Stuff Happens To People With Blogs

… and what is the first thing you think of?

It might be the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the list goes on but for me, the first think I think of is *BROADWAY*. Imagine my amusement when the day before I left home to come to the US of A, I discovered that the stagehands union had gone on strike. Oh dear, I thought, I hope that doesn’t last long. I read the NY Times online and discovered that the last such strike lasted only 5 days. Phew! I couldn’t imagine going to New York and not seeing Chicago or 42nd Street or any of the any number of other Broadway musicals. (Well now it’s no longer secret squirrel that I LOVE musicals).

Now, with just 2 days left in the Big Apple, one being Thanksgiving, I am starting to no longer shake my head and smile at the timing. As I walked past the picket lines tonight I was sad - yes, sad that so many people are temporarily out of work and their union is failing to come to an agreement with the theatre heavies - but mostly I’m sad because I want to see a damn Broadway show! Call me selfish, because I am.

… everything backwards. However, I am not talking politics or religion though I’m sure some topics out of those categories would fit in here quite well.

What I am referring to is that the taps turn the wrong way, the light switches are out at the bottom when on instead of at the top and the toilet bowl is full of water at the start and then empties when you flush. Also they have appetizers and entrees instead of entrees and mains. Some stuff includes tax and some stuff doesn’t so I never know how much something costs until they tell me at the cash register which means I can’t figure out how much money I need to get out.

OK, so perhaps they’re not backwards but is taking some getting used to!

… the “best thing goin’ ’round tonight”. Sure he looked homeless, smelt a bit homeless and was trying to get me to buy a concert ticket that was clearly an old scrunched up ticket that was useless. I decided to take the compliment, keep my hands in my pockets and keep on walkin’.

I am accompanying Jackson on a work trip to San Francisco and we are then shooting over to New York for a few days. Besides being constantly beseeched by the homeless for some spare change San Francisco has been really pleasant. I won’t say it’s been great as for some reason, despite being able to navigate to London Underground, Paris Metro etc with relative ease, I have found San Francisco’s public transport to be somewhat intimidating and inconvenient so I’ve opted to walk. The walking is great as you get to see “people live here” parts of a city, rather than just what the tourism board suggests you should see, but I haven’t really checked out San Francisco’s claims to fame as they’re quite a hike or beyond a hike from our hotel.

However, Americans are very friendly and open people and, although, they’re quite loud, I quite like them. I just have to get used to unintentionally listening to peoples private and personal conversations and then I’d feel quite at home … particularly if people are going to keep saying I’m the “best thing goin’ ’round tonight”!

… a day late.

We thought it was Thursday, but noooo dear readers, Thursday it wasn’t. We told everyone “Home Thursday” and through no fault of ours it just wasn’t Thursday.  It was Friday and parents expecting a visit had another thing coming. It really was their fault - they had a copy of the itinerary, and nobody ever bothered to correct us though everyone knew something just wasn’t quite right.

The Trials of Travel ends here. Until next time, Arrivederci, Au revoir and Auf Wiedersehen.  Should you wish to stay tuned to this blog you’ll have to suffer “Ramblings”.

… to be told, “We changed to a smaller plane, one that doesn’t have enough seats. Sorry, I can’t check you in. But here are two drinks vouchers.”

Unfortunately Cathay Pacific didn’t think that everyone would want the seats they’d paid for, so they changed to a smaller plane. Fortunately for us, some poor sods rocked up a minute late (luckily we didn’t see them), so we got the last seats on the plane. Literally - seats 70H and 70K, right down there in the galley. It was great, right down the end where nobody goes, except for mothers trying to shut the screaming heads on their babies. And the guys who decided to have a chat because they couldn’t sleep.

… of material to make pants, for you sir, we need two. You very large sir, ha ha ha.”

And so it went. “I’m sorry Sir, the Extra-Large belt will not fit you Sir. You are very large. Sir, our shoes we charge by the inch for leather, these will be very expensive.”

