century. Thousands of people from around the world travel here to pray and honour their beliefs at this site and there isn’t a skeric of evidence to support it. Grrr.<br />So anyway, it was a tiny cave that you walked around in a anti-clockwise direction to look at some gold gilded holes in the wall.<br />It was very underwhelming.<br />All up, this island excursion had cost us 54 euro each and it was the least value for money of all the Contiki optionals so far.<br />On the way back to the port, the tour guide spent 10 minutes selling us on why we should visit a little café situated on the water and what it sold and where we could sit there. It was blatant sales and was not well received.<br />So Patmos disappointed me. The only good thing about it was we found an internet café there and were able to print out our tickets for our flights to Venice from Athens and we booked our accommodation in Venice.<br />Back on the ship, it was time for dinner, our first on board. Eight of us went to the restaurant where we had a selection of about four different entrees, soups and salads, mains, side dishes and desserts.<br />The food was filling and tasty and before long it was time to get ready for our Contiki cocktail party.<br />This, for those avid followers of ours, was where we thought Sam would need a suit for but it seems some things changed since Contiki last updated its itineraries.<br />The ship used to host a Captain’s cocktail party which required a jacket and tie for men and cocktail dresses for women. This had since stopped so now Contiki held its own cocktail party for half an hour in one of the lounges on board. All drinks and cocktails during this whole half hour were “free” - meaning we had paid for it in the cost of our tour.<br />But anyway, Sam decided to pull out the suit because it would probably be his only chance to wear it and we had been telling everyone about his brown linen suit. I had also still never seen it on him.<br />I don’t know if dashing would be the right word to describe it but certainly conspicuous.<br />We indulged in our free drinks and stuck around for happy hour in the lounge when all drinks were half price.<br />We ended up buying so many in that hour we couldn’t finish them and it was about midnight that I was ready for bed.<br />Alysia (August 28)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-1350524251182123592010-09-05T09:20:00.000-07:002010-09-05T09:21:29.644-07:00Cruising the Greek islands - MykonosAfter celebrating our final night with the entire Contiki group in Athens, it was another early start for our departure for our three-day Greek Island cruise. About half our original tour group was going on the tour extension. Others were embarking on the seven-day cruise and a handful were going home. Our half was to be merged with another Contiki group, the Concept crew, that had finished the previous day in Athens too.<br />After being picked up from the hotel about 8am it was a half hour bus ride to the port. Our new Contiki tour manager, Dom, filled us in on how the embarkation process would work, including the fact we would have to hand in our passports (eek). The cruise company collects all the passports for the purposes of obtaining visas as we visited the different islands and left and re-entered the European Union from Turkey. For many, the idea of handing over our passports was a bit scary, being that for those travelling for many weeks and months, it was our sole form of identity.<br />But, as promised by Dom, when we arrived at the port, the handing over of our lifelines went off without a hitch. We also had to sign health declarations introduced apparently since the swine flu epidemic.<br />Our ship was to be the Aquamarine, operated by Louis Hellenic Cruise Lines. It wasn’t a big ship, taking only 1200-odd passengers and 300 crew.<br />Once inside, this being our first time on a cruise, we didn’t really have any sort of expectations except perhaps what we had seen on the cover of P&O brochures.<br />Well, this was not like what we had seen. It was an older ship, built in Finland in 1971 our Cruise News informed us and the décor had obviously not been changed since.<br />Sam and I had opted for the “balcony” upgrade which turned out to be a window. This was only a slight disappointment and didn’t bother us beyond the initial “oh OK, no worries”. There were no balconies at all on this ship so it wasn’t like we had missed out but to hear some of our tour mates carry on you would have thought it was the biggest let down since the Sex And The City sequel.<br />It was simply furnished, with twin beds, the window between and a small bathroom with a tiny shower. But it was clean and private and we did at least have some sort of view that others within the ship did not.<br />So after checking out our digs we almost immediately had a meeting with our tour manager in one of the lounges, up one floor.<br />Here she explained how the disembarking procedures worked when we would leave the ship on excursions and also explained what those excursions were. There were several more than what had been outlined in the Contiki itinerary and Dom had highlighted those she recommended. The excursions were open to everyone on the ship so if you didn’t do what the majority of what the Contiki group wanted to do, you would end up in a group of old people.<br />We were by far the youngest group on the ship by at least 20 years and easily the loudest.<br />Each port had two excursion options, the first stop being Mykonos later that afternoon.<br />By this time it was about 11am and we were to set sail shortly. We would arrive in Mykonos about 6pm that night and only have about four hours on shore to explore the town. <br />However, before we could kick back and find the pool and the bar, we had an emergency drill. This involved getting our life jackets out from under our beds and heading up on deck to stand with the rest of the people that in the event of the ship going down we would be sharing a boat with.<br />And I’lI tell you what, had there been an actual emergency, we would all be at the bottom of the Aegean Sea right now because it took forever. It wouldn’t have been half so bad if they hadn’t insisted we all stand so close together, with the men at the back and oldies and women in front. It was stifling hot and some had no concept of personal space. <br />So finally, after our cabin numbers had been checked off and we had waited for all the stupid people (there were so many on this trip) to get up on deck, we were released for a few hours of leisure before docking in Mykonos.<br />It didn’t take me long to find the pool, which for the record looked nothing like an inviting crystal blue oasis but more a green, kinda dirty looking backyard swimming pool.<br />Sam bailed, slinking back to the cabin for a sleep. I opted to lay in the sun. And it was soooo windy. Up on the sun deck, it was blowing a gale you didn’t notice just a few steps below where the pool was, protected as it was by glass walls.<br />It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if the cruise ship lost at least 50 pool towels each cruise from unwary passengers who didn’t hold on to them tightly enough while on deck. Even sitting upright on the sun lounge was a struggle. But it did make it much cooler that what it would otherwise have been. It was also one of those rare occasion where we had free time and weren’t stuck on a bus or ferry or in a room.<br />The hours whiled away and soon it was time to head back down to the lounge to meet with Dom to disembark for Mykonos.<br />The wind was so strong that where the ship normally docked was impossible which actually worked in our favour. Had we docked we would have had to catch a shuttle bus at a cost of eight euro to the town centre. As it was, the ship dropped anchor just outside the town port and tender boats pulled up alongside the ship picking up about 40-60 passengers at a time to drop them into the town. It was free and much more convenient.<br />And it was just as windy. Mykonos is apparently the most windy of all the Greek Islands and today it was proving that.<br />Unfortunately many of the girls in our group, including myself had been getting around in short dresses for days because it was so hot and today was no different. I’m sure plenty of tourists on the island that day have plenty of shots with my bum flashed for all to see.<br />But apart from the wind, which disappeared once you escaped into the maze of streets and whitewashed buildings, it was beautiful. It’s a town just like a postcard; all the buildings are white washed twice a year and the windows and doors all painted blue only the shade varying. The narrow streets made of stone were clean and all around were shops selling beautiful jewellery, restaurants with the freshest seafood and bars everywhere. Mykonos is renowned as a party island. Unfortunately our ship was leaving at 10.30 so there was no time to check out the nightlife.<br />We wandered the maze of streets with a few of our tour mates we had become good friends with and found the old windmills that were used to grind grain back in the day. We walked through what’s called Little Venice because of the buildings built right onto the sea walls. Then the hunt for fried calamari began.<br />All our meals throughout the three-day cruise are included in our package, if you eat on board. Mykonos would be our only port where our time spent on shore would coincide with the dinner hour on the ship. We could return if we wanted to but the lure and smell of fresh seafood was strong.<br />After comparing the prices at a dozen restaurants we ended up at the one our tour manager had recommended. It was reasonably priced, out of the wind and the food was good.<br />Everyone got their fried calamari, seafood risotto, grilled octopus or whatever else took their fancy. There was a slight incident when a gypsy girl (they are everywhere) tried to insist we buy her flowers. We have seen gypsies begging everywhere we have been, particularly in Florence, but also people selling flowers, usually at night in restaurants. They are however, usually men. But last night in Athens in the bar we were having our farewell drinks in, a girl who couldn’t have been more than five years old was walking around a dark bar trying to selling roses. It was probably well after midnight and no parents seemingly in sight.<br />It was the first time I had seen them use the children in this way and then it happened again as I said, in Mykonos at this restaurant.<br />She put the flowers on the table in front of Sam and we said no, as we always did. The little viper said “yes”. “No” we repeated. “Yes” she said, this time more aggressively. Each time I said no, the little brat yelled yes until what had been a cute little face was twisted into an ugly expression that certainly wasn’t going to win her any sales.<br />I ended up having to pick the flowers up off the table and throwing them down behind me, where no one was sitting.<br />And just like that, she picked them up and moved on to the next person at our table. However, she seemed to get the message more quickly this time and moved on to another group.<br />After dinner, Dom was meeting the group to take us to a bar she had persuaded to open early so we could experience something of Mykonos night life.<br />But I was buggered, and so was everyone else we had eaten with and we opted to return to the ship.<br />We had an early start in the morning as we would wake up in Turkey at the port of Kudasai. We were going to explore the ancient city of Ephesus that many have claimed is even better than Pompeii. We would see.<br />Alysia (August 27)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-67290957443815793232010-09-05T09:19:00.000-07:002010-09-19T08:46:15.321-07:00The Acropolis<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZzCPr8_3FPQfQI4p2PIjamZkTBZN0_0Hc8LeGFQ7mPsondWdTw7qaSLoGOWJdjzI0U9YSp6TrVC4GE4vCdgrcvOHJgIdEdhYnXtR7-RxWSS6ny9zJhO806m5DfXvy2VdT5CfAcvXCs8b/s1600/Sam+Athens+003.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ZzCPr8_3FPQfQI4p2PIjamZkTBZN0_0Hc8LeGFQ7mPsondWdTw7qaSLoGOWJdjzI0U9YSp6TrVC4GE4vCdgrcvOHJgIdEdhYnXtR7-RxWSS6ny9zJhO806m5DfXvy2VdT5CfAcvXCs8b/s320/Sam+Athens+003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514215013608461762" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VH3H3hZwZUYTmLxIYmUYNs8jhtKHNOAJXBDRdOu8IHVgYpIgQYwyQstCw8LyFFLTlo13LZQBZM5E71cvu7TeT2-GgtqLOso8Ci7t7i1PAspk8xWdTVIChE9M16DkfS4MWv39Nf-8oP7a/s1600/rome+to+venice+244.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VH3H3hZwZUYTmLxIYmUYNs8jhtKHNOAJXBDRdOu8IHVgYpIgQYwyQstCw8LyFFLTlo13LZQBZM5E71cvu7TeT2-GgtqLOso8Ci7t7i1PAspk8xWdTVIChE9M16DkfS4MWv39Nf-8oP7a/s320/rome+to+venice+244.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214995437082690" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ703EQ6kEC61hirL6A3fivqQJ3w7g_Rhm2YazgTGGvCoyRlBa98OiUkOH-RVgmbYEBWGVzlZYAiO6FEtZ8Xubx29HiVc8Tm6VJQHY-lokbsdIO2HEoHEUZEnDdEp85ZjCACic6HPYXqke/s1600/rome+to+venice+242.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ703EQ6kEC61hirL6A3fivqQJ3w7g_Rhm2YazgTGGvCoyRlBa98OiUkOH-RVgmbYEBWGVzlZYAiO6FEtZ8Xubx29HiVc8Tm6VJQHY-lokbsdIO2HEoHEUZEnDdEp85ZjCACic6HPYXqke/s320/rome+to+venice+242.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214989837427954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-flwYtm7pWwY4JwJZLN_K-0lw-MNAKUOmktb2bu3We7CXZVhUNx0N0vNkxneLhUvqW17bhyeD69AG9oKPXDOxb_DXKK4LVQJ9Lz8zi3ry_ppEBtJlxZieA_hw3enz3AxkRmjLVaFJqhe9/s1600/rome+to+venice+216.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-flwYtm7pWwY4JwJZLN_K-0lw-MNAKUOmktb2bu3We7CXZVhUNx0N0vNkxneLhUvqW17bhyeD69AG9oKPXDOxb_DXKK4LVQJ9Lz8zi3ry_ppEBtJlxZieA_hw3enz3AxkRmjLVaFJqhe9/s320/rome+to+venice+216.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514214987165193906" /></a><br />The Acropolis, all lit up the night before, called to us just as strong in the morning. And after breakfast we were out the doors of our fancy looking hotel to the bus. Getting there would be somewhat of a history lesson in itself. Our tour guide pointed out the architecture contingent with the Hungarian (?) duke who led the city in the 19th (?) century. What surprised me was how much the city didn’t look like a capital. This despite the fact it was an important piece in the Roman-Greek empire. Evidentaly when the barbarians stormed the city much of it was destroyed and it remained little more than a town of only a few thousand people until Greece won its independence a few short years ago.<br />At the drop point for our tour of the Accropolis our intructions were clear; be back at this point by 10.20 or be left behind. So many people come to the sight on buses, off cruises indeed, that its movements are more frequent than Athens international. If there was a flight controller overseeing this mess I would not be surprised. Our guide led the way up the hill over marble steps polished by millions of feet. Yes they were slippery. Through the turnstiles, not unlike those at a sports stadium, we looked up and there was the Acropolis still standing strong. We had roughly an hour. Our guide powered through stopping frequently to talk with us. The capacity of the arhitects of this era continued to amaze me. Their belief was the structure should work with nature. Therefore, rather than levelling a pad for the Acropolis, they curved the marble floor over the crest of the hill. And, like the Pantheon in Rome, they curved the floor to aid with drainage. Now for most people this would cause a big problem. The columns would be at all angles. But with hammer and chisel they shaped the columns to keep them all precisely in alignment. This was no mean feat considering the columns themselves are tapered as well. Their genius didn’t stop there either. They Greeks and Romans were well aware of what the area’s seismic activity would do to this structure. Linking these giant slabs are iron pegs coated in lead. Without that coating the iron would have corroded and weakened the stone to the point of collapse. Alas, after 2000 years, one could only expect some wear and tear. The stone in places is crumbling. So engineers inject it with a saline solution to slow if not stop the process. Where damage has already occurred some marble sections are being replaced to maintain the structural integrity as a whole. The pegs used today are titanium.