Why travel?

It was a day when Google got us lost, we trudged the hills of Rome for kilometres in 33 degree heat and ghastly humidity, we took a risk which didn’t really pay off, a waiter was rude or maybe just weird and we got half-crushed on a peak hour bus. It is a fair question. Why do we travel?

We got moving later than we hoped but still should have had plenty of time to catch the English tour at the Villa Medici. We popped in to the nearby San Vitale church which looks a bit drab and is sunk well below street level. Both characteristics are explained by the fact that it was built in the 5th Century. For over 1600 years the local parishioners have come here. When this facade was built, Rome had just been looted by Vandals, (the tribe not the youths), a tribe called the Franks was starting to dominate Western Europe, the Hun terror had just abated and in Britannia, a certain Arthur was trying to resist the Saxons.

The church is celebrated enough to rate a cardinal, which explains the floor decoration.

Off we walked and Google said that to reach the Villa Medici we had to detour around a long stretch of ancient walls. We did, but got lost, got redirected, were blocked by a gate and a guard with a gun, got redirected and eventually found the place sitting above the Spanish Steps. I should have trusted my instincts rather than Google but we were too late for the English tour. Could we show ourselves around? No, said the woman. Only by tour. When was the next? 3.30 pm. Then a thought. What is the next tour? 12.00, in French. We took the French tour. It was that or miss out. It could have been a cheeky adventure. Sadly, to be honest, it was a bit dull. There were certainly interesting things to see but for long periods we had to wilt in the heat pretending to listen to a commentary that was incomprehensible. Even the French were struggling. The place was very heavily guarded. This is the headquarters of the French Academy in Rome and the French are clearly jumpy about something.

They are protecting a colony of French artists in Rome from people who may be pretending to speak French.

Lyn here is showing her usual respect for ancient artwork.

By 1.30 we were outside but gasping for a drink. We’d missed breakfast too. We chose an osteria with shade and ordered drinks and a pizza to share. A gangly muttering waiter may have spoken rudely about us, or not, or maybe he was just odd. He resembled an Italian Basil Fawlty. We stayed put anyway because we were dehydrated and hungry.

After lunch we walked to the gelato capital of the world, the area around the Pantheon. I bought an ice cream and we braved the crowds because we love the Pantheon. It is still wonderful, and free, but sadly the Italians have decided to tell visitors to be silent. You see the Pantheon, the great round temple to all the gods, is now a Christian church. So it makes Italian sense for a man to tell people to be silent, over a loudspeaker, in seven languages. Not even this can diminish the awe the Pantheon evokes. 

150 flavours and I can choose two.

The Latin inscription on the Pantheon says “Keep a grip on your gelato”.

We began to walk back and my phone’s battery died. I thought I knew the general direction but it was a very long way and Lyn bought a map which finally saw us stagger back, exhausted, just before 4.00 pm. We were supposed to leave around five to get to the other side of Rome. We had a dinner date with friends Maree and Peter who were staying across the Tiber over towards the Vatican. Lyn fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake her too quickly. We didn’t leave till six. This is bus rush hour. I nearly didn’t squeeze on behind Lyn, who was a claustrophobe well outside her comfort zone. Luckily fellow commuters saw my dilemma and hauled me in as the door closed. Once across the Tiber we changed buses for the last 700 meters and found the right flat. 

We had a lovely evening, Maree cooked and we drank Chianti and Valpolicella. Inevitably we discussed travel, where we’d been ... where we were going. In both marriages it was obvious that there is a driven traveller and a more reluctant partner. 

While we walked across the Tiber to find the bus stop, Lyn and I continued the conversation. Lyn said that every day of travel taught her more about herself. After a day of humid chaos, I know I was still able to feel my life was enriched by the experiences of travel. Together, we looked at the Tiber.

The bus trip home took 12 minutes. I’m writing this the following morning. When Lyn wakes, we’ll pack for the long journey home and walk outside to find our driver to the airport. We miss home, family and friends ... but the next trip is taking form in my imagination.

The Silver Arrow to Rome

Our hotel was 40 metres from the railway station but the long line at the ticket machine still put us in some peril of missing the only train to Verona. I bought the tickets with a few minutes to spare and then looked up to see that the train was running 15 minutes late! Irritating, but fortunate for the long line behind me. 

We changed at Verona and caught the Frecciargento (Silver Arrow) to Rome, first class. It was all very pleasant except there were tunnels...

This is a Frecciargento

 We walked to our very nice room in Rome, made coffee, showered and headed out for adventure. It was my choice, so we went to Trajan’s Market. This is a vast forum complex from the 2nd century AD which is also a museum. It is massive and way too well-presented for us to absorb it all in the 2 hours we were there. Nevertheless, it was a great way to begin our time in Rome. 

Lyn listened while I explained amphorae. This is the secret of a successful marriage.

We then sat at a sidewalk bar to drink wine before walking back for a shower and change. I did 5 minutes internet research on nearby restaurants and then we walked 100 metres to one of the best meals of our trip.

We just love Rome. 

“olive-silvery Sirmio”

Tennyson was describing Sirmione. The town sits at the end of a long peninsula projecting into the southern half of Lake Garda. If the northern lake is spectacularly alpine, the southern lake is low-lying and mildly Mediterranean, so therefore - olive groves. The narrow peninsula was the perfect place to put a castle, port, hotel or luxury villa, so Sirmione has all of these.

