Buongiorno,
Well we are home – like I said in the previous email, this note will probably be like Italian post; will get to you after we do. Actually that isn’t necessarily true. The fact that it gets to you at all will put it a solid step ahead of the Italian Postal Service. We still have a box that was sent home a month ago that hasn’t arrived. Can only assume that the nice Cinque Terra Post Office man decided to walk and swim our box to Australia personally to ensure safe delivery. Either that or the last remnants of Krys’ wardrobe that were in the box have also been swallowed by Italian circumstances.
Anyway, when we left you last time we had decided to head back to one of the highlights of our trip for our final week – the Amalfi Coast. Krys has adjusted well to her ‘light travelling’ and on packing to leave Santorini she delighted in harassing me as to why it was taking me so long to pack and why my bag looked so heavy to carry (as she put her 2 dresses and swimming costume into her newly acquired donkey bag). She was having particular fun as we were packing at 4.45am to catch an early flight. All this smelly donkey could do was let out a volcano smell in protest.
Travelling back to Amalfi would take us back through Rome and Napoli train stations, and given some gaps between trains we thought we’d pass the spare time by having some fun – that is by talking face to face with the Police to see if by chance some pigs had managed to get airborne, there were ski lifts in hell and if anything had eventuated with Krys’ bag. And even though we have insurance from home, we could also keep ourselves amused by chasing up an obscure insurance policy referred to on the Italian Train company (Trenitalia) website – we have come to relish and enjoy the absurdity of Italian processes, and we knew this would be a particularly entertaining one. Being Italy, qualifying for this insurance is incredibly specific, but it appeared that by some fluke we had done all of the required actions, and held all of the required documents.
With the Police, the only surprise was the fact that their English language skills that evaporate over the phone are quite strong when actually face to face with someone. But with their contribution being as useful as running shoes for a paraplegic, it was off to Trenitalia where things got really fun. Trenitalia lady number 1 had excellent English until we mentioned the words ‘stolen’ and ‘insurance’ in the same sentence. At that point her eyes started flickering from side to side (I kid you not), her English skills evaporated and all she could mutter in a distressed tone was ‘I know nothing, ticket office, ticket office’. The next Trenitalia man followed a similar path; progress was being made in very good English until the obviously dirty ‘insurance’ word was mentioned. Again, a complete language shutdown – it is almost like Trenitalia staff are programmed to look like a small elephant is trying to crawl out of their rectum whenever the word ‘insurance’ is used. It’s a look of extreme confusion and distress.
So Krys and I needed to be creative. Found a 3rd staff member and started off with just a general chat and established that their English was excellent. Steered the conversation around the events and was even eliciting sympathy before we dropped the ‘insurance’ word. The poor guy looked like he had just slammed his scrotem in a car door – he was trapped and he was hurting. So then the wriggle was on – What train were we on? What ticket did we hold? Did we report it? Did we have a Police report? Did we have the original ticket? Where was the bag left?. Once it became clear we had all areas covered our little friend just looked exasperated and said ‘no more insurance – used to have it but no more’. The man was quite taken aback by our reaction. I’m guessing a burst of laughter, and our thanks was not what he was expecting. But the whole process had been successful in keeping us entertained while passing time waiting for our next train.
So with the entertainment behind us it was nice to get back to Amalfi and 4 days of nothing but laying in the sun and swimming in the ocean. One of the days in Amalfi we headed back to Capri for some more boat fun and some further exploring. Our boat hire man was happy to see us return; so much so that he offered a ‘special price’ for his returning customers. Now I have damaged some brain cells on this trip but it didn’t take much to figure out that in true Italian style the ‘special rate’ was worse than what we paid last time. So it was some haggling before we were finally underway.
In the afternoon with the boat we headed over to the Blue Grotto. Our last visit had been a bit chaotic, so this time we thought we could enjoy it some more. This time our row boat man wouldn’t let us swim, but provided the advice that come 4.30pm the entry fee boat and row boat men go home. We could come back, tie up our boat and swim in there all by ourselves. So right on 4.30pm there we were, stalking the entrance like a couple of Julia Gillard’s waiting for the Kevin 07’s to depart the scene.
