Today has been a revelation in many ways.
I arose and was ready for breakfast by 7 and down immediately after. I started, having now met the father (he does breakfast) and within a few minutes four girls came down. They are here for a dance seminar, over three days. Two tried vegemite, but weren’t enamoured of it. Then a family came down and they tries some – the parents liked it but the children didn’t. Next came a family from New Zealand – not far south of where mum was born in Waihi. We chatted, and then a few minutes later a family from Prospect, SA, came in. It was like old-home week, with familiar accents flying around. The New Zealanders left this morning, but the Australians (she’s a doctor who has a practice in Windsor Gardens, amongst other places) will be in tomorrow morning.
I prepared to go out and walked down to the town. As a leisurely stroll, it’s about twenty minutes. I went to get more information on exactly where the old town is and heard another familiar accent, this time from a Nancy from Wollongong. She was looking (unsuccessfully) for cheap accommodation so I put her onto my system and also got her the details of where I am (at €31 a night including breakfast). She got my number to message me if she wanted anything further, then she went to catch a bus and I walked to the old town where … I heard a lot of familiar voices. A Trafalgar tour came in this morning and there are forty-three Australians on the bus. I had a caht with some (from Warragul and McLeod) and then went off and got some souvenirs – “We don’t have kangaroos in Austria” T-shirts. Hopefully they will be well received. I had a good look around, took a few photos and then walked back into the new town to get lunch (the places with old-style charm have new-style prices).
I walked back to where I was staying (these shoes definitely are not made for walking), tried to ring Fran (she was on the phone already! and after numerous attempts I said I would ring back in twenty minutes) and wrote up a little of today’s blog. I finally got through, but the VOIP method of connection leaves a lot to be desired.
Then I headed off to the zoo. It’s only about a six hundred metre walk, but it’s all uphill. The day was warm and I got hotter as the climb progressed. However, finally I arrived and paid my €7 to go in, even though I was asked if it was an adult ticket I wanted (I complemented the ticket seller n thinking I was younger, but on reflection she may have been politely asking if I qualified for a pensioner discount).
I looked around and it looked a good zoo for such a small city (it’s not that much larger than Geelong). I kept running into a grandmother, mother and two small children, so when it rained I was surprised to see I was sheltering with them. We struck up a sort of conversation and were talking about Australia when I heard another voice behind me and it was Nancy from this morning. We started talking in English and she said something in Italian and the grandmother joined in. They then conversed in Italian and I think the gist of part of the conversation was grandmother wanted to know if there was a tie between Nancy and me (obviously the Italian heritage here stretches to trying to pair everyone up). Eventually the rain eased up and Nancy went off souvenir shopping and I gave grandmother a kangaroo pin. As I was leaving I caught up with Nancy again and we chatted until the sightseeing bus arrived, and then left. I walked down the hill back to pension Paula and met up with grandmother and the family again, so gave a koala pin to the grand-daughter.
Then it was back to my room, finish writing this up, have a rest, just move around and see if the other Australians are back and then settle for an early night. It’s off to Vienna tomorrow and Inspector Rex country!
As I entered Innsbruck yesterday, at one roundabout was a turnoff to Mutter and Natters, two interesting suburbs of Innsbruck. I wonder how many people who drive past think about the significance of the two names?
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
10 May
Ah, today I awoke before the alarm, then was up and prepared for breakfast at 8. Mine hostess had deputed the job to Hermann, who duly boiled up the water for my pot of tea, there already being the slice of torte and cake on the table. I took a bread roll to have with vegemite, so I could get my fix after missing out yesterday.
During breakfast we discussed a little about Australia, a lot about my trip (he had watched the pictures last night on his computer) and a little about Trento. Apparently it is named for the three-headed mountain visible out the front door of this house. It was also an important front in WW1 and there is a celebration in a town (Bassano) just down the road today with the army putting on a real show (which is probably why I saw two tanks being transported there yesterday and a whole load of army vehicles heading that way).
Eventually I finished up after seeing his two dogs (one a Labrador cross, one a husky) and packed ready to go. As I left, the couple who were also staying there were up and we exchanged greetings as I departed.
I set the SatNav for the Brenner Pass and headed off. All went well (apart from Italian drivers) until I was about forty kilometres from the border and found the road closed. I had seen some signs but didn’t know what they meant until I saw a pole down across the road, with a padlock on it and a red circle on it. I went back to where I had seen the sign and a man was busy changing it into a green one (open). I asked him and he assured me it was open now (even though he could only speak Italian). I turned around and went back, to find the pole locked up. I headed off on a road which was narrow and winding, but gave wonderful views.
The road to this point had been narrow, but not too winding. Around each corner had been views of either new mountains (in the Italian Alps) or a valley with a small village or a few farms in it. It reminded me so much of Heidi, even though it wasn’t Switzerland. Now it became very winding, with great views at every turn and snow piled by the roadside (it looked as if the road had been ploughed that morning). It was very difficult to concentrate on the road, but I had to as many motorbikes were on the road and taking up all of it on corners, then suddenly straightening up as they realised a car was there. Then, suddenly, I was nearly at Brenner. I stopped in the town beforehand, to get lunch and also to see what accommodation was available. The Tourist Centre didn’t open until 2:30, so I walked around the town and had a look. Each of these little towns has its own claim to fame, but some proclaim it more loudly to the world. In the Piazza, there were a number of restaurants and at one, one of the customers was playing a piano accordion, with clapping from all in the square each time he finished a number. He was quite young. Looking only about twenty.
At 2:30 the Tourist Centre opened and I asked. Fortunately the girl on the counter spoke English and I was given the name of a hotel which had Internet. When I went to book in, it was an optional extra (At €5 an hour, which mounts up quickly!). I declined, even though the place looked very nice, and decided to head on into Austria and Innsbruck. The first thing over the border was the discipline of the drivers. I quickly saw why with four radar traps within fifty kilometres. I stopped in a supermarket to restock. I could get real biscuits (sort of like milk coffee) and coke was relatively cheap (so was beer, as I saw from the four young lads in front of me who must have been nearly dying of thirst, as four slabs of twenty-four cans, 500 ml each, at €15,60 a slab, was barely enough to quench their thirst). The second thing was the roads got wider. As I arrived in Innsbruck, the neatness, the cleanliness and the garden-like appearance of the town amazed me.
However Teutonic efficiency had to come undone somewhere, and when I went to park to get tourist information, I had to wait ten minutes to enter the underground car park. I found the information in a newsagency and got a list of B&Bs, although it was made to sound that Internet access was a rarity. I read up on the list and found a place, while large, suited my needs in that it was cheaper, out of town (so I didn’t have to park on the street) and had Internet access listed. I arrived there to find the daughter of the house (she also is an Inspector Rex fan) on duty. I could have a room at €31 a night, including breakfast (7 to 9:30) but it didn’t have private facilities (but they were just next door). Internet depended upon her dad getting things working, so I implored her to get him onto the job tonight.
I settled in, wrote this up, then went for a little walk.
However, after the little walk (which was only out the front), I found there was a network and the daughter rang the father, he gave the password and I was on. Photos were uploaded and blogs will soon be up-to-date.
I will be staying here two nights, and tomorrow I will be walking around to see the town. I will see if I can get a T-shirt “There are no kangaroos in Austria” – but I would like to see someone release a few kangaroos into parks here so it is wrong.
During breakfast we discussed a little about Australia, a lot about my trip (he had watched the pictures last night on his computer) and a little about Trento. Apparently it is named for the three-headed mountain visible out the front door of this house. It was also an important front in WW1 and there is a celebration in a town (Bassano) just down the road today with the army putting on a real show (which is probably why I saw two tanks being transported there yesterday and a whole load of army vehicles heading that way).
Eventually I finished up after seeing his two dogs (one a Labrador cross, one a husky) and packed ready to go. As I left, the couple who were also staying there were up and we exchanged greetings as I departed.
