Early Morning Shower

I looked out of the youth hostel window early this morning to see someone sleeping in the city park next door. Ten minutes later he was gone. They switch on the lawn sprinklers early in Lyon.

Living It Up – Lyon, Sept 15th

The youth hostel in Lyon, set high on the hill in the old quarter, gives a spectacular view of the city, especially at night. It is in an old building, six to a room and an en-suite shower without an extraction fan. So the amenities aren’t great but the location is wonderful and they have a bar, with real Belgian beer.

End of the Line – Sept 15th

OK, I cheated. I took the train all the way to Lyon, just to get out of the heat, and cramp, and exhaustion.

Now I have no more excuses. I can cycle home from here in the seven remaining days, much of it along ‘voies vertes’ routes besides the canals designed for peaceful cycling. It will even take me via Paris for a different route home.

Sur le Pont – Avignon, Sept. 15th

OK, I was hasty, I may have been down on Provence but Avignon is lovely, perhaps even too lovely in that 'cleaned-up for tourists' sort of way. But enough harping, it is a beautiful walled city, bustling with life, some great culture, nice people in the tourist office and four, yes four, internet cafes. It gets my vote. That’s the measure of a town that welcomes all types of people.

I even cycled round to see the bridge and sang the song that they taught us in our first French lessons at school. No one took any notice so here it is again.

(lilting)

Sur le pont, d’Avignon
L’on y dancer, l’on y dancer

Sur le pont, d’Avignon

L’on y dancer, toute en rond

(slower)

Les belles dames font comme ca

Les messieurs font comme ca

(lilt again)

Sur le pont, d’Avignon

L’on y dancer, toute en rond

Brie Encounter

I bought a cheese last night, it looked a bit like Brie. That reminds me of my student hitching days. Back then I kept one in my backpack from Nice to Paris, for about four days. It got so ripe and runny that the smell got to Paris ahead of me. I was not the sophisticated gourmand that life has since made me and didn’t know it this was good or bad for a French cheese but those around soon told me.

A Day in Provence

This may not be popular but I am going to give Provence just ‘deux points’ for the cyclist in summer. I am sure that it is fine for a lazy holiday where you sit and drink wine, read a book and maybe search out an artist’s studio.

But for the energetic cyclist who has places to go it doesn’t endear itself. I have spoken about the pricey campsite. Add to this the relentless sun so that you can’t keep enough salts in you to cycle the whole day, even with supplements. So maybe the attractions are passing me by but I am going to get the train to cooler climes and find a river to cycle along. Somewhere that is more temperate. Somewhere that has a cloud.

Stony Ground – Septemes-les-Vallons, Sept. 14th

Do not come camping in Provence, at least not by yourself as they charge ‘un bras et un jambe’ for a measly tent pitch. Over 18 Euros for a night in a quarry next to the autoroute. Actually, I didn’t really pitch the tent, I sort of balanced it, as the ground was too hard to take a peg.

On the positive side, they do have a plug in the sink so that you can fill it to wash your clothes. That’s because it is run by two women who think of such things. They must be worth a fortune with this little gold mine, or should I say rock quarry? I am thinking of heading back to Switzerland, it was cheaper there.

Not So Keen On…

Beachside retaining walls. What is the use of topless sunbathing if the beach wall obscures the view? Probably just as well though as I would likely fall off my bike.

In Praise of…

Beachside showers. So useful and near at hand for the passing cyclist in the baking sun. And they space them out so conveniently.

Saddle Up – Nice, Sept. 14th

It had to be done, to get back on Bike and set off home. Sally left for the airport and I picked up the coastal road from Nice. And what a wonderful ride it proved to be: Nice, Antibes, Juan Les Pins, Cannes – all those evocative names that lived up to their billing.

A cycle path takes you most of the way, alongside the beach, the sun shining and people out relaxing. The centre of Antibes with it’s covered market is like stepping back in time in a Renoir painting while Villeneuve Loubet with its futuristic apartment blocks shaped like sails in the wind, offers a reminder of modern times: they built it across the cycle path which comes to a dead end. However, the search for an alternative route reaps even greater dividends as it takes you through the stylish yacht marina.

