October 6 - 23, 2013
We ride the hills, valleys and coast into the Italian Riviera. Ventimiglia. A familiar name? I think my older brother and some pals toured around here on Vespas after completing University. Pines and palms and sailboats abound here. We stop for lunch across the bay from San Remo. There seems such lazy intrigue on these southern French and Italian coasts, as compared to the quiet inland towns and landscapes and the busy-ness of the north. I love the contrasts. Maybe many countries are like that...busy north country and lazy south...and something else in the middle.
It is Sunday. Everything is closed. We always forget that fact. The more religious areas respect this day of worship. But for us; no gas for the car, no new chip for the computer dongel, no food in the cupboards. We drive through town after town. It's fun, like watching a silent travelog. We make it to San Remo and take a pathway walk to shake out the road stiffness from our bodies. While we are parked in a lot for the night, a young local couple comes to talk with us. Chris Koch and his lady are planning a trip to the USA, then riding his Harley from coast to coast. They are excited. November and December. We encourage them to follow through but to hug the south at that time of year.
October 7 and 8
Still lollygagging along the coast. We keep our eyes open for propane for the camper stove and refrigerator, gas for the car, a phone store and a supermarket. Wow... a lady with white boots. Remember those? 'These boots were made for walkin', Nancy Sinatra. And some men sport Palm Springs style white shoes.
Where is an open gas station? Gypsy our GPS lady takes us to one after another, all sadly run-down and closed up tight. A 'wild goose chase' would describe this scenario. Thanks to a gracious and kind man who leads us to a working station, we gas up. Then propane, then a wifi chip and finally some groceries in the town of Allasio. Yes! We are complete and on our way.
This time we are driving overland to Venice. We travel familiar roads from our journey last year. Venice! We are here! Across a very long floating bridge to the islands. Our campspot is paradise. At the edge of the sea...with a row of trees marching along, making our view even more pleasant. We have the afternoon to explore so we walk a short distance to the tram, the People Mover, which takes about 7 minutes to get us to the center of the old city, Piazzale Roma. We start walking. What fun! We take signed passageways but then turn to less populated streets. Wrong! We are lost. Our map seems to be full of tricks. Following it we make our way to a cathedral and find a totally different church! We walk over the Rialto Market Bridge in one direction and later walk back over it...but in the same direction. How can this be? It would be funny if it were not scary! We walk for hours before we find our way out of the maze! I must admit though, that the streets we were lost in, away from the crowds, were some of the best.
October 9
'Oh, what a beautiful morrrrrrrning, oh, what a beautiful day!' The sea is smooth as silk. No rain. Coolish, just enough to keep our energy up. We catch the People Mover again into Piazzale Roma but this time we are not taking any chances, we catch the water-bus down the long Grande Canal which we share with all kinds of boats. Of course the gondolas are being poled by beautiful men in striped shirts and ribbon bedecked flat top straw hats, some even singing in an operetic style. 'O Solo Mio'(sp?) Beautiful 1950's style wooden water-taxis ply the canals, traveling a bit faster than us. Work scows and private boats. Lots of traffic. Fun to look at. We stop here and there at water-bus stops.
Beautiful old buildings, their feet in the water, front doors shrunk to half the original height...boat wake waves slapping at them. Water barriers are put up to keep the flow from sloshing into the homes but sometimes, maybe 6+ times a year, the water rises above and ground floors flood. Folks are used to it and watch the rising tide...upstairs goes the furniture until it subsides again. They must love this city a lot to put up with that! Many of the ground floors are empty. The city is still sinking.
The colors of the homes are soft faded pastels with lovely architecture decorated with lace. Chimneys are a shape that we have never seen before, fluting out from the bottom up and decorated like pieces of sculpted art.
Today we get off at Academia, touted as the best museum of Venice. Although I am tiring of heavy religious art there must be something here for me...and I find wonderful Venetian renaissance paintings, clear clean styles, telling stories from the Bible. Colorful patterns of fabric curtains or draped clothing. Delicious. Really.
And on to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum collection. More to my liking. We walk first into the sculpture garden with pieces by Alexander Calder, Barbara Hepworth and Henry Moore. Also in this garden is the grave of all Peggy's doggies, and she herself lays beside them. A 'Wish Tree' stands close by...with the inscription, “To Peggy with love, Yoko”. I don't know much about Yoko Ono but I must read about her one day. Her essence pops up everywhere. She must be quite remarkable.