I set the SatNav for the Brenner Pass and headed off. All went well (apart from Italian drivers) until I was about forty kilometres from the border and found the road closed. I had seen some signs but didn’t know what they meant until I saw a pole down across the road, with a padlock on it and a red circle on it. I went back to where I had seen the sign and a man was busy changing it into a green one (open). I asked him and he assured me it was open now (even though he could only speak Italian). I turned around and went back, to find the pole locked up. I headed off on a road which was narrow and winding, but gave wonderful views.
The road to this point had been narrow, but not too winding. Around each corner had been views of either new mountains (in the Italian Alps) or a valley with a small village or a few farms in it. It reminded me so much of Heidi, even though it wasn’t Switzerland. Now it became very winding, with great views at every turn and snow piled by the roadside (it looked as if the road had been ploughed that morning). It was very difficult to concentrate on the road, but I had to as many motorbikes were on the road and taking up all of it on corners, then suddenly straightening up as they realised a car was there. Then, suddenly, I was nearly at Brenner. I stopped in the town beforehand, to get lunch and also to see what accommodation was available. The Tourist Centre didn’t open until 2:30, so I walked around the town and had a look. Each of these little towns has its own claim to fame, but some proclaim it more loudly to the world. In the Piazza, there were a number of restaurants and at one, one of the customers was playing a piano accordion, with clapping from all in the square each time he finished a number. He was quite young. Looking only about twenty.
At 2:30 the Tourist Centre opened and I asked. Fortunately the girl on the counter spoke English and I was given the name of a hotel which had Internet. When I went to book in, it was an optional extra (At €5 an hour, which mounts up quickly!). I declined, even though the place looked very nice, and decided to head on into Austria and Innsbruck. The first thing over the border was the discipline of the drivers. I quickly saw why with four radar traps within fifty kilometres. I stopped in a supermarket to restock. I could get real biscuits (sort of like milk coffee) and coke was relatively cheap (so was beer, as I saw from the four young lads in front of me who must have been nearly dying of thirst, as four slabs of twenty-four cans, 500 ml each, at €15,60 a slab, was barely enough to quench their thirst). The second thing was the roads got wider. As I arrived in Innsbruck, the neatness, the cleanliness and the garden-like appearance of the town amazed me.
However Teutonic efficiency had to come undone somewhere, and when I went to park to get tourist information, I had to wait ten minutes to enter the underground car park. I found the information in a newsagency and got a list of B&Bs, although it was made to sound that Internet access was a rarity. I read up on the list and found a place, while large, suited my needs in that it was cheaper, out of town (so I didn’t have to park on the street) and had Internet access listed. I arrived there to find the daughter of the house (she also is an Inspector Rex fan) on duty. I could have a room at €31 a night, including breakfast (7 to 9:30) but it didn’t have private facilities (but they were just next door). Internet depended upon her dad getting things working, so I implored her to get him onto the job tonight.
I settled in, wrote this up, then went for a little walk.
However, after the little walk (which was only out the front), I found there was a network and the daughter rang the father, he gave the password and I was on. Photos were uploaded and blogs will soon be up-to-date.
I will be staying here two nights, and tomorrow I will be walking around to see the town. I will see if I can get a T-shirt “There are no kangaroos in Austria” – but I would like to see someone release a few kangaroos into parks here so it is wrong.
9 May
Today started out with me forgetting to set the alarm and laying there waiting for it to go off, then hearing mine host preparing things and me wondering why he was up so early, then looking and finding it was 7:50. I had the quickest shower I’ve had (except for at THAT motel) and was ready for just after 8. Breakfast was a slice of cold pizza, a confection pastry which had custard in the middle, a cup of milk coffee (just milk!) and orange and carrot juice. Different, but filling. I settled up, packed up and left. Starting out was okay as I went against the traffic flow and things went smoothly, even if I was overtaken by a number of drivers who had a death wish.
Once on the tollway, things were going really well until … disaster struck!
Dear reader, at this time you will note that I have become dependent on my SatNav. It has taken me all through the US, parts of Canada, the south of England, all of France, into and out of Spain and through Andorra and now to the south of Italy and part-way back. But I looked at it and saw a red light blinking – the battery was flat! Incredible, as it is plugged into the cigarette lighter through a three-way socket and its own lead. All the more incredible, as the iPod was charging from the same socket set. I stopped, changed sockets (the iPod still worked but the SatNav still did not) and then looked at the lead for the SatNav. There was a fuse on the side, so I pulled that out. It looked okay, but I know that miniature blade fuses can be deceptive. Being a resourceful person, I found my spare bar of chocolate, had some and took some of the aluminium foil, wrapped it and placed it between the blades. After replacing the fuse, now it all worked. Temporary success! And so, dear reader, I went on my merry way, assured that I could overcome all that adversity was to offer me! Alas, I was to be proved not quite correct, but only partially so.
I continued along the Autostrade. For those of you unfamiliar with them (and I hope that is and remains all of you), when you enter you take a ticket, which tells where and when you joined the tollway. You can then proceed (almost) along the length and breadth of Italy without leaving this system. There are service stops (fuel, toilets, food, souvenirs) along the way. When you leave, you slide your ticket in, then your credit card and you leave considerably poorer. So I thought that I could purchase a miniature blade fuse in one of the service stations along the way. The first one I stopped at because I needed a comfort stop (all right, I was bursting and had to go). I tried there – barrel fuses, bulb fuses but no blades – miniature or large.
On I went. Eventually I needed fuel so I stopped at another. I pulled up at the furthest pump from the office and was able to fill the car myself. Where the pump clicked off at 46 litres, the car was full at just under 54 litres – a two hundred kilometre difference in range! I tried again – still only barrel fuses and bulb fuses but no blades. I thought I would try the Pizzeria – but no pizzas in the Pizzarea, just self-serve sit down meals. Again I inspected the plumbing and then ended up getting an ice-cream and drink before heading off.
The weather was warm – between 20°C and 26°C – and the views of the Mediterranean were very pleasant, with blue sea and white beaches indispersed with houses and apartment blocks, some coloured brightly as I expected, but a lot just plain concrete.
And so I went on.
Just before Foggia (which is where, coincidentally, there were a lot of warning signs about slowing down for fog) there was a rubbish hill being made. I had heard of them in France and seen at least one there, but this was the first I saw in operation. In a flat area, concrete walls are put up (about four metres high) and rubbish trucks just drive in and dump their loads. When the pile reaches the top of the walls, a ramp is built on the outside and the trucks then deposit the rubbish on top. Every so often, it is covered with fill, so that layers are visible if you look closely enough. I presume that they will do the same as France, where a dirt road then is made to a lookout on the top (and you get a good view because the surroundings are so flat). When the pile sinks or subsides, the top is either just rolled flat again with a little fill, or if it is large enough, rubbish is again dumped and the process repeated.
Around this point the land was a lot flatter and more agricultural – the sweet odour of newly-cut grass and a mixture of fertilizer and manure were in the air.
Quite a bit north, at the 174 kilometre post, there was an accident. We had been warned about it on the overhead signs – the first useful piece of information I had seen on them. Other pieces of information included to not speed so the mortality rate could be dropped by twenty per cent (faint chance, given driving here) and the Autostrade Internet site address, so you could check the state of the Autostrade in real time (and don’t worry, I’m sure some drivers would have taken it up and be reading on a laptop screen what was happening in front of them – another distraction!). At the accident site was a Porche, backwards into the centre concrete barrier, immediately after about a hundred metres of scraped barrier. It looks as though he scraped the barrier and then managed to spin the car backwards into it, as there was no other vehicle there and no signs another had been there. There was also no broken glass or bits of car on the roadway.