And so onto Cannes, where the recommendation was to head inland to skirt the Massif de l’Esterel. This proved a daunting feat to reach the col at 1,000ft mainly because the baking sun causes leg cramps but the long downward ride into to Frejus was a suitable reward - almost.

Oh Demain! – Nice, Sept. 13th

It is lovely of Antonia to welcome Sally and I to Nice and invite us to have dinner at her sister’s house. She met us at the station and I cycled behind as she drove Sally to her apartment along the sea front and just a little way up the hills behind. Good practice for me as I start the trek home tomorrow.

Everything is relaxed until her sister hears that we have arrived – one day earlier than she expected. Apparently preparations for dinner have become more frantic so Antonia took us on a sightseeing trip to see the waterfall, far above all the pandemonium. But the results were delicious

Jewels in the Azure Blue

The train hugged the coastal mountains on its journey from La Spezia to Genoa. Passing through tunnel after tunnel on a spectacular ride. This region is so rugged that the rail track is the main communication link of each resort or fishing village strung along the blue Ligurian Sea. It looked idyllic

Boys-About-Town

They got on the train heading for Genoa, those young Italian men. On their way home from work. And did they look the part. Well cut beige suits, stud ear rings, sharp side-burns shaved to a point, knitted wool ties and cool blue dress shirts, soft leather shoes, stylish sun glasses and, of course, the latest mobile phones. And in some cases perhaps just a hint of gay.

We watched their antics - the bubbling conversation, games on their mobiles and numerous texts sent and received – wondering what work they actually did. I plumbed for something in travel or retail where their gregarious talents would be well suited and rewarded. But Sally got it right: they blitz each town to persuade householders to switch their domestic energy supplier. I am sure they were successful. After all, who could resist their charms? They were electric.

Auto Stopped

I have seen just two hitch hikers – a couple outside of Florence – on the whole trip. What a change from forty years ago when I hitched around Europe for the summer. Back then you had to wait in line on the exit roads of each city for your turn to catch a ride.

Now all the main highways and autostradas have signs saying ‘no autostop’. Who decided on that? And on what grounds? It is clearly people who no longer have any interest in doing it themselves. Maybe the ones who were in front of me in the queue back then. It can’t be for safety reasons. I am sure that not many people got hurt hitching and, just like them, I can make up some numbers to prove it.

In my view it’s the demise of a great institution. It helped young people get around and led to conversations, a mixing of people of different wealth and age groups, who otherwise may be antagonistic. Avoided stereotyping.

Of course, it may have died out because young people have more money, higher expectations and less patience.  With more affordable air travel they now head off around the world for their gap year instead of across Europe. But I will never know since I won’t meet them hitching any more. I will just have to live with my stereotype.

The good news is that the roads are empty for anyone who wants to try it. The queues have gone. Now's the time to go.

Apportioning the Blame

This is going to sound stupid but please remember it is sympathy that I need not ridicule. We left Handlebar Box under the table in the agriturismo in Cantalupo. I say we, because Sally had a hand in it. You see she went off to pay the bill and left me to load the car. It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t look under the kitchen table. Why would I, as I am not sure that I put the box there in the first place? Anyway, I shouldn’t take all the blame. She shouldn’t have left me with all that responsibility. Besides I don’t normally leave things when I am travelling by myself so that proves it was her fault.

And to add to my woes, I am still trying to work out why Sally made me store one of the panniers upside down in the boot of the car so that the bicycle oil leaked out. She wasn’t even in the country when I picked up and loaded the rental car. It just shows what influence she has. Scary.

Full Circle - Florence

Here we are on the edge of Florence in a hotel not 50 metres from the road I cycled along in my misguided adventure to find the youth hostel some twelve days ago.

Today we came via Arezzo sitting in the same piazza where Sally claims we brought the children ten years ago. At least that’s what she says. I couldn’t remember the place, even with its colourful banners and sloping, cobbled paving. I am pretty sure I would recall somewhere like that. Must be getting a little bit forgetful. But if you want to know where I was twelve days ago then I’m your man.