I talk to some young interns. They come from all over the world and take on a three month stint here, taking turns at jobs like; manning the bag and coat closet, ticket seller, docent, room-watcher etc. They all have dreams of careers in art history or curating. What a base this can provide.
Inside the museum there is an exciting variety of paintings, drawings and prints done by such names as de Kooning, Kandinsky, Chagall, Max Ernst (who married Peggy), Braque, Pollock, Gorky, Rothko, Luce and Peggy's talented daughter, Pegeen Vail. Avant-guardes; Signac, Vuillard, Redon, Denis, Bonnard and others less known.
Nearly next door to this Guggenheim museum we peer into a shop window filled with beautiful silk fabric. How can we pass this by? This is 'Helene's Shop” and she is the artist and is behind her desk, her hand-painted silk pieces are hanging and stacked around her. Excellent work...color, composition and energy. She is a seasoned older artist, maybe our age. A friend from France is visiting her and we all chat excitedly. We find out much about each other. Helene was married to a well respected Italian painter who died 3 ½ years ago. He showed her how to paint on silk...and she took to it. She and her friend try scarves on me...but it is David who is so enthralled with her work. So, they drape scarves on him. Oh yes. He pays $200 for an amazing silk scarf for himself! Maybe he will share it?
Helene is very arty-attractive. Lovely face and manner. Makes friends easily. She tells us a story of a Canadian woman who came into her shop. She bought lots of small pieces and said that she would be making a jacket with them, and one day would come back to Venice to show her the finished product. Well, the woman did come back but much to her disappointment, Helene's shop was closed. Helene had left early to help a friend. Ah, but on her way she saw a jacket in a crowd! “That looks like my fabric.” She hurries to look closer. Of course it is her friend, come back to show her. The jacket is magnificant. If you would like to see Helene's work, pull up her website: www.heleneferruzzi.com We leave with two little books as gifts to us...one filled with photographs of her silk paintings and the other of her husband's paintings. Treasures to be sure.
October 10
Water-bus again. A sign we pass which starts us thinking...'Thought becomes form'. We swish our watery way to the Doge's (Duke) Palace and Basilica today, on St. Marco Square. So many people...tour groups, their leaders holding up flags or umbrellas so the members know who to follow! As you have probably read or seen...this palace is over-the-top beautiful. Wall and ceiling murals among the decorative craftsmanship.
We follow our brochure maps first on a journey through to the prison...over the 'Bridge of Sighs', the last shot of daylight through its windows for the prisoners being led on the same route as we. Of course along the way there are rooms full of armour for us to inspect...swords, knives, shields, pointed arrows (wood with metal tips). So much fighting over the ages to sort out what belongs to who. Winners and losers. I guess we are still doing this, but I have to believe we are making slow but sure headway. Sort of one step back and two forward. We inspect jail cells, many of them. Dark and sad. Then we wander more lovely rooms, almost too much to take in. I try to imagine being the 'top dog' in life...being waited on, wearing complicated beautiful clothing, layer upon layer...walking stately. Commanding servants. Parties and balls. Visitors of emminence.
The basilica next door. Georgous tiled floors, no two sections the same. Golden domed ceilings, painted and decorated. My thoughts are always on the craftpersons. There seems endless work for them. That makes me happy. Our lives would be so much more rich if we still employed this hand-done careful lovely work. Outside we look up to giant horses, patina of green. Breathtaking. There is an exhibit room of mosaics which have become a favorite art form for me.
Enough for today. A sandwich and beer outside a little cafe and then we make our way 'home'. At two p.m. we finally leave Venice, a unique, remarkable and magic place.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> I do not want to offend any Italians BUT...I love this aspect of their spoken English. On a bus, the call goes out to the passengers, 'Nexta Stopa.....' It is very hard to discipline themselves to drop that 'a'!
> On a bench, these carved words; Go where people sleep and see if they are safe.
> On Venice's Grande Canal there are police with radar equipment.
