Back
... and of course out of it. Otherwise no-one would be getting anywhere.
Although when you watch the Italians drive, you might think differently.
It’s been a while since we have given you our latest news, but it has been
difficult finding an Internet cafe in Italy (where we’ve spent the last
month, as you may have guessed from the title), and besides the art and the
food have been so overwhelming, that we didn’t want to waste any precious
time on Microsoft.
As you may remember our first stop after our relaxing month in Greece, was
the wedding of our friends Stefan and Noeleen, who couldn’t have chosen a
more traditional Bavarian setting for their wedding. Stefan’s family comes
from Kaufbeuren in Bavaria, a stone´s throw away from the Alps, while
Noeleen’s is from Ireland - a very healthy combination, especially when it
comes to quantities of alcohol served at the reception. And of course,
despite the Irish element, the wedding celebrations proceeded with the
efficiency and organization that one would expect from a German. The
reception was held at ‘Zum goldenen Schwanen’ in the nearby villlage of
Friedhof, in a traditional inn with a beer garden (the real thing, no
gimmicks). As if the bride and groom could have read the guests’ minds, the
reception started with the most mouthwatering display of cakes, which were,
needless to say, properly appreciated by all of us. And the food feast
continued, as we entered the first course and then the second and then well,
..... dessert again. Thus fed and satisfied, we enjoyed the German custom
of wedding entertainment, which consists of (no, not the mafia) various
sketches put on by the guests. You know the rumours about Germans having no
sense of humour and all that. Well, actually we met some Germans that have -
any German that decides to sing ‘Danny boy’ in front of a crowd of Irishmen
must have a well-developed sense of humour. The best act must go to a
certain Princess Winifred, who read out a hilarious fairy tale about Prince
Stefan who lost his head and grew it back on and Princess Noeleen who had
everything in her kingdom apart from some magic nuts that she simply had to
get her hands on, and then Princess Winifred sang a song from a musical that
no-one had heard of, called ‘Once upon on a matress’. I think we may have
given the identity of Princess Winifred away, as she is no other than our
musical-crazy friend Dani, who by the way looks fabulous in a corsetted
sky-blue satin dress with high heels, a red wig and fake eyelashes.
We had a wonderful week in Augsburg with all our friends, cooking lots of
nice meals and spending some really nice evenings with them. We ventured
once into München, cunningly avoiding the drunken hoards from the
Oktoberfest, although we had difficulty convincing our friends that we did
spend our day in the National Gallery not one of the beer tents.
After this very relaxing week, we headed south to Firenze, where we had
arranged to meet with our Finnish friend Atte, who indeed was standing at
the appointed square, at the appointed time. We spent three very art-filled
days with him,but when one is in Firenze it is difficult to avoid art. And
we had the odd drop of Chianti.
As Atte headed north for the arctic stretches of Finland, we headed south
for the fiery heat of Vesuvius and Napoli. We managed to get a ride down to
Rome with an Italian businessman, who spent most of the time with his mobile
phone in one hand while using the other to gesticulate in true Italian
style. Has it ever occured to you why Italians have such good motorways?
It’s not to go faster or straighter or easier to your destination. It’s to
account for the ‘reversal of action margin’ - a well-known distance created
by an Italian driver holding the steering wheel with one hand and
gesticulating with the other, when suddenly and randomly but nevertheless
unfailingly, the action is reversed and he steers with the hand that is
still gesticulating. That is why you need good roads in Italy, with several,
very wide lanes, and don’t believe any crap that the EU tries to tell you
about ‘facilitating the transfer of internationally bound traffic’.
Anyhow, we completed our journey to Napoli with a Spanish couple, Ana and
Francesco, from Madrid who gave us an interesting insight into Spanish ways
of driving. Nothing quite prepares you for Napoli. Rome seems like the most
orderly, disciplined and uneventful corner of the world by comparison. While
driving to the central piazza, we were offered a mobile phone by one of the
guys passing on a motorino, well within hearing shot of a police car, who
were obviously not interested in either arresting the guy or purchasing the
aforementioned mobile phone; street traders were selling what looked like
stolen hand bags in the street; we waited at a traffic light for ages, but
it didn’t seem to matter whether it was green or red, because cars seemed to
proceed in the order of ‘least battered goes last’. At the information
office at the centre of town we were given a pile of information on public
transport in the Napoli bay area and sent off to Sorrento, where things are
a lot calmer. Actually, we don’t want to put you off visiting Napoli,
because all the crime seems to be restricted to pick pocketing, and the
sight of Napoli bay with Vesuvius towering over it, looking like it’s about
to explode any minute is quite unforgettable and makes up for all the chaos
of Napoli. We did wonder what would happen if Vesuvius decided to explode
again. Apparently special measures have been taken to evecuate Napoli. And
evidently Neapolitans are practicing these evacuation measures all the time
with great enthusiasm, judging from the traffic.
Vesuvius, Pompei, Herculaneum and the archeological museum of Napoli were
all spectacular, as expected, but we won’t give you any details as you can
get those from any guide book. Just one of those random observations of
ours: curling up into the foetus position doesn’t save you from a volcanic
eruption, neither does lying on your back. Napoli was a bit chaotic, but as
we wandered around all the narrow alleys with everyone’s washing hanging
across the windows over our heads, we couldn’t stop humming the song from
‘Lady and the Tramp’ (you all know the one, where they are having pasta with
meatballs and Tramp gives Lady his last meatball). Except Kristian kept all
the food for himself, although admittedly it wouldn’t look very good if he
had shoved his last mouthful in Markella’s direction with his nose.