Tell It Like It Is

When I get a job in the Tourist Information Office, in my next life, I shall throw myself into the role applying all the lessons that I’ve learnt on this and last year’s trip.

Firstly: Enthusiasm. I will instil in the visitor the belief that they have just entered God’s Own Country, that by sheer happenstance they have happened upon the most picturesque, interesting, historical and enchanting place. I will be assisted in this by huge posters of the region displayed behind me. Lesson learned from the vivacious girl on the Serbian Danube and more recently in Crema.

Secondly, while of course listening to what the person wants to see, I shall have an Opinion and give my advice freely, with suggestions and alternatives. As dear old Donald would put it, there are known-unknown and unknown-unknowns (perhaps he should work along side me as a second career offering personal  rendition to some exciting local site). Yes, we must help as the tourists often do not know what they want. They need some direction.

Finally and most importantly, I shall use my time in those quiet moments in the off-season to ring around and check the details of the information that I am so confidently doling out. Is that campsite, B&B or agriturismo still open? Does the internet café still exist? And I shall be very insistent that, should they close temporarily for their own vacation, then they tell me, or else get struck off permanently. And they will do it, for like Google, everyone will want to be at the top of my recommendations list. Then I could be sure that I am not sending hopeful tourists of on some wild-goose chase to somewhere that has long since closed. As so often happened to me.

Time to Go

The food and hospitality of our hill-top agriturismo has been wonderful but signs are appearing that it is time to go. After six days we are the longest serving guests - that sounds like a punishment. A more tangible sign is that the evening menu is starting to repeat itself, or at least some dishes, with a surprising rapidity. Mangia (a beef stew with spinach and carrot) was served again as the third course. That’s twice in three days. OK, our friendly waiter described it differently each time but I wasn’t to be fooled.

There are other delights to lessen the slight disappointment of this surprising laziness. Like caramelised onion in a puff pastry nest with Parmesan sauce. The sharpness of the cheese combining wonderfully with the rich sweetness of the onion. But then come the desserts where Crème Catalano has made frequent appearances and the chocolate alternative doesn’t quite cut it - nothing stacks up against Sally's. Yes it’s been a delight but now it’s time to move on.

Bath Night

Sitting in the peaceful loggia drinking our customary evening glass of rich red Montefalco wine high above the Nera valley, the lights below coat the plain and sides of the distant hills. This pattern retells the history of the region from medieval times. The fertile farmland of the valley provided the wealth so coveted by the neighbouring city states of Sienna, Florence and Perugia.

Centuries before it was the Goths, who came to rampage, pillage and destroy. This drove the inhabitants further up the hillsides building their walled towns for sanctuary. So the bathtub ring rose ever higher.

In more recent times it has been the tourists who come to immerse themselves in the artistic, architectural and culinary waters and to wash away their modern day stress with a glass of Montefalco wine.

Quo Vadis?

So where does it go, all this verbiage I write? To collect dust on some internet site? History says yes, but then history is behind us. So maybe, just maybe there’s a wider world out there waiting for such windows on wandering. Waiting without yet knowing it. Sally had the idea. A book, a film, a mini-series? Harry Potter eat your heart out. Now to convince someone else. Someone with the where-with-all to help make it happen.

Buying Time - Assisi

We have done it all in one morning. Well Sally has. She bought the tasteful prints that will soon hang in our dining room to remind us of the Italian holiday. It seems obligatory. Our house is a shrine to vacations past. But we didn't stop there. We even bought the forgotten birthday present, plus a gift for a friend and a few postcards.

What a morning. I am exhausted. OK, she did all the work but I played my part. Time spent hanging around outside the shop and wandering off up the street is just as vital. Of course I was there when the important decisions were made. To agree with her choice. So the presents have my imprint as well. A job well done. That's what I say. Now I can relax from such stress and enjoy the holiday.

Missed the Market

It was my idea. I had it many years ago when Christo, the Bulgarian landscape sculptor/artist, wrapped famous buildings in miles of white sheets. Typically I did not act on the brain wave. Now all ancient buildings under renovation have printed drapes to maintain their facade while works continues behind. But now I have another idea, why stop there. You could revitalise a whole town with some well placed tasteful tapestry and even forget about any masonry work. Who needs it now that the buildings behind don't actually look like that. Some places are vitally in need of such work. But I won't mention them.

