Bongiorno,
Well we are now a week into our time in Italy, and it has been wonderful. Plenty of gelato, coffee, pasta and shouting. Certainly is a lively place.
When we last left you we had just made it to Cinque Terra. Officially Cinque Terra means ‘5 lands’ signifying the 5 little towns that cling precariously to cliffs along the coast. Unofficially it means ‘place requiring fitness, strong legs and a tolerance for Americans’ – a huge ask of any traveller.
Our base for our time in Cinque Terra was the little town of Manarola, in an apartment half way up the hill (by hill I mean cliff face) The apartment was owned by a stocky, white-haired Italian grandmother who could best be described as boisterous. She met us at the station and walked us around town showing us the various shops and places of interest. The solution to any sign of lack of comprehension (which was often given she only spoke Italian and we only English) was to repeat what was said in Italian even louder. I think she thought that there was an Italian to English translator buried in the base of our brains, and her words had to be forced into our heads for the conversion to occur. This lady was wonderful; she grabbed her husband on the way through and they showed us to the apartment.
Once there we got a nice insight into the traditional structure of Italian family life. Krys and I were carved off; the husband grabbed me and the grandmother took Krys. I was shown the ‘manly’ aspects of the place such as how to work the windows, tv and fans while Krys was given a solid run down in the kitchen layout and washing facilities. Can’t help but think that the Italian way has some merit (yes, Krys is asleep at the moment).
My walk through came complete with the husband giving an animated charade regarding the fan in the bathroom. He had showed me how to turn it on and off, and to wait a minute before it actually starts running. He seemed surprised when I grasped this pretty simple concept. So in broken Italian he said ‘Japanesee, you know Japanesee’ while pulling back the corners of his eyes, then he made a succession of flick switching movements, loud whirring noises then scared and confused faces complete with little shrieks. It seems that the last occupants were Japanese, had turned the fan on then thought it didn’t work. Then they freaked out and couldn’t turn it off when the delayed start kicked in. The husband found this whole event very amusing. Probably not as much as I found his charade amusing – this guy was such an animated actor he should be in Home and Away. Or at least a Bon Jovi movie. In language translation it appears that the nuances of cultural sensitivity falls away.
The beauty of Cinque Terra (like Krys when she is getting out of the shower) is hard to do justice with words. Incredibly beautiful pastel coloured buildings cling impractically to narrow gaps in sheer cliffs. The surrounding hills have been carved and layered to hold thin, concentric strips of grape vines and olive trees. The ocean collapses abruptly from a light to deep, dark blue as the ocean floor falls away after a small wedge of shoreline. And between the towns, narrow little trails rise and fall through the landscape providing a minimal connection (although there is a single train line connecting the towns for the fatties).
Our first day we decided after a morning swim to walk between some of the towns. The one thing that struck us apart from the scenery was the sheer volume of Americans. Their accent can be heard from miles away; it’s like a distress call from a herd of injured and confused rhinos. But before you can run they come pounding around the corner with their walker sticks, purpose designed hiking boots, special fibre pants, bum bags and Rick Steves guidebook. Most of them look like they swallowed a Kathmandu catalogue and got lost on the way to Everest base camp. The walker sticks are by far the most distinctive of American travel accessories – watching people clump their way through a bitumen street looking for a cappuccino, but using metal, spiked poles for support that are more appropriate for the Himalayas is amusing; up there with the Segway as the most unnecessary of transportation aids.
Our American friends seem to be following a path laid out for them by Rick Steves; a one-man US based Lonely Planet which seems to be aimed primarily at the simple traveller. One girl clutching her Rick Steves book was boarding a train before asking an Italian local ‘does this train go to like town 4’. When the local responded that ‘I don’t know a town 4’ her comment of ‘we like, renamed the town like 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5’ was met with a look of confusion and pity by the local. Like the look you’d give someone if you came home and found them wedged in your doggy door. Rick Steves must be abducted and forced to write about places like Adelaide, Dapto or Mallorca to redirect some of the tourist traffic flow.