Apart from the extreme amusement of trying to find clothes, we caught the ferry across to the island, and the peak tram up to the top. Cool view.

… and slept. All day.

… doesn’t mean you have to eat it.

For once, we listened to common sense and just had muesli and yoghurt.  Yes, just once in four weeks we actually listened.

A fairly uneventful day really.  We found our way back to Frankfurt airport and boarded a plane ready for 13 hours of leg crunching, back spasming, non-sleep.  Of course, first we had to try and check in though for some reason the police had cordoned off all paths leading to the Cathay Pacific check in desk.  So we stood and waited.  Nothing.  I approached a man who was wearing an airport ID badge and gave him a little “Sprechen zie Englisch?”  and was greeted with a “I can’t tell you”, a shake of the hands and he walked off. Charming.

We still don’t know what happened but shortly after that they dropped the ropes and away we went. 

… except if you’re in Frankfurt on a Sunday and desperate.

With Jackson feeling somewhat unwell, we simply left our hotel and headed for the train station where we were catching a three hour train to Frankfurt.  It is quite interesting to see groups of drunken youths being casually eyed off by police, kit out in full riot gear, at 11am on a Sunday morning in a smallish German town.  We figured out that there was a football game on somewhere so I guess it’s just a normal Sunday for the police to wake up strap on their shinpads, helmets, bullet-proof vests and large wackin’ sticks.

The primary task for our day was to check into our hotel and head straight for a laundromat.  Having reached our “alert levels” of clothing, ie, underwear for just the next day we were somewhat dismayed when our concierge said, “The laundromat is over there but I doubt they’ll be open, it’s Sunday”. 

Given the urgency of our situation, we packed a bag of grungy clothes and headed off determined that this laundry would be open.  We quickly realised that our hotel was situated just near a red-light district and the laundromat was smack bang in the middle of it.  Is it wrong to stare at the men who wander out of dodgy den doorways putting their jackets on?  I think not, they deserve my stares.

We found the laundromat … it was closed. 

… of an attendee at the Christmas markets in Trier is a strange but beautiful thing.

Sure, you’re suppose to relax and enjoy yourself when on holidays, have a few more treats than you normally might but this is ridiculous.

Breakfast: muesli, yoghurt, bread, meat, cheese and coffee/hot chocolate

Snack: hot chips loaded with raw onion (ick, I avoided those bits!), ketchup and fat-man’s mayo

Late lunch: Potato and Mushroom soup with bread sticks

Dinner: Deep fried potato cakes with apple sauce, bratwurst and sauerkraut, mushrooms with aioli, steamed yeast pudding with vanilla custard and cherry sauce, and another chocolate coated pineapple kebab (ok, Jack didn’t have the kebab, just me), all obtained from the market stalls.

If after all of this, your body doesn’t disown you, you are lucky - like me - if it does, you are normal - like Jack.

… started with us catching a 6.30am train which, given we’ve taken to 9am starts and it was maybe 5 degrees outside, was a pretty big call. The idea of missing this train and having no accommodation booked for the night put us in a spot of bother so there was no choice but to do it.

To get to Trier, Germany we had to take 3 trains but we’ve become gurus at the train so it was a piece of cake. Next step, somewhere to sleep but thanks to the english speaking lady at the tourist office that was quickly sorted.

Guess what? Trier had christmas markets too and these ones had more food than Reims and we managed to have our entire dinner from market stalls!

Oh yes, Trier is Germany’s oldest city and we saw the ruins of Roman Baths, Ampitheatre and Fort thingy and had a walk along the river Moselle.

… for I have sinned.

It turns out Reims is the capital of the Champagne region of France, and we didn’t do any tasting! Oh, we looked at it, but during winter tasting hours are restricted. And two hours were wasted trying to figure out where the hell we were going to go tomorrow.