<br />The only thing more astounding than all of this was the number of people up on that hill. Still so early in the day and in 30 degree-plus heat. Being all stone the heat is intense. I could not imagine what it would be like in peak-summer after midday. We grabbed a few photos with what little time we had and started our descent. It was at this point, with people running past us, we realised it was a quarter past. We had five minutes to get back down all the slippery stairs through the hordes of people. Members of our group were running and Alysia even left me behind for a bit. Damned thongs. It’s like the British say: If tying shoelaces requires an IQ of 60 then why do so many Aussies wear thongs? Luckily I proved to myself at least I had the dexterity to achieve the task and not get left behind. But could a soap dodging Pom do the same? I ask you.<br />On the way back to the hotel, with everyone on board, we stopped to look at the reconstuction of the world’s first Olympic stadium. All stone, the original must have looked amazing, considering how good the reconstruction looked. It did host a few events when Athens hosted the first modern world Olympics. From my perspective though it was a photographic nightmare being too big to squeeze into frame with zero time to compose something a little bit fun.<br />Around the corner from our hotel we sat down to eat some more souvlaki in pita. All up it was less than 10 euro and so good. Time was soon up though and we had to meet our new tour manager for the cruise which started the next day. Seated among some now familiar faces Dominique - Dom she insisted - filled us in how it would work in a very straight forward way. This South African was one straight shooter: “You will hand over your passports to the cruise company because that is the way it works.” Gulp.<br />The afternoon was ours to do as we wished. For me, that was kick back in our room, with the energy-sapping beginnings of a cold. While Alysia slept I started investigating alternative transport to Venice. The ferry ride from Bari to Corfu, seeing how we would travel to Venice for 30 hours, turned us off. Quite simply it would not be a comfortable trip - 30 hours - without a bed or cabin. How would we watch our belongings in our sleep. Researching flights and different destinations took all afternoon and still we weren’t sure which way to leap.<br />With the sun getting low in the sky we made for our farewell dinner. This optional extra didn’t leave us hungry either with there being no shortage of food. I just wished I could enjoy it and some wine without the sore throat. In between mouthfuls traditional Greek dances would entertain us and “accidentally” fall into the laps of some onlookers. One girl was even distracted and quickly hoisted onto the shoulders of the stocky Greek man and spun around above our heads. It was good value. Just outside the restaurant we posed for an impromptu group photo on some stairs. Then we head to the bar near our hotel for drinks. Alysia embraced the old friend that is SoCo while I sought out something to anaesthetise my throat a little. Jack straight up did the trick. Over the next few hours I sipped on a few of these and talked with a small, revolving group of people, off the dance floor. It was only now over these drinks, virtually at the end of our time, that everyone started to gel. It was good to see but I for one was disappointed this hadn’t happened the frst night. Faring well those with whom we parted with the next day, we called it a night about 1am.<br />SamUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-71845800066071253882010-09-05T09:14:00.000-07:002010-09-05T09:19:54.534-07:00A long travel day from Corfu to AthensCorfu had been just what we needed. It was a break from all the history we’d immersed ourselves. And it was a chance to unwind, by the pool and on the boat. So we were a little sad when boarding the ferry to mainland Greece. The boat itself was a little classier than the job we’d caught from Bari to Corfu. At first we sat on deck but then chanced our hand at finding a seat in the lounge leaving behind some of our Contiki group. We managed to find some comfy seats even if we couldn’t lay down. The award for most random event went to this Greek guy who, for seemingly no reason, just collapsed. Maybe he’d drunk more than some of us the previous night. For us it was an uneventful trip. We drew nearer to port without drama. But when it came to jumping off we would do it ourselves. Katia, our Contiki Mamma, was somewhere else on the ship sorting out “a fight”. We didn’t see her for some time, even after loading the bags onto the coach, we were left wondering. Kimberly, from British Columbia, explained what had happened: the Contiki group on deck were trying to sleep and took objection to a Greek family playing some loud music. When they refused to turn it down Amy disappeared only to return with the captain in tow. His instructions; turn it down. And so they did apparently. For a little while at least. So when the music came back up you can only guess the trouble began. Hand gestures flew until Amy got a firm shove for her trouble. Ah the Greeks. They’re passionate if nothing else and they weren’t going to back down. By the time we docked, the captain had contacted the police and wanted Amy to file a report. Katia had to sort it out and .thankfully the matter was dropped and we could resume our trip.<br />The coach took us through some hilly, spectacular countryside, winding our way to the first stop. Katia had arranged for us to dine on some gyros, souvlaki in pita bred, for little more than a couple of euros plus drinks. Among the last off the bus we were even lucky enough to finish eating in time to get back on the coach with perhaps a minute to spare.<br />The next few hours were spent dozing as the countryside opened up. We followed the ocean at a distance. Between us and it fields, then houses. Before Athens we stopped to admire a feat in engineering which had only been a dream in Roman times. It was a canal, only 25 metres wide, and 6km long. Standing on a traffic bridge over it, we could see both ends. And the boats beneath us passing through. Big deal? You might write it off quickly. But before this ships had to travel hundreds of kilometres around.<br />Athens was a welcome sight to the group after a full day of travelling. Checking into our modern, clean hotel only built on the sense of relief. We even had time to clean up before heading to a nearby restaurant for one of our included dinners. It wasn’t a big walk either through the tourist markets to find it nestled among other restaurants. The food wasn’t remarkable but it did the trick and we certainly weren’t complaining. In fact we were just as keen to get back to the hotel and checkout the roof top terrace with the “amazing view”. All we needed was a bottle of wine to make it an event so we found a local drop and made our way back. Between about six of us we managed to stay on the right track, too.<br />On the top floor of our hotel, we walked out of the lift and onto the terrace. What a view. All lit up to the north was the Acropolis, standing strong on a rocky outcrop as its designers intended some 2000 years ago. <br />In vain we snapped away but even with our SLRs couldn’t get the best pictures - perhaps with a tripod and a few thousand dollars worth of lens - really we were just playing around. Wisely, we decided to sit back, sip the wine and enjoy the company. <br />We listened in shock and delight. Paul told us how he was robbed in his sleep on a train in Italy 10 years back. And Clinton let it slip he would propose to Mai in Venice. But quickly added we should still meet up seeing as we’d be there at the same time, though he couldn‘t share a gondola ride as Alysia had suggested. I kinda guessed he had something planned. We were content knowing we could celebrate with them. But now it was time for bed. We had to be sure to keep mum. <br />Sam (August 25)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-61222993350469068972010-09-05T09:10:00.000-07:002010-09-07T09:55:31.046-07:00George's Boat<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLvxtb7521JQugCrNntd4W5_XIb6anYcUYR4E4TycpD-yJRROYxHXSjNvZ4pvKUtcSHZhp2XleLzM7HuJ6bRl6TY6WvtMr2FVDcY0jNWmxK0fuc7UBlriaKSMOxfHrUPLE8I_cSxKhv85/s1600/rome+to+venice+155.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLvxtb7521JQugCrNntd4W5_XIb6anYcUYR4E4TycpD-yJRROYxHXSjNvZ4pvKUtcSHZhp2XleLzM7HuJ6bRl6TY6WvtMr2FVDcY0jNWmxK0fuc7UBlriaKSMOxfHrUPLE8I_cSxKhv85/s320/rome+to+venice+155.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514216258707081026" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ39faOW35jcxW8VF1pGOXa0iEhAc6dO7O8tCrPvtHYRyngQGZNO3KbCfLdY-vldrpqwlOJgrow-qaBBXJMAz5kYagoLr4aWUuSrDdlVEHFaUeRwVszG14CUfr8eGJJLMSyEn0jnfYags/s1600/rome+to+venice+143.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZ39faOW35jcxW8VF1pGOXa0iEhAc6dO7O8tCrPvtHYRyngQGZNO3KbCfLdY-vldrpqwlOJgrow-qaBBXJMAz5kYagoLr4aWUuSrDdlVEHFaUeRwVszG14CUfr8eGJJLMSyEn0jnfYags/s320/rome+to+venice+143.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514216249041158610" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fh_IVwuV1GwlpgUYnMtoiLWQq5Perf7loPvj70KpaoV8yEP1zS9Wm7OG11zEuCrRGeSgQ0-6LOXXM30bvxcxUSptkGTfIgpRcM6rELIMobVnhFkutSdMjeFyaJFNN_QgLH1zCDUTsP10/s1600/rome+to+venice+161.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fh_IVwuV1GwlpgUYnMtoiLWQq5Perf7loPvj70KpaoV8yEP1zS9Wm7OG11zEuCrRGeSgQ0-6LOXXM30bvxcxUSptkGTfIgpRcM6rELIMobVnhFkutSdMjeFyaJFNN_QgLH1zCDUTsP10/s320/rome+to+venice+161.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514216243173724050" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOn7o4kXa5-58wkyG9k3Nwd-zLLzKqFLtpT5un7TnhY_S0viBdgpXfLlOppPeF5gK6TFDRciySRc95JEiec90MjJSl8fiSiSoX9Dm3fTEBnMmkJBXc1EHpjPZpKUIGvfzOadmh04G-kTZ/s1600/rome+to+venice+172.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOn7o4kXa5-58wkyG9k3Nwd-zLLzKqFLtpT5un7TnhY_S0viBdgpXfLlOppPeF5gK6TFDRciySRc95JEiec90MjJSl8fiSiSoX9Dm3fTEBnMmkJBXc1EHpjPZpKUIGvfzOadmh04G-kTZ/s320/rome+to+venice+172.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514216237346573122" /></a><br />“I’m on a boat, I’m on a boat!” It wasn’t the type of boat our US gangster-singer was spruiking about, wearing his “flippy floppies”. It was infinitely cooler than some million dollar yacht. This was George’s Boat, maybe a once upon a time fishing trawler but now a party boat catering to the young and young at heart. George the Greek is something of a Contiki legend. He may be as round as he is short but somehow his sewer mouth makes it hard not to like him. The singlet tops he sold were equally hilarious, all of which told us to “Come afloat! on Georges Boat.” Fitting given the scene depicted on the back of it was a Greek orgy and quite explicit. So, of course, we bought one. On the front of mine is a simple skull and crossbones design, like the pirate flag flying from the boat’s mast. I may as well have got the “Eat Pussy” or the “Fork Off” because there’s no way I could get around in public wearing it even as is. <br />First up on the menu was some water sports with the strict instruction not to starting pissing it up until after. Many leapt into activities of which the most popular was parasailing. And having watched a few people do it I was keen to refresh some skydiving memories. Alysia, who done nothing of the sort before, was keen to.<br />There were only a few nerves in the seconds before we ran off the edge of the platform and were lifted high up behind the back of a boat. The first few seconds were pure adrenaline and the lift into the air was an amazing feeling.<br />Back on the platform, our Contiki friend Jen was capturing every moment on our camera.<br />We sailed high above the sea, about a kilometre past where our boat was docked at the beach before our boat driver gave us a good dunking in the water before hitting the throttle and lifting us back up.<br />When the time came to be dropped in the water for real, there was a short moment of panic where you think the weight of parachute behind you would pull you under the water but the life vests kept us well; afloat.<br />The boat driver swung around and picked us back up and ran us back into the platform, where the others were waiting to have their turn.<br />Alysia headed back to the beach but the adrenaline junkie in me was alive and kicking. Before long I had eight people keen to ride the banana behind the ski boat. Life jackets on and we were out on the water. It was all very tame for at least a couple of minutes until the turns got tighter and tighter. The spray was flying higher and higher too. Then like dominos we fell. Tangles of legs and arms amid torsos shattering the smooth water. At least one person copped it in the head unsurprisingly. Climbing back on the thing was equally as amusing. And as is the way the first crash is the catalyst for more. Boys being boys, the banana was soon sabotaged by rogue passengers, leaning the wrong way. Bam - another head full of salt water. Inflatable toys behind boats are the most bizarre form of torture in that no matter how uncomfortable it is you can’t stop smiling.<br />Food! No sooner were we out of the water were we back on George’s boat eating his home grown salad. “Cheeky, cheeky, all fresh, all good for the sex life, eat up.” Along with the cold cuts, salad and thick-cut fresh bred were the chips. As promised they were a highlight in themselves. If people hadn’t started drinking all ready they soon did. George had a well-stocked ice chest with cheap beer and girly-drinks. This fueled some bravery at our first off-the-side swimming spot in crystal azure waters. At least a couple of dives and flips went awry. This was merely an entrée to the main though where at our next stop, Skinny Dippy Island, our Contiki reps lost their gear and went overboard, followed by almost everyone else on the boat. We were competing for pride of course against the Concept Contiki group with the prize to be presented that evening. In the water the girls stayed close while the guys kept a safe distance. Getting the togs back on in the water was a challenge too. I thought I had it easily whipped until back on the boat Alysia pointed out they were inside out. Damn! Back in the water for another try.<br />Further on we motored with DJ George spinning discs. He decided it was time for us Australians to sing the national anthem. We were way-out numbered by the Canadians on Contiki but we made sure we set the bar high belting out Advance Australia Fair, followed of course by a rousing round of Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oi-oi-oi! But George being well versed in Australians behaving badly abroad roused us into singing I Come From a Land Down Under.<br />The Canadians responded strongly in the vocal olympics with their anthem before we all sang along to Bryan Adam’s Summer of 69 - Bryan being Canadian of course. The handful of people from the US sang their anthem loudly too - even if they were confused by George’s “American” song, a number by the Beach Boys. The Kiwis, all three of them, probably outdid us Aussies though with A Slice of Heaven followed by the Hakka on our insistence. CJ, Cute Japanese-girl, as she had been dubbed, was singing her anthem all alone until Clinton, Mai, Kim and Kevin lended some moral support. Sohaib was virtually on his own though through the Pakistani anthem.<br />Time for another swim yet this did little to sober me up. Nor did the second lunch back on board. I casually thought one more swim couldn’t hurt but no sooner had I hit the water than George decided it was time to go. If I hadn’t drank so much I would have been embarrassed. The only thing that nearly killed me was the swim to catch up to the boat.<br />Despite my best efforts with the sunscreen my shoulders were screaming by this point. But before long we were docked. While I was sad the trip was over my skin could surely take no more. Besides the drinking would continue tonight at the toga party. And I desperately needed after sun to extinguish the blaze.