And so on I went, with these distractions having added to the travel time and caused my ETA of 5 to now become an ETA of 5:55. At this stage I realised, Friday night, traffic, shopping, all may extend my travel time in Trento, to the stage where, if the office closed at 6, I wouldn’t make it and have to choose a hotel to stay at – but not THAT motel chain, unless the hotel room was over €100 (that’s how passionate I am about NOT staying there). I managed to get the arrival time back to 5:50 when – roadworks! How they manage to have all these roadworks at once in Italy amazes me, unless they have commandeered all the roadbuilding machinery in Europe. I arrived at Trento to realise I would have to pay the toll – that nearly stopped me then, as the toll (€51.90) was more than the diesel I had burned in the last two days! I thought nothing else could slow me down as I approached the roundabout only to find – a traffic accident, with the drivers concerned stopped in the middle of the roundabout, checking the cars, swapping details, oblivious to the melee around them. However, lessons are learned and so I just pushed in and straight through. I was on my way and again nothing could stop me. After all, everything else had been met and overcome. I found a parking spot opposite the Tourist Centre, ran over at just before 6 to find – this was now an administrative centre and the Tourist Centre was two streets over. I set out again, only to see where it was and not be able to reach it. A policeman (none speak English) indicated, yes, it was there, but not reachable by car from where I was. I set out again, to get to the other end of the street, only to find that I couldn’t enter from there either. I went further along the street I was in, found a spot and just pulled up and backed in, oblivious of the traffic behind me. I walked (well, ran) to the Tourist Centre to find it was open (and would be for at least another hour. I got a list of B&Bs, then tried ringing one possibility. No English and no-one who could speak it at the other end, and I couldn’t get the message across, so I thought if I went there, I could. I went to program the address into the SatNav (see how vital it has become!) and no such street. I chose another and, yes, it did exist. I set out to there, only to find it wasn’t there, but a kindly gentleman opposite said it was about a hundred metres down and to the left (and yes, all in Italian, but I understood it – he understood me because I pointed out the address and shrugged my shoulders). I eventually found it, one of a few blocks around a delightful little square. Yes, there was room at the inn, €33 for the night, no problems. I settled in, was given some apple cider to drink (pleasant, but at room temperature), wrote this up in the dining area, processed the (few) photos and then retired to bed. Memo to self: set the alarm on the mobile if you expect it to ring.
Once on the tollway, things were going really well until … disaster struck!
Dear reader, at this time you will note that I have become dependent on my SatNav. It has taken me all through the US, parts of Canada, the south of England, all of France, into and out of Spain and through Andorra and now to the south of Italy and part-way back. But I looked at it and saw a red light blinking – the battery was flat! Incredible, as it is plugged into the cigarette lighter through a three-way socket and its own lead. All the more incredible, as the iPod was charging from the same socket set. I stopped, changed sockets (the iPod still worked but the SatNav still did not) and then looked at the lead for the SatNav. There was a fuse on the side, so I pulled that out. It looked okay, but I know that miniature blade fuses can be deceptive. Being a resourceful person, I found my spare bar of chocolate, had some and took some of the aluminium foil, wrapped it and placed it between the blades. After replacing the fuse, now it all worked. Temporary success! And so, dear reader, I went on my merry way, assured that I could overcome all that adversity was to offer me! Alas, I was to be proved not quite correct, but only partially so.
I continued along the Autostrade. For those of you unfamiliar with them (and I hope that is and remains all of you), when you enter you take a ticket, which tells where and when you joined the tollway. You can then proceed (almost) along the length and breadth of Italy without leaving this system. There are service stops (fuel, toilets, food, souvenirs) along the way. When you leave, you slide your ticket in, then your credit card and you leave considerably poorer. So I thought that I could purchase a miniature blade fuse in one of the service stations along the way. The first one I stopped at because I needed a comfort stop (all right, I was bursting and had to go). I tried there – barrel fuses, bulb fuses but no blades – miniature or large.
On I went. Eventually I needed fuel so I stopped at another. I pulled up at the furthest pump from the office and was able to fill the car myself. Where the pump clicked off at 46 litres, the car was full at just under 54 litres – a two hundred kilometre difference in range! I tried again – still only barrel fuses and bulb fuses but no blades. I thought I would try the Pizzeria – but no pizzas in the Pizzarea, just self-serve sit down meals. Again I inspected the plumbing and then ended up getting an ice-cream and drink before heading off.
The weather was warm – between 20°C and 26°C – and the views of the Mediterranean were very pleasant, with blue sea and white beaches indispersed with houses and apartment blocks, some coloured brightly as I expected, but a lot just plain concrete.
And so I went on.
Just before Foggia (which is where, coincidentally, there were a lot of warning signs about slowing down for fog) there was a rubbish hill being made. I had heard of them in France and seen at least one there, but this was the first I saw in operation. In a flat area, concrete walls are put up (about four metres high) and rubbish trucks just drive in and dump their loads. When the pile reaches the top of the walls, a ramp is built on the outside and the trucks then deposit the rubbish on top. Every so often, it is covered with fill, so that layers are visible if you look closely enough. I presume that they will do the same as France, where a dirt road then is made to a lookout on the top (and you get a good view because the surroundings are so flat). When the pile sinks or subsides, the top is either just rolled flat again with a little fill, or if it is large enough, rubbish is again dumped and the process repeated.
Around this point the land was a lot flatter and more agricultural – the sweet odour of newly-cut grass and a mixture of fertilizer and manure were in the air.
Quite a bit north, at the 174 kilometre post, there was an accident. We had been warned about it on the overhead signs – the first useful piece of information I had seen on them. Other pieces of information included to not speed so the mortality rate could be dropped by twenty per cent (faint chance, given driving here) and the Autostrade Internet site address, so you could check the state of the Autostrade in real time (and don’t worry, I’m sure some drivers would have taken it up and be reading on a laptop screen what was happening in front of them – another distraction!). At the accident site was a Porche, backwards into the centre concrete barrier, immediately after about a hundred metres of scraped barrier. It looks as though he scraped the barrier and then managed to spin the car backwards into it, as there was no other vehicle there and no signs another had been there. There was also no broken glass or bits of car on the roadway.
And so on I went, with these distractions having added to the travel time and caused my ETA of 5 to now become an ETA of 5:55. At this stage I realised, Friday night, traffic, shopping, all may extend my travel time in Trento, to the stage where, if the office closed at 6, I wouldn’t make it and have to choose a hotel to stay at – but not THAT motel chain, unless the hotel room was over €100 (that’s how passionate I am about NOT staying there). I managed to get the arrival time back to 5:50 when – roadworks! How they manage to have all these roadworks at once in Italy amazes me, unless they have commandeered all the roadbuilding machinery in Europe. I arrived at Trento to realise I would have to pay the toll – that nearly stopped me then, as the toll (€51.90) was more than the diesel I had burned in the last two days! I thought nothing else could slow me down as I approached the roundabout only to find – a traffic accident, with the drivers concerned stopped in the middle of the roundabout, checking the cars, swapping details, oblivious to the melee around them. However, lessons are learned and so I just pushed in and straight through. I was on my way and again nothing could stop me. After all, everything else had been met and overcome. I found a parking spot opposite the Tourist Centre, ran over at just before 6 to find – this was now an administrative centre and the Tourist Centre was two streets over. I set out again, only to see where it was and not be able to reach it. A policeman (none speak English) indicated, yes, it was there, but not reachable by car from where I was. I set out again, to get to the other end of the street, only to find that I couldn’t enter from there either. I went further along the street I was in, found a spot and just pulled up and backed in, oblivious of the traffic behind me. I walked (well, ran) to the Tourist Centre to find it was open (and would be for at least another hour. I got a list of B&Bs, then tried ringing one possibility. No English and no-one who could speak it at the other end, and I couldn’t get the message across, so I thought if I went there, I could. I went to program the address into the SatNav (see how vital it has become!) and no such street. I chose another and, yes, it did exist. I set out to there, only to find it wasn’t there, but a kindly gentleman opposite said it was about a hundred metres down and to the left (and yes, all in Italian, but I understood it – he understood me because I pointed out the address and shrugged my shoulders). I eventually found it, one of a few blocks around a delightful little square. Yes, there was room at the inn, €33 for the night, no problems. I settled in, was given some apple cider to drink (pleasant, but at room temperature), wrote this up in the dining area, processed the (few) photos and then retired to bed. Memo to self: set the alarm on the mobile if you expect it to ring.