The European rail network is so easy to use, as long as point A or point B is a major city, or A and B are in the same country. Otherwise the computer recommends you travel via New Frickin’ Zealand. After Jack gives up on figuring it out himself (he mutters, then goes quiet, then gets loud as he comes to terms with the fact he can’t do it), we headed over to the train station to ask someone how to get to Trier, Germany. First suggestion, via Paris, 90 minutes in the opposite direction. Next option, says the lady proudly, is via Luxembourg. Jack breaks the news, “Our pass doesn’t cover Luxembourg.” Queue audible sigh. Next option via Belgium. “Sorry not Belgium either, can’t we just follow the almost straight line between them on the official Eurail map?” 45 minutes and two international phone calls later and she had us there by lunchtime. The lady did a great job because it really did seem difficult, we didn’t know if we’d ruined her day or made it.

Oh yeah, and Reims has a cathedral that’s almost identical to Notre Dame in Paris. The name? Notre Dame. Homework exercise - figure out who copied who.

… was on a felafel from the Jewish Quarter. The worst 4 Euros ever saved? Not buying one each!

Marais and the Jewish Quarter were areas we wanted to explore before leaving Paris. With our train for Reims leaving after lunch we snuck in a quick visit. Well worth the effort.

A short train ride in the afternoon landed us in Reims at around 5pm, having no idea of what to expect from a French town at the start of winter. As we walked towards the hotel, all we could see were lights! So this is why Christmas is the best time of the year! The Christmas markets that lined the main street, every day and night from late November were a welcome surprise and a great change from Parisian hecticness.

… in the same day is just weird.

I have always wanted to go to Versailles but have never had the time before.  So with three nights in Paris this time I ensured it was on the agenda.  Holy crap.  Talk about extravagance.  Some of the various rooms were closed but I think we saw the best two at the start, the chapel and, best of all, the Opera House. 

We headed out into the gardens and the drizzle and as Jack said, it was just as if ol’ Louis had said, “I want f*** off gardens as far as the eye can see”. Being the start of winter here the gardens weren’t much to look at and the statues all covered but we could use our imaginations.

From the grandeur of Versailles we headed underneath the streets to the catacombs. Basically, there was a graveyard in Paris that was infecting the living … Eww …so they moved them. Check out this link it’s even got a photo showing what’s like.

Catacombs of Paris

… except for dickheads and they have plenty of those.  For that matter they have plenty of those at Notre Dame Cathedral too, which was our first stop after a lazy start to the day.

They use a lot of diagrams here to overcome the multitude of languages but regardless people happily wander around the cathedral chatting, using their cameras with flashes, touching artwork and mind you, this is all while a church service is in progress! 

The same with the Lourve, which by the way is obscenely large and exhausting.  There are no photo/film signs with little diagrams on the doors to certain rooms yet staff still need to rouse on people for filming.  Dickheads!  I’ll stop now, I’m starting to sound like a cranky old lady writing to the editor.

Oh, we saw Mona, she was cool.  So small compared to the rest yet the only one looking mildly amused. 

Final stop in a very big day, up the Eiffel Tower.  Yes Pam, Jack went the entire way up with barely a cold sweat to be seen.

Oh, we went French for dinner and discovered that while Italians know you’re English when you speak, the French know when you look at the menu.  Bon Appetit!

… the city of romance, not!

To fall asleep in Italy and wake up in France is quite an adventure.  New language, new town, new everything.  The language is a problem as we lost our phrasebook somewhere in Italy so I just know how to say, “hello”, “goodbye”, “please”, “thankyou”, and thanks to my brother-in-law Stephane, “I don’t speak French, do you speak English?”

Thanks to a helpful French lady we found our street and got to our hotel about 10am.  We could leave our bags but not check in until 12pm so we wandered up to Montmarte and Sacre Couer.

Some general observations from Jackson’s first experience of Paris:

- He can not use a bathroom that looks like a salad bowl no matter how urgent the need;

- There is a general smell about Paris that indicates no one else is inclined to use a salad bowl.

We eventually checked in and the night train caught up with us in the form of a two hour nanny nap, oops.  We made up for that with a huge walf from the Eiffel Tower to Arc de Triomphe, down the Champ de Elyses to Place de la Concorde and then the metro back to the hotel.