Spoleto is Full

One of those unfortunate incidents. You drive into a town for no particular reason other than to see it, just part of your day-long meandering. Then the traffic queue starts as you enter. There is something going on. All the parking places are taken, indeed all the non-parking places as well, this being Italy. The road out of town leads no where so you have to turnaround and repeat the process. Perhaps it's a festival or celebration of the wine harvest that would really make it worth stopping but the smell of candyfloss gives it away. A funfair is not worth the hassle. It is a good reason to move on, a little more frazzled that when you arrive but still a good decision.

I Saw Myself Coming

We passed a solitary trekking cyclist coming the other way loaded down with panniers, tent and helmet. The sight was not what I expected. I see myself as a Don Quixote on Cervantes, a gallant knight of the road cutting a swathe through the countryside. He looked a bit like a bag man. 

Now we just caught a glimpse as we sped by but it does raise cause for concern. I shall have to think more about my image. It needs......streamlining. Or.... I could go for the paysan look, acquiring bottles of wine, olive oil and cheese all stuffed in the panniers with strings of onions and garlic drooped over the handlebars. Perhaps a beret and neckerchief. Of course I would have to discard some of my belongings to make room, like the non-functioning camping stove. Yes, I think I need a new me. More in touch with the artisan than the soup kitchen.

The Route Home

It is beginning to loom, that cycle trip home. As before I have to be slow out and fast back as there is a deadline to meet and yet 1000 kms into 10 days doesn't go. It could but then why kill myself? So the train will take the pain for some of it. But which part of the route to miss out? It's raining in northern Europe so that may decide me. Cycle up the Rhone, up the Saone, back along the Marne and then train to the coast. Maybe all the trains go via Paris, France being such a supposedly centralised country. A map would help in these decisions so I will put tem off until later

Byron's Pools

As I may have said before, I have a friend who visited us in Hamburg. He came with a mission to sample German Sausages. It made him very easy to entertain always having a supplemental aim to the daily outing. Plus a feeling of accomplishment afterwards.

I think Lord Byron had the same strategy. His was to visit ponds or small lakes. There's one in Granchester, just outside Cambridge, and now this one outside of Spoleto, called Fonti del Clitumno. Of course he was famous so his visits were chronicled. My friend never got a single sausage named after him. but then Byron was a Romantic and died for his cause. It's a high price to pay. I am sure there are other Byron pools, likely in Greece and the Balkans that I haven't got to yet. Maybe I will make that my mission.

Alternative Definitions

Perugia (n) def: An affliction of holiday makers involving aimless wandering  through olive oil, wine and textile shops to buy that 'special something' to take back home. Most often seen in the British female in Italy while the male sits patiently on a bench up the street. (v) To peruse. To look without buying.

The Party Line

We looked at the religious frescos in the church at Montefalco today. Full of saints and members of the Church hierarchy from the early Medieval times. Their subjects were captured for posterity and given a good press.

I also bought a copy of the Guardian newspaper. It made depressing reading with tales of rendition, failed economic policies and knee jerk explanations of the recent UK riots. The Establishment were working hard to regain control and solidify their reputations for posterity. It was like modern day frescos.

Then I read about Steve Cougan fighting News International to prove phone hacking and the Guardian/LSE independent study of the riots, when no Government led one was being proposed. So it seemed that the positive news came from those trying to shed light on shady dealings. This often doesn't get recorded in the official frescos. It is in the graffiti and cartoons. I should look for those in the church.

I Know a Thing or Two

Put me in a Time Machine and send me back a few centuries and I would wow them. That was what I thought. With the huge amount of stuff that I know and they don't, like history and 'how to make things', I could help avoid all their mistakes and speed along their development. They would love me. Or that's how the theory went. Now I am not so sure.

In the Fish Museum alongside Lake Trasimeno they described how fish were caught (roach, funnily enough, there's a message there) back in the 14th and 15th Centuries. They would throw branches in the shallow lake to build a tower. This gave the fish a safe environment to over-winter and then in the Spring they'd surrounded it with their nets and catch them all.

