The Italian Leg

My apologies to start with for the delay in this latest leg of the blog; anyway no worries, its here.

My dilemma, well more of a mild decision really was to continue along the Danube and either into Romania or cross over the Balkans. Neither option appeared ideal and from a selfish perspective decided to add a couple of hundred kilometers and backtrack to Italy and across to Greece and into Istanbul. Well, having achieved half that leg I'm so glad I took that option, Italy was sensational.

The train departed from Budapest and headed to Vienna then Salzburg and Innsbuck where I had to change to catch the connection to Verona. It was an evening departure and loading the bikes onto the train (always an effort since the carriages are about three feet higher than the platform and Cynthia isn't exactly user friendly in that regard. Assistance came in the form of a feller called Harith who lived in London and who had himself cycled out to Budapest, in about a quarter of the time it took me. He had a road bike with two panniers, total weight 10 kilos and being a fit 21 year old used to the cycling rigours of London was averaging 200 kms a day!!!!!! Some feat and were I wearing a corbine I would take it off to him. Really good bloke, spent an excellent few hours in his company; he was heading to Zurich and back to London.

Arrived in Innsbruck at 4am ish and had a five hour wait. Had a brief nap in the waiting room before chatting to a security guy who very kindly opened the lost and found office so that I could store the bike and watch the sun rise over the Alps. For those who havent visited Innsbruck, it is something, surrounded by jagged peaks and a clear view of the ski jump from the station. Well worth the walk. The journey through the Alps was something, beautiful, very glad I didn't have to cycle them though. Arrived in Verona early afternoon.

Verona
Not enough adjectives for this magnificent city. Even if you don't appreciate opera, which I don't, it still has that something that grabs you. The focal point is the Arena, fronted at one point by three sphinx covered in hyroglyphics. But more of the Arena later. Close by was the tourist information centre which is invariably the first port of call. I queued in the accommodation line to be addressed by a lady who, when I asked if there was a hostel for around 20 euros in the vicinity, was met by a full-on Italian glare. 'We only deal with hotels here', came the curt reply, as her eyes cast bolts of fire at the image of oil stained shorts, a sweat stained T shirt and a scarf around my neck. Not exactly dressed to kill, I will conceed but, there I was, and if she could have driven me out of the city limits then and there, I think she would have. 'So I take it, that's a no then' I replied. Fortunately, a young assistant was watching this who spoke perfect English. She invited me over and producing a street map directed me to the one hostel and a campsite as an alternative. She even knew what they all charged; there is a lot to be said for finding the right queue first time. The hostel was about 20 minutes away, ideal, and was a former Villa. Architecturally magnificent, I have never stayed in a 36 bed dorm before, it wasn't full. The ablutions were neolithic, built of stone, incredible. I have never stayed in a hostel where the rules were so many, even what you could eat for breakfast. Still, it didn't bother me. That evening I walked around the city; afflent doesn't begin to describe it. The restaurants surrounding one half of the Arena were doing a brisk trade with diners of all languages waiting for the gates to open and the opera to begin. I quickly realised that in Italy, never sit down at a table with a cloth, especially if laid: it's expensive; also, if you observe the waiter dressed in waistcoat, avoid for the same reason. It is a real pleasure walking around the narrow streets with all the branded shop names (Primark, Poundstretcher etc) I jest, and people watch. The most gorgeous girls on scooters mingling with the crowds; just wonderful.

Venice
The following day I took the train to Venice for the day. I set off early and arrived mid morning. I cannot think of any view more stunning when exiting Venice SL (Santa Louisa) Station. Certainly not the dive that is Liverpool Street in London. Quite simply surreal; the station opened up to a vista of canals and stunning architecture, it was almost surreal. Carefully avoiding the tour operators, I walked through the streets to the Rialto bridge, St Marks Square, and kept going. Every corner, every turn was just wonderful; narrow streets, restaurants, shops. I spent a few minutes watching cargo boats being unloaded; the water equivalent of Parcel Force, with goods loaded onto large trollies. Even saw I boat decked out in its international livery of yellow and orange. Fortunately, it wasn't overcrowded so you could keep moving easily. I decided on lunch, well it was that or a gondola ride, and as I was on my own it didn't seem quite the thing.I was on the look out for a shirt, not cotton, as the sweat stays heavy, but a football type polyester which is quick drying and keeps more in shape. As most will know I am the proud possesser of an Argyle shirt, which gets an airing. The choice of shirts was pretty good; quickly discounted those with Rooney and Gerrard on the back; considered Messi. I bypassed the array of Italian shirts and thankfully there were no French shirts. Strangely, they didn't have an Argyle shirt, so settled eventually on a tasteful Chelsea home shirt with Torres on the back!! So much to see and enjoy what a place.