8 May
Awake reluctantly at 7 and up by 7:20, I was prepared and had the car packed by just after 8. The task in hand was to find where I was to have breakfast, which was the bar the couple own. I locked everything up, then drove down past the train station, then over the line into the main street. I found the station entrance and opposite where … two bars! I parked and went into the most likely one, waved the card and, it was the right one. It had the betting equipment set up in two places and a few tables inside and more outside. One of the men behind the counter confirmed I was after the toast and ham (memo to self: draw pictures or otherwise indicate exactly what I want, as toast with ham became toasted ham sandwiches, although they tasted all right with vegemite over one side of each). Out came the tea and again the dinky cup and milk jug – it must be that it is assumed tea is like strong coffee and only taken in small doses.
While eating breakfast I glanced through the paper – some of the articles it was easy to get the gist of, while others proved more elusive. I couldn’t find the comics page (either there isn’t one or someone had already souvenired it) but I did notice that in car advertisements, fuel consumption was quoted in km/L, not the L/100 km we are forced to endure in Australia.
After I finished, I had to wait for Clara to arrive to do the paperwork. This is the second time my licence has been held overnight, and details noted, rather like the French did in “The Day of the Jackal”, but I hardly ever even had anyone ask my name in France (EXCEPT AT FORMULE1!). Clara arrived after I had seen the local Carabiniere have his coffee and a few others pop in for a beer for breakfast. I paid and left her a photo DVD – but forgot to add that she could arrange for any children she taught to email with children in Australia through me.
I headed out and had chosen a town called Catanzaro-Lido to head towards. It struck me that it may be an interesting seaside place, as there was another town of the same name only a few kilometres inland. The run there was uneventful, except for me making asides at some driving techniques shown. There, the day was pleasant, there were some already on the beach (coarse granitic sand, not too pleasant to rest on) and there were quite a few on the promenade. I walked around a little and saw a grandfather looking after a little boy, who seemed more interested in pulling grass out a few blades at a time than looking at the sea or cars going by.
I did notice an Internet café, but it wasn’t open, neither were any places that looked likely for a meal, so I set sights for Matera, picked out simply because it was inland and therefore different from what I had been travelling through for the last day or so.
Now things became more interesting. The SatNav told me to turn left at a certain intersection – but there was no intersection, because of road works. It wouldn’t give up, and kept trying to get me back to that intersection, even when I was twenty kilometres down the road. I thought I would fool it by going to a supermarket and getting something to eat, then asking it to direct me to Matera again from there. But I couldn’t find a supermarket! I cruised two largish towns, hoping that like France the supermarkets would be on the periphery, with clear signage – no luck! I asked the SatNav – it believed the nearest one was over sixty kilometres away! I ended up just reprogramming for Matera again and this time got different directions, which ended up putting me a the far end of the road it had originally wanted me to go down. However, getting there was an experience – 40 km/hr work limits and I was overtaken by everything even though I was doing 70. Then, on a downhill section, I (and a few others) were overtaken over double lines on blind corners. Twice I thought I would have to use my first-aid skills as cars came within a centimetre or so of having a head-on collision at about 200 km/hr.
Finally I got to Matera, leaving my nerves somewhere back on the road. I was directed to the Tourism Office, only to miss it and have to park, then walk back to it (and passed it on foot because the signs are so obscure). I got a list of B&Bs and rang one, and even though he only spoke Italian, we somehow agreed I was going to stay the night. Finding it was interesting because the number was 58 and the street numbers went from 54 to 64. After asking, I found that 58 was a block of flats about fifty metres back from the road – and with plenty of parking, after I had again manoeuvred the car into a spot not much longer than itself. Then, of course, there were eight buttons at the door with no indication of which was the one I was after. I knocked on the door and a head popped out of an upstairs window, and that was the one I was after. I had a look in, agreed to take it and got a fistful of keys, then went out to look around Matera. I looked for a supermarket (no luck) and then went to look over the Sassi area and the rock churches.
Parking is an interesting experience, and Matera was no exception to the Italian rule. Cars parked at odd angles, on corners across footpaths, double and triple parked, but I decided to play safe an use a parking lot near the Sassi area. I regret to say that I did an “Italian job” to get there, pushing into uncontrolled intersections to get across and cutting across and into traffic (hint: choose to cut in front of a new expensive car and they will give way rather than risk a dent).
I walked down and came across a church dedicated to St Francis of Assisi, and when the area had been redeveloped, the abbey it was in went while the church stayed, but the block of flats behind runs into the wall of the church. I looked around and was given a personal tour by a fellow who then requested payment for his explanations – I think I got taken again!
Then I walked around the rock area, got a ticket and looked through three rock-hewn churches, and one grotto which was an old Sassi house. The Sassi lived there until the 1960s when an act of Parliament removed them. The churches had been developed over periods of up to four hundred years, but little of the artwork or detail remains. However I thought it ironic that while walking through the current houses there, I could quite clearly hear “rock” music – of the Elvis Presley kind! Again it struck me that a tourist sight is still home to someone when I saw three little girls with Barbie sets and one teaching the others how to dance.
After the time of looking through, I went back to the car, paid for my stay and then drove like a native to get back to where I was staying. It took five minutes less for me, but longer for the ones I cut off.
I went up to my room (shared facilities, but as I’m the only one here, it doesn’t matter), put all my stuff into Room 3 (of four), did my computer work and then went to bed. No open networks I can piggyback onto, so I’ll have to wait until I can find a place.
While eating breakfast I glanced through the paper – some of the articles it was easy to get the gist of, while others proved more elusive. I couldn’t find the comics page (either there isn’t one or someone had already souvenired it) but I did notice that in car advertisements, fuel consumption was quoted in km/L, not the L/100 km we are forced to endure in Australia.
After I finished, I had to wait for Clara to arrive to do the paperwork. This is the second time my licence has been held overnight, and details noted, rather like the French did in “The Day of the Jackal”, but I hardly ever even had anyone ask my name in France (EXCEPT AT FORMULE1!). Clara arrived after I had seen the local Carabiniere have his coffee and a few others pop in for a beer for breakfast. I paid and left her a photo DVD – but forgot to add that she could arrange for any children she taught to email with children in Australia through me.
I headed out and had chosen a town called Catanzaro-Lido to head towards. It struck me that it may be an interesting seaside place, as there was another town of the same name only a few kilometres inland. The run there was uneventful, except for me making asides at some driving techniques shown. There, the day was pleasant, there were some already on the beach (coarse granitic sand, not too pleasant to rest on) and there were quite a few on the promenade. I walked around a little and saw a grandfather looking after a little boy, who seemed more interested in pulling grass out a few blades at a time than looking at the sea or cars going by.
I did notice an Internet café, but it wasn’t open, neither were any places that looked likely for a meal, so I set sights for Matera, picked out simply because it was inland and therefore different from what I had been travelling through for the last day or so.
Now things became more interesting. The SatNav told me to turn left at a certain intersection – but there was no intersection, because of road works. It wouldn’t give up, and kept trying to get me back to that intersection, even when I was twenty kilometres down the road. I thought I would fool it by going to a supermarket and getting something to eat, then asking it to direct me to Matera again from there. But I couldn’t find a supermarket! I cruised two largish towns, hoping that like France the supermarkets would be on the periphery, with clear signage – no luck! I asked the SatNav – it believed the nearest one was over sixty kilometres away! I ended up just reprogramming for Matera again and this time got different directions, which ended up putting me a the far end of the road it had originally wanted me to go down. However, getting there was an experience – 40 km/hr work limits and I was overtaken by everything even though I was doing 70. Then, on a downhill section, I (and a few others) were overtaken over double lines on blind corners. Twice I thought I would have to use my first-aid skills as cars came within a centimetre or so of having a head-on collision at about 200 km/hr.