Very clever stuff. I am not sure that I would have thought of that. Having first failed in the technical stuff I would also have been lousy at all the Machiavellian politics that seems to be an important skill around here back then. What with Lombardians warring with Umbrians. And Umbrians with Siennans. No, politically they would have eaten me alive

So I like to think that I have these transferable skills but now it seems that they may not be the right ones after all. I'd better stay here and hold off building that Time Machine.

Trip and Dip

Sally and I have agreed that a planned excursion each day followed by a dip in the pool is excellent use of our time. It will avoid the aimless wandering in the midday heat through hill top towns. Yesterday Lake Trasimeno was voted a success. The sight of water, a cool breeze, the boat trip, water side picnic, gelato and fish (yes fish museum) filled the day nicely. I would have liked to have visited the scene of Hannibal's greatest victory over Rome on the top end of the lake but you can only fit so much into one day and be back in time for that dip in the pool.

The Old Ones

Small Black Dog reminded me of one that appeared on television when I was a child. There was a Magic Roundabout sort of programme on just before the 6 o'clock evening news. He told the best joke I heard as a child. "What's 5 and 6? Three pounds of dog food" OK it only worked in pre-decimalisation times but as a 12 year old it cracked me up. It's in the same genre as "What's a Greek urn? About £3 a day". I admit that they may lose something in the passing of the years.

Hidden Talents, Cantalupo - Sept 6th

There are two dogs where we are staying. A large slow honey-coloured Labrador and a Small Black Dog, a Maisie look-alike that could in fact be a mop head. They both come for walks with us in the evening. Always the same one (there is no where else to go), down the road and back again. They seem to like the gentle exercise and the company. Especially the lab, he never misses a day.

But last night I saw a new side to him. He brought his rubber ball to the dinner table and dropped it at my feet. I am such a sucker for this. Both dogs wanted to play. So I threw it and the lab got there first. Over the next half an hour we played the game but what amazed me was the lab's eye-mouth coordination. He could catch it in mid-air, on the fly or after just one bounce. In fact, however hard I threw it the ball never got past him. The slow lumbering ambler had turned into a highly tuned athlete. One who should play in the slips for the English cricket team. It was lab's ball and he was keeping it. Small Black Dog never got a look in.

Slow Conversion - Cantalupo - Sept 6th

I am catching on to the Slow Food movement. I always knew it was there but now I am beginning to understand what it is all about. We've been eating local cheese, drunk local wine, enjoyed local pork and sampled local olive oil, much of it produced on the premises in small quantities for local people. It is not branded. It comes in bottles without labels. It doesn't need accompanying information except that given verbally when it is served. It doesn't come with an image, a brand or a manufactured reputation. It is served confidently by the producer so he or she stands by  the integrity of their product.

We do it in England in a small way but often we feel the need to add a layer of marketing, to build demand, to extend distribution. Which kind of defeats the purpose. Here in Italy this isn't fast food rushed to the consumer. It's slow. That makes all the difference. Made with local knowledge from local ingredients.

So I am going to do my bit, just as soon as I get home. I am going to bake more bread and cook more fish. But no wild promises that may be difficult to keep. I am just going to take it slowly.

Getting Religion

Maybe it's all these churches we have visited but I've been thinking again. I'm agnostic, no, make that atheist from when I was old enough to ponder such things. I held the view that perhaps in the past when life could be so fickle, so desperate, that I too would have grasped at such a route to hope. But now it smacks of organised dependency, providing wealth and prestige for the hierarchy.

Better to let everyone build their own moral code drawing on their own influences and character. But seeing how important religion can be to some of my Lebanese friends, plus the recent events/riots in the UK suggests that this individual approach is a rocky road and some may decide to wander off it. Perhaps religion can provide the bus to carry more people down it.

So maybe I was too young and hasty in dismissing it. Or maybe I am being too impatient. Perhaps individual social and moral development is a slow process with leaps and set backs and therefore I should have more confidence and be patient. Or maybe we haven't yet had a cultural/economic/environmental catastrophe sufficient to prove my way wrong and that we should indeed all get religion.