We made the 600 km trek down to Reggio di Calabria where we crossed the
infamous straits of Messina to Sicily. Fortunately, both Scylla and Charybde
seemed to have had enough pizza for the day because they were not interested
in devouring our boat. Once in Sicily, it felt like we had changed country.
The Sicilians are so friendly that they make people from northern Italy seem
arrogant and cold by comparison. Of course, there is the mafia, and there is
no point in denying that it’s there. We often found ourselves sitting in
bars or restaurants where the entire clientelle could have starred in ‘The
Godfather’. We soon learnt that drawing a line on your cheek with your index
finger meant ‘mafioso’, and should not be confused with placing any finger
to the corner of your mouth which meant ‘very tasty’, or we might have ended
up offending every restauranteur we visited. Speaking of food, the Sicilian
cuisine is simply divine: pasta with a fish or sea food and fresh tomato
sauce, fresh wild fennel, sweet peppers and aubergines, tons of garlic, pine
nuts and olive oil.
Just about every invader seems to have passed through Sicily, which means
that the sights on the island are practically endless, with two or three
different architectural styles superimposed in one building: Markella’s
Greek ancestors seem to have left a string of theatres and temples behind,
the Arabs created amazing stonemasonry work in the 9th-11th centuries, the
Byzantines and Normans crowned it all with some of the best mosaics we’ve
seen outside Aghia Sophia in Istanbul, and the Spaniards ... well, they’ve
left Sicialian baroque. Sicilian baroque means filling every last inch of
the church with marble putti that are involved in every conceivable position
and activity that will not offend God (piggy back is out). The church walls
end up looking like the have some strange skin rash - it’s quite spectacular
if that’s your style, but we prefer something simpler. We went into what is
now the cathedral of Siracusa, but the walls still contain the columns of
the Greek 2,500-year old temple of Athena, a row of Arab arches and towers,
Norman 11th century fortifications and 16th century baroque decorations.
Quite spectacular! We had never expected towns like Siracusa and Palermo to
be so beautiful, again a mixture of ancient Greek, Arab, Byzantine, Norman
and Roman catholic. Somehow all those painfully boring chapters of history
with the endless crusades (remember Roger II the Norman and Pius the Pope-
no, neither did we), came alive in Palermo. All those popes and kings and
knights that could never be memorized for that wretched exam, they had all
passed through Sicily and left the odd cathedral and their grave behind.
Great lesson in history.
After 10 days in Sicily, we left for Cagliari in Sardinia, and it was again
like we had arrived in a new country. All Sardinians we spoke to were quite
keen to explain that they were Sardinians first and Italian very much
second. We had a fantastic experience one day, when a Sardinian family gave
us a lift to their home town of Oristano, half-way up the west coast of the
island, then asked us to join them for lunch. It turned out that the wife
and son ran the beach bar/tavern on an 8-km sandy beach about 5 km away from
the nearest settlement. The campsites on the beach were shut for the season,
so we had the beach to ourselves, with the exception of a few fishermen
scattered here and there. The family prepared the most amazing meal for us
consisting of 5 courses, then proposed that we stay in the hut for that
evening and they would pick us up the next morning and take us to the
nearest main road. And we could help ourselves to whatever drinks we liked
from their fully stocked bar, as the bar was closing for the season and they
had to come back and clear everything. Most peoples’ dream is to be left
alone on a sandy beach for the evening. The bar and the most fantastic night
sky that evening were the icing on the cake! And, well we hate to mention
this, but the storms that have been plaguing northern Europe seemed a
million miles away, because we had constant sunshine and enjoyed 2 swims in
the sea.
As promised, our friendly hosts picked us up the next morning and after a
capuccino (we forgot to mention that there was an Italian coffee machine in
the hut too), they took us to the top of the road from where we continued
towards the north of the island. After a few more days on Sardinia, we
crossed over to Corsica, where we met a really friendly couple from mainland
France, who invited us to stay for the night at their place (in Corsica). We
always joke about national stereotypes of tourists, e.g. the Germans travel
in large tour groups, the Brits like their package tours, the Dutch cycle
everywhere but only with other Dutch people, and the French cross the
Atlantic in a tiny boat. Well, these two had - they had taken a 2-person
sailing boat across the Atlantic to Brazil, where the boat sank and they
were stranded on an island 3-days sailing away from mainland Brazil for 2
months. Can’t really top that.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t spend much time in Corsica, because we wanted to
get to Nice where K’s parents were waiting for us, but the little we saw of
the island has left us with very positive impressions. Then again, we never
got to try the famous Corsican cheese with worms and flies in it. Getting to
our boat was a bit of a tight squeeze. The bus to the port of Bastia was due
to arrive at 11.30 and the boat was due to leave at 11.35. Markella used her
most polite but forceful French to convince the driver to step on it, so he
got us to the port at 11.20. Fortunately the boat was ‘en panne’, so it left
one hour late giving us plenty of time to gather our decorum back.. We are
now happily in Nice staying with Madre and Padre Mikkelsen for about a week,
fortifying ourselves and getting ready for the next leg of our trip.
We noticed that we have managed to offend 6 nationalities in this update,
and five of them will join the Euro in 2 months. What do you make of this
statistic?
The papers here in France suggest that Bush Jr. is going to win. Hmmm. More
capital punishment. Even for those not on death row. 7 offended
nationalities.
Ok, that’s all for now.
Lots of love
Markella & Kristian
Back