This waiting for the row boat men to leave is like a big stand-off; a few small boats (including us) mill about the area but the row boat men know what they are up to, and are reluctant to leave an entrance fee on the table. They try and entice the boats closer and actually paddle up to them to try and squeeze that one final fee. Finally you can tell they are giving up – signalled by a barrage of Italian abuse directed at the boats for daring to try to enter the Grotto without paying them. I think that makes the score on this trip Italy 17, Trent and Krystal 1. So with the row boat men barely out of view the lingering boats charge into the cove to tie up before everyone jumps overboard and swims into the Grotto. It was worth the wait – one of the best things we’ve done. Paddling around the Grotto in incredibly blue water with only a handful of other people, and being able to take the time to really enjoy it was memorable.
Back at Amalfi, some of our time this time around was spent in a different hotel (our favourite was full), and this brought us up close and personal with a chunky little man that took his role as ‘pool area co-ordinator’ very seriously. His role is to ensure that the procession of tiered levels by the ocean that act as sunbaking areas are adequately equipped with sun beds, and that these sunbeds are allocated fairly to guests. Well it seems that our pool area Nazi had done the mental calculation that if all guests were present, there were enough beds such that each room could have one long bed and a chair. And it was this distribution that he stuck to regardless of the number of guests actually present.
We found this out the hard way. We had wandered down to find 2 long sun beds in an area, and assuming we weren’t in military camp and required formal permission, had settled in. Our serenity was quickly broken by pool Nazi demanding one long sunbed back and explaining his distribution methods. Any protests as to the large number of long sunbeds not being used (either that or the hotel was hosting an Invisible Man convention) fell on deaf ears. He actually got Krys up, replaced the long bed with a chair, then dragged the long bed about 2m away where it sat unused. Again customer service, let alone logic or politeness appear to be a concepts that have so far failed to fully penetrate the Italian service industry.
The other unfortunate aspect of this hotel was that it was closer to the adjacent town; close enough for people to hire little paddle boats and make their way around the corner to the little cove that the hotel faced. This would normally be ok except it seemed to be the preferred mode of water transport for bunches of 30yr old Italian men with a penchant for tight white speedos, who delighted in paddling around the corner, making a ruckus so as to draw attention to themselves, then sitting off the edge of the hotel swimming area leering at any girl that wandered down to the ocean edge.
All that aside, Amalfi is amazingly beautiful, and the final days of our holiday there were very relaxing. But it was now over, and our 2 day trek home had to start. Transport has provided the most interesting moments on our trip, and our attempt to leave Italy more than lived up to the previous experiences. This blow-up came as a complete surprise though. Our bus had picked us up on time, and was at the edges of the town we were getting our train from (Salerno) well ahead of schedule. And we had a 20min gap anyway – we were cruising. But then I had to go and say the words ‘isn’t it nice not to have to rush this time’.
What we didn’t count on was the Italian Roads Authority choosing 9am on a weekday to dig up half of the only road into Salerno. Salerno is a big port town, and this road is always jammed as cars, bikes and buses barely slithering their way slowly through the little available space on good days. Dig a hole in the middle of it during peak hour and you have gridlocked chaos. We sat on the bus not moving for 15 minutes. With every passing minute we could feel Italy wrap itself tighter and tighter around us, like a Boa constricter that won’t let you go until the last of the life has been squeezed from your body. As the clock ticked by it became inevitable – we were going to miss our train and therefore our flight home.
The bus finally ground its way to a bus stop, and we jumped out and started running (again). Talk about de ja vu – again me trying to run with a jiggly belly and a heavy backpack. Behind is Krys tottering along with some recalcitrant thongs that seemed to each want to run off in a different direction to where she was going. Every few hundred metres I’d stop and accost a local yelling ‘train station, train station, toot, toot’ complete with circular arm movements. They’d point and say 2 blocks. After 2 blocks this would be repeated again, and again, and again – it was like a perverse timewarp. Either that or the only English phrase that the people of Salerno knew was ‘2 blocks’. With still no station in sight (or Krys for that matter – chasing down her thongs had seen her slip out of view) my watch said 9.45am. Our train left at 9.40am. We were gone – we would miss our flight. The last 100m of the run seemed like the most futile belly jiggling of my life. And of course, I arrived to an empty train platform.