Finally I got to Matera, leaving my nerves somewhere back on the road. I was directed to the Tourism Office, only to miss it and have to park, then walk back to it (and passed it on foot because the signs are so obscure). I got a list of B&Bs and rang one, and even though he only spoke Italian, we somehow agreed I was going to stay the night. Finding it was interesting because the number was 58 and the street numbers went from 54 to 64. After asking, I found that 58 was a block of flats about fifty metres back from the road – and with plenty of parking, after I had again manoeuvred the car into a spot not much longer than itself. Then, of course, there were eight buttons at the door with no indication of which was the one I was after. I knocked on the door and a head popped out of an upstairs window, and that was the one I was after. I had a look in, agreed to take it and got a fistful of keys, then went out to look around Matera. I looked for a supermarket (no luck) and then went to look over the Sassi area and the rock churches.
Parking is an interesting experience, and Matera was no exception to the Italian rule. Cars parked at odd angles, on corners across footpaths, double and triple parked, but I decided to play safe an use a parking lot near the Sassi area. I regret to say that I did an “Italian job” to get there, pushing into uncontrolled intersections to get across and cutting across and into traffic (hint: choose to cut in front of a new expensive car and they will give way rather than risk a dent).
I walked down and came across a church dedicated to St Francis of Assisi, and when the area had been redeveloped, the abbey it was in went while the church stayed, but the block of flats behind runs into the wall of the church. I looked around and was given a personal tour by a fellow who then requested payment for his explanations – I think I got taken again!
Then I walked around the rock area, got a ticket and looked through three rock-hewn churches, and one grotto which was an old Sassi house. The Sassi lived there until the 1960s when an act of Parliament removed them. The churches had been developed over periods of up to four hundred years, but little of the artwork or detail remains. However I thought it ironic that while walking through the current houses there, I could quite clearly hear “rock” music – of the Elvis Presley kind! Again it struck me that a tourist sight is still home to someone when I saw three little girls with Barbie sets and one teaching the others how to dance.
After the time of looking through, I went back to the car, paid for my stay and then drove like a native to get back to where I was staying. It took five minutes less for me, but longer for the ones I cut off.
I went up to my room (shared facilities, but as I’m the only one here, it doesn’t matter), put all my stuff into Room 3 (of four), did my computer work and then went to bed. No open networks I can piggyback onto, so I’ll have to wait until I can find a place.
7 May
I woke with the alarm at 8. Although breakfast was on from 8, there was no point in getting up too early as I needed to catch up with some sleep from yesterday, nothing opens too early and the main point of the day (catching up with Connie) couldn’t happen until after midday.
I was prepared and down by not long after 8:30. I asked for tea and got the dinkiest cup, teapot and milk jug you have ever seen. It gave, in total, around 150 ml of drink. This was supplemented by a fruit tea cake, very nice, but not my real choice in the morning. There were also some real biscuits, though small in size.
After breakfast I took a walk to find the Tourist Information Centre. After nearly an hour I had no luck, despite following the walking directions from the SatNav. I returned to the hotel, packed up and checked out. Then I scouted to find where the airport was – I was going to meet Connie there about 12:30. To my surprise I hadn’t even cleared the inner suburbs when I was at the airport – it was a stone’s throw from the city centre. Buoyed up with confidence, I set the SatNav to find the Tourist Information Centre, but after an interesting drive through Reggio di Calabria, I still couldn’t find it even when I was supposed to be right in front of it. I headed back to the airport, after taking a little stroll along part of the beach, and circled the airport, couldn’t find Connie so rang her. She said she was on her way and suddenly I saw her walking across the road in front of me! We met, then drove back into the city centre and looked for a parking spot. That was interesting as we found a spot easily enough, but you have to purchase the parking tickets from agents who walk along the street, or from shops nearby. We couldn’t find an agent and Connie couldn’t find a shop with tickets. We moved on in the car and eventually found a small space (but large enough) in front of a car showroom. Then we walked around a little until Connie settled on vianvaneto as the restaurant where we could have lunch.
In there we had to wait a few minutes for a table, then had a dish which was rice and ham with lettuce and vegetables (so, Fran, I have had some vegies). It was very filling and took quite a time to eat, as we were catching up on Niddrie staff at the same time. By the time we finished it was well after three, so we went to the local museum. There they had a very complete display on early man at a settlement (Loric) near Connie’s home. It covered buildings, pottery, jewellery and two statues recovered from the ocean floor. There was a school group going through the display too, so again it almost felt like work (but I resisted the temptation to tell the gum-chewers off).
Then we walked down to the beachfront. The area has a large promenade, which we walked along with large ice-creams (to be technically correct, we walked along eating the large ice-creams; they weren’t just keeping us company). It appeared like a film crew was filming in the amphitheatre area there, so after getting a few photos we returned to the car.
Here is where it got interesting. In Reggio di Calabria, like Turin, people literally park anywhere and everywhere. If you look at the photos, you will see cars parked at corners and even on the corner (and that is a feat in itself). Double parking doesn’t even figure in the possibilities of bad parking as it is so common, so I was unsurprised to find someone double-parked behind the car. Using the basis of education that everything you learn will come in handy one day, I remembered Barry’s words in Almeria – when they double park, just hold your hand on the horn and they will appear. I did, and they did, which surprised Connie. After getting out, it was then about twenty minutes to driver her back to her flat (it really would have been quicker walking). Just before she got out, I said I had programmed Brancaleone in as my first destination, as it looked to be far enough out of town to be a little less crowded and held the possibility of having a place to stay. Connie was surprised as it was her home town and she knew there was a B&B there. Buoyed up with confidence again, I said goodbye and headed off. I went to fill the car with diesel and got another “helpful assistant” who put the hose out at the first click an the gauge barely hit the full mark, where I am used to it going beyond. So although I can work out consumption figures, they won’t be accurate until I can fill the tank up properly.
I headed out and had a good run to Brancaleone, discounting the people who overtook me at about 100 km/hr in a 50 zone and the one who overtook over double lines because there was a turn lane ahead, nearly ran up the back of the car turning in that lane (who was stopped for oncoming traffic), flashed his lights and tooted his horn for that car to get out of his way and then braked heavily and forced the car on his right to go into the grass (fortunately there was no guard rail there) and then disappeared at about 140.
I got to Brancaleone and couldn’t obviously see a B&B. I cruised up and back, then up again to see a sign staring me in the face. I don’t know if it was the one Connie meant, but I eventually found it and then eventually got in. The owner (a teacher who works in a family bar as well) and her husband made the room up, we chatted briefly (her parents live somewhere in Queensland) and the returned. I settled in to my suite, with bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and balcony. The Mediterranean is a stone’s throw (I tested!) and for €30 including breakfast at the bar tomorrow morning, it’s a great place (Via Lungomare, which is the beachfront street, and you can’t miss it if you look).
I processed the photos, wrote this blog, completed yesterday’s and went to sleep with the genle sound of the Mediterranean waves lapping the beach.
I was prepared and down by not long after 8:30. I asked for tea and got the dinkiest cup, teapot and milk jug you have ever seen. It gave, in total, around 150 ml of drink. This was supplemented by a fruit tea cake, very nice, but not my real choice in the morning. There were also some real biscuits, though small in size.
After breakfast I took a walk to find the Tourist Information Centre. After nearly an hour I had no luck, despite following the walking directions from the SatNav. I returned to the hotel, packed up and checked out. Then I scouted to find where the airport was – I was going to meet Connie there about 12:30. To my surprise I hadn’t even cleared the inner suburbs when I was at the airport – it was a stone’s throw from the city centre. Buoyed up with confidence, I set the SatNav to find the Tourist Information Centre, but after an interesting drive through Reggio di Calabria, I still couldn’t find it even when I was supposed to be right in front of it. I headed back to the airport, after taking a little stroll along part of the beach, and circled the airport, couldn’t find Connie so rang her. She said she was on her way and suddenly I saw her walking across the road in front of me! We met, then drove back into the city centre and looked for a parking spot. That was interesting as we found a spot easily enough, but you have to purchase the parking tickets from agents who walk along the street, or from shops nearby. We couldn’t find an agent and Connie couldn’t find a shop with tickets. We moved on in the car and eventually found a small space (but large enough) in front of a car showroom. Then we walked around a little until Connie settled on vianvaneto as the restaurant where we could have lunch.