<br />By the time we had dinner at the hotel<br />By the time and arrived at Contiki’s Corfu base it was 10 and closer to 10.30 by the time we were “dressed” in our togas and at the bar. I opted for the Julius Caesar look while Alysia fashioned an Aphrodite toga that continued to fall down most of the night. We had two hours to make the most of these cheap, strong drinks. The Greek headresses we’d fashioned from foliage stripped from the garden wouldn’t last long either being prickly around the ears. But somehow it lasted longer than my drinking. Did I pass out? No. Did I just throw up? Again, no. I was just over drinking by this stage. Content to watch others get plastered. And we quickly learned being of the fairer sex was rewarded by stronger drinks which helped considerably. <br />Soon we were singing our “Day Song” in a bid to outdo our opponents, the Contiki Concept group. Despite the protests of game fixing we won and Mamma Contiki received the spoils. She quickly downed the firey concoction defending our honour vehemently. By this stage our Canadian friend Peter, whom Alysia had been procuring drinks, was rolling drunk thanks to G and Ts, with only a splash of tonic, and the effects of sea sickness. After a long time we coaxed him out of the men’s and toward the bus, propped up by yours truly and Clinton. A power spew over the balcony out front helped a little and he managed somehow to get out of the toga and dressed. There were no explosive repeats on the bus back to the hotel either. I’d like to think it came down to some encouraging words from us but perhaps not. The poor guy was whiter than white and couldn’t apologise enough between bouts of wanting to throw up and flaking out.<br />Sam (August 24)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-43687034008365642012010-09-05T09:08:00.000-07:002010-09-05T09:09:41.985-07:00A much-needed break in CorfuBANG- BANG-BANG! We weren’t taking fire but the knocking on our door was just as furious. It was our wake up call. In the truckers lounge for breakfast we discovered we were lucky; this messenger had entered at least one room in his fervent conduct of this duty. More likely he was hoping to get a sneaky peak at some of the girls. But any stories were a welcome distraction to what was our worst breakfast yet. It consisted of little more than boiled egg and maybe a coffee but the full truth has been lost in the drunken haze. Or maybe it was the fumes we were all choofing on in the cargo hold waiting to jump off at the port that makes it hard to recall.<br />Either way it was a short bus ride to our hotel overlooking the Corfu airport. We only had to make it through a briefing from the Corfu Contiki rep before the day was ours to do as we wished. Within a few minutes we were dozing by the pool, at all of 9am, stirring briefly as the group noisely made for the bus on an excursion to Corfu town. We took the chance to shift into the sun and get chatting with London-based Aussie, Brittney, and Claire, from Scotland. Between lunching by the pool and rehydrating the afternoon passed quickly with several dips in the cool, relaxing pool. Not even the return of the group at about 2 could spoil the day. Only some rowdy interlopers brought our stint by the pool to an end. These local teens were out to impress all the sunbaking women with their diving and bombing “skills” but only succeeded in flooding several backpacks and handbags. And pissing off the hotel manager. Thankfully our room was ready for check in by that point. And we had to get ready for our traditional Greek dinner.<br />It was a shortish bus ride to the Greek dining hall yet we managed to scoff at some road rage and get a laugh from some of the Greek signs. We could only speculate as to what we might buy at China World. The food landed on our tables with impressive speed. Flaky-skinned baked potatoes, salad and tzatsiki (cucumber yogurt) were all well received followed by generous servings of well-seasoned lamb. The only distraction was the traditional Greek dancing. To borrow an often used phrase from Lonely Planet, the evening reached its “zenith” with the fire dance. Around the rim of the dance floor staff squirted some sort of incendiary setting it on fire. The men would then take turns doing their best to impress the ladies with their dancing skills. One of them spun around with a table between his teeth. To cap off the evening everyone joined in the traditional dancing.<br />Sam (August 23)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-77101416615121214262010-09-05T09:07:00.000-07:002010-09-05T09:08:13.220-07:00The lost civilisation of PompeiiThrough the haze in the distance Mt Vesuvius rises peacefully belying its angry past. While it sleeps we get off the bus - this being our final stop in Naples - to explore the victim that is Pompeii. If we needed a reminder of its fury, we need only look at the geography. This was once a seaside city. The ocean is now off in the distance. Along the tourist boulevard we walked, through the turnstiles, up the hill. Slowly the city revealed itself. Walls jutted out of the ground, shadows of once was, not a roof to be seen anywhere. A theatre of distinctly Roman design hinted at the city’s former vibrant past. “Where are the victims?” This was the chilling highlight of Pompeii we were all here to see. Our tour guide marches on through the sprawling city remains and we wade through his thick Italian accent trying to grasp the depth of just what the city once was. He takes us into one of the city’s many houses to explain how water was captured through an opening in the roof. It’s a little lost on us and we’re just confused how the marble plinth fails to rate a mention. The painted frescos, mere shadows of what once was, prove of more interest. On we walk along the “curb and gutter” streets, made entirely out of stone, existing much as they did prior to the 79 AD eruption.<br />The streets are littered with dogs, longing around, it is apparently their city - the dog is its patron saint. Tourists are encouraged to sponsor one. Provide funds for its food and rent perhaps. If dogs are the best people then we were soon feeling a little snappy too: we found more people jumping queues while we waited to inspect one of Pompeii’s former whore houses. Inside we surveyed the stone beds and pillows. On the walls were painted scenes of fornication. “It only cost a couple of glasses of wine,” we’re told. Nice to know. “Grr bar bar bar bar…grrr AAAHHHHHHH,” breaks muted conversation. Past me girls run. In the corner one of the dogs asserts its authority over another. Outside a handful of these girls recount their terror. The aggressor stands in the doorway while the invader sulks off. “Oh look, he’s bleeding, poor thing,” one remarks. When chitchat turns back to the brothel the hypotheses grow wilder without basis: one girl has to be corrected by the guide for telling others the beds on the upper floors were more comfortable and the tarrif more expensive. What can you do but laugh.<br />Finding the brothel wasn’t too hard either, back in the day, apparently. To prove the point Mr Guide points out a penis carved into the footpath. Seemingly one could take his chariot there drunk, too, though this might be a stretch akin to the comfy beds. In the gutters the guide points out grooves, 50mm wide and just as deep, where chariot wheels would tram line along the streets. The afternoon sun would reflect off the white stone pieces laid into the road, too, we’re told. The only quirk in the way of these people, by modern standards, might be the god they worshipped and his extra large wedding tackle. The city is strewn with such images and phallic objects designed to bring virility and good luck.<br />With our tour group tiring we bear down on the victims themselves of the ash and poisonous gas while Mt Vesuvius seemingly winks from high in the sky. Protected in Perspex boxes are plaster moulds of the bodies archaeologists found. Lying on their backs contorted in pain or on their bellies shielding their mouths in vain. It’s a little chilling. There is even a dog frozen in pain against the sky. On the other hand it’s a joke. The experience feels a little cheap: we’re herded through the city in mobs that behave so poorly. And if you look to your right there are shelves of old pottery - we could almost be in the landscaping section of the local hardware supplier, jostling for the specials. Maybe in the near future people will be able to buy concrete casts of the Pompeii victims. It’s our right after all?<br />The hours pass quickly back on the coach as more of the tilled clay Italian countryside passes by, reminding me of work, interspersed by olive trees and swathes of wheat stubble. Eventually we reach Bari late in the afternoon. All that stands between us, some sun and water, is security and an overnight ferry. I was so eager I forgot to unclip the bag from my chest - the security guys almost put me through the xray machine on the conveyor belt as one item (with a nudge and a wink).<br />Into the bowels of the boat we marched and to check-in. Five minutes later we had deposited our night bags in the not unpleasant sleeping quarters and worked our way to the “truckers lounge” for dinner. Mamma Contiki had ensured her flock had first pick at the cafeteria. The serving staff were generous too. “Want some spaghetti?” Well here’s a heaped plate full. There was no use asking for small servings because they all came in trucker size. The beer was pretty cheap too, even if the 20 euro note almost created a riot with the cashier, yet it failed to spoil the dining experience.<br />The reasonably priced beers were welcomed by some of the other Contiki guys so as soon as dinner was dispensed with, it was time to knock a few back. What else was there to do? We found some plastic dining settings on the back of the boat and started drinking. Ryan, from Kansas City, bought the first round. The group was a little timid at first but the 15 beers certainly didn’t sit around long enough to get warm. Noting a few half empty bottles sitting around I bought a round of 10, thinking they’d take a while to sink, yet they went quickly. Meanwhile a deck of playing cards we bought at Pompeii, depicting ancient Greek-era sex, did the rounds. There were quite a few laughs and perhaps more raised eyebrows. Former frat-boy Clinton, from California, bought the next round with London-based Paki Sohaib, followed quickly by another round from Aussie Alwyn. The latter probably welcomed the trip to the bar given the love triangle forming around him. The conversation flowed, along with the beer, long after the iPod died. The soundtrack through midnight was instead our laughter and shouting. The video clip was the near-full moon reflecting off the ship’s wake. Rather drunk we stumbled into bed - breakfast was in three hours. There would be no hangovers because we’d all still be drunk.<br />Sam (August 22)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-24320673462128991562010-08-25T08:59:00.001-07:002010-09-07T10:08:54.705-07:00Home of the VIP<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnnY_EYM_L7_GSOmOJd_tWiU8-puPTzl-XKd2OKyQeI3YzFoT-79JUWN7zxWY2JKK3frcT1C-4UhMlbAtsGyns0I1NBGsCtf-OnSdpnkjKsd6tt34EW5SMXwr4nJm7oOIHCjf7yGMSHX5/s1600/rome+to+venice+078.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnnY_EYM_L7_GSOmOJd_tWiU8-puPTzl-XKd2OKyQeI3YzFoT-79JUWN7zxWY2JKK3frcT1C-4UhMlbAtsGyns0I1NBGsCtf-OnSdpnkjKsd6tt34EW5SMXwr4nJm7oOIHCjf7yGMSHX5/s320/rome+to+venice+078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514219710792442098" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6QACLbu-bftjQsd6V5RjtGfJUXMTcCpOgCRbI7pkV7dL2JKxh-0pMmKVXz88IbTql1JiIzAfpDon2u8EEIvZ9eCqHR3FSS84Hp4H0FnxS_fVvaaiSe1JTKO5TqA5wIwmAkHILnxbTAyT/s1600/rome+to+venice+033.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6QACLbu-bftjQsd6V5RjtGfJUXMTcCpOgCRbI7pkV7dL2JKxh-0pMmKVXz88IbTql1JiIzAfpDon2u8EEIvZ9eCqHR3FSS84Hp4H0FnxS_fVvaaiSe1JTKO5TqA5wIwmAkHILnxbTAyT/s320/rome+to+venice+033.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514219703937340322" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjXV4XMPs6UBoMO47lPfZOFx7jZ5j5latbtu67oUInXtL7AgP2ogagIbF4TtKGpuER5YNYPUz3I2aOUP4ISsn1m1RKlqcOW1kUPFlutsg75pkMAorNd6oJf51VyCMCmLllfRHYxwbGZfm/s1600/rome+to+venice+028.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjXV4XMPs6UBoMO47lPfZOFx7jZ5j5latbtu67oUInXtL7AgP2ogagIbF4TtKGpuER5YNYPUz3I2aOUP4ISsn1m1RKlqcOW1kUPFlutsg75pkMAorNd6oJf51VyCMCmLllfRHYxwbGZfm/s320/rome+to+venice+028.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514219697740570274" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMq3i-F1nDz3D-ZumBitFrd9vBsHsBR7GXhxvMvsbS0xn1TkVVOF5sOh14itNOcKbR8LFQ0zEe7KTZqnXRHYGDcVeYXbO6Kg2UAQexIPQsrRNBKEc88sg3R2xCGGLHPqYIMg-fNR5xne8/s1600/rome+to+venice+083.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMq3i-F1nDz3D-ZumBitFrd9vBsHsBR7GXhxvMvsbS0xn1TkVVOF5sOh14itNOcKbR8LFQ0zEe7KTZqnXRHYGDcVeYXbO6Kg2UAQexIPQsrRNBKEc88sg3R2xCGGLHPqYIMg-fNR5xne8/s320/rome+to+venice+083.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514219687846805698" /></a><br />Refreshed we woke to a warm sunny morning quietly enthusiastic about Capri. Alysia was especially excited to find fresh bread and, wait for it… a toaster. She broke out our tube of tourist torture paste (Vegemite) and indulged in the taste of home sweet home.<br />To get to the ferry we walked down 100 stairs to the floor of a small valley in the cliff face. The water couldn’t even be termed choppy in the bay of Naples and was even calmer in the bay of Capri. We certainly didn’t baulk at getting out of the twin hull and straight onto a timber, five-metre vessel for our tour around the isle of Capri. We were shown the white grotto (cave), green grotto, then dropped off at a beach for a 40-minute swim - very precise in the Contiki fast-paced way. The water was beautiful even if the rocky beach made us wish we were home. Very salty, it was therapeutic for Alysia and her big toe, which had just been bloodied by a clumsy tour-goer. Alysia and I took turns watching our gear on the beach, even if no one else seemed worried. Further around the island we passed through a natural archway over the water that was probably better than I first gave credit. <br />A few minutes later we arrived at the entrance to the famous blue grotto, the swimming hole of the Roman emperor Tiberius - one of the first playboys. It was he popularised the island though there seems to be some conjecture as to if he found the place. It quickly became a holiday spot for the Roman senators anyway. Today, the grotto wasn’t getting the pants off the ladies but it was fleecing the tourists at precisely 11.50 euro to jump in a tiny rowboat that fit five people to disappear through a small hole in the cliff side. Bobbing around outside the entrance to this sea cave were maybe a dozen tourist boats like ours and perhaps as many wooden dingys. At all of maybe three metres long the pilot would stand with oars in hand and work them back and forward rising and falling over the boat wash. The Italians chatted back and forward over the two-way radio and used a lot of hand gestures, some familiar, some not. It’s another language. The prognosis as shared by Katia was not good - it would be a 90-minute wait. Many on our other boat weren’t keen so they went on to another beach for a swim. We had come around the world and were determined to do as many of these once-in-a-life things as possible. We bobbed away without a care and made some small talk. Half an hour later it was our turn. <br />Swinging over the side we lowered ourselves one at a time with a little more finesse than some of the other people we had watched. Our boatman levered away at the oars like he was born doing it, over to a bigger boat where we paid the money to enter. Going blind, I was seated on the floor of the bow, entering the tunnel. We lowered our heads as one to pass through, such little leeway there was, as our boatman ditched his oars and pulled us in along a chain suspended from the cave roof. In a few seconds we were inside and released a combined gasp of amazement. The only light entering the cave was that from beneath us, through the water, reflected off the white sand beneath. It was truly azzure - the most brilliant shade of blue one might ever see in the natural realm. I happily shot some video while our boatman worked hard for a tip, singing to demonstrate the acoustics. How we wished we could swim in there but it was “forbidden”. It was lucky I took video because Alysia’s camera simply wouldn’t focus and I doubt my Canon would have either - it would have to have been a manual job. And our time was up, we were in there for all of two minutes, yet this did not detract from the experience.<br />Back at port we ate some lunch, more pasta for Alysia and a generous bruscetta for me - so fresh, so good. And filling, so there was little reason for a few of us not to walk the 750 metres up to the town proper. There were a few stairs but it was mainly just walking up hill through the narrow laneways. Shade was quickly sort where available given the oppressive heat and humidity - we were all soaked by the top. But what to do once there? It was all Prada, Dolce and Gabbana - basically just fashion brands for the rich. Get me back to the beach.