To escape the Rick Steves fan club the next day we decided to retreat to where we were safe – the water. We hired a kayak for a paddle between towns. The paddle was beautiful; out on the ocean paddling between the sheer cliffs, with nothing but grape vines and olive trees above us until the next town came into view. Krys was an excellent paddler too; only issue we had was when we had differences of opinion about the best path to take. We’d almost go around in circles as the fight for direction control went on until one person finally relented. My advice to Krys about paddle adequate was met with an open mind and happy smiles.
Our time in Cinque Terra ended with the news that Australia had been taken over by a lady called Julia. This seems to be Australia’s crack at ‘hottest female World Leader’. For memory there is a very foxy South American female President who is hard to beat. And even Angela Merkel looks ok when she puts on a nice dress for the G20.
Then it was off to Florence with a quick stop through Pisa. Pisa is remarkable for the fact that a city that has such an iconic landmark has so little else to offer – hence the ‘get off the train, take a photo, get back on the train’ approach that most people take (including us). Of course we were far too cool and creative to do the standard ‘holding up the tower’ shot. We took one actually pushing the tower over. Given our creativity I’m sure successful careers as bloated, coke fuelled advertising executives surely await.
The grounds around the leaning tower are quite beautiful, with rolling green lawns and a beautiful chapel. But all of this is buttressed between rows of tacky tourist shops and roamed by groups of African men selling cheap watches and sunglasses. I’m not sure how these guys sell anything – can’t imagine too many people setting off on their daily sightseeing thinking ‘I hope while I’m at the Tower I can pick myself up a genuine Rolex for $10 from a dodgy looking African fellow’.
After our brief Pisa interlude we continued to Florence. And what a beautiful city it is. The cradle of the Renaissance complete with beautiful churches, Piazzas and home to some of the finest art in the world. Our first night coincided with a city celebration for a patron Saint, complete with elaborate fireworks display. This fireworks display was just across the river from our Hotel, with a great view from the balcony. Adding to the beauty of the display was the parallel exhibition of a travelling family on the adjoining balcony. Every explosion of fire works was greeted by an incredibly excited shrill scream of ‘oh my gawwwd, oh my gaawwwd’ from a 12yr old boy. If he gets so overly excited about a generic fireworks display I hate to think what is going to happen the first time he sees a girl’s breast – I think his head might explode.
While in Florence we did all of the ‘usual’ things. Climbed the dome in the main cathedral, went to the Uffizi Gallery to see Botticelli’s ‘naked chick in the shell’ and went to another gallery to see Michelangelo’s David. The sculpture of David is incredibly impressive, and comforting at the same time. A 500yr old, 15ft sculpture carved from marble of a perfectly formed, naked David. Perfectly formed apart from the fact that I think David may have also been nude bathing in the cold waters of St Tropez before posing – I hope for David’s sake that Michelangelo was running short of marble for the key areas, and isn’t a true reflection of David’s ‘proportions’.
Florence and the ever thickening crowds of peak European holiday season have given us a new game to play; it’s called ‘take on the tour groups’. You see them coming; their ‘leader’ either carrying a little flag or umbrella pointing to the sky signifying the safety point for the following herd. Most of the group seem to think that if they get more than 10m away from the guide they will be swallowed into a tourist black hole so you have groups 30 or 40 thick all trying to walk the streets but staying within the imaginary safety zone. Combine this with narrow alleys and you end up with a swarm of chaos for anyone wanting to swim upstream against the flow. Well, rather than fear it, we have embraced it. Whenever we see an approaching group we now chase it and the challenge is to get through without slowing or inadvertently knocking over some elderly lady from Portsmouth. We are getting better, but have at times got half way through, got scared and basically stood frozen to the spot until the wave of chaos washes past.
Another week of Italy lies ahead. Hope the next week is as eventful as the first.
Ciao.
Trent, Krystal and a brand new genuine Rolex
smallthoughts 