Sunset at The Cinque Terre

We're watching the sun begin to set from our terrace in Riomaggiore, one of the five towns of the ever-popular Cinque Terre. Booking 'hostels' online is typicaly a gamble, but we've been extremely lucky in almost every case. Our 'hostels' have turned out to be apartments, hotels, B&Bs, etc. The building we're in isn't brand new, but the view from our terrace is spectacular. We're facing westward, so we'll be able to see the sun [appear to] set in about an hour. The town looks like it erupted from the sea straight toward the sky. The buildings are tall, but yield to the ones behind them to share the view.



There have been more English speakers here than in any other place we've visited. We were amazed (and relieved) that so many people in Greece spoke English; now, when we have developed our ability to communicate basically in Italian, we are surrounded by English-speakers. I don't even know if Italians come to Cinque Terre: virtualy every voice I've heard from passers-by is in English. [Unfortunately, most of these voices are coming from the so-called 'ugly Americans.']



These five small towns are gorgeous. It's hard to imagine what kept them going before Rick Steeves alerted The Americas to their presence. The Cinque Terre's chief export, now, must be picturesque postcards.

Sent via BlackBerry

Arrived

We've finally arrived. Our travel time from Santa Chiara's front door to our room: 10 hours, 26 minutes.
Sent via BlackBerry

Per La Spezia

After some contemplation and a fairly simple calculation, we've determined this trip to be record-breaking.

We've been in-transit since 19:36 yesterday. Previously, our longest journey had been ours to Munchen. No more, though. Our trip to the ever-popular Cinque Terre has taken the prize.

We're on the leg of our trip from Pisa Centrale to La Spezia. There are people asleep in our seats, so we've resorted to using the pull-out seats typically designated for drifters. Confrontng sleeping strangers at 4:30 isn't something I'd like to add to my 'list of things I've done.'

Sent via BlackBerry

This Just In

The delay has just increased to 45 minutes. They have apologized for any inconveinence this may cause.
Sent via BlackBerry

Ritardo (Deja Vu)

Remember the forty minute delay that threw a wrench in all of our travel plans? Another delay, also forty minutes, has recently reared its ugly head. It looks like we might get the rare opportunity to see the sun rise from the La Spezia Centrale rail station.

Again, I can only hope that those green-jacketed men and women enjoyed a lovely day off.

Another item of note: our last train, from Firenze S.M.N. to Pisa Centrale, was number 6665; today's (yesterday's) date, of course, is (was) Friday the 13th. Coincedence? Almost certainly.
Sent via BlackBerry

One might think that after a day of enjoying their strike the train workers might be rejuvinated and ready to help would-be passengers. I have this image in my mind of portly men in green TrenItalia jackets using a slip-n-slide and sipping frozen drinks poolside. But, unfortunately, they're not particularly helpful tonight.

As it turns out, the earliest we'll reach Riomaggiore is 4:58. Should be a fabulous night ahead.
Sent via BlackBerry

There Goes the Sun

We're making our way to the Cinque Terre tonight, after a day of waiting for the most recent train strike to end. Today's lasted from 9:00 until 17:00. I don't know why these workers decided to strike, but I'm certain that they've hurt passengers far more than they have the rail company.

So, now, we're ready to go, having learned from the local travel agent that the earliest we'd be able to leave is 19:36. But, the second most irritating event that can happen to a passenger on the Italian rail has occured: delay. Our train from Castiglion Fiorentino for Firenze has been delayed by 40 minutes. This doesn't seem so bad, until you consider that we have a 36 minute layover in Firenze. Do the math; that's right: 4 minutes.

Sent via BlackBerry

Buona Pasqua

The choir is warming up right now, and there are even more people in S. Pietro Square than were here last night. The metro had closed by the time mass was over, so we got to figure out the night bus system.

The news media is perched on the roof to my left and the Swiss guards are watching the crowd from the roof on my right. The red-feathered hat and bright stripes don't make for the most discrete uniform. The morning fog has melted away and the sun is shining on our backs.

We're headed back to Castiglion Fiorentino this afternoon in plenty of time for tonight's Easter dinner at Santa Chiara.
Sent via BlackBerry

Casino, Casino

It's absolutely crazy here. The line to get into mass wrapped all the way around S. Pietro Square. When the gates opened up at 20:20, there was a roar as hundreds of believers bolted for the metal detectors and x-ray machines. The Swiss guards, in their elaborate uniforms, are herding the flock into the Basilica. There are thousands of people in the Basilica right now, and everyone seems a little frantic to get his hands on a missal, a candle, or both.

We're sitting in the second bay from the rear of the Basilica. People around us have binoculars to see the Holy Father. In my immediate vicinity, I can hear conversations in German, Japanese, Italian, Spanish, and English (there are a few languages that I cannot recognize; perhaps one is Esperanto).
Sent via BlackBerry

Buona Pasqua

We just got off the metro and are headed to S. Pietro to stand in line for the Easter Vigil. The gates open at 20:30, so we should have no trouble getting in. We were told when we picked up the tickets that sixty-thousand people would be attending tomorrow's Easter Mass, so tomorrow should be sufficiently 'casino.'. We hit a lot of Roma's high-points during our last visit, so our pace this time has been a lot more relaxed.
Sent via BlackBerry

Day in Bologna

We'd originally ruled it out as a day-trip destination because of its distance, but we found out last night that Bologna is a lot closer to home than we'd originally thought.

We're returning home now, just passing by Firenze's Campo di Marte station. The people and cuisine in Bologna and Milano are drastically different than those and that of the other regions we've visited. My North Face jacket identifies me as an American almost everywhere I go, but today was much worse. It seemed like everyone walking the streets, young or old, rich or poor, had a keen interest in fashion. Walking along Bologna's streets is what it might be like to be trapped in a Calvin Klein magazine spread.