<br />The water was so good even if the pebbles were packed with people on the shore - luckily there was a little more room once wet. And kids being kids there was no staying dry as they splashed their siblings and parents, we were just caught in the cross fire. As 4pm drew closer and our time to regroup, some of the guys and girls were gathering for beers. I was desperately tempted but just as happy to dry off ready for the trip back. Only trouble was, waiting for the ferry in the sun, I was just as wet again in a few moments.<br />Off the ferry in Sorrento there was only one thing standing between us and a shower, all those bloody steps we had bounced down that morning. It was a steady slog but the last 12 steps were near torture. The fact there was no water pressure back at the room was literally torture, I’m sure some were thinking. While they cursed one another from their shower stalls I went to get supplies. The supermarket was open and inside I found some cheaper sunscreen and some stain remover ready for our next stoush with the laundry - white clothes and travelling don’t mix. I even found some water (the tap stuff was horrible) and paid. I just couldn’t bring myself to buy a one euro (1.50 AUD) litre bottle of wine even though it was probably fine. The cold largies of Peroni lager were more tempting, still I resisted. I really had to get back and blog.<br />An hour in Alysia fell to the temptation of those cheap beers and went to grab a couple. I’m dreading going back home because I will surely have to share my coldies with her now. They went down well too, evaporating the hour until we went for dinner. And a late dinner it was. As a group we walked to the restaurant at 8 but didn’t eat until closer to 10. Not even the woman with the bloody nose, we encountered on the way there, could fill the gap with speculation over what happened. The food was welcome and we devoured almost every last morsel. More pasta and more thinly sliced, dry meat, drowned in gravy in case you wondered. Besides we were all keen to check out the cocktail place Katia had told us about. So, getting close to 11 we made our way out the doors and down the busy street. It was a real tourist town, complete with street artists extracting tips. Our rush was all but for nothing though as we stood and perspired at the cocktail bar but it is high summer in the south of Italy; it’s what we signed up for. And the cocktails were worth the six euros, even if the venue was uninspiring. Thankfully we were among a handful to grab the balcony - above the carved valley we walked earlier that day - to enjoy my mojito. Alysia enjoyed the fruit tingle too but the club to dance and have fun, just a distant promise on the horizon. Better to call it a night she thought. And I wished I possibly had too, despite enjoying another couple of mojitos and hitting that club. It was well worth it to see Dicko, a guy on our tour originally from Tamworth, dirty dancing with the dirty woman we dubbed Mumma Cougar. Very sweet and outrageously funny. But how would I feel in the morning?<br />I got back to the room and was surprised to find Alysia awake. That’s just the beauty of wifi and Skype I guess, having just chatted away with the parents. But now was time for sleep.<br />Sam (August 21)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-81652192726126433932010-08-25T08:58:00.001-07:002010-08-25T08:58:46.264-07:00Sorrento!It seemed like the whole 51 people on our tour wanted nothing but to sleep on the first morning, many having gone out till 2am - some had not even been to bed. So the first hour and a bit to Sorrento was good. Even stopping for food and drinks for the mandatory driver break was fine. But a riot almost started when Katia, our Contiki mumma, wanted to play games. Kinda like speed dating, everyone in an aisle seat had to stand up and move down two seats to meet someone new. I was sceptical at first but put in the effort. Unfortunately some were too tired or just not interested. This was followed by an Italian phrase lesson, which for the ladies included a cast away line to ward off unsolicited attention from the “Italian stallions“.<br />The three-hour trip to Naples didn’t take long at all and perhaps the most tedious part was winding our way up impossibly narrow streets to the hilltop resort-esque town. Fabio, our driver, seemed to take it with ease, even with the kamikaze oncoming traffic. So narrow were the streets in Sorrento proper we had to walk 10 minutes to our hotel while our luggage was transferred - still this was luxury to some of our own transfers earlier in the trip. We found the hotel to be a pleasant surprise too, all new fittings and very clean. We dumped our bags in the room and our TV remote (which you are given at reception with the key) and went for lunch as a group. The café-restaurant was perched on a cliff at least 100m above the water, like most of the town is. We were guiltily glad it tailored to tourists too, so I could order a steak and dodge some of the carbs. Alysia ordered a hamburger. We got to know a couple of Canadians from the night before. A clear, haze free sky, would have made it a near a perfect lunch.<br />“Shot, shot-shot-shot, shot shot,” Katia sang from some US song on the pop charts. It was time to go and sample the real limoncello. In the back of the shop a couple of old Italian guys were peeling lemons, putting the rind into a vat of pure alcohol, where it stews for a few days. I thought they would just ferment the skins but then I’m probably naive. At 30 per cent it’s certainly strong enough but maybe one needs to develop an appreciation for it, because I wasn’t fussed. The crème version was certainly more appealing.<br />That afternoon many people went to the “beach” but I was happy to leave Alysia to relax by the pool while I went to do some laundry. Mundane? Yes, but holidays, or adventures, can’t always be exciting. The empty coin laundry was an unexpected place of solace, a place to relax and digest the past few days.<br />Many of the group had opted into a pizza night but we decided to do our own thing. We walked out of the hotel lobby turned left and took a seat in the courtyard of a restaurant. The clam spaghetti I had as a first was quite good and the chicken cacciatore was even better - it was a real home cooked-style meal which was just what I needed. I theorised with Alysia it was perhaps the sort of meal an Italian might come home to at the end of the day, a hearty casserole, perhaps a little tongue in cheek. Her green gnocci pesto with salmon was equally welcomed.<br />Afterward we scoped out a nearby pharmacy for some sunscreen but at near 20 euros we walked on only to find the supermarket closed. So it was back to the room for some rest and a little blogging. Tomorrow we were going to Capri, the town of the VIP.<br />Sam (August 20)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-59099811693000588342010-08-25T08:57:00.001-07:002010-09-08T08:54:54.162-07:00Rome wasn't built in a day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqkMFHgwIbIjHf0UvosGJEBQD0qxzHeoKbkhwgqlTSSqsQ3Swk6Lefccxhqey120M4cQlc_oDOXM4GiZYRLtiFBU0MLlj6Ko3xmRFpFo86kbh-R30io_gcnCEylWKNcPxxNhAT8kOmNE0/s1600/Rome+Alysia+274.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqkMFHgwIbIjHf0UvosGJEBQD0qxzHeoKbkhwgqlTSSqsQ3Swk6Lefccxhqey120M4cQlc_oDOXM4GiZYRLtiFBU0MLlj6Ko3xmRFpFo86kbh-R30io_gcnCEylWKNcPxxNhAT8kOmNE0/s320/Rome+Alysia+274.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509744949789384402" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9dklGB18uSplIehMb95kN-4zq0ZngeAarbTpuAayzcJli97SF4PasIDLHpRxRo2Y54wUAaX8D9EDguZsnGs1ykzTvS9OPnKO9Ohg6VnNvsOVeEf_o8vD218xAAX1MboPmAHiyhGE3sUN/s1600/Rome+Alysia+320.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9dklGB18uSplIehMb95kN-4zq0ZngeAarbTpuAayzcJli97SF4PasIDLHpRxRo2Y54wUAaX8D9EDguZsnGs1ykzTvS9OPnKO9Ohg6VnNvsOVeEf_o8vD218xAAX1MboPmAHiyhGE3sUN/s320/Rome+Alysia+320.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509744944008974546" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGlvw1Et3JBJCOjnj7Z1n-K3_JTmbg-HGrOHRIvNCmfEtlZClXSoJO1KSiYdMk2CNM3V0dQIbIQGdq7N7YCokPHayXvC10PVO4liA_WE1wlk98pFhM60HmJgCXCfNJp_ZkFynIcxaUFKL/s1600/Rome+Alysia+301.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGlvw1Et3JBJCOjnj7Z1n-K3_JTmbg-HGrOHRIvNCmfEtlZClXSoJO1KSiYdMk2CNM3V0dQIbIQGdq7N7YCokPHayXvC10PVO4liA_WE1wlk98pFhM60HmJgCXCfNJp_ZkFynIcxaUFKL/s320/Rome+Alysia+301.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509744935697816834" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVof95A5i1jDmwjUftW_1zxTL12BuHF5Ydm_KLh44MFN-f7BC3ucHpibWwvNxoBJ1MGRjwaGU0tYfyqvkd0ZEUCgZKDIIdeyzARhLgYEA8GRRlLGXEiGfNwK1Y-brTqxrb3HRECgP9wtE1/s1600/Rome+Alysia+293.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVof95A5i1jDmwjUftW_1zxTL12BuHF5Ydm_KLh44MFN-f7BC3ucHpibWwvNxoBJ1MGRjwaGU0tYfyqvkd0ZEUCgZKDIIdeyzARhLgYEA8GRRlLGXEiGfNwK1Y-brTqxrb3HRECgP9wtE1/s320/Rome+Alysia+293.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509744927133685138" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0YJfC3IFLsPx0J_VLqGZqVCKGtQ7PWQ_WH9X6zGi_v8Svls8Ev9Xyii1SuWeUSM6vaF0grasEMt4wGO4lDwy_liEKdqjdTIMRgLhJKc5xeQONQGzY5WtY0e3tQ0H0NJ6DE1y8jozDxR/s1600/Rome+Alysia+282.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0YJfC3IFLsPx0J_VLqGZqVCKGtQ7PWQ_WH9X6zGi_v8Svls8Ev9Xyii1SuWeUSM6vaF0grasEMt4wGO4lDwy_liEKdqjdTIMRgLhJKc5xeQONQGzY5WtY0e3tQ0H0NJ6DE1y8jozDxR/s320/Rome+Alysia+282.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509744919922361490" /></a><br />Roma, wasn’t built in a day. And we weren’t going to see it in one either. <br />We arrived in Rome about 1.30pm on a bus from Siena. A short taxi ride and we found our hotel easily enough, the first floor in a multiple storey building. Each floor was dedicated to a different hotel. The top floor was called Fawlty Towers. This struck fear into us as we climbed the stairs to our hotel and things didn’t look to be going any better when the cleaning lady checked us in and had to turn on the lights in the hotel as we walked through.<br />It became apparent we were probably the only ones staying there. But it was cheap, clean, and much, much nicer than our ridiculously expensive hotel in Siena. We were also within spitting distance of the main train station, Termini.<br />We unceremoniously dumped our bags and decided to hit the city. Our Contiki tour was to start the next evening at 6pm and had an optional excursion of the forum and colosseum. However, on my last tour which also had this option, the tour did not go inside either the forum or the colosseum but walked around the perimeter. So I felt it was worth us doing these things ourselves that way we wouldn’t miss out on going inside and spending as long as we wanted on photos.<br />A short metro trip turned into near disaster when a pickpocket got busy in Sam’s shorts just before our stop. Luckily his wallet was in his other pocket and I saw the guy just in time to slap his hand away. Despite this, he went back in for another go and as I went to hit him again, the metro stopped and we walked out. Sam had been pretty much unaware of what had happened and when I told him he burred up, telling me that if someone else tried to do it he would break their fingers.<br />Yeah, OK babe. (Right of reply: I had noticed his hand brush past my pocket - I was annoyed I did not for a moment think it was happening to me - for weeks I have been wary and it only took my guard to slip for just a few moments.)<br />So, we popped out at Colosseo, the metro station just across the road from the Colosseum. Again I tried to get Sam to close his eyes so I could lead him to stand under this amazing structure but I was too late. He had caught a glimpse of it as we came through the turnstiles at the station - that’s how close it is - and expressed that he was quite “under whelmed” by the sight of it.<br />OK, it was 2pm, we were a bit hungry, having only just got off the bus after a three-hour trip and it was hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.<br />And the pickpocket incident was festering away under Sam’s skin, coming to the boil every few minutes with a comment about breaking someone’s fingers.<br />But, it’s the colosseum! How anyone could be under whelmed by it baffled me to tears.<br />So we got some very expensive pizza, sat in the colosseum’s shadow and watched the hawkers flog hats, tripods, scarves and all manner of souvenirs.<br />The line for the colosseum extended out the main entry and it was too hot to stand in the sun, plus it would take hours.<br />Sam said he thought it was the harsh early afternoon light making the colosseum appear so unimpressive so we decided to do the forum first and head back to the colosseum later.<br />During my previous two visits to Rome, entry to the forum has been free. You could walk in as you pleased from early in the morning until about sunset. As we approached the gate, it became apparent that fewer and fewer things in this world are free. Entry to the forum now cost and you had to buy your ticket from the gate on the far side to where we were, on the western side of the Via Sacra, the main path through the forum.<br />Disappointed in this blatant money-making scheme, I reluctantly decided to pay for it when we discovered it also included entry to the colosseum, enabling us to skip the long, long queue we had seen before.<br />But as I said, it was hot and the heat was getting the better of both our tempers.<br />Sam was frustrated he hadn’t read up on any of the history of Rome and the forum and I was disappointed in his reaction to it.<br />And I could appreciate his position. To anyone unfamiliar with Roman history, the forum is a valley full of old bricks - parts of columns, tumbled stone, vague pathways and brown, boring bricks.<br />Even though I had been there twice before, it stretched my brain to the limit to try and remember all that I could about it for Sam’s benefit. We got the huffs and the puffs and darted from shady spot to shady spot trying to get a feel for what it must have looked like 2000 years ago. It really is a stretch of the imagination.<br />We wandered up to the Palatine, one of the four hills the forum was founded between and where the most famous and prestigious Roman families lived in ancient times.<br />There was a lot of steps, hills, uneven ground and enough generally annoying things to make us more than a bit snappy at one another.<br />At the top of what had been Emperor Tiberius’ house, a tour guide was speaking to a group in English. It was not difficult to overhear his commentary as he described the ruins below and the buildings they had been before. It was somewhat helpful but still frustrating for Sam, I felt.<br />A wander over the hill and we checked out what we could of what had been the Emperor Augustus’ house and his wife Livia as well as the stadium.<br />By this time it was about 5pm and we decided to leave the forum and check out the colosseum in the softer light of the afternoon.<br />We bypassed the long line with our tickets and walked straight in. An exhibition called Gladiatores was showing on the first level of the colosseum and we spent a few minutes wandering its displays and reading up on the structure and about the men and beasts that fought there before actually stepping out into the sunlight inside.<br />Finally, Sam was impressed. Again, you do need to use some imagination when viewing the colosseum but this has been aided with a reconstruction of the wooden floor and some of the marble tiers that spectators would have sat on.<br />By this stage my feet were hurting and I was cursing that stupid paver in Siena where I had slipped and broken my thongs. My other shoes, packed more for evening wear than for the day, offered me no support and little cushioning.<br />We took all the usual snaps and Sam did his artistic thing.<br />We walked back down to the lower level and tried to imagine staring up at the 50,000-odd spectators that would have sat above. It looks a lot bigger looking down into its interior than staring up.<br />Exiting out the other side to where we entered, we debated whether or not to return to the hotel for the night and find dinner around there, or have dinner close to the colosseum and wait for the sun to go down and the lights in the colosseum to come on. It really is a spectacular sight.