So imagine my surprise when I look up at the departures board and see beside our designated train the words ‘delayed 15mins’. Finally the haphazardness of Italy had worked in our favour. To complete the good luck, Krys appeared around the corner, still running with her donkey bad, handbag and thongs flaying in random directions. We had somehow made it thanks to the inefficiencies of the Italian rail network. We were on our way home after all.
The remaining trip home let us witness one of the highlights of the trip. An air stewardess on the flight picked up a little kid by the shoulders who was behaving like an uncontrollable little sh#t, jammed him hard back into his seat then shoved a finger aggressively in his face to tell him to sit quietly until landing. It was like having a dream materialise in front of your face (actually the dream also involved a savage beating). Satisfied grins spread through the cabin, apart from his parents who just sat by like a couple of docile tour group participants. If it was up to me, I’d follow it up with a similar action on the parents.
For those who haven’t been to Italy, it’s easy to figure out when you are there. The main signs are:
- Timetables are indicative only: Ask a transport worker for the next bus, train or ferry and they will tell you a time that doesn’t exist on the timetable. Point this out and receive an incredulous look as if to say ‘of course it’s not on the timetable’
- Processes don’t make sense: Buying a train ticket involves having to work through a complex system specifying the exact date and time train you want to catch and the specific seats you want. You will then be given an undated and untimed ticket with seats that bear no relation to your selection.
- Toilet time is not enjoyable: You have approx 1minute between entering a toilet and having someone banging on the door. Telling someone you are in there will buy you 5 seconds of grace before the banging becomes more violent.
- Four men frolicking in white speedos on a small paddle boat is not gay: Well the paddle boat men still appeared to take an interest in staring / leering at any woman within 200m. But maybe it was all a cover?
This trip has been amazing, and exposed us to the full gamut of traveller types. Not wanting to stereotype based on nationality (but I will), the main ones we’ve seen are:
American
- Behaviours: characterised by being loud (voice projection classes must form part of the school curriculum) and feel the need to vocalise any random thought that happens to skip through their head. Also must follow a distinct path laid out for them by someone else (such as Rick Steves), and comment often how ‘it’s not like this at home’
- How to spot: look for bum bags, trail walking sticks and brightly coloured clothes. They are commonly found tightly bunched around tour guides carrying umbrellas. Follow the sound of the ‘oh may gaawdss’
Japanese
- Behaviours: It is all about the photo – the trip is but a desperate mission to photographically catalogue everything that may appear in the view finder. These travellers scurry along quickly, never taking the camera lens from their eye and are desperate to get to the next site almost before the guide to allow for maximum photo time
- How to spot: look for a man carrying a camera that looks suitable of launching a midrange missile, attached to his head like some form of deformed nose. The lady will be walking quietly behind carrying a white lace umbrella.
Russian
- Behaviours: Aloof and forceful to the point of rudeness. Almost a sense of entitlement, such that normal rules like waiting in line do not apply. Exude an aura of ‘I will have you buried under Mt Vesuvius if you do not bend to my wishes’.
- How to spot: Look for a very unattractive man wearing a singlet and a fedora hat. He will be with a pretty, well dressed lady wearing mainly white who is incapable of smiling.
German
- Behaviours: Orderly, calm and structured. Know what to do, where to go, and how to do it without having to vocalise each step. If you can spot a German traveller early enough, and happen to be heading to the same spot, just tag along and they will lead you there by the most efficient route available.
- How to spot: generally not easy, as they appear to shop at the ‘comfortable travel clothes that don’t scream I’m a tourist’ shop. Easiest way to spot is to look for a couple in functional travel attire poring over timetables and maps in order to effectively plan the next travel move.
Australian
- Behaviours: Oscillate between beach, beers and sports of some kind.
- How to spot: generally under dressed for most occasions and events. Think of ripped shorts and t-shirts to Opera nights or classical music recitals
To sum up our trip in a sentence, Spain was amazing, France lovely, Italy challenging but beautiful, and Greece interesting. Can’t believe 8 weeks is over, and now back to the joys or work, a balanced diet and regular exercise. The fun is well and truly over now…..
Adios, au reviour, ciao, yasu, goodbye and see you all soon.
Trent, Krystal, some damaged livers, missing brain cells and an extra 10kgs.
smallthoughts 