Cinque Terra, Italy October 11 through 13
45o this morning. Delicious cold air/warm bed sleep. Sunny skies. Pumpkins in the field. We are expecting to arrive at the Cinque Terre group of villages in three hours, a long awaited destination. Roads are bad because we do not want to go on the modern fast toll roads. Up we go through the mountains, tipped with fresh snow. No wonder it was cold last night. We stop for naps in this fresh high place, emerald green fields snuggle into the mountain forests of conifers. Lonely farms. 'Backwoods' villages. Our route is blocked in one of these villages...I think probably storm water took out a road. We turn around. It doesn't matter, we love to see how others live their quiet lives.
Both light and dark puffy big clouds in the sky. The weather cannot make up its mind. Cow or goat bells echo up the valley. We meet few cars. No stress or worry, just aimless dreamy wanderings to the back door of the Cinque Terre, but first to the large city of La Spezia, where we get on a high service road to the villages.
We have chosen Corneglia for our home base. It is built higher up the steep hills than its neighbors, with no beach and not much action, a spectacular view...all to our liking. It is easy to get to the lower towns by shuttle bus to the train or you can choose to use the 400 stairs, which we ignore. We are in the very center of the five towns so our plan is to spend one day exploring in one direction and the next day, the other. We find parking on the one flat spot on the hill! 10 euros a day from 8 to 8. Not bad when you consider that it is our free hotel for the night also. We walk through the town passageways...stone paths through a mish-mash of tall stone homes with charming entrances and balconies at every level.
October 12
At the train station we purchase ourselves two-day passes. No hiking today, from one town to the next. The easiest trails have been wiped out by slides. We catch the train east on track 2 to Riomaggiore where we walk through a long tunnel to the town center. There are plenty of tourists in October. What must it be like in the summer? Pastel colors on the houses scatter up the steep slopes. Grape vines are terraced and being harvested, placed into a small cart that is on a thin track that takes the harvested grapes uphill to a point of collection, then sent off for the wine making. Also there are lots of olives, not quite ready for the picking (I am very addicted to wrinkly salty black olives). The town is also built down to the azure blue Mediterranean waters. Plenty of spots here to sit with a drink and watch and listen. Many nationalities, many languages. There are beautiful young couples, groups of school friends, fabulous older couples (like us!), groups of women, groups of men and some folks traveling solo. The shops are filled with anything a tourist might buy, always the scarves and the jewelry. Lovely clothes, displayed well. Gelatos, galleries, panninis, pizza and white table-clothed restaurants of more variety and costing more money.
As winter nears, all the colorful small fishing boats are being pulled up on to the town squares and sidewalks, next to the big splashy umbrellas of yellows and greens and reds. So much color in one spot...boats and umbrellas combined. When saturated with this town's flavor we walk back to the train. We are in the furthest town so let's hop on the next train going west so we can visit Manarola. Oh fine! We have grabbed a not-stop train to the furthest point west, Monterosso. All villages are close...what does it matter about our careful plans!
Monterosso is the only town with a sandy beach so it is probably the most popular. Even now there are brown shiny bodies on the strip and some brave silly people are in swimming. So here we walk a different configuration of streets. We eat salad and anchovie pizza at an outdoor table, accompanied by a statue of Garibaldi. David is pitching a hike to the next town from here. Vernazza. I am not interested! I have heard from others (Liam) that it is a tough climb, an excrutiating climb. Rick Steves says...”It is a very tough, steep and sometimes dangerous trail” and it will take two hours at least. I know it will kill me. I have my sturdy hiking boots on so I really have no excuse.
Whew! Don't ever do this. Stairs, more stairs, more stairs...all uneven, zig zag up up up up...and more stairs! It is cruel, really. I am not enjoying one moment. Finally on an easier grade there is a fellow behind a fence, selling fresh lemonella. I can't stop, not even for that, I will never get going again. David takes a photo of me for proof I think. Not a good idea. I am whacked out. He is not even sweating! We keep going and going. Never ending. Do you get the picture? Can you feel it? Hikers are coming from the opposite direction. I don't dare ask how far from the end we are. I am afraid of the answer. As one young man says to us, “You are hiking the wrong way. Of all the trails, you have chosen the most uphill challenge.” You're telling me. I try to keep from whining like a child. We do finally get there.
The view of Vernazza from the trail is spectacular! That azure blue again. A breakwater and a plaza. Cozy. The town huddles steeply around it. Now I am so happy that I walked here. We make our way down into town, wander a bit through the streets, then find the sea and a table and a beer. This is my favorite town. I like the layout. But I am tired and ready for the short train ride home.