First dinner in France … Indian, sorry but we’d been craving!

… or the bottom? 

The top you might fall out - it is a rocking train after all - but the bottom you might get crushed.  Despite Jackson’s concern that the top bunk of our compartment may not hold and see the entire thing fall on top of me in the middle of the night, we decided that he could also wedge all 6′5″ of himself into the top bunk securely whereas one sharp bump and I may fly out.

If you’ve been on a night train you would be aware that the cabins aren’t exactly spacious and, in fact, we needed one person to sit on a bed for the other to do anything in the floor area.  With lights out on my behalf I slept ok though the beds are so hard I woke every hour with one part of my body or another numb.  Jack however slep quite soundly (and noisly) discovering that reading until 3am like a naughty child renders you practically unconscious by the time you finally turn out the light! 

… when you’ve got a night train to catch.

We started the morning fairly quietly, ie, sleep in, bread roll for breakfast, climb a thousand steps to get to the freakin’ castle (ok, not a thousand but it felt like it!)  The castle overlooks the sea and Vernazza affording a great view of everything.

Next effort was to get to LaSpezia for some serious laundry duty and a little internet time.  The laundry task was accomplished thanks to the sweetest little old lady at the “self service” laundromat - the only self service I’ve seen where she helps you fold your clothes when they’re done!

Our train to Milan left LaSpezia at 6.40pm arriving in Milan at 9.50pm then our overnight train to Paris left at 11.35pm.  With this time line we decided it would be best to have dinner in LaSpezia and buy some snacks for the wait in Milan.  I will confess I made Jack buy me MCDonalds but I just couldn’t face another pizza, pasta or panini!!!

… it will be the hardest mountain track in the Cinque Terre.

Call it laziness but we just didn’t feel like climbing down all 112 stairs then up the hill to the national park office to get the track maps, then back down the hill and up at least 60 steps to where the track from Vernazza led to Cornigulia.  You understand, right?

Cinque Terre is UNESCO heritage listed you can get an idea about it here - http://www.cinqueterre.it/en/vernazza.htm.  So most of the towns are closed to traffic so there are really two ways to go between the towns, train or track, goat track that is.  You pay a fee to use the tracks usually but in winter they are free.  Less tourists, less erosion, less rubbish, less fools hurting themselves I suspect.

So we trundled down some of our stairs turned away from the village and started to climb, and climb and walk and climb.  I officially hate stairs and I thought I may fall over the unfenced cliff but sure enough the estimated 90 minutes later we had finished one of the four tracks.  Of course it seems that it’s the longest and considered the hardest but in hindsight … it wasn’t so bad … but oh my calves hurt!

… and raise you 112 steps!

Today we arrived in Cinque Terre, Vernazza to be exact.  We arrived around three and as directed called our hosts and Joseph and his dog came to collect us from the train station as they know it’s impossible to find the rooms on your own.  He strolled through the narrow street, chatting to this person and that one as he went and then turned a corner and started up the stairs.

112 steps plus several twists, turns and minor episodes of heart failure - you do better with a pack on your back, I dare you! - we arrived at our room.  Cosy and with a view straight over the ocean, nothing between our window and a long fall into the deep blue.  Joseph also showed us the terrace on top of the apartment (yes, more stairs).  Jack asked him if he lived here to which he replied, “No, I live with Mumma, see?”  Sure enough we looked at where he was pointing on the other side of the town and there was Mumma happily waving back at us.

I love Cinque Terre.

… with Italians and hills?

This morning Jack was to make a quick trip to the Colosseum (been there, done that) before we packed up our kit and headed for Florence.  Common sense kicked in and instead we spent the morning booking our accommodation in Florence and searching for accommodation in Paris.

We left Rome for Florence and managed to find our hostel with little trouble.  The owner of Starlight Locanda is amazing.  Passionate about Florence and people making the most of their time there, even if they “stress” her out by only having one afternoon.  She grabbed us a map and drew us a path from one side of the city to the other circling “must sees” as she went.