Changing Views - Sept 5th

With time to think I have started to challenge my views. Does change come through moral commitment? I'm doubtful. Lifestyle change to reduce global warming, financial constraint to avoid debt and even out the social wealth. I just can't see it happening even though many good people work and hope for such an ethical fix. No, self interest is a more powerful, universal force.

So what may work? Educational change to empower those losing out rather than expecting benevolence from those who aren't. Incentivize change rather than exhortation or enforcement. Use the economic levers rather than the regulatory stick. I wish it wasn't so. That people all worked for the community benefit, the greater good but I just don't see it.

The other possibility is working at the local level. Keep control in the community's hands. It may lead to suboptimal results but at least they are your suboptimal results. Of course no-man-is-an-island so events elsewhere in the world will impact on you but by building a more resilient local structure you may be better place to weather any storm and seek local consensus on what to do about it. This gets my vote.

Mission Creep - Bevagna - Sept 5th

We are watching the world go by in this hill top town having first ambled around to earn this rest. I am wearing that not so subtle checked shirt and shorts number bought especially for the holiday. It may as well have tourist emblazoned on the back but I think that our slow undirected wandering gives us away. Of course we could now do the Roman baths and the Roman theatre. We have done the alley ways and piazzas partly to research a suitable resting place. This small cafe with table in the shade got the combined vote. Now it's time to watch the other checked shirts walk by.

Driving Over Olives, Part 3 - Sept 5th

The turnaround is complete. This is the idyll that we had sought. Shaded patio, home grown food, comfortable airy room. An oasis of calm with historical interest just down the road should our reading matter pall and we need diversion.

Driving Over Olives, Part 2 - Sept 4th

The mutual gloom is unspoken, no need to add to it with words. The room dark and cramped in this mountain isolation. And yet the pool is clear and blue, Sally weaves her magic on the room and soon life is looking up. Surrounded by Italians and our names added to the restaurant which is booked out for the evening, this must be a favourite location for those in the know. If we wanted authentic then we've found it. Olive oil and Ruffino for the coming week.

Driving Over Olives, Part 1 - Cantalupo - Sept 4th

Drive over the mountains to Cantalupo for the next part of our holiday then follow the signs to the Agriturismo. Keep heading up the hill the instructions said. The road turns to a track, the track to a gulley. Now and again there is another sign to reassure and then, when doubt sets in, another as the track gets steeper. Will this really be the daily return journey to go explore? On still further until the track peters out and there it is, a hill top perch overlooking two valleys. An ecolodge, i.e. far enough away from anything to cause any damage. Our home for a week.

Scissor Sisters

It takes a lot to dance, at least in my case. To dance and really enjoy it. To let everything go. A mood, relaxation, the right music, the space and the partner. But when all these things come together then it's bliss. But Sally didn't want to. Understandable perhaps, so why did I sulk? Because it was likely to be the last opportunity before the night drew to a close? Still not reason enough to take the huff. I look at myself sometimes and see that the child is still there.

Lebanese Wedding 3 - Pre-approved

It's all part of a wider social process. The wedding guests are a carefully selected group of family, friends and friends of friends, from a well defined economic and social strata. And this affords one generation influence over the next. The unstated message is: here are some approved candidates for you to consider. Arranged marriage is no longer so appropriate in these modern times but pre-approval can take its place

Lebanese Wedding 2 - Costume Drama

A wedding takes some serious planning and some serious money but it is probably exceeded by that invested in the ladies dresses. All the looking and browsing and shopping and trying and thinking and matching and preparing - and of course, slimming. Particularly so if you are of the 'pairing' age. For this can have a lifelong payback.

The result is not just an artistic creation but often an engineering marvel. For the aim is to create disbelief, tantalise and play tricks on the eye with colour and line, invention, daring and surprise.. The audience is everyone, your potential suitor, your female friends and your own self. It is all a performance and you are on show.

And yet all this is a one-time event, for the next celebration will require a new dress. Novelty is essential. The stakes are high. The rewards well worth the investment.