October 13
Am I crazy? We leave our van about 9:30 this morning. David has sweet-talked me into hiking to Vernazza from the east today. The trail starts a few hundred yards from our van, and it starts up and up again. The stairs are very uneven rock, much worse than yesterday. What was I thinking? But this rough stuff doesn't last and most of the trail is a pleasant up and down like most trails should be! I loved it. This time I am more involved in what is around me. I take photos of all the plants along the path. Some common, some unknown. Big cactus. The kind we have in pots inside our homes in the Pacific NW. Other cactus with ripe prickly pears. We pass olive trees with nets beneath them to catch the little black oil-filled fruits. The views along the way are wonderful as we peek through at the sea, at cliffs, at villages. We meet friendly hiking folks from all over, chat a bit and move on. Many Americans, more Chinese and a few from Australia.
When we arrive in Vernazza we take naps on the sea wall. How lovely is this. Warm sun on our relaxed bodies. We are thirsty so we move a few feet to a table and order beers. Sunshine and breezes and people to watch. Tourists are getting on tour boats. It takes some fine footwork to cross the wildly bobbing gang plank as there is nowhere to properly dock. It is entertaining to watch each passenger's technique.
Enough fun and sun. We walk to the train but find that we still have an hour to wait. So what now? Our solution; sit on a promenade bench with gelatos in hand and people-watch. A lovely lightweight white shirt hangs outside a shop. Hmmmm. I would love to have that. I saunter over. The price tag is 99 euros. I guess I can do without.
We still have one more town of the five to see. Manarola. We took the train but by then the towns were starting to look the same. We spent less than an hour and took ourselves home for homemade soup at our own dinner table. Tomorrow we move on.
October 14
There has been a French couple parked behind us for the past few days. At first they were upset, we were far too close to them for their trunk to be opened easily. We are not over the line but yes, our camper is bigger than a car and takes up all its alloted space. Soon they understood and we crossed paths often, now always with a bit of conversation and smiles. They were avid hikers, taking little-used trails higher into the mountains. They live and run an outdoor guide business in the Alps near Grenoble.
We leave Cinque Terre and drive along the Italian coast toward Florence, passing Pisa and spotting its Leaning Tower. Crazy. It is still slowly falling after many times of trying to fix it. 200 feet tall and leaning at an 85o angle...built in bits and pieces and corrections since 1173. Today one can still go to the top...not me, that would be the exact moment it would relax and let go. We sleep in a free RV spot provided by some communities to entice folks to spend their money there.
October 15
We move to a campground. Capanne. Time to wash ourselves and clothes. But the weather is not at all good for drying clothes on a line so we decide to take them to a laundry dryer. We get lost. Round and round. “Haven't we been here before? Let's try this way.” We stop to ask several times but no one speaks English. They wave their arms and point. Finally we give an understanding nod but have no idea what they are telling us. “Gratzi!” Now we find the street by mistake.
A couple of fun characters are running the the laundry. Lavanderia ACQUACHIARA. Yes, they will dry our clothes for us. Lin-ed (pronounced Linda), a beautiful Nigerian who speaks English, and Senada, her tiny Italian side-kick who speaks little English. We waited in the van. Senada came out to ask a question. We only understood two words, maybe 'TV and coupon'. She went to get Linda to translate. This was her question:
“My mother watches TV and she says that an American channel shows people 'playing' coupons for cheap food in the USA. She does not believe that it is really true. They do not have that here in Italy.” Our answer:
“Well, Senada, tell your mother that yes it is true. It is not a game to play(well, maybe it is!). A store(s) will put coupons into the weekly newspapers so people will bring the coupons into their store to redeme for cheap food...but always the customers will buy other grocery items, too. It is a way to get shoppers into their store to spend their money.”
Shocked, Senada says, “No! I will tell my mother!”
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> We see young girls on motor cycles. Their pink helmets say, “SWEET YEARS”.
> There are many very tiny Italians.
> Guardia Costiera...Coast Guard
> Thinking about a)TOURISM and b)TRAVEL.
a) Prescribed routes, precribed time to see sites, less chance to be in open
conversation with the locals, tourists seem to see the cultural
differences and hold on to them (for example, “Aren't Italian drivers
awful!?”), fear of losing their guide or group. Unhappy with food, accomodations...with each other. (I am painting a bad
picture, not true for all, but these things can typically happen.)
b) The following is what we have found in our travels...free-style adventure.