We rambled our way through street markets, piazzas and the duono, skipped two museums and headed over Ponte Vecchio for Piazza Michaelangelo.  A high point  in the city with a perfect view of the famous skyline.  We should have taken bus 13, it’s a bloody steep climb but well worth it in the end.

We wound our way back through the city to go and see big Dave, the original, at Galleria dell’Accademia.  While we’re pretty over religious paintings by now, Michaelangelo’s David was incredible and worth the effort. 

By the way, have you ever had a knot in your calf muscle … I think my body hates hills.

… sorry I’m so far behind, I realise we’re up to day 17 but the time and access to technology has been limited as expected.

… there will be a varying appreciation of Churches.

Today was Ben & Laura’s last day but luckily they didn’t have to leave until the evening. We set out to do all the things we’d missed so far. Ambitious and doomed to fail? Absolutely.  First up, some lazing around then we met Will & Janie for lunch and headed over to St Peter’s Basilica.  We’d been unable to do this previously as there were some very important people going about very important business and the entire square and basilica had been closed off.

Will, Janie, Jack and I had admired the entire basilica in half an hour (and what a place!) - only to turn around (again!) and ask “Where are the others?”  They’re just inside the front door, of course.  Once we regrouped we ascended the long, winding claustrophobic stairwell to the “cupola” or very top dome thingy. Great view of Jack and Laura being terrified.

This occupied the entire day (rightfully), and we missed out on the rest of the itinerary (despite Jack and Will’s “Take us to the dungeons!” comments) and we headed back to the room to bid Laura and Ben arrivaderci.

Last comment on the night - the final four went out to dinner near the Colloseo, and as the rain started coming down we were treated to watching Jack stand in the rain waiting patiently for the photo of lightning over the giant arena.  (No luck there!)

… sure know how to arrange a nice queue.  Our gang decided to head for the Vatican fairly early, just not early enough.  We arrived around 10.30 and followed the queue down the street, around the corner, down the next street, around the corner and part way down to St Peters square.  It was a nice day to queue, what with the rain and all, so we did it for around an hour all the time having nice men stand in our way saying “umbrelli, umbrelli?”  Apparently the fact I was wearing a raincoat wasn’t sufficient a deterrent to their sales pitch.

Not only did I queue for an hour, I didn’t even go in.  I was having a bit of a been there, done that day so I left the others at the front of the queue and met back up with them when they were ready to drop with exhaustion.

We returned to our apartment to devour the remains of the previous nights cook-up and chatted endlessly with our American flatmates.  With a big day ahead we stupidly hit the hay around 2am.

… especially with Ben in charge of the map!

Given we had late night following Ben around and having dinner and gelati we got up quite early today.  It was Dan & Leah’s last day in Rome and they had to head to the airport at lunchtime.

Our main aim was to see the Pantheon which, from my five year old contiki memory, was originally a pagan-temple.  Today was the first day we really noticed the sound of a thousand people whispering, it’s quite an annoying noise but our group was just as guilty as the rest.

Jack and I farewelled Leah & Dan at the apartment and spent the rest of the day as domestic goddesses having our increasingly dirty clothes washed and doing a spot of grocery shopping. Laura and I cooked a feat of pasta in our self-contained apartment and we ate and drank into the wee hours of the morning, chatting to the people who moved in to Leah & Dan’s room. A young American couple, well, young as in our age! 

… i’ve added in a few photos for days one to five, which you may have to click on the highlighted days on the calendar to view.  They’re not the greatest photos, for the best photos you have to wait for Jack to have a chance to post his photos to his site (see link on the right), but they’re something to start.

… hello big, stinky Rome.

With a very plain breakfast in place and a few sore heads, we took a slightly less winding road out of Orvieto and set the GPS for Roma.

First stop some lunch, followed by an exterior view of the Colluseum, a rainy walk through the Roman Forum and then we stood and watch the police set up their riot gear and just stand around. We got bored of waiting to see the riot and walked home only to find that all the shields, barricaded streets and wire grilles for windscreens were just for a planned, peaceful Palestine demostration.