<br />We opted to wait, unsure whether or not we would get the chance to return once the tour had started and found a restaurant on the other side of the road to the colosseum.<br />Considering the remarkable view, it wasn’t ridiculously over priced and I personally could stare at the colosseum for hours.<br />So we ate and as the light faded, chose what we thought was the best time to get our night snaps, when there was still a touch of light in the sky enough to provide a contrast to the structure.<br />But our waiter was having none of that.<br />Try as I might to get his attention and our bill, it took at least 15 minutes, with each one passing so did the amount of his tip and the light.<br />Finally, when we had paid, the light was gone and it was full dark and cursing the waiter we headed back across to the colosseum to see what could be salvaged of the night.<br />I had also forgotten the tripod, making long exposures near impossible unless you have something to rest the camera body on.<br />Still we managed a few OK shots, admired the view and decided to call it a day.<br />Back on the metro and hands firmly on our bags and pockets, we made it back to the hotel. The next day we would have to check out and find our way to our Contiki start point.<br />Alysia (August 17)<br /><br />Contiki!<br />In a few hours time we would meet our Contiki crew but for the time being Rome was ours to conquer. If we could get our act together. The brief was simple enough: get from our cheap hotel to the Contiki digs. <br />Trouble was I had got out on the wrong side. Maybe I should have just stayed in bed. At my irritable best we went to an internet café to confirm Contiki’s directions weren’t quite right. Already, I was anxious to be checked in. Not even hunger would slow me down and I would drag Alysia kicking and screaming if need be. <br />“Just put the bags down and we will eat here,” Alysia reasoned.<br />But I would have none of it. Here’s the taxi and here we go. If I could get my seatbelt on. It wasn’t an unpleasant ride either. There was no talk of politics, just rugby, to my surprise. I thought football was all soccer in Italy. Turns out I was wrong.<br />“Soccer is a gentleman’s game played by thugs,” our driver explained, “Rugby is a thug’s game played by gentlemen.”<br />I couldn’t disagree with that. And he wasn’t stingy with compliments regarding the Australian team. But the English? <br />“Johnny Wilkinson, pft,” he said, “the English are rubbish,” implying his boot had carried the whole nation.<br />Despite the enthusiastic driving we made it to the four-star hotel without a problem. The fare didn’t sting too badly either. In any case, we just couldn’t bear the alternative of catching the underground with our bags and changing tubes and blah blah blah. We bid our taxi farewell and walked through the hotel’s revolving door (how fancy) and asked to check in. Fortunately even though the room was not ready we could leave our bags. Unfortunately we were now snappier than a pair of starved crocodiles. “No worries,” I thought. The concierge would point me in the direction of the city centre and food. Perhaps she interpreted my request a little too literally and pointed me, us, in the general direction. And I failed to pay much attention to her brief instructions on the public transport. So off we walked and walked until we were deeper into the suburbs. Alysia was not happy and neither was I. Back we marched to the hotel giving each other a little space on the way. In vain we walked in the other direction to find food. Instead I found the underground. So we got on. And when we got off we were at the Spanish Steps. Alysia, by this stage, had had enough of me and sat at the steps like she had three years earlier. I was so hungry the McDonalds ban was declared void and I stormed off following the signs. A few minutes later I skulked back in defeat to Alysia. Somehow we soon put all the back biting behind us to go and eat. By the time the food started to digest we were putting the morning behind us and starting afresh. <br />First we bought a guidebook to Rome and made our way to the Trevi Fountain. Through the vast crowd we waded toward the water and absorbed its beauty. As per the custom I tossed in a coin to ensure my return to Rome. On we walked into the heat and out of a narrow little street we hit the Pantheon, Rome’s oldest temple. Half the façade was hidden behind scaffolds but the interior was exposed for all to see. What an awe-inspiring building. The domed roof is an engineering masterpiece, unsupported, built 2000 years before computers. The Oculus is of course the focal point with light flooding in: the Romans wanted nothing standing between them and the gods. And being smart enough to build such an unsupported dome you can bet they had a solution to rain water coming in. Yes, they formed the marble floor in a convex way to help that water drain away. For a while we sat and soaked in the atmosphere. <br />Walking away from the Pantheon was difficult in its own right but even trickier given the heat. Our feet were on fire and I thought my shoes might melt onto the footpath. I was determined, however, to find the Castel Sant’ Angelo. Every boy loves a good Roman fort. But this was not originally a castle; it was a tomb for Saint Angelo but was converted into a fortress against the invading barbarians. Inside I found a reconstruction of how one of its armouries might have looked. Deeper within were rooms added by Pope Paul III, from the renaissance, including frescos said to reflect his character and sensibilities without being a blatant monument to himself. Outside, on the roof, lay grand vistas of the city. Nearby, St Peter’s Basilica and in the distance, Monument Hill - where all the wealth plundered by Rome’s foreign legions was deposited. I soaked it all in briefly then descended the stairs to find Alysia waiting patiently outside in the shade. It was time to get the underground back to the hotel and meet our Contiki brothers and sisters.<br />Luckily for us we made our way to the hotel when we did because the meeting with our tour manager was in fact an hour earlier than advertised. We had just enough time to drop the bags in the room and make it just in time. We were seated only a couple of minutes when the tour manager came in and began the briefing. Her name was Katia and she was Italian, born in Venice actually. “A crazy country,” she kept reminding us. She would become our Contiki Mamma and us one big family.<br />At about the point where everyone was at information overload Katia wanted to check our passports and for us to fill in forms. This was done in turns which gave some of us a chance to chat. That’s how we met Peter, from Canada. There were a lot of Canadians on our tour. Peter had just come from Denmark staying with friends and was keen to learn some more about the Mediterranean, he being of Greek heritage. Alysia, Peter and I all hoped it would be a great 10 or more days. With the paperwork done we could now go and clean up for dinner and get our teeth into what promised to be a crazy week and a bit.<br />At dinner we caught up with Peter again and met his room mate Ryan from Kansas City. This was Ryan’s fifth Contiki and he was only 25. One of those trips was along the east coast of Australia. The other guys at our table were Australians Greg and Alwyn, taking leave from foreign duties with the Army. <br />“Where are you from,” Greg asked.<br />“Well, you probably haven’t heard of it,” Alysia started, “we live in a little place called Tamworth.”<br />“Yeah, I know Tamworth,” Greg said, “I grew up there.”<br />After dinner the Contiki family jumped on a bus and headed into the city to see … the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain. Had we wasted our time today? Not really. This would be a great chance for me to see the attractions in a different light - even if Alysia had seen these attraction in day, night and whatever other scenario two occasions previously. It was an enjoyable evening which included a couple of sly beers while walking the streets. But after such a long day falling into bed was even better.<br />Sam (August 18)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-8467034809233608882010-08-25T08:55:00.000-07:002010-08-26T08:37:05.159-07:00The spectacle of Il Palio<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RvAXYQ_-86biloQZ8UlrG_36xgeoBmp8bfQ07r-z0Idj5RGbH6h0w0V4W2N7iJPEA2iVkcCm1sikQsYU45EWikDGz9VRgKJ9P5SOCx2ATsQCtKjbyCr_I0tQROeqKZA6WwiEfJMn91mJ/s1600/siena+day+two+and+palio+243.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RvAXYQ_-86biloQZ8UlrG_36xgeoBmp8bfQ07r-z0Idj5RGbH6h0w0V4W2N7iJPEA2iVkcCm1sikQsYU45EWikDGz9VRgKJ9P5SOCx2ATsQCtKjbyCr_I0tQROeqKZA6WwiEfJMn91mJ/s320/siena+day+two+and+palio+243.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509738080462999810" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7x9pKf062n9WOjPO39opPVScA8GzMjeqlFdzgbh9hQHKmtXNencYol8fmYpMZZutZeOpJZBNE2y-aWubUiPlMD7H0D53BdgBOw7YMybHyCGazFIHDhBVD9bw2KdtyzJyjsE3H8wFBC3n/s1600/siena+day+two+and+palio+261.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7x9pKf062n9WOjPO39opPVScA8GzMjeqlFdzgbh9hQHKmtXNencYol8fmYpMZZutZeOpJZBNE2y-aWubUiPlMD7H0D53BdgBOw7YMybHyCGazFIHDhBVD9bw2KdtyzJyjsE3H8wFBC3n/s320/siena+day+two+and+palio+261.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509738077549638034" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LoU8uTHnBItk7AoNWScb9zz-4HiT1bPmAgrDiO8udFW6bjUg0I2Z09IPehrxnZp_TVpYlABlrZo869OPR6lvdvTizc_QcMNk7BItd2VAF0d32DJ_NL3pYU6oeJ20_hgLJzFqIfn_xOcr/s1600/siena+day+two+and+palio+164.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LoU8uTHnBItk7AoNWScb9zz-4HiT1bPmAgrDiO8udFW6bjUg0I2Z09IPehrxnZp_TVpYlABlrZo869OPR6lvdvTizc_QcMNk7BItd2VAF0d32DJ_NL3pYU6oeJ20_hgLJzFqIfn_xOcr/s320/siena+day+two+and+palio+164.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509738065865184642" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_G3img6jiJZhEsYKoIrZLbSdt0wgd0SW28gJ-oB_LkzeFO2PBLEbaZMm91uoFlvVoeVFaCegDdIe4IgSJc0n5hmUH3wFYL7du_FK1vhlw8Yx7l09lv6TSYIdmkaBWD0NeTPwEkes9bQE/s1600/siena+day+two+and+palio+143.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_G3img6jiJZhEsYKoIrZLbSdt0wgd0SW28gJ-oB_LkzeFO2PBLEbaZMm91uoFlvVoeVFaCegDdIe4IgSJc0n5hmUH3wFYL7du_FK1vhlw8Yx7l09lv6TSYIdmkaBWD0NeTPwEkes9bQE/s320/siena+day+two+and+palio+143.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509738060723730610" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpY6pAoveAxg7qPUlpbOGUoU-U1j_7-o5I5hy-aK9STDDMSm9DlFckQrOOTZQtubc3A4dLmpaqvVAtoJoTwvtotRhdrIXeMWDJliUwGUwp3-u2ygbVxyy5SxcO6vEwUDvCtQOMXEr4QxiW/s1600/siena+day+two+and+palio+096.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpY6pAoveAxg7qPUlpbOGUoU-U1j_7-o5I5hy-aK9STDDMSm9DlFckQrOOTZQtubc3A4dLmpaqvVAtoJoTwvtotRhdrIXeMWDJliUwGUwp3-u2ygbVxyy5SxcO6vEwUDvCtQOMXEr4QxiW/s320/siena+day+two+and+palio+096.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509738054275718658" /></a><br />Our first day in Siena had tested us both. The next 24-and-a-bit hours would require commitment. But first we thought it best to buy our bus tickets to Rome for the Monday morning, before it sold out. This was to be the day’s first trying moment. Instead of the advertised five euros it was in fact 21 euros each - quite a difference. <br />In a huff we walked up into the main fortification of Siena and looked out over the city on what was a beautiful morning. This couldn’t even boost our spirits. So we walked into the basilica where we found not only a shrine to St Catherine but the relics, proof of her existence perhaps to the pilgrims. Among the trinkets in a glass box was her head, skin intact, even if the gristle of her nose had decayed along with part of her top lip. I was glad to see this one relic from a distance, yet to the pilgrims it is a great sight.<br />On we walked back toward the duomo to survey it without the assembled town’s folk, that we came across the night before. But of course, it was Sunday, and there was a service on - a good chance to grab lunch we guessed.<br />Wandering the streets there seemed to be only two options: pizza and pizza. Maybe with a side of pasta. Normally we’d love this but these meals had become our entire diet since we landed in Italy. Eventually we got tired of rejecting places and chose one of the tourist traps. Alysia was starving and ordered ravioli while I ordered a ribbolina soup and some roast (pan seared) veal. “Half a litre of wine?” Better make it a regular bottle and enjoy ourselves. While it wasn’t cheap I quite enjoyed it. Alysia enjoyed her dish too, all five pieces of it. Despite my repeated offers to share my meal she declined but help me plough through the bottle.<br />Back at the duomo people were flowing in through the doors so we followed suit. We had a much better view of the frescos including a whole room with texts from the 1500s and earlier. The only problem was, Alysia was drunk, having barely eaten. This was compounded by her missing breakfast. She didn’t get the happiness either - she virtually skipped straight to hungover. Wandering around the cathedral, followed by the crypt, the baptistry and then the museum. The only consolidation; it was a little cooler indoors. The crypt was a little disappointing. There were cabinets everywhere to display stuff but nothing in them. The room itself was a little more interesting, as we walked around on a false floor with glass sections so we could see the original dirt and rock floor, constructed as it was in the foundations of the duomo above. But there were no monuments or the like. The baptistry ceiling was beautifully painted in the most curious way. My favourite scene depicted people emerging from the earth almost like plants, pulling themselves out of the soil. It wasn’t the most beautiful but the most unexpected. We then entered the museum proper that housed the marble sculptures that once adorned the duomo. Now they’re safe I guess. The little glass chests that contained the bones of religious identities were interesting too. Our entry to the museum also included a panoramic vista (as the Italians call them). So we climbed yet another tower and out along a wall. If nothing else it gave us a great view of the Piazza del Campo where Palio would be run in little more than 24 hours.<br />With the day filled in we decided to grab some dinner. The trick though, was navigating the streets, flooded with people and blocked off so each province’s supporters could eat outside their church. We were keen for Chinese that we had spotted the night before, but couldn’t get back there. We were close to cannibalism and divorce (possibly in that order) after two hours and settled for another tourist trap of a restaurant - at least the food was good and in bigger portions than lunch. Time for bed.<br /><br />The sun was well up when we rose. It was after breakfast so pizza for brunch was all but mandatory - we didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Ready to go? No. The video camera battery was flat. With a quick charge we were out the door on our way to the del Campo at noon. By half past we had worked out the best vantage point in the centre of the square. We sat on the ground at the highest point so we could see as much of the track - 50cm of clay laid over cobblestones - as possible. As a bonus, we would get the shade soon. And we were in the second row off the fence. There we sat for hours, watching the square fill up, eating a handful of snacks and sipping water occasionally. There are no toilets in the square and once they close the gates you are stuck there so at minimum we had to hold our bladders for three hours. The water cart wetting the track surely tested a few bladders but provided many more the option of a shower if they urged the driver strong enough.<br />Here we had our second celebrity sighting of the trip in the form of Sting. He was in the terrace of one of the buildings directly in front of us, watching the entertainment below among the plebs. <br />A little after five the square was getting rather full and the prelude began. People roared as the guards, as I call them, rode into the square prancing along on horseback- the loudest cheers being saved for when they hit full gallop, swords drawn and outstretched. The cheers were few and far between from then on during the procession, extended toward the flag bearers from each of the 17 provinces. The men in their wigs, carrying batons or on horseback were equally worthy. But inevitably people would cheer when the flags were thrown into the sky and caught successfully.