Unpredictable surprize element...what does the day hold and where will
we sleep tonight? Open to gems of ideas from local cultures, much less
separation between our cultures, more questions of one-another. Given a
longer length of free time one starts to feel at home in any culture. The
length of time slowly but surely changes your frame of mind.
Differences become less important and more indearing, they add to the
richness of the experience...we look at their ways and assess our own,
often finding theirs to be the better way or at least as good. With deeper
involvement, we begin to set aside our prejudices. David says, “In fact,
travel can be dangerous to prejudices! It breaks down barriers that
separate.” Back to the Italian driver example. Yes, we thought the worst
but in actual fact they are much better drivers than we are, far more
aware of what is going on around them, more tolerance
shown, some roads are small and tricky...they take care of each other
because everyone is in 'the same boat'. Less enforced rules requiring
that everone think for themselves. The trick for us is to go with the
flow and follow their lead, keep our eyes open and practice politeness.
Another aspect of understanding another culture is to note how different
countries deal with providing for families... jobs, health care, etc. Job
class... there seems more understanding that all jobs are important.*
Appearances less important. There is a willingness not to be separated
by language. Folks embrace us! Laugh and shake hands. Hug. It is a
wonderful feeling to open ourselves to this. We have learned something
so important...STEP OUTSIDE ONE'S SELF WITHOUT FEAR.
*(This observation does not stand completely true in large cities.)
So we are now in Florence. This busy city reaches traffic heights. One way streets take us away from our destinations. So frustrating! We cannot find our way. Gypsy is mixed up, too. We left Florence deflated and defeated. Sad. I wanted to see the early renaissance frescoes of Fra Angelico. There are important things we will miss on this journey. We have no energy for it. We decide to skip Rome also (been there) and head instead, straight to Sicily.
October 16th
Our bed and breakfast camper spent the night in the Simply grocery store parking lot in Ripabianca. From here this morning we can watch the processing of tobacco. Pink flowers like nicosiana. Lots of steam rising from behind the building. We don't get the full picture. Trucks come full of tobacco leaves and leave empty.
On our way. Hill towns everywhere. Not in the guide books. We speed by Orvieto and remember a good day spent there last year. Caos (not sure of this name) is the town we reach at noon. The roundabouts have excellent sculptures in their middles. One is a huge tall fishing pole, fish dangling. Another is a structured obelisque, one of its faces is plain, others with rusted engine/tool stuff, quite well done.
We are behind a manure truck. Whew! We can't get around it for 5 kilometers. Small hillside roads that give us no time to see beyond. We glimpse monasteries and picturesque towns. Gosh, Italy is a gorgeous country. Our route; towns nestled in the hillsides and valleys, forests abundant in thick short trees... Ascoli, Canetra, Borge Vetino, Antrodoco, Torante, Bignolla, Scopitto, Vigliano. A unique geometric design is sawed and chisled into a hedge...a shrine to Mary, a sweet bridge (Pont S. Giovanni Madonna), a French blue sky, switch-back roads to mountain tops, a lone village fills the valley below, wooley hills like thick green sheep fleece, high valleys of agriculture, sheep and more sheep, autumn reds in the foliage, three little black lambs from one white mama.
We are on a mountain spine in the middle of the Italian boot, south and inland from Rome. Another very sweet stone bridge, higher trees but tree-free rock mountains ahead, large circular valley with large population. Yellow autumn leaves. Finally we are in L'Aquila (L'Quila?), a mountain city...reached by roadway SS17. We have gone 72 k. Looking for a lunch spot. We are across from a massive length of flat plateau-type mountain tops. You could walk and walk across them. I imagine this as I travel them with my eyes.
We set the town of Sulmonia into the GPS. Snow must be on the ground here for a few months. It is cool today, yet the sun shines as we move ever upwards. Beautiful red sumack trees. A woman and her daughter are erecting a memorial beside the road. I imagine their husband/father met his death here. It is quite sweet in its way. They have brought buckets full of what they need from their home as we see them trudging slowly and sadly to their old stone village after we have made a lunch stop close-by.