We arrived by boat on a morning when winds and weather had turned Lake Garda heaving and steel grey. We disembarked and the sun came out. By this afternoon the lake was glassy and blue-green.

Sirmione is prettily medieval, complete with castle. It was also packed with Germans. One nickname for Lake Garda is ‘German Lake’, for very good reason. More than once we have been addressed in German rather than English and signs are in 3 languages.

Lyn is pointing at the love padlocks on the railing.

We walked through the warren of gelaterias and souvenir shops. It was fun watching cars trying to manoeuvre through medieval streets and gates. Lyn has been looking for a gold watch, and we found it and bought it.

Then we walked to the end of the peninsula to see the remains of a huge Roman villa. Tennyson’s poem about Sirmione was about his Roman predecessor, Catullus, who had a villa here. Sure enough, a villa sits in an olive grove on the prime spot on the point of the promontory. In Roman times the lake was the final link for river boat traffic bringing cargoes from Italia to the alps. Rich Romans knew a good location when they saw it. Romans also knew that the best place for Germans was north of the Rhine. They would have been disheartened by developments since.

There were frescoes and sundry other Roman finds in the on-site museum.

We toured the ruins more for the scenery than the archaeology. The lake, olive groves, wildflowers and red poppies added to the general effect.

We had tortellini and tortelloni for lunch, an absolute highlight, and then discovered our boat wasn’t due to take us home for another couple of hours. We sat in the shade for a while and then went souvenir shopping. We didn’t find anything to buy but we did stumble upon two beautiful old churches where Lyn lit candles. In Santa Maria Della Neve there were great old frescoes.

We returned by boat to Peschiera. Tomorrow, Rome.

Fishpond

I feel as content as a man can be that has just fruitlessly walked 5 kilometres in search of a laundromat. Google said they were open but one was not and the other no longer exists. So I’ve just spent a happy 10 minutes stomping on my undies in the shower.

Today we caught the bus from Malcesine to Peschiera del Garda - a town at the bottom of the lake. I chose it principally for its railway station and proximity to the more famous Sirmione. It turns out to be ridiculously pretty. The vivid blue green water surrounds the fortifications of the old part of the town. Under every boat, the fish are clearly visible. (Peschiera is Italian for fishpond.)

On the way we met a dog wearing a hat.

The impressive city gate is missing the Venetian lion or any other symbol because conquering Austrians knocked them off. After our unintentionally pointless exercise, Lyn and I consoled ourselves with wine and beer respectively. 

My t-shirt needed editing. It should have read:

1. Laundry

2. Nothing

Messing around in boats

We decided to make today the day we bought an upper lake pass on the lake ferry service. Messing about in boats seemed like a nice slow way to spend a day which was forecast to have warm but dodgy weather. As it turned out the thunderstorms didn’t happen but the heat from early morning on made the whole lake hazy while clouds covered the mountains around. I congratulated myself on choosing yesterday for my Monte Baldo adventure because today would have been pointless.

Over an hour of cruising brought us to Riva del Garda at the head of the lake. It has taller buildings and larger piazzas than Malcesine. It has a distinctive clock tower, old gates, endless restaurants and bars and the museum is in the local castle, Rocca.  

It also has the same shameless ducks as elsewhere on the lake. Darwin noticed long ago that species adapt to their environment. That goes for tourist environments. Manly has its fearless chip-snatching seagulls. Sydney has ibis, (“Bin Chickens”). Venice has pigeons. Well, Lake Garda has ducks. They are fearless and the character pictured below was very keen that we should share our gelato cone. Of course ducks are Lyn’s favourite animal so she is delighted.

The museum and art gallery inside Rocca was rather good. The archaeology section was most impressive and included things like the in situ fresco shown below and some remarkable Bronze Age stelae. (OK, I’ll stop now.)

The view from the top of the tower was good, if not as spectacular as that at Malcesine. The haze diminished the effect too.

Once we caught the next ferry the wind was up and the lake’s sporting community was out in force. First obstacles for our Captain were the literally hundreds of windsurfers all around us. He blasted the horn regularly but they swooped all around. It was like an Airbus flying through a huge flock of rainbow lorikeets. Further down the lake was a very serious regatta for grey-sailed catamarans. Then came a hundred plus kite boarders. In the distance was another race of small white-sailed skiffs. And interspersed among them all were yachts and a sole carabinieri patrol boat.

Next stop was Limone, a town whose claim to fame seems to be that it is all about lemons. Everything lemony is sold here. We bought ourselves a picnic and then finished our voyage back to Malcesine.




All of these towns are pretty, and not the least of this attractiveness is that there are flowers everywhere, particularly in the streets and squares. I even found a callistemon!

Back at base we went straight down for a swim. Once again the sun-bathers were out in force. Lyn took straight to the water and I was close behind. This time, however, we started a trend. Soon the kids were in the water and even a few adults took courage. I must say, apart from the cold, the swimming was a bit dodgy but at least everybody was a bit more active.

At the hotel I crashed and Lyn went to church. (Santo Stefano is quite beautiful. We found it open last night so Lyn was determined to attend Saturday night mass before our departure tomorrow.)

We had a great dinner of antipasto and pasta at a local restaurant. Tonight our travel money card stopped working. I waited 30 minutes on Skype for the bank to tell me they were doing “maintenance”. I pointed out that this was not what anybody needed when in a foreign country. Surprise! Your card doesn’t work! Call this emergency number and wait 30 #@$*&(% minutes! Anyway, all is well and we move on tomorrow.