<br />The procession went on and on. Alysia in the midst of this succumbed to the heat and lack of food, feeling the urge to throw up. Maybe it was a drop in blood pressure from standing still so long, packed in like a sardine. A middle-aged couple were eager to help and make sure all was well though. They made her sit down while they fanned her with our hats. All I could do was watch helplessly. And try to get around the English Spanish language barrier. Perhaps she needed sugar he thought, so another guy was kind enough to offer some biscuits. All the while the parade went on. Four bullocks even pulled a heavy dray around with ornate solid timber pews atop, sitting in which were some men of the church. Right at the end all the flag bearers were vying to outdo one another. This was how Palio was to claim another victim. As the flag bearers were leaving the track one guy wrapped the flag around the pole and threw it higher than anyone into the air. Skewing off course, such was the force behind it, the bearer ran toward where he thought it would land. But he couldn’t reach it. Because it speared into the crowd. The paramedics ran toward the scene, seconds later, they pulled a woman out of the crowd on a stretcher. The drama didn’t end there. As the vehicle tried to manoeuvre a three-point turn it tagged the fence, raising another cheer from the crowd. This was only topped by the applause for safely getting her out of the stadium - a sign of appreciation to the medics. <br />The horses with their jockeys soon entered the stadium proper, having earlier been paraded. The rope starting line was strung from post to post and the theatrics began. Over a loudspeaker a man, seemingly at random, starting calling the horses to the startline. All the while corners of the crowd booed at their horse’s poor starting position. Then, the horses appeared unable to line up behind the rope. The theatrics grew as the jockeys then started fighting. This of course enraged corners of the crowd even more, screaming at the opposing jockeys. And when they couldn’t line up, the horses would be drafted back out for the process to start over. The jockeys drew the crops on each other at one stage - it was outrageously funny especially when one could see the jockey’s faces complete with small grin. Lined up again and again it was quite without warning when the race started and the crowd roared. The horses flew down the first straight and round the first bend - the speed magnified by how close we were. The rest is a blur. I struggled to capture any video and Alysia failed to really get any pictures. A horse lost its jockey, then they were seemingly crossing the finish line accompanied by three large explosions to signal the end. The crowd roared and were on the track in moments to meet the winner, the region symbolised by the tortoise. There was nothing left to do but head back to the room with some pizza and sleep. It was only 8pm.<br />Sam (August 15 and 16)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-16972644372739903812010-08-20T09:03:00.001-07:002010-08-20T09:03:30.746-07:00The tragedy of a broken pair of thongsI had been so looking forward to today and everything seemed to be going so well. Now I am here in Siena and it sucks.<br />It’s about 10pm and I already think I hate the place. Maybe even more than I dislike rude Germans.<br />The day started well - we were up with plenty of time after packing our bags the night before and checked out of Hotel Annabella about 9.30am. The lovely owner, who we fell in love with and made us feel so welcome who I nicknamed Guiseppe, said we could leave our luggage there until we left for Siena.<br />Doing so, we found an internet café down the road and sussed out the location of our hotel in relation to the bus stop we would alight at in Siena. Turns out, according to Google Maps, that it was about a 200m walk and very easy to find. Just one turn and walk down the road. Haha, yeah right.<br />We boarded our bus without any trouble. It had started to storm while we were online and we hoped it would be clearer in Siena.<br />No changes or connections this time around, although we did pass through the serial killer town again.<br />We arrived in Siena after about an hour and a half not really knowing what to expect but confident that it didn’t matter. We had booked a super nice hotel according to the booking agency (mainly cos that’s all that was available) and if it was raining we would enjoy the view and our room and catch up on some blogging.<br />Well, finding the hotel was to be the first of our challenges. It seems Google Maps had taken a rather liberal view of down one corner and walk straight. We did that - in several different directions - and only ended up at more turns and more streets.<br />So we walked one way, then another and if you can imagine a single point on a map we walked away from it four times at 90-degree angles and were still lost.<br />We walked across the road to a park and there, having sworn and snapped and generally hated and blamed each other for our predicament, Sam set off to look for the hotel while I sat with the luggage under a tree and tried to stay dry. Did I mention it was raining again?<br />Within five minutes Sam was back and a shrug of the shoulders told me he still had no idea.<br />It was my turn to set out and I also returned within a few minutes, our Googling having deceived us completely.<br />Finally, Sam went and asked someone in a corner café who pointed him in the complete opposite direction with two left turns - not on Google at all.<br />Sceptical and cranky, I stayed with the bags, now waterproofed with their little covers while I sat in the rain.<br />Five minutes, 10 minutes, I was convinced he was lost.<br />Finally, from another direction to the one he had left in, he returned and cracked a smile. He had found it, and not where Google or the guy had said. It wasn’t too far, maybe 300m but it was still raining quite heavily.<br />We set off, me following while Sam led us to what should have been our beautiful hotel. <br />Now, maybe if I hadn’t stacked it on a major road, landing on my arse and back, I would have been in a better mood when I discovered our hotel was a dump, but I did and there you go. For days Sam and I have been joking about my shoes and the chances of me slipping over in my thongs which are very slippery on wet surfaces. Just on the bus on the way here, we had joked that if I did Sam wouldn’t be helping me up but getting out the video camera to film it while I lay there like a turtle caught on its shell - so back heavy would I be with my pack on.<br />And, fortunately for Sam‘s manhood, he did no such thing when the time came.<br />All I know is we were within metres of the hotel entrance and on a slight decline, I stepped on a smooth paver and my foot went out from underneath me. In fact, my thong did. I ripped the toe plug straight out of the thong and hit the pavement with my bum. I did manage to hold on to my fake Prada handbag and luckily Sam had just taken the laptop off me.<br />So down I went. People across the street laughed, though I didn’t see them, I heard them. Sam told me later he gave them the bird and they stopped. A woman and her son who had just been walking past me at the time stopped to help me. I think it was more embarrassing that I couldn’t get up with the weight of my pack behind me than anything else. Sam had to literally pull me upright.<br />So, red-faced and wet and already in a bad mood, we checked in.<br />The hotel was found on Last Minute Accommodation and I would not recommend them to anyone. It is supposed to be two star and, OK, that’s not great but this place would be lucky to be classified as a youth hostel.<br />It’s a former monastery so I would expect it to have some character etc but this is not character. It’s damp and mouldy and cracked ceilings and windows that don’t close, stained green carpet, a broken shower door, cold showers and formica furnishings, no safe as promised in the description and the wifi doesn’t work.<br />It is the worst place we have stayed in. It was supposed to be one of the best.<br />Learning all this after my dramatic stack in front of a crowd and I was in tears.<br />Sam went downstairs and told the reception girl it was not what we had been expecting and were less than impressed. She has promised we can look at some other rooms tomorrow as they are all different.<br />I can’t even describe the layout. It’s a veritable maze of walls and doors and rooms and levels. There are floors and then levels on each floor with mirrors on the walls that just make it more confusing so that you are stepping down to step up - if that makes sense.<br />So I had a quick shower in the broken shower with the cracked and water damaged ceiling and lay down on the bed and sulked. <br />I wasn’t upset with Sam, just the hotel, the booking agency, my thongs and thus Billabong.<br />Meanwhile, our neighbour in the room down the stairs but on the same floor and next door, was a violinist. When we first checked in, they were playing some sweet, melancholy tunes, it was very pleasant actually. An hour later, it was scales, over and over.<br />Two hours later, and still the scales.<br />We went out - if for nothing else we needed to eat.<br />We wandered towards where we thought the town centre was, up hills and down hills. Siena is a very hilly place.<br />And quite by chance we came across the Piazza del Campo, the site of the famous Palio and were we hoped to spend six hours or more in the sun on Monday to watch a 75-second bareback horse race.<br />The track, such that it was, had been covered with clay to give the horses some traction on the cobble-stoned square. The terrace and balcony seating was already set up or in the process of being so. We tried to work out what would be our best vantage point on race day but decided there probably was none. At my height I would be lucky to see the horses’ hoofs. Unfortunately, terrace or balcony seating was not a option at 300 euro a pop. Standing in the middle of the square for the race was free but as they had to close entry to it early on for parades and such, it means people who choose this option have to stand in the sun (or rain) for up to five hours before the actual race gets under way with no toilet facilities etc. Sounds like fun yeah?<br />Deciding not to venture out onto the track today given the rain had turned the clay to mud, we continued our exploration of the town centre. <br />It really is a charming place, all narrow cobblestone streets, brightly decorated with the colours of the provinces competing in Monday’s race. It was all very festive.<br />Before long, I spotted the now familiar marks of a Tuscan duomo, green and white striped marble. We came out into the Piazza del Duomo where Siena’s cathedral dominates.<br />It was begun in the 12th century and is one of the great examples of Italian Romanesque architecture.<br />Its main façade was completed in 1380.<br />It was magnificent. Florence’s duomo is enormous and grand, but this was beautiful. Much more gothic influences at work here on the exterior, at least. There were hundreds of people about and we presumed this was typical sightseeing at work, much as Florence’s duomo is always crowded.<br />After a few snaps we decided to look inside as it seemed people were just coming and going as they pleased.<br />Up the marble stairs and a sign at the entrance said entry was free from August 14 to 17, the days we were here - obviously for Palio.<br />We went in and were suddenly overwhelmed by the swelling sound of thunderous drumming.<br />Some sort of Palio proceedings were taking place with drummers, flag bearers and little kids dressed in all the different colours of the provinces competing in the great race present. Hundreds of people looked on as the official blessing of the event took place. I can only guess this by the way because it was all in Italian. <br />Sam and I were thrilled to have stumbled across something like this and started snapping away like everyone else even though signs everywhere said no photography. Television crews were capturing the action and it was standing room only at the front, which of course means I could see diddly squat.<br />After about 10 minutes, the drummers and flag bearers began to parade toward the cathedral doors and out into the piazza so I raced ahead to be there on the way out - like a good journalist does.<br />There they were in their magnificent colours and I got some great pics I will have to post. Unfortunately the bloody tv crews kept getting in the way (typical) and some amazing shots I got of one “province” were ruined by the enormous bum of a camera man that I’m not sure can be cropped out.<br />It had also stopped raining. So, on that little high, having captured something so amazing and feeling all the energy in the town, we set off to find some dinner. It was about 6.30pm.<br />Pizza. That’s what they eat in Siena. If anyone asks, pizza. And do you know what, the last thing I felt like was pizza. I felt like I had had it everyday since we arrived in Italy and I just wanted normal food. Or real pizza, from Dominos. I know weird, but I like Dominos Pizza better. The Italians use way too much mozzarella.<br />So, we didn’t want pizza and we walked and walked and walked and the only restaurants we found that served something other than pizza, were empty and that was never a good sign.<br />Cranky now because I was over-hungry I gave up and went back to the room while Sam went to look for something other than pizza.<br />Within 10 minutes he was back, with kebabs. Still, it wasn’t pizza. In the meantime I had worked out the wifi didn’t work so we will have to post this when we get to an internet café.<br />And to toast our shoddy hotel and our kebabs, Sam, opened the bottle of Belgian beer he has been carting around for the past two and a bit weeks. He was going to post it home but after we read about how dodgy the Italian postal service is, we decided against it.<br />Beer and pizza and then we decided, just to really feel like home, we’d watch some tv. Nope, that’s broken too.<br />Alysia (August 14)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-47299641515214170612010-08-20T09:02:00.001-07:002010-08-26T08:55:47.429-07:00San Pyjamas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhHhhVXCOyKEmd-UrVM3FBsiZlOOfZ_QxIgLzy0FQ_sOKBfnwXfopOz1ae4gs5gz8tPKyZNZdL2kVGsjrcFrZRQ63vzhWQeQbBgrHnPTcya32QQDW6PTve8GEDOiFk6jHcDp4KE2QYAiP/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+162.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqhHhhVXCOyKEmd-UrVM3FBsiZlOOfZ_QxIgLzy0FQ_sOKBfnwXfopOz1ae4gs5gz8tPKyZNZdL2kVGsjrcFrZRQ63vzhWQeQbBgrHnPTcya32QQDW6PTve8GEDOiFk6jHcDp4KE2QYAiP/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+162.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509747151761043730" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3NNiqygeEi3iy42-EXqNmGSVAhbGVDi8te2ImpPyAbGE3DGqzaSA5htZ5cie-dNgSKwCebJ5lcnDoP4r1f1fF6kvYccHzVTXEFTtDo43yZs5YmXXbPt7uE4s1CWC6AWFQCia4G4cKHOd2/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+212.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3NNiqygeEi3iy42-EXqNmGSVAhbGVDi8te2ImpPyAbGE3DGqzaSA5htZ5cie-dNgSKwCebJ5lcnDoP4r1f1fF6kvYccHzVTXEFTtDo43yZs5YmXXbPt7uE4s1CWC6AWFQCia4G4cKHOd2/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+212.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509747145112874050" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcK_iQvKIYSJnQSk0gYz8Y59RHV04dQqkfZ7iqFBmOcPx2g3idzTMQi5VBnemgM5O_ZiMUmYrZmUP6-xR0E5BroyqdTbyyn4E7jbrBE1ozUA04Gy7lk32pIoQ2S2c_ZvlFgmJvCAHALFe/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+200.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgcK_iQvKIYSJnQSk0gYz8Y59RHV04dQqkfZ7iqFBmOcPx2g3idzTMQi5VBnemgM5O_ZiMUmYrZmUP6-xR0E5BroyqdTbyyn4E7jbrBE1ozUA04Gy7lk32pIoQ2S2c_ZvlFgmJvCAHALFe/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+200.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509747136684127714" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagLAww8LHuRFM5LyE6aiuz-BltUFyyi52lZuj0uP86EJdJ-TydrQug8RjxPzIU6xwlcETCFCzoPAhNnUGWr958Dt11teZoI2yb6OVfYHTpDIrny8HeYlzspyAfdZniPATy-by6IUzynLc/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+170.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagLAww8LHuRFM5LyE6aiuz-BltUFyyi52lZuj0uP86EJdJ-TydrQug8RjxPzIU6xwlcETCFCzoPAhNnUGWr958Dt11teZoI2yb6OVfYHTpDIrny8HeYlzspyAfdZniPATy-by6IUzynLc/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+170.