I stayed in Verona for two nights, planning my route and taking in the City. If I had the readies, I could spend quite a bit of time there. Real class. The lady at the hostel, who hitherto had appeared somewhat direct, was extremely sweet when I asked for directions out of town! Well she was. One thing a cyclist needs to know about Italy, is where you can cycle (I won't say safely, not the way the Italians drive) and where you have to avoid. Clearly, only someone not of this planet would contemplate trying to cycle on the autostrada; definately off limits. Also entering and exiting cities, dual carriageways are off limits as well, and this presented me with a constant problem in these areas. However, this lady knew her stuff and put me right on to a minor road. Being full of ice cream and raring to go, enjoying perfect weather conditions, I made the Adriatic Coast by early evening, a total of 183 kilometers, my best yet. I found a campsite, staggered into the tent and slept. I would have paid anything, on this occassion 22 euros. Italy is not cheap, and all the way through this beautiful country, the thing that really bugged was that I had to pay the same as a motor home, or a 6 man tent, invariably squashed into an area that wasn't that big. A lot of the sites were jam packed, like sardines, but like anywhere, the summer is where these places make their money. I tried the old soldier routine, but never met with success.

The following morning I headed down the coast to a city called Ravenna. Now for cyclists, this place was as close to a black hole as you could get; once in never out!Throughout Italy I cycled on, or by the SS16, essentially the coast road. No chance of cycling on this route out of Ravenna though, dual carriageway. While people try and help with directions, I quickly realised that I was going nowhere, so ended up on a minor road to Bologna, and ending up doing a very large circle to Cervia on the coast. As well as I had travelled the day befor, it was that bad that day, such are the joys and frustrations of cycling.

From Cervia to Rimini. Now I have seen hideous pictures of Rimini in the 70's when it matched Benedorm as the grot resort of Europe. No longer, I was impressed with the city. Yes its what it is, but so much better than I had envisaged; new hotels, reminded me of a big Bournemouth. It was great cycling along part of the coast, looking at the Adriatic. In that heat I was consuming 10-12 litres of liquid, hardly anything touched the sides, straight down. The water in my bottles became warm in 10 minutes, literally, so it was cafes or supermarkets where I tanked up.

Over the next few days I visited Pesaro, Ancona, Pescara, and a beautiful town Termoli. I was struck down with a bug so on two occassions frog hopped on the train where the topography was steep or decidedly uninteresting as around the peninsula close to Foggia. I suppose in all I lost around 120-140 kms. The one thing I will say about Italian trains is that they are cheap. They also allow you to get off and continue your journery the following day on different trains if you can. Cannot imagine the jobsworths on our railways being so accommodating. I love the sheer abandonment Italians display when they either see each other or say goodbye. Where on earth would you get the conductor walking down half the platform to invite a couple in passioate embrace (one on the train, the other on the platform) to separate so that he can close the doors and get the train moving! With a cycle you are restricted to local services, but that'sok. There is still the problem of lifting Cynthia 3 feet into the air onto the train, and reversing the process getting off. Invariably someone will help you, even the driver! The Italians are great, so friendly and will try and help whenever possible. I find there expressive ways so amusing, why say something that only your friends will hear when you can tell the whole street! And the hand and arm expressions to go with the vocalisation works a treat. Like the central Europeans and the Greeks; the Italians smoke like chimneys. Now I have no problem with this, I don't mind having a beer and the waft of smoke coming across. It may make medical sense not to smoke and treat people who do like a pariah as the nanny state do in the UK, but I'm for freedom of choice.

The night before arriving in Bari I stayed on a site in Bisceglie. What another gem of a place. Orening the tent flap and the Adriatic right by you. I couldn't figure why this site was half empty given the facilities (UK style loos) unlike some of the old French type 'stand and crap' that were prevalent in the 60's when I went to France and were common in the sites on the way down through Italy. Well I found out, since next door was a night club and opposite a hotel, and clearly a battle raged in decibel count as to which venue could make the most noise. Think the club did it, finishing at a very respectable 5.30am! Of course you are up at 7am anyway as the tent becomes a sauna. So I and others trooped out the following morning (I had intended to anyway) and I felt really sorry for the owners daughter who was somewhat upset and invited me to stay for the extra night at the same rate. I assume she had met with little success with those who preceeded me since nobody did a 'U' turn.

I cycled into Bari, again being prevented from continuing along the dreaded SS16 and having to drag Cynthia across scrubland and along a dirt track (sounds like the things she used to get up to in her old Harborough days!)and dry river bed to get to a road that would eventually take me to the port.

The ferry departed at 8pm and after stops in Corfu and Ignoumista arrived in Patras to 41 degrees at 1pm. So now I am sitting here in this terrific internet cafe compiling this. I found a hostel where there was only one other chap there. Need to call in on a superb bike shop I passed. Think I might invest in a saddle cover, since although my Brookes id well worn in, when I go over any bumps (a frequent occurrence) up to 6 rivits do there best to embed themselves in my arse! Also invest in a decent pair of cycling gloves to help the grip change.

So from Patras, its onto Delfi, Lamia,Larrissa, Thessalonika, and on to Istanbul. Already I have noted, things in Greece are cheaper than Italy which is good news. Early morning starts to avoid the sun, we have apparently been promised temperatures with a 4 in front all week. Looking forward to this leg, I think progress will be slower due to the topography but thats the way it is and it should be worth it. Cheers.