In there we had to wait a few minutes for a table, then had a dish which was rice and ham with lettuce and vegetables (so, Fran, I have had some vegies). It was very filling and took quite a time to eat, as we were catching up on Niddrie staff at the same time. By the time we finished it was well after three, so we went to the local museum. There they had a very complete display on early man at a settlement (Loric) near Connie’s home. It covered buildings, pottery, jewellery and two statues recovered from the ocean floor. There was a school group going through the display too, so again it almost felt like work (but I resisted the temptation to tell the gum-chewers off).
Then we walked down to the beachfront. The area has a large promenade, which we walked along with large ice-creams (to be technically correct, we walked along eating the large ice-creams; they weren’t just keeping us company). It appeared like a film crew was filming in the amphitheatre area there, so after getting a few photos we returned to the car.
Here is where it got interesting. In Reggio di Calabria, like Turin, people literally park anywhere and everywhere. If you look at the photos, you will see cars parked at corners and even on the corner (and that is a feat in itself). Double parking doesn’t even figure in the possibilities of bad parking as it is so common, so I was unsurprised to find someone double-parked behind the car. Using the basis of education that everything you learn will come in handy one day, I remembered Barry’s words in Almeria – when they double park, just hold your hand on the horn and they will appear. I did, and they did, which surprised Connie. After getting out, it was then about twenty minutes to driver her back to her flat (it really would have been quicker walking). Just before she got out, I said I had programmed Brancaleone in as my first destination, as it looked to be far enough out of town to be a little less crowded and held the possibility of having a place to stay. Connie was surprised as it was her home town and she knew there was a B&B there. Buoyed up with confidence again, I said goodbye and headed off. I went to fill the car with diesel and got another “helpful assistant” who put the hose out at the first click an the gauge barely hit the full mark, where I am used to it going beyond. So although I can work out consumption figures, they won’t be accurate until I can fill the tank up properly.
I headed out and had a good run to Brancaleone, discounting the people who overtook me at about 100 km/hr in a 50 zone and the one who overtook over double lines because there was a turn lane ahead, nearly ran up the back of the car turning in that lane (who was stopped for oncoming traffic), flashed his lights and tooted his horn for that car to get out of his way and then braked heavily and forced the car on his right to go into the grass (fortunately there was no guard rail there) and then disappeared at about 140.
I got to Brancaleone and couldn’t obviously see a B&B. I cruised up and back, then up again to see a sign staring me in the face. I don’t know if it was the one Connie meant, but I eventually found it and then eventually got in. The owner (a teacher who works in a family bar as well) and her husband made the room up, we chatted briefly (her parents live somewhere in Queensland) and the returned. I settled in to my suite, with bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and balcony. The Mediterranean is a stone’s throw (I tested!) and for €30 including breakfast at the bar tomorrow morning, it’s a great place (Via Lungomare, which is the beachfront street, and you can’t miss it if you look).
I processed the photos, wrote this blog, completed yesterday’s and went to sleep with the genle sound of the Mediterranean waves lapping the beach.
6 May
After my first night in Italy I was up at 6:30 and ready by 7. By this time I was so warm, as the room was too warm (I had opened the balcony window to try to cool it down) and the public areas in the hotel were even warmer. When I went in for breakfast at 7, the dining area was warmer still. There was a huge amount and variety of food, of which I ended up having cornflakes and milk (there was milk in a little fridge), a pot of tea and some of the tiniest rolls I have seen with ham. Thus refreshed, I returned to my room, packed, checked out and got to the car by 8. By 8:05 I was out of the parking spot (remember there was only twenty-five centimetres each end to manoeuvre in) and I was on my way.
Driving in Turin is something everyone should experience. I wouldn’t put it on my list of 100 things you must do before you die because for most it will be the last thing – and I’ll give more detail why. Firstly “give way” signs meant exactly that – if you could see the back of the sign, you had to give way to the person who could see the sign. If you didn’t play the game their way, they just edged out at about 80 km/hr until you gave up.
Secondly, traffic turning lanes meant a chance to overtake those slow cars in front. What you do is go down the left turn lane (obvious because of the left-facing arrow on the road, the sign at the end with a left-turn arrow in it and no lane over the intersection, where the oncoming traffic had their left-turn lane), then when the ahead light turns green, you toot the car in front, and once that car is out of the way (sitting in the middle of the intersection with nowhere to go), you accelerate violently and cut off the traffic going straight ahead as you veer into that lane (and flash your lights and keep your hand on the horn if the vehicle has the temerity to think it has right of way). After seeing this so many times, I could barely believe these drivers had ever sat for a driving test, let alone passed it. Together with parking on any side of the road, in any direction (for parallel parking spots) and parking in odd places, I really did wonder. More was to come. The right lane, on one road, was bus only (not commuter cars, just busses) and so the busses parked on the roadway to pick up and drop off passengers. Cars would move into that lane (because it was empty), have to pull up behind a bus stopping at a stop, and the drivers would flash and toot the bus to get out of the way! However …
Once out of the city, I had elected to travel on tollways as the drivetime for the day then became tolerable. What I didn’t realise was that I would be buying the tollway, not just paying to use it. When I went off the first time, I inserted the ticket I got, then put my credit card in the other slot. The card popped out, I got a “Grazzie” and was then told I had paid €26,90, roughly A$50. This happened another two times while travelling. Fortunately the A3 from Naples was not a tollway.
I set the cruise on 130 actual (using the SatNav as reference). I passed a group of trucks and found myself being flashed by a car which then, after I pulled in, just left me standing. This was repeated a number of times, mainly by Mercedes, BMWs and Alfa Romeos, but also the occasional Toyota Yaris (which I can tell you looks mighty unstable at around 180 km/hr, and I wonder what engine was in it).
There were quite a few roadworks along the way (but more on the A3). It was an interesting experience being flashed by trucks wanting to travel at 100 km/hr in a 40 km/hr work zone – more interesting at night, when the truck with the 100 sign on the rear left me behind when I was doing 120.
I was able to ring Connie at one point (I had tried before, but ended up snapping the phone closed because of road conditions – I needn’t have worried, as one driver passed me, him doing about 160 while holding the mobile phone against his ear with his shoulder because he was using both hands to gesticulate to his passenger). We agreed to meet sometime during the next day and I asked if she could arrange accommodation for me as the roadworks were shooting holes in my arrival time (it ended up nearly two hours later that first predicted). I would ring her back at 9.
At this stage I marvelled at the Italian ability to recycle Weeties packets. After all, they had taken what was found at the bottom and got rid of the rest. As if to confirm my view, truck drivers cut the corners and didn’t seem to notice if a car was there. Also, on hills, drivers of slow cars would pull out into the fast lane, not worrying that quite a few cars were approaching them at twice their speed (or more).
I stopped three times at rest areas. I should have stopped more, because the seat has now made my back sore (see earlier reference to two-hour seats). The toilets leave a lot to be desired, even though they are obviously cleaned and serviced. The food range is reasonable, but because you are a captive audience (if you leave the AutoStrade and its service area, you are up for more tolls), prices are higher than you would expect. When I went to fill up with diesel, it was filled (well, diesel was put in) and the windscreen had a wiper put over it (It would have been nice if it was cleaned).