We met not only Leah and Daniel, but also Will and Janie for the weekend but unfortunately, we four Italian adventurers had reached the point of physical abuse where your body simply takes over and says, “just a couple of drinks and some vegetable soup and salad”.

… that icecream, coke, winding roads and writing in the back seat of the car don’t go together.

Orvieto was our last hill town before heading for Rome. It’s a small town on the top of a big flat plain that can only be reached by a very winding road or funicular. We took the winding road and our GPS navigation surely picked the route with the most twists. I don’t normally get motion sickness, I’m not afraid of heights and I can happily read or write in the back seat of the car. Not this day! Let’s just say by the time we reached lovely Orvieto I was probably a lovely shade of green and just wanted to get the hell out of the car to get some fresh, cold, calming air!

We stayed in a little B&B that was attached to a restaurant, needless to say we decided the restaurant downstairs was certainly far enough to walk for dinner. It also made it a heck of a lot easier to drink far too much chianti and teeter up the stairs at the end of the evening.

This restaurant has won the honour of having the best spaghetti al pomodoro on the trip thus far. Laura and I have been comparing one version per town. Sure, it’s not adventurous but a good spaghetti al pomodoro is beautiful thing.

… you need to pay more than 8 euros. Otherwise, you get something that smells vaguely like old socks. A lessons the boys learned.

… for friendly country Italians.

Our morning was spent being dutiful tourists and checking out Basilica di San Francesco and the monks in their very monk-like outfits.

In the afternoon it was my turn to select an activity so I suggested a picnic in the Umbrian countryside. Laura and I gathered the good and the boys set out navigating to a “perfect spot”.

An hour and a half later we had the car stuck on a ridge on the side of the road and Jack and Laura were trying to push the car back over the ridge. Thankfully, a couple of older Italian men stopped to help lift the car over the ridge and back onto the road. Don’t panic, there weren’t any cliffs or steep hills on the other side of the ridge, it was just a big lump of dirt that Ben didn’t see!

By the way, it took another 20 minutes to find somewhre to stop and eat, by which stage it was 3pm, cold, windy and we ate for about 15 minutes then drove home to Assisi.

… that Ben is growing a moustache. I believe it’s Laura’s idea though every 20 minutes or so she changes from describing it as being dashingly handsome, to cute, to looking like a goat gnawed on it.

… with our own paparazzi.

The cameras stayed away today as the day was overcast and apparently “the light wasn’t right” and we “couldn’t find the shot”.

We drove from Siena to Assisi via a wine tasting stop in Montepulciano. The Lonely Planet (or LP as our companions call it) says Assisi is “the quintessentially perfect Italian hill town … turning it into the most crowded spot in Umbria”. Thankfully outside of peak season it was a quiet haven perched on a hilltop.

As we squeezed the car through the narrow streets the light changed so Laura and I were left holding the bags as the paparazzi ran off into the sunset and were last seen climbing a wall to get “the shot”.

… then we are now made of a few distinct things, bread, wine and chocolate.

To us, Siena is so far our food capital. From the moment we arrived all we’ve done is eat and drink. Ben and Laura scored a room with a balcony amongst the rooftops, so we made use of it to gorge ourselves with bread, sundried tomatoes, cheese, capers and olive oil. Oh and Chianti and beer of course.

Laura and I found a fantastic gelateria that made ice-cream sandwiches. Surely, if it’s a sandwich it’s ok at any time of the day and it’s ok to have more than one a day, right?

We also found time to go to Siena’s cathedral, baptisery, crypt and Museo Dell’Opera Metropolitana. All very cultural and deservering of another ice-cream sandwich.

… on both sides of the road?

Today we leave Venice and head for the Tuscan hills.  We took the Vaporetta - with 100 of our closest friends - from San Marco to Piazzta di Roma which is the vehicle zone on the outskirts of Venice to pick up our hire car.  Ben and Laura are driving as Jack and I don’t really “do” manual cars and we certainly don’t do left hand drive.