More castled hill towns as we move on, and busy tractors plowing up fields of white soil. Churches and their spires always tower above the villages. It seems there are no roads up to them. One would suffer to climb the paths to worship. Some villages have fort-like protective walls, all are monochromatic in color. We are now moving along flat valleys with the hill towns above, but soon climb to a larger town with manufacturing plants, the valley filled with a poluted haze.
Sulmonia coming up. Need to set a new GPS point. We read Italian signs, CURVIO/Curve...PLASTICA/Plastic. On we go. A community spills down the mountain side like a cheery waterfall. Spectacular red vegetation climbs to a ridge-top and the white rock continues. We check the distance to our desired destination. 4.26 hours to Malfi. We'll never make it.
What beauty! The next rock mountain over is layered green to red-brown to buff with white streaks. What an amazing ride through the mountains on a most glorious fall day. We drive slowly through a hill village, Cansano. A large square, lovely wide brick roads, well kept homes. It is 4:30 p.m. Ladies are on park benches talking, men in the square playing cards. Folks setting up the soccer field (Everywhere we go there is a soccer field). Women resting on chairs outside their front doors, work done, dinner prepared, just watching their village move about... A sign points to the ski lift. I wonder when the snow starts? My gosh, we are high up. Two young men ski up the hill on wheels, poles flying...getting ready for cross country skiing. Stacks of winter wood in each yard. Outdoor cafe tables with sun/rain umbrellas still offer a summertime feel, but the locals are wearing jackets or warm sweaters. Friendly familiar chatter between folks who know each other well. We park. Maybe we will stay here the night.
October 19
We are still moving upwards again today. Colorful fall scrub thick on hillsides. Deciduous narrow trunks let us see through for quite a ways. Two men are gathering skinny dead limbs, only good as fire starters. A tradition for them. The season is nearly upon them. More and more color. I love autumn. It evokes cozy warm memories. It brings the world inside me. Of course I am in that time in the cycle of life...the autumn of my years. It is the best! I just wonder when the snow will arrive for me.
A warning light goes off on the dashboard. It indicates that we are low on water but when David checks it there seems plenty. We pour a bottle of drinking water in for good measure. It works. The light goes off. ???
This mountain spine is the road to travel! Sunlight from holes in the clouds streak across the land, vibrant color streaks of red rust, green, yellows sliding into one. There is green grass in the valleys below, brilliant from recent rains. We whiz through another town, more new buildings here, rocks on the roofs to keep the tiles secure. It looks like a colorful thick blanket has been thrown across the mountain tops...a few threadbare places. We are still traveling SS17. A lizzard scoots across the road in front of us, taking his life in his own little 'hands'. This small panoramic road links town after town with breathtaking views between. I take it all in like an elixer. Isernia, a huge old compound on a hill. A large dome. Double spires. Housing. Perhaps once a monastery. Folks are alive and well here...but no one speaks English. We are looking for drinking water for the camper well. Somehow we make it happen. Our helper cleans the end of the hose before he starts the water flow.
SS17 is also SS645 taking us through shallow flat valleys busy with plowing and wood gathering and we are in Foggio, not a pretty place. Newer wider streets. We dodge cars and bikes, and people walking against the lights. Big modern stadium and nicely tree shaded park. A spread out gritty sort of place looking like a boring state-side town. As we wait at a light three ladies walk by, a tall young one, a medium middle aged one, and an old tiny one. The tall one tried to pick the little old one up to help her over a curb. Screeches of indignation! “I can still do this by myself!”
Next we are on a wide plain to Malfi. A lone 'sun-doggie' colors up the sky. I forget what that might mean. Maybe just a little patch of precipitation in the sun? The area reminds us of Bakersfield. The biggest wind-farm is established here. Massive turning blades. Lots of crops, grain and something blue-green. Swirly clouds as the sun goes down. Mares Tails, cotton batting, wind-shaped sand clouds, airplane trails, some are dark and forboding...a variety.
October 20 & 21
Italian families descend upon us as we eat a late breakfast in the van. They give each other '3-cheek kisses' as they meet. It feels like something important is going on today. Maybe a soccer game. Cars park, kids pile out and snack before they leave the car, all carrying picnic baskets. It is wonderful to watch. Our side door is open. We eat bacon and eggs. Passersby smile and say 'bon apetito'.