The roadworks were a continual interruption, and so travel was slower than I expected. Once I went off the A1 and onto the A3, roadworks were continuous, as was tunnel construction for nearly 350 kilometres. This combined with night driving, over twelve hours (and getting longer because of the speed zones – and trying to concentrate on travelling at the correct speeds (the limits were going up and down quicker than a bride’s nightie) driving, lanes which became very narrow at some points (the trucks just hung over) and abrupt changes from two lanes one way to two lanes two ways, separated by small traffic obelisks, and directional signage which was often unclear, especially after dark, made me very cautious, especially after the run-in with the deer a few nights before.
I managed to ring Connie at about 9 and she had messaged me the address of a place she had been able to book for me, so that took that worry away.
Finally about 11:25 I arrived in Reggio Calabria at the given street, so I parked and found the place I was staying. I booked in, moved the car up, took things up to my room and summarised the day’s events (the first day I didn’t write my blog up on the day, but I was just too tired), then went off to sleep.
Driving in Turin is something everyone should experience. I wouldn’t put it on my list of 100 things you must do before you die because for most it will be the last thing – and I’ll give more detail why. Firstly “give way” signs meant exactly that – if you could see the back of the sign, you had to give way to the person who could see the sign. If you didn’t play the game their way, they just edged out at about 80 km/hr until you gave up.
Secondly, traffic turning lanes meant a chance to overtake those slow cars in front. What you do is go down the left turn lane (obvious because of the left-facing arrow on the road, the sign at the end with a left-turn arrow in it and no lane over the intersection, where the oncoming traffic had their left-turn lane), then when the ahead light turns green, you toot the car in front, and once that car is out of the way (sitting in the middle of the intersection with nowhere to go), you accelerate violently and cut off the traffic going straight ahead as you veer into that lane (and flash your lights and keep your hand on the horn if the vehicle has the temerity to think it has right of way). After seeing this so many times, I could barely believe these drivers had ever sat for a driving test, let alone passed it. Together with parking on any side of the road, in any direction (for parallel parking spots) and parking in odd places, I really did wonder. More was to come. The right lane, on one road, was bus only (not commuter cars, just busses) and so the busses parked on the roadway to pick up and drop off passengers. Cars would move into that lane (because it was empty), have to pull up behind a bus stopping at a stop, and the drivers would flash and toot the bus to get out of the way! However …
Once out of the city, I had elected to travel on tollways as the drivetime for the day then became tolerable. What I didn’t realise was that I would be buying the tollway, not just paying to use it. When I went off the first time, I inserted the ticket I got, then put my credit card in the other slot. The card popped out, I got a “Grazzie” and was then told I had paid €26,90, roughly A$50. This happened another two times while travelling. Fortunately the A3 from Naples was not a tollway.
I set the cruise on 130 actual (using the SatNav as reference). I passed a group of trucks and found myself being flashed by a car which then, after I pulled in, just left me standing. This was repeated a number of times, mainly by Mercedes, BMWs and Alfa Romeos, but also the occasional Toyota Yaris (which I can tell you looks mighty unstable at around 180 km/hr, and I wonder what engine was in it).
There were quite a few roadworks along the way (but more on the A3). It was an interesting experience being flashed by trucks wanting to travel at 100 km/hr in a 40 km/hr work zone – more interesting at night, when the truck with the 100 sign on the rear left me behind when I was doing 120.
I was able to ring Connie at one point (I had tried before, but ended up snapping the phone closed because of road conditions – I needn’t have worried, as one driver passed me, him doing about 160 while holding the mobile phone against his ear with his shoulder because he was using both hands to gesticulate to his passenger). We agreed to meet sometime during the next day and I asked if she could arrange accommodation for me as the roadworks were shooting holes in my arrival time (it ended up nearly two hours later that first predicted). I would ring her back at 9.
At this stage I marvelled at the Italian ability to recycle Weeties packets. After all, they had taken what was found at the bottom and got rid of the rest. As if to confirm my view, truck drivers cut the corners and didn’t seem to notice if a car was there. Also, on hills, drivers of slow cars would pull out into the fast lane, not worrying that quite a few cars were approaching them at twice their speed (or more).
I stopped three times at rest areas. I should have stopped more, because the seat has now made my back sore (see earlier reference to two-hour seats). The toilets leave a lot to be desired, even though they are obviously cleaned and serviced. The food range is reasonable, but because you are a captive audience (if you leave the AutoStrade and its service area, you are up for more tolls), prices are higher than you would expect. When I went to fill up with diesel, it was filled (well, diesel was put in) and the windscreen had a wiper put over it (It would have been nice if it was cleaned).
The roadworks were a continual interruption, and so travel was slower than I expected. Once I went off the A1 and onto the A3, roadworks were continuous, as was tunnel construction for nearly 350 kilometres. This combined with night driving, over twelve hours (and getting longer because of the speed zones – and trying to concentrate on travelling at the correct speeds (the limits were going up and down quicker than a bride’s nightie) driving, lanes which became very narrow at some points (the trucks just hung over) and abrupt changes from two lanes one way to two lanes two ways, separated by small traffic obelisks, and directional signage which was often unclear, especially after dark, made me very cautious, especially after the run-in with the deer a few nights before.
I managed to ring Connie at about 9 and she had messaged me the address of a place she had been able to book for me, so that took that worry away.
Finally about 11:25 I arrived in Reggio Calabria at the given street, so I parked and found the place I was staying. I booked in, moved the car up, took things up to my room and summarised the day’s events (the first day I didn’t write my blog up on the day, but I was just too tired), then went off to sleep.
Monday, May 5, 2008
5 May
I woke up this morning not very happy after last night’s incident. However, some things have a way of working out, as you will see later.
I was prepared and down for breakfast at 8. Breakfast was a large cup, with tea and cold milk (as specified), pieces of baguette and a croissant. The fruit juice was of indeterminate origin, so I gave it a miss, and there wasn’t much room left inside anyway.
I, as usual, gave my hostess a pin (either kangaroo or koala, although kangaroo seems to be the favourite. We then had a discussion about Australia, but it was rather limited. Then I headed off to pack and leave. Just as I was leaving (after pushing pieces of the car back together), mine hostess rushed out and asked if I would like a bottle of wine (I think it was their’s as part of the farm is a vineyard. I politely declined as I wouldn’t drink it before leaving Europe and didn’t want to have to carry it half-way around the world. My only comment on this was that this was the cheapest night for me (€25) and in many ways one of the best. Price is not always a determinant of quality.
I left and headed in, wanting to check with the police as to whether I should report it or not.
The first problem was finding the police station. It was stuck down a tiny one-way street with no parking anywhere near. After my third drive past I stopped in their driveway and went in to explain and ask. The officer on desk duty knew as much English as I did French. The woman who was on the desk with him took one look and headed off to do other things. We were halfway through when two more police came in, and one did understand and speak English quite well, but after clarifying two points, he found something else to do away from the desk. His female colleague stayed, but she couldn’t speak English anyway. He needed an occupation and couldn’t understand “retired” so I said teacher of Mathematics. The female officer squirmed, but he said he was good at and enjoyed Maths. Eventually we finished, after half an hour, and we all said goodbye, especially the one who could speak English, who now appeared back on the scene (once everything was done). I headed off to a Renault dealership, where the service adviser just hit everything hard, said it all needed to be replaced, but it was perfectly okay to drive. I took him at his word and headed off.
I went up to the viewing point for the Millau bridge. It had a lot of information, but also a lot on sale and you needed to join a guided tour to walk right under the supports, and I didn’t have the time anyway. I got some souvenirs and headed into Millau, to get some photos there and finally drive across. In town I had to circle a roundabout to get to a parking spot to photograph the town and the river and … the police were there, including the English speaker, who waved back at me once he recognised me.
After taking the photos (of the Tarn River), went up to the A75 and bought my toll ticket, but went off to the viewing spot first. I took some photos and asked a French couple to take a photo of me with it, which they did reluctantly UNTIL they found out I was Australian. Then it was all friendly smiles and talking in English.