The food is notably different, too. Living in Toscona, I've grown accustomed to the fact that tomatoes are everywhere: sauces, salads, markets, etc. Bolognese cuisine lacks this tomato dependence. We had a great lunch (or dinner: it was around 16:00) just a stone's throw from the city's leaning tower. As has become a common practice, we shared everything on the table, multiplying the dishes that we were able to taste. Our first course was a Lasagne prepared Bolognese style and Tortellini. The Lasagne's sauce contained traces of hints of tomato, but that was its extent. The Tortellini was in a cream sauce, something that has been virtually unheard of this semester thus far.

The second course was either quail or pigeon. Of course, we hope it was quail, but it was delicious even if it was the latter. The birds were stuffed with a sausage concoction and served on a bed of herb-roasted potatoes.

We finished the meal with a Caffè Correcto and a piece of Strudel. It always seems like an awful lot of food whenever I describe one of our meals, but then I remember that we had foregone three more plates of food. The meal, as prescribed by the menu and common practice, begins with a drink and Antipasti, moves to the Primi Piatti, then the Secondi Piatti, and then after-dinner drinks and dessert. I'm not even sure how a person is expected to stand up after a meal like this, not to mention make the walk home.

Sent via BlackBerry

The Sweetness of Doing Nothing

I don't know the words, but there is an Italian phrase that translates to 'the sweetness of doing nothing.' I fully embraced this idea today.



Aside from a brief stroll through the town and a visit to the local market, the entire day was spent on the beach. The beaches aren't sandy, but are covered with layers of pebbles, and speckled with bits of blue, green, and orange sea glass. We all split up for a few hours, a few people shopping and a few hiking, and I just sat on the beach with a small loaf of bread, a wedge of soft cheese, and a bottle of wine. Eventually, as everyone else grew tired of shopping and hiking, they found me at my spot on the beach, and we had a pow-wow as the sun fell closer and closer to the water. As much as I've enjoyed Italy's large cities, especially Firenze and Roma, I think days like these, spent enjoying all of Italy's natural beauty and exploring small towns that aren't along the country's major transportation arteries, are my favorites.

Sent via BlackBerry

The Amalfi Coast

 

Market in Amalfi

 

Sorrento & Onward to Amalfi

It wasn't extremely easy to find, but we did make it to our hostel last night. I'd hardly call this place a hostel, though. Within its stone walls are the Mami Camiila cooking school and the Bed & Breakfast. There are lemon trees lining all of the paths on the grounds. People come from all over the world to stay here for a few weeks or a few months to decompress and learn about Southern Italian food, which is dramatically different than the North's. Tonight we're having dinner in, four courses prepared by the students.

We're making hairpin turn after hairpin turn on our bus from Sorrento to Amalfi right now. Behind me are cliffs hundreds of meters high, and in front of us is a blue sky and crystal water as far as I can see.

This has proven to be a great time of year to visit this part of the world: the herds of tourists won't show up for a few more months and the weather's been fantastic.
Sent via BlackBerry

Sciopero

Now we're on a train from Roma to Napoli. All of the day's 'regionale' trains have been cancelled due to a sciopero, an Italian word that's proven very important: it means strike. The strikes are very specific, targeting certain lines, certain times of day, or very specific systems (like the computerised scheduling system). Today's strike hasn't affected the EuroStar or intercity trains, fortunately, but we did have to pay nearly double to travel the same route. When in Rome...
Sent via BlackBerry

Civita

Since three of the six in our travel group are ill, or are on the verge of being ill, we made three day trips instead of a whole weekend away. So far, it's turned out great. We made our way to Civita today.

Civita looks as though it just erupted from the ground, accessible only by pedestrian bridge. For years, the only way supplies could be brought to this tiny town was on the back of a donkey. The donkey has now been replaced with a scooter, driven by the donkey rider's son.

We made the 7.58 train by about one minute, only after a sprint to the train station from Santa Chiara. When we got to the train station in Orvieto, we needed a bus to Bagnoregio. We saw our big, blue bus coming, and then we saw it drive away. A new friend who’s studying in Roma chased the bus a few hundred feet and convinced the driver to stop, so we could all board. With few other bumps in the road, we arrived in front of the pedestrian bridge. Civita is truly, in the most literal way possible, a city on a hill. It rises up from a rippling valley that stretches as far as we could see.

The population is about 25, so the seven us of were responsible for today’s major population shock. We made a pass through the town and found a trail that led to Etruscan ruins. We saw the ruins and continued to hike, following a cat that had been hanging around us since we’d arrived. We followed the winding trails and our feline guide and took in some of the amazing geology.

For lunch, we headed back up to town and put our heads into a room with an ancient, Etruscan oil press. The apparent owner waved us in next door. He sat us at a table in what could only be described as a cave and lit a candle for us. From under his counter, he lifted a massive jug of red wine, poured it into a smaller jug, and poured us each a glass. We asked for bruschetta, and so he toasted pieces of bread from a wicker basket over smoldering coals, covering each with olive oil and tomatoes. Through a clumsy conversation in Italian, we found out that he made both the wine and the olive oil. We took two bottles of this wine with us, a Sangiovese Merlot that’s aromatic, rich, refreshing, with no finish to speak of.

And while Rick Steve’s has probably written an entire book about how to enjoy this charming town, we still felt like we found it ourselves.

Shrine to Stein

 

Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich

 

Dan Flavin Retrospektive

Pinakothek der Moderne, Munich

 

Cubed ceiling above the Cubism exhibit at the Pinakothek der Moderne.