The next few hours were spent scooting along the motorway gazing at the textbook rolling hills.  We stopped for a photobreak at a town called Montegreggio, a tiny walled village, and were serenaded throught the cobbled streets by a local blaring Green Days’ “Holiday” from his portable stereo.  He also treated us to his own concert with leaps and guitar moves.

We are staying for two nights in Siena, which is now Jackson’s favourite place.  I’m seeing a theme develop here.

… they say you need to get lost. We found this quite difficult (a) because of the signs everywhere pointing to Rialto Bridge and San Marco and (b) because of the throng of people propelling us in all tourist directions.

Last night we managed to find a small wine bar that at least didn’t have a “turistico menu” and enjoyed a few red wines of the barkeeps choosing and today we walked. And walked. And walked. And have I mentioned walked? We covered a lot of territory but, when we checked the map, it wasn’t much at all!

We marvelled at how here, in Italy, the norms look amazing. Washing hanging on a clothesline is worthy of 16 photos and a broken window pane looks quaint instead of derelict. Jack is somewhat smitten with Venice though we all agree it’s a place to visit not to live.

… continued. 

… “No”.
We arrived in Verona around 5pm without a reservation but only a little concerned until we found out about the “horses”. It seemed that we had arrived on the eve of Verona’s biggest weekend … some exhibition of show horses … and barely a room was available. Good. Jackson took charge and hit the phone.

First call … inglese? Si. Room? No. Second call … inglese? No. Ummm. Room? Si. So the next hour was spent with jack trying to negotiate with the crazy italian lady, who spoke only slightly more english than we spoke italian. We rocked up at the house only for her to call and say “oh no, complete, complete” and then point on the map to (we find out later) her ‘other’ place. She knew some english, “language is very important” and “60 euros” but she was really friendly and she drove us through Verona babbling in very fast italian the entire trip. I was left exhausted just from listening but Jack was excited.

Unfortunately, we only had enough time to wander down from our new abode into the town and have some pasta and vino rosso before heading to bed.

… we ended up in the same carriage as an annoying, older aussie couple
on our trip from Lucerne to Verona. They were easy to pick, they were
the one’s who made absolutely no effort to speak German or Italian.
Instead they just prattled on in broad Aussie to the very patient
train man about whether his tea was good. While we were struggling at
least we were trying. Usually people see the confusion in our eyes and
repeat themselves in English.

… but what about the Swiss?

Today we did some wandering around Lucerne. We wanted to take a trip
up Mt. Pilatus but it was drizzling which would mean not much of a
view at the end of 2 hours travel. Plus, we had some serious food to
work off!

Last night we found a restaurant that had English translations on it’s
menu board - thank you! We shared a fondue - when in Switzerland - and
then Jack had some type of sausage and potatoes while I had pork
schnitzel with a creamy mushroom sauce and butter noodles … apparently
the dollop of whipped cream on top was not optional. Yes, whipped
cream on top of my creamy sauce which unfortunately melted before I
could argue making for some very creamy deliciousness.

Ah Switzerland … chocolate (yes Ngaire, that chocolate), roasted nuts,
fondue, cream and meat!

…. to schedule so much for our first day, but we managed it!

There were no exit rows to be had but luckily the plane wasn’t full so we had room to move about. We’re not quite experienced enough at this travelling business though as the seasoned pros had the smarts to nab the empty rows of four to lie down in early. We thought of it but “flightplan” prevented me from acting.

So two planes, a shuttle bus and two trains later we arrived in Heidelberg. My gamble paid off and we were able to stash our packs in baggage lockers at the train station. Freed of our 11 kilos (yes, that’s all and yes, my pack is 0.3 kilos lighter than Jack’s) we spent a few hours exploring Heidelberg before taking two more trains to reach Lucerne, food and bed, sweet bed.

TODAY’S FAVORITE SAYING : “Sorry, Sprechen sie Englisch?”