On the road again. A happy start to our day's journey. Blue skies. Another lizzard races across the road, tail in the air, as fast as he can go like he knows he better not doddle after he has committed to this four-legged run. Tunnels. The Italians know how to build them and we are thankful as it makes the road straight and safe and quick... for this is a day for that. Sometimes we are in total darkness. Darkness is strong but light always wins, seeping and diffusing into it... showing the way. Still in the mountains we cross from east to west toward Paestum. Dry air in high country. Olives. The mountains now tower above us, we are moving down to sea level, a coastal drive (SS18) to Sepri. We walk a beach and promenade. There are flowers here, in abundance. Hibiscus, roses, boganvilla. Swimmers! We choose the low ocean-side road to the next town on the map, Paola. Another terrific drive...through Eucalyptus trees. Sort of like a very quiet Amalfi Coast...but sturdy walls to hold you safely on the road. In some places there is only one lane. Beep beep. Anyone coming? It is 5:00 p.m. A gold sparkly beaded line heads toward us in the sky, the result of a sunset. Yosemite type rock faces, steep and scary...tunnels chiseled through the rock. A variety of strong bird chirping sings its way through our open window.
A huge white Jesus sculpture, robed arms outstretched, stands on the highest point of a cliff, way above us. Impossible not to notice. Rasi. Vallena. The road zig zags down to the port of Maratea. Upscale. Lots of folks. Rocky shore, the small sandy beaches reachable only by boat. Layers of land types to the south, pointed and swooping, lower islands. Long pebble and sand beaches reach far into the distance. Tortora. A larger town where a river runs through a cut in the mountains, down into a wide bay. This coast is paradise. Now a large delta. Greek or Roman ruins along our way. Green houses, a train chugging south, lovely pastures surrounding homes nestled among the trees. Hardly a soul on the beach. Santa Maria del Cedro...beaches and beaches, warm sun and no tourists. I could stay here longer but we have set a date with a Servas host on the island of Sicily. We lay our heads down at a large marina.
October 22
The road becomes more commonplace, from empty town to empty town. Not pretty, though the sand beaches continue. This day has become slow and lazy. We stop for an oil change in Corso. The folks at the garage send us to the barber up a 'happening' street. This little street feels like the Italian section of New York city. Everyone is out in the early evening. Families, kids playing, women hurrying with a bag of last minute shopping. Beautifully coiffed young men hang outside the barber. He seems to be their hero! The king. The artist of their hair styles. Luca, by name. A sweet guy who shows us a list of appointments still to complete this day. “But, come back about 7:30. Have yourselves some dinner,” and directs us to a popular street-side bar/cafe. We pass the open door of the 'club house' where men are smoking and playing cards. This is a great street to be part of for a few hours. We order dollar beers and a mushroom/tomato/cheese brochette to share. It's not great but then we treat ourselves to pistachio gelatos on the way out the door.
Back at Luca the barber's. 9 euro hair cuts and he is a sport about cutting my hair, not his usual customer. He enjoys this roll, getting pretty creative with his scissors. I tell him he is an artist. He is proud and appreciative. I buy some hair cream to help the spikey hair-do. His shop is designed in the latest salon look, silver and black with all the right equipment. He is proud of that, also. The coifed boys wave at us through the window as he works. Male locals call out greetings as they pass his door. A good and 'real' town. That night we find a harbor a few miles south.
October 23
We go back to the garage that did our oil change. David is worried that the grey-water tank might have been damaged as he had noticed a problem/slip when the car was being jacked up. The manager had it checked, found a small leak but not from a fresh hole. He stood behind his man. He was very sure and diplomatic. He fixed it even though it was not their fault. I told him that I thought he was extremely good at his job, in his position. When we said goodbye, he wanted to introduce his sister to us, she had just come back from America. “Does your sister work here, too?” Ha! Family owned...seven cousins all work there! Their three fathers started it, brothers and still drop by to make sure things are going okay. Rosanna, the sister says, “We owe what we know and how we handle ourselves with customers, to them.”
On the road to the ferry at Villa San Giovanni. It is beautiful. Rows of six inch green shoots in the fields. Lovely purple morning glory climbs the cactus along the roadside. It is the season of clean-up, of burning. The smoky haze drifts out to the sea. Sometimes I am confused. Is this California? Mexican farmers? It is all so familiar.
We ride the ferry to Sicily at sunset.