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509747127937649394" /></a><br />We decided to spend our final day in Florence out of Florence, on a day trip to San Gimignano or as we came to call it, San Pyjamas.<br />San Pyjamas is a small medieval town deep in the Tuscan countryside, set high on a hill some hour bus ride out of Florence. It’s picturesque, touristy and we were deadest on going there, even if it did start storming before we even left the bus station.<br />It was our first sign of bad weather since we had arrived in Italy, if you discount the storms that diverted us to Rome from Pisa and the lightning we had seen on the horizon from the hotel’s rooftop terrace the night before.<br />Anyway, we had bought our bus ticket for 14 euro return the day before when we booked our tickets to Siena and we were loathe to waste them.<br />We hoped the weather would be clearer at the famous tourist spot and were disappointed when we stopped to change buses at Poggibonsi to find it was raining even harder, the thunder crashing even louder and more lightning than we had experienced in Florence.<br />We had half an hour to wait for the connecting bus and for a good 10 minutes we were in two minds about whether or not to continue to San Pyjamas.<br />Concluding that we had nothing to lose by going, as we had our return ticket already paid for and could always get straight on the next bus back to Florence and our beautiful hotel, we boarded the bus to San Pyjamas.<br />It seemed fate was finally working in our favour because only a few minutes out of the town, on the steep, slow hill climb, the rain stopped. Mind you San Pyjamas is famous for its views, not for its cloud cover and it was with some disappointment we looked across the valley to see our view only extended a mere hundred metres or so before being lost in palls of white.<br />We were surprised by the number of tourists who had also braved the weather to visit this place and set off up the main drag towards the infamous towers of the town. There used to be several of these towers, 72 to be exact, built in the 11th century as a monument to the town’s wealth but now just 13 remain.<br />Shops filled with wine, dried pasta, biscotti, olive oil, leather and meat goods lined the pedestrian-friendly and narrow streets. Catering to the tourist hordes in their thousands, Americans flocked to buy the wine only produced in San Gimignano. With a price tag of two bottles for 8 euro alarm bells should have been ringing as to its quality. We steered clear of the pack and found ourselves outside the Romanesque duomo known also as the Collegiate. After buying our entry to it and the accompanying museum, we went inside to find floor to ceiling frescoes. The frescoes, painted by someone with no good knowledge of male and female form by the name of Ghirlandaio, depicted on the one side of the basilica the Old Testament and on the other side, the New. The works were simpler, cruder in form compared to the classical style we had seen in Florence’s very famous duomo. As I said, he wasn’t much good at depicting the differences between the sexes, giving Jesus the most womanly hips I have ever seen, some almost boobs and thunder thighs. It was so odd. There was also a gruesome fresco of what I presume was supposed to be hell, where a devil/demon was shitting into the mouth of a “sinner”. Lovely, just lovely.<br />It was wholey different to the other churches we had entered and yet I could tell we were slowly reaching that point of too many churches - and we hadn’t even made it to Rome yet!<br />Out the basilica door and into the museum. It held, as far as we could surmise from the scant amount of information next to each item on display, the relics, altar pieces, tomb coverings and artefacts that had belonged to a now gone convent and basilica in San Pyjamas. Some of the marble tombs dated back to the 1400s while some of the altar pieces were just last century.<br />On the whole it interested us very little, or maybe it was just because we were hungry.<br />We set off in search of food and happened to find ourselves at the same restaurant I had eaten at several years ago when I was last here with Sophie.<br />One lasagne and one spaghetti (did I mention that while it had stopped raining , it was actually a bit chilly) and a glass of wine for Sam ( I was still feeling the effects of last night’s bottles).<br />After lunch we set off to find the “panoramic spot”, just metres from the main drag with uninterrupted 180-degree views. On a clear day, it would have been stunning as it was, with some low cloud still hanging around the mountain tops, it was beautiful.<br />It was finally enough to convince Sam to pull out his camera, though it died within minutes. The battery life of his camera has left much to be desired.<br />We continued our wandering back up the hill towards the famous Torre Grossa, the tallest tower in San Pyjamas.<br />We paid our 5 euro each for the opportunity to climb this tower and I am so glad we did. My legs probably aren’t given the 218 steps we had to climb to get to the top.<br />Just a quick note here about the steps we have climbed on this trip thus far:<br />218 - steps to the top of Torre Grossa<br />416 - steps to the top of the Florence Duomo<br />300+ - steps the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa<br />90 - steps to the reception of our Hotel Annabella in Florence (actually another 20 steps to our room)<br />60 - steps to our top floor of our Hotel Toscana in Florence<br />70+ - steps to our top floor room of our hotel Helvetia Pisa<br />60+ - steps to the top floor room of our hostel in London<br />We should also mention only two of these places had an elevator and they were the two Florence hotels and were only used when we first checked in with our luggage.<br />So, at the top of the tower and the view was AMAZING. The sun started to come out just after we stepped out on the top and it was 360 degree panoramic awesomeness. The Tuscan hillside, the terracotta rooftops, the old walls of the town and the other towers - it was all there.<br />We have seen some pretty amazing views while on this trip, especially in Tuscany, but this was probably my favourite so far. Probably because we weren’t rushed off. At both Pisa and the Duomo in Florence, we were on limited time and had maybe five minutes maximum at the top. Here, no-one who worked there was even at the top of the tower and we were free to look and walk around and do whatever we wanted. Mind you, there was an enormous bell enclosed in a metal cage across the entire mid section of the tower top so to cross from side to side meant bending over to at least pygmi height.<br />With the sun out and the clouds cleared from the sky, it was beginning to get quite warm and we headed back down. This is always the tricky part on these tower climbs I have found and this was no different. I was also wearing a skirt that has given me more than one Marilyn moment and climbing down this ladder to the first landing afforded everyone below me a stellar view of my undies.<br />Back down on the ground, we agreed that was well worth the trip out from Florence and having “done” the attractions went to the bus stop to head back to the city.<br />We had to be back before 7pm as Sam had to pick up his suit from the shop before they closed.<br />Back in Florence, we picked up the suit from the lady who had sold it to Sam the day before. It was only then, having already known where we were headed that day that she told us that Poggibonsi, the town we had to change buses at, had a sinister history.<br />In the 70s, a serial killer preyed on young couples and many were killed in dark and isolated places throughout the town.<br />It was a very famous crime spree and a few years ago a film director came to the town to make a movie about it. <br />The woman told us she didn’t want to tell us until after we had been but said the only time she had ever been there, she didn’t like the place and it was “weird”.<br />So, having escaped the scene of the crime, we thanked the woman and set out for a final dinner in Florence. After I bought my very fake Prada handbag at the markets.<br />We returned to the place we had been to only three nights before because we had enjoyed it so thoroughly - partly because it was comparatively cheap.<br />It looked no different to all the other terrace restaurants and how we found it the first time I’m still not sure.<br />Still, we sat and took our time ordering, splashing out on a first and second course each and a bottle of Chianti.<br />Ravioli in butter and sage for me and gnocchi santorrini for Sam. Sooo good. Oh and of course our oil and bread. We are loving this oil and bread thing - and it’s all standard everywhere you go regardless of what you order.<br />Then for mains, mixed grill for me, which I never ever order but had tasted Sam’s the time before and it was yummy, and Sam got the chicken breast.<br />For dessert, tiramisu for me and chocolate fondant for Sam, topped off with a glass of limonchello for Sam.<br />And that was all for the night. Went back to the hotel and packed our bags for a relative early morning to head to Siena.<br />Alysia (August 13)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-35456956488877753512010-08-20T09:00:00.000-07:002010-08-26T09:01:58.316-07:00The statue of David and a celebrity sighting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yes2CcpE9pf9quwxG3S04yIg_J5OeU9sKlhpisNTEBh3iw7ddtHaxvXSB-SVHsTFcj2RoBw13m49NSAJKFUF4ni9Vp0QDZDoXbf1-iNtEDKFm2MxwrVWHBZ8T_Q6YHYYDh1lErebdn2b/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+132.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yes2CcpE9pf9quwxG3S04yIg_J5OeU9sKlhpisNTEBh3iw7ddtHaxvXSB-SVHsTFcj2RoBw13m49NSAJKFUF4ni9Vp0QDZDoXbf1-iNtEDKFm2MxwrVWHBZ8T_Q6YHYYDh1lErebdn2b/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+132.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749385338095954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AU-3sWAb5XuG_VxTTJGNYntCgNgRgN_uBtzmrcaJdQ5njkeyRdWcLdwi2V5UubVcJavt54VNZ-Vk5dWLR7IM6WBQjuctK7flo_Gksffph46FsthXvJkbng2w5XtaLY2snkTf8vyOjwOJ/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+083.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AU-3sWAb5XuG_VxTTJGNYntCgNgRgN_uBtzmrcaJdQ5njkeyRdWcLdwi2V5UubVcJavt54VNZ-Vk5dWLR7IM6WBQjuctK7flo_Gksffph46FsthXvJkbng2w5XtaLY2snkTf8vyOjwOJ/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+083.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749374005716674" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRjUgr8jA5nNYYyOZucv5T7kfVb7SvShNwFkIWYO3uK0UMnqd9N36b-KDuoiAtp5dinKb1bf5s6Nmkb7Ei3F_7NPfxEI6t8h5W-U2JQM9-yXjSlbVZBc7BpzHBE63VEKx1Fce8v6ZbF_d/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+070.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRjUgr8jA5nNYYyOZucv5T7kfVb7SvShNwFkIWYO3uK0UMnqd9N36b-KDuoiAtp5dinKb1bf5s6Nmkb7Ei3F_7NPfxEI6t8h5W-U2JQM9-yXjSlbVZBc7BpzHBE63VEKx1Fce8v6ZbF_d/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+070.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749369037308322" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hCI2TuSIEh90o4ffrrkgb0wuObattXVzauOwjfpcBJkJZZRfC9-68Y_Zl00MrILjAPT3_zJcsp7x31X9QuaTynmV_Am85E-UYHuhOYMqPxVGQap1_20MHlH29t2HON9f6Ck0e8hOK6Mv/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+027.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hCI2TuSIEh90o4ffrrkgb0wuObattXVzauOwjfpcBJkJZZRfC9-68Y_Zl00MrILjAPT3_zJcsp7x31X9QuaTynmV_Am85E-UYHuhOYMqPxVGQap1_20MHlH29t2HON9f6Ck0e8hOK6Mv/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+027.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749358964942002" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpfs-uTrKFdfG3ykKvNPMXuUQs-nLadGc1z-mFb7NYBnnOFctko2ObLX5tRT4rBpMIwsyAJ2RWwPsdBHpHYncE79vBBsu7kJOhmIPnvpc_0aLNE-vtrbX0uGSj87OqDs36Z58e4Q45543/s1600/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+014.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqpfs-uTrKFdfG3ykKvNPMXuUQs-nLadGc1z-mFb7NYBnnOFctko2ObLX5tRT4rBpMIwsyAJ2RWwPsdBHpHYncE79vBBsu7kJOhmIPnvpc_0aLNE-vtrbX0uGSj87OqDs36Z58e4Q45543/s320/duomo,+san+gimignano,+siena+014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509749355595945698" /></a><br />Slow to rise we headed for the Museo dell’Accademia where David lives and joined the queue that was many times bigger than it had been on our first day. How I wished we had persevered. There was nothing to do but to admire the graffiti left by thousands of tourists and the airy notes of a woman in the building above practicing scales. Alysia wondered what the young boy in front of us must have been writing in his Florentine leather-bound journal: “I’m bored, I’m bored, I’m bored, my stupid parents making me queue for hours”. She was wrong. We later heard him relaying to his parents his plans for a spaceship bigger and better than the gee-wizzmo 2260 (or something like that). Equally entertaining were the Sudanese running past quickly followed by a plain-clothed policeman for their illegal products. Unfortunately while we could hear one of them being tackled we couldn’t see it. The only thing more tempting than going to see was how long the line must now have grown behind us. But more than an hour in we weren’t going to risk losing our spot even if the Korean couple behind us weren’t so worried.<br />When we thought we were close to the head of the line, maybe six metres, we stopped moving, for a long time. I was surely going mad singing to myself “some people just have no heart - it’s happening every-day - pure massacre - pure massacre - there’s gonna be a pure masi-care, ah ha.” And then, “despite of my rage I am still just a rat in a maze…” Those annoying preferiti with their prebooked tickets waltzing into the museum ahead of us. Half an hour later we were two metres from the entrance and waited another half an hour maybe - by this stage it was hard to keep track. <br />It was just before we were finally allowed in that we actually had something worth looking at. Our first celebrity sighting in the form of Helena Bonham Carter (Fight Club, Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter), her two kids and what must have been the nanny - and she was crap at her job. Helena started to walk away leading the boy by the hand who obviously needed to wee, when the girl child started screaming for her mum. Time to step up Nanny McPhee, but oh no, the best she could muster was “she’ll be back soon”. A minute later Helena returned, obviously altered to the screams by her daughter for a competent babysitter. I don’t know what happened after that because we were finally allowed in.<br />All up, by the time we got inside, we had spent close to three hours in line. Sensing I was going to be disappointed Alysia insisted I close my eyes and lead me blind through the crowd to David. If there is one thing that will build suspense and excitement it’s closing your eyes. Just try to keep the smile off your face in the same circumstances knowing everyone is looking at you knowing that, yes, you are disturbed. <br />It is an amazing sculpture. How anyone could do such a thing from a single block of marble without modern technology, and the detail! Even when the experts some years ago tried to insist Michelangelo had stuffed up the proportions, the torso and head being too big they said, someone else disproved them. It’s sculpted taking into account the perspective of the viewer and the fact the thing is near five metres tall. The thing would look stupid if it were in mathematic proportion. What makes you appreciate it even more are some of his unfinished works in the foyer. If only I had a fraction of the talent.