On my way back to the car park (even the viewing point is big business), the Fire Brigade were trying to get into a spot, had trouble and had to call the police, who included the English speaker, who again waved back and gave a second take, as if to say are you following me. After thatI was off and over the bridge.
Well, it was an experience, but because of its size and construction, it was just like driving over a ridge road. The view, when I cold get it, was great, but there was no swaying or movement, which I did expect.
After that I headed off towards Turin. My choices were nine hours, or six using toll roads, so I opted for the toll roads. My view on pictographs for toll roads – they should have a toilet bowl and someone tossing money into it, to illustrate the folly. Altogether, I think I spent nearly €60 on tolls today, all on the Mastercard. I will find out the exact amount when my statement comes in (so the final version of this may be edited).
Nearly every road I had to take was a toll road. I stopped to take photos at one point, and was asked by a Frenchman whether I thought the view was good. Again, as I explained I liked it in broken French, he looked uninterested, but after finding out I was Australian, I had to end the conversation as he wanted to know how it compared to France, in what ways, and so on. I went off at Orange (France, not NSW) to check on the McDonald’s and they had WiFi (but very small advertising of it), so I called in, sent my blog and photos and checked my emails. Then it was off again, but all the stopping had stretched my arrival time in Turin to after 8.
Once I was in the Alps proper, the road became slower, but still far quicker that the ordinary road beside us. I found one problem with the SatNav, when roads cross at different heights, the SatNav can’t really tell which one you are on and sometimes gives directions for the other road(s) – which can be very confusing if followed.
Just before I got to the long tunnel, I filled up, as I intended to let the car go on the Autostradas in Italy, to make up time. Faint hope. After being the only car at French Customs as I entered the tunnel, I got a few questions, but with the EU passport was waved through quickly. The tunnel was interesting – all the rules, but you don’t get time to read them – and also slow and downhill. Once out, on the Italian side, the speed limit was only 100 (though I was the only one sticking to it, which was unnerving when one car came up behind me (I was next to and overtaking a truck) and then overtook me as if I was standing still. However, I don’t want to waste time in an Italian traffic court, so I stuck to the limits.
I got to Turin (Torino) well after 9, feeling a little tired and so I let the SatNav choose a hotel for me. It was a little pricey, but included Internet and breakfast, and I didn’t have to search. But I did have to park the car in a spot with only thirty centimetres at each end – and I did! Right out the front of the hotel, so I feel it should be safe. I took the SatNav out just to remove an obvious temptation – something not necessary when parking in a farmyard.
I settled into the room, which is hot – the weather today got up to 31°C and then was only 10°C when I was out of the tunnels and in near fog – did the photos and then this blog, tried to ring Connie for tomorrow (no luck at 9:30, so I’ll try now at 10:30, as I need a town to head to). I need a good night’s sleep for a long drive tomorrow on unfamiliar roads.
I was prepared and down for breakfast at 8. Breakfast was a large cup, with tea and cold milk (as specified), pieces of baguette and a croissant. The fruit juice was of indeterminate origin, so I gave it a miss, and there wasn’t much room left inside anyway.
I, as usual, gave my hostess a pin (either kangaroo or koala, although kangaroo seems to be the favourite. We then had a discussion about Australia, but it was rather limited. Then I headed off to pack and leave. Just as I was leaving (after pushing pieces of the car back together), mine hostess rushed out and asked if I would like a bottle of wine (I think it was their’s as part of the farm is a vineyard. I politely declined as I wouldn’t drink it before leaving Europe and didn’t want to have to carry it half-way around the world. My only comment on this was that this was the cheapest night for me (€25) and in many ways one of the best. Price is not always a determinant of quality.
I left and headed in, wanting to check with the police as to whether I should report it or not.
The first problem was finding the police station. It was stuck down a tiny one-way street with no parking anywhere near. After my third drive past I stopped in their driveway and went in to explain and ask. The officer on desk duty knew as much English as I did French. The woman who was on the desk with him took one look and headed off to do other things. We were halfway through when two more police came in, and one did understand and speak English quite well, but after clarifying two points, he found something else to do away from the desk. His female colleague stayed, but she couldn’t speak English anyway. He needed an occupation and couldn’t understand “retired” so I said teacher of Mathematics. The female officer squirmed, but he said he was good at and enjoyed Maths. Eventually we finished, after half an hour, and we all said goodbye, especially the one who could speak English, who now appeared back on the scene (once everything was done). I headed off to a Renault dealership, where the service adviser just hit everything hard, said it all needed to be replaced, but it was perfectly okay to drive. I took him at his word and headed off.
I went up to the viewing point for the Millau bridge. It had a lot of information, but also a lot on sale and you needed to join a guided tour to walk right under the supports, and I didn’t have the time anyway. I got some souvenirs and headed into Millau, to get some photos there and finally drive across. In town I had to circle a roundabout to get to a parking spot to photograph the town and the river and … the police were there, including the English speaker, who waved back at me once he recognised me.
After taking the photos (of the Tarn River), went up to the A75 and bought my toll ticket, but went off to the viewing spot first. I took some photos and asked a French couple to take a photo of me with it, which they did reluctantly UNTIL they found out I was Australian. Then it was all friendly smiles and talking in English.
On my way back to the car park (even the viewing point is big business), the Fire Brigade were trying to get into a spot, had trouble and had to call the police, who included the English speaker, who again waved back and gave a second take, as if to say are you following me. After thatI was off and over the bridge.
Well, it was an experience, but because of its size and construction, it was just like driving over a ridge road. The view, when I cold get it, was great, but there was no swaying or movement, which I did expect.
After that I headed off towards Turin. My choices were nine hours, or six using toll roads, so I opted for the toll roads. My view on pictographs for toll roads – they should have a toilet bowl and someone tossing money into it, to illustrate the folly. Altogether, I think I spent nearly €60 on tolls today, all on the Mastercard. I will find out the exact amount when my statement comes in (so the final version of this may be edited).
Nearly every road I had to take was a toll road. I stopped to take photos at one point, and was asked by a Frenchman whether I thought the view was good. Again, as I explained I liked it in broken French, he looked uninterested, but after finding out I was Australian, I had to end the conversation as he wanted to know how it compared to France, in what ways, and so on. I went off at Orange (France, not NSW) to check on the McDonald’s and they had WiFi (but very small advertising of it), so I called in, sent my blog and photos and checked my emails. Then it was off again, but all the stopping had stretched my arrival time in Turin to after 8.
Once I was in the Alps proper, the road became slower, but still far quicker that the ordinary road beside us. I found one problem with the SatNav, when roads cross at different heights, the SatNav can’t really tell which one you are on and sometimes gives directions for the other road(s) – which can be very confusing if followed.
Just before I got to the long tunnel, I filled up, as I intended to let the car go on the Autostradas in Italy, to make up time. Faint hope. After being the only car at French Customs as I entered the tunnel, I got a few questions, but with the EU passport was waved through quickly. The tunnel was interesting – all the rules, but you don’t get time to read them – and also slow and downhill. Once out, on the Italian side, the speed limit was only 100 (though I was the only one sticking to it, which was unnerving when one car came up behind me (I was next to and overtaking a truck) and then overtook me as if I was standing still. However, I don’t want to waste time in an Italian traffic court, so I stuck to the limits.
I got to Turin (Torino) well after 9, feeling a little tired and so I let the SatNav choose a hotel for me. It was a little pricey, but included Internet and breakfast, and I didn’t have to search. But I did have to park the car in a spot with only thirty centimetres at each end – and I did! Right out the front of the hotel, so I feel it should be safe. I took the SatNav out just to remove an obvious temptation – something not necessary when parking in a farmyard.
I settled into the room, which is hot – the weather today got up to 31°C and then was only 10°C when I was out of the tunnels and in near fog – did the photos and then this blog, tried to ring Connie for tomorrow (no luck at 9:30, so I’ll try now at 10:30, as I need a town to head to). I need a good night’s sleep for a long drive tomorrow on unfamiliar roads.
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