<br />After a bite of pizza we headed for the doumo where I left Alysia in the line to draw some more cash in hope of something smaller than 50s. Alas I retuned without any cash and a broken card - not only was my card ‘not overseas activated’ (which was untrue) it spat it out with a fractured spine. Luckily I have more than one. Anyway, this delay meant we were among the last in, and the 50 wasn’t a problem after all. The steps might be another issue. All up we climbed 416, spiralling up the stone staircase all the way, blackened by the millions of hands that had done it before seeking stability as the grew dizzy. And walls and walls of graffiti. Despite signs everywhere saying ‘do not write on the walls’, it’s obviously likes putting a red flag in front of a bull, cos thousands and thousands of such and such was here and a year date covered the walls of that staircase, up and up and up. The two landings on the way up were well received. Then, after a ladder, we popped into the soft light of a setting sun - on a city littered by haze. It was inspiring, even if the crowds were annoying. Why people stop right at the exit making it difficult for people to get out… I don’t know. I find people are nice and crowds, just stupid. We got some good photos towering above the city - quite peaceful. But all too quickly we were chased off by staff wanting to go home. Back down we had a chance to stop briefly and admire the ceiling of the doumo, painted with angels and the like - quite impressive - even if the experience was interrupted by ignorant people who can’t shut their mouths for five minutes and then of course the even louder SHOOSH! from the staff. We enjoyed it immensely but I was pleased to be away from the tight staircase and frustrating mob.<br />We ate back in the same area as the night before at a different restaurant. It was a bit disappointing after the night before - we certainly didn’t see the value and were displeased with the staff. Time to call it a night.<br />Sam (August 11)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-24808038945599186512010-08-20T08:59:00.000-07:002010-09-07T10:15:22.545-07:00A change of hotelsOnce again we engaged in the loathsome activity of bag packing. Our time at Hotel Toscana was up and we were off to Hotel Annabella near the train station just after 10am. Finding it was easy even if the packs were sapping our energy by the second. We were greeted warmly by what must have been the hotel owner, a man in his 50s who used English in an adorable way, insisting we leave our bags in the dining room until our room was ready and be “welcome, welcome”.<br />Having “studied up” last night I was keen to check out the old Roman fortification just south of us past the highly-secured government sector. First we surveyed a nice park with plenty of shade on this hot morning. But we couldn’t actually go inside the fortifications for whatever reason. It was signposted a no tourist zone. So I led the way down what the map said would be a lovely tree-lined avenue. But it wasn’t. So then we found the river and walked along it past the American embassy with all its security and on past the Florence beach - rows of deck chairs positioned at the foot of the river’s weir. You make do I guess. Over the bridge we walked through more streets with shops screaming for tourist trade. We stopped in the shade of the Palazzo Pitti, built for the Pitti family but bought by the Medici family in 1549 as their family residence, now a group of museums but baulked at the entrance fee. We couldn’t find a way around into its extensive gardens either. So we walked further, both sore and tired from the midday sun, on through the city door we found the day before and up past the stables again, where we could just sit and relax for a bit in the relative cool.<br />There was nothing left to do but walk back to the hotel. It had been an ordinary morning - dashed by the no entry at the fortification. <br />That night after some rest and relaxation in the hotel we set out for dinner. We found a piazza with a live band in the middle surrounded by restaurants and sat as far away as possible for no real reason. Except the menu appealed and the prices weren’t outrageous. We were seated next to a middle aged couple who as it turned out were Dutch. Alysia ordered a pasta while I opted for a mixed grill. The bottle of Chianti proved a good companion as we started talking to the stranded couple; their car having broken down they were in Florence for a few days till it was fixed. I still don’t know what had gone wrong but if we thought our load dramas were formidable, evidently they could not fit in any more bottles of Italiano wine and oil - they’d had a good trip. We talked geography over our meals and he shared some travel philosophy. “Just see the important things,” he said, “don’t waste time doing things you’re not interested in either.” He even insisted I try some of his Florentine steak, so massive it was. It wasn’t bad even if he’d seasoned it with perhaps all the salt in the Adriatic Sea. Alysia ordered a tiramisu, which we shared, quite nice. And very Italian of course, washed down on my behalf with another espresso. We bade our companions well calling it a night. If that super strong coffee would ever let me sleep. <br />Sam (August 10)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6412728823353966008.post-4170837856359435672010-08-20T08:57:00.000-07:002010-08-20T08:59:12.688-07:00A bike ride in FlorenceA bull was loose in the hotel. At least one could have been, such noise did reverberate through our room, waking us. It’s not like we could sleep in anyway, with a bike tour to get to, but it was annoying all the same. “BANG! CRASH!! Oops, he just found the kitchen and there goes the crockery.”<br />Dressed and ready we went downstairs for a quick bite, where we just so happened to find the source of the noise. There was no bull. But it could easily have been the stage for World War III: the cook was doing his best to get out of cleaning the dishes by dropping them like bombs, hoping to level the mountain rather than climb it. The sounds of chairs dragging across the terracotta tiles; ballistic missiles roaring off.<br />Our bike tour started with a walk. A walk so long it could have been a tour in itself. The tour guide, Andrea, was an Aussie ex-pat and strengthening our numbers was her friend from Sydney. Her name, China. Her heritage, part British. What a global culture we are. But not the Italians. If we were going to cycle in their country it was going to be astride an Italian bicycle. The mighty Bianchi in striking orange. Built with passion, suspension forks and… what? Gears?! Alysia was instantly gripped with fear. And those levers on the handlebars?! Brakes? Holy shit! And no back-pedal brakes. <br />On a couple of occasions Alysia has recounted her one and only experience on a mountain bike. The story doesn’t end well. Pedal, pedal, pedal, hill, wee… back-pedal, what? No breaks? Panic. Jump off back of bike. Hit ground. Bike hit fence. <br />Alysia was one of the first to be sized up and sent out of the garage with the instruction to “go get aquainted”. It was probably a good thing that my bike was one of the last off the rack. By the time I emerged with some excitement Alysia had already had one big stack. Riding alongside with my words of encouragement seemed to help little. Here comes another corner. Oh yes, here’s the panic again, and BANG. Into a parked scooter. Thankfully the most shabby one in the line and it stayed upright. And it was only a small stack apparently, the one two minutes ago ended square on her arse. Did I hear right? This would be a 15km bike ride… right? We could be back here in five minutes. <br />Off into the inner streets of Florence we pedalled without any dramas. The streets, we were assured, were relatively empty with many locals on holiday. A little longer and we reached the Roman-period “city door”. We got off. And walked through a tree lined park up past the old Medici family stables (themselves massive, three-storey jobs) to what is now the institute of art. Mind you, if we were not told of its former life we would never had known. There’s a statue in the courtyard probably five metres high. It’s a shame the place is looking so shabby. Being “outside the city walls” it’s a little overlooked by the government as it is by visitors, I guess. Back down through the park we turned to face our first hill. No worries. With a low gear selected we set off. On and on a bit further, people pass us. A bit further, the proper English girl all dainty passes us too and then we reach the top. I wasn’t game to pant even a little. Yet I was a little smug that I did it in comparative ease to Alysia, who, at the gym, kicks my arse in the bicycle class. Finally, my pleas that the two are completely different, were heeded. We passed the high school, which used to be the summer palace of the Medici family (all of three kilometres from the Duomo) and around the corner… we’re in the country side. Stone walls line the roads and keep the greenery at bay. A substantial climb later and we arrived at Le Villa Piazzole, which has been in the same family since it was built during the renaissance, some 500 years ago. We checked to see the roses were healthy (and yes so were the vines) and entered the three-storey residence chewing on some tart Pinot grapes (yes, wine snobs we were in the making). Through the opulent foyer with its high ceiling we popped onto the rear landing to survey the rows of hedges and statues - recreated by the latest family member from some sketches that documented the garden - his aunt had let the place go quite a bit apparently. The statues were amusing, all characters from Comedia Dell’Arte, while the building façade was typical of the renaissance style, having larger windows than in medieval times affording the family more light. Quite a departure from medieval times when living hard, with low light, helped assure your afterlife. You can just hear the concierge now: “welcome to the renaisance, leave your flagellation tools at the door, come and enjoy yourself, with some wine, no need to sleep on the floor.” Symmetry was also big in the renaissance we’re told. Hence, if windows couldn’t be installed, they were painted on for posterity. Further to the trend, our guide had even been working on the owner to cut down one tree, to reveal the full extent to which symmetry was chased. Apparently the villa had been built in symmetry with another building on an adjacent hill. The truth hidden by that one tree. Alas, we walked back through the garden. And past an innocuous mill wheel (now a flower pot stand) and into the basement. Centre stage was a large dark dining table where the mill wheel used to live, we were informed. Donkeys used to pull it around to make the olive oil. The olives are still grown at the villa, even if they are pressed a few hundred metres up the road. Anyhow, it went pretty well on the bread, which was unsalted in the Florentine way. But more on that later. “Always pour the oil over the bread, never dip it,” we learnt. Dipping is an insult to the Florentines, especially since the 1985 frost which killed virtually every olive tree in the area. A broken bottle of oil is greater than any Greek tragedy too. It’s bad luck and people will delay their travel plans in such an event to stay in the relative safety of their home. The corks were pulled on the wines and our Aussie compatriat, like us, was getting twitchy to try it. But Andrea was determined to educate us well before it doth part our lips. We felt it smelt of pear, and a bit like green apple, applying our appreciation techniques. I liked the pinot-chardy blend. It was a pretty straightforward drop but good. The red found more friends, a san gevauais variety, with hints of blackberry and tobacco. And quite nice. “bring your glasses and we’ll look at the cellar,” Andrea beckoned. And what a treat it was. The “cellar” was the original foundation of a thousand-year-old Roman tower, in the bowels of which were a few of the villa’s own wines along with a few gifts from other wine makers. Alysia spotted one bottle dating back to 1964 ... Very impressive. The villa, then, was extra impressive, I guess at the 260 euro-a-night room fee. And one family had just held their wedding there. Love to know how much that was.<br />Beside our bikes back in the “car park” were some invaders in the form of four Fiat 500s. These vintage bug-like cars were even fitted with a picnic basket on the back - so small are their interiors I guess. At least they had interiors I guess, unlike our orange bicycles. Which one was mine? That’s right, 327, right where I had left it. Back aboard and up the next hill more of the lovely country side revealed itself, with lines of olive trees, in front of terracotta roofed houses. Further up the hill Andrea pointed out the convent in which Galileo’s daughters lived, and just a few hundred metres later, where Galileo himself lived, under house arrest. The Medici family, members of which he named the moons of Jupiter after, had extradited him there when the church wanted him killed - so explosive was his theory. How dare he contradict the church by telling people the earth was round?! Even while under house arrest Galileo continued to smuggle his theories out via his daughters. Cycling up the very last hill - Andrea promised - we grabbed some figs out of a huge old tree with a great view. I had only tried figs once before and must say, however, I was doing it wrong before. Because these were beautiful, just the seeds we ate, a great interlude to lunch. Down the hill and back past Galileo’s we found the restaurant and were quickly seated. The unsalted bread and ultra-local extra-virgin olive oil were waiting for us and, of course, the Chianti, which was lovely. The stuff has a dicey reputation back home, because it was all we could get for so long I guess, but this was great. It went down even better with the chicken liver and artichoke pates, and the salamis, and the proscuitto. Though these were appetisers, the waiter insisted everything was finished. Then came the ribbolina soup, a specialty of the Tuscan region. Besides tomatoes the core ingredient is bread - because the bread is unsalted it’s only fresh for a day and they have to use it somehow. I couldn’t complain. But for me the chickpea soup was better. Thankfully, because the waiter insisted we finish it all too. He was having a great old time talking to the Canadian couple (Italian descendants) recommending this and that. Still, whatever they were talking about, I’m sure it didn’t come close to China’s revelation her dad was branching out into paintings for mourning families - using the ashes of their beloved one. It’s so strange I could see it becoming the next big trend, of which China’s dad is sure too, no doubt. Yet, this wasn’t as troubling as the talk about wedding sizes. The engaged Canadian couple had recently been to an Italian wedding with 800 guests… and theirs was going to be 500 or some equally ridiculous number. The proper English girl and her Canadian partner, were also engaged and shooting for a similarly big number. If I needed proof I was in the company of the insane it was confirmed by the size of the rock on the finger of the girl from Connecticut. It’s a wonder she didn’t have a box trailer hitched to the mountain bike parked out the front just for it. She and him wondered how we could get three months off…hmm. Time to go. But we wouldn’t get out of there before a typically, syrupy-strong espresso. It tastes good enough but it’s as thick as a shot of tar. The rest of the Chianti helped wash it down of course - to not drink up would offend the house.<br />The group was well greased walking out of the restaurant then and how there were no accidents on the steep descents I do not know. Maybe it was ‘one last hill’ that sobered everyone enough to avoid drama - Andrea lied! In any case we found the lookout Alysia and I had spotted from town the day before. We had “10 minutes” to check out the church and its crypt. Alysia had warned me from the start I would be sick of churches by Italy but this was special in its own right. While smaller than the Duomo in the centre of Florence the detail was much greater - it just had more atmosphere. The crypt itself with its art-decorated ceiling was inspiring. Twenty minutes later, as we were dragged from the church toward the bikes, we were still taking photos and especially of the view. Just a shame it was so hazy. The run down the switch-backs to town was fun even if Alysia was a little scared. By the time we reached the city outskirts I was well in love with cycling again. I didn’t want to get off. Alysia was more grateful though to be back at the garage. By about 3pm we were both head down on the pillows at the hotel snoring. <br />About 6pm we stirred to get something light and cheap for dinner. Only it wasn’t so light and not so cheap. Good, cost effective food is hard to come by here. Like our Lonely Planet travel bible tells us; Florence is a devisive beast. It can enthral one with its beauty but quickly annoy, being overly geared toward tourists. For that night at least I was rapt with it. <br />Sam (August 9)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2