The Go See Run Eat Drink Generic City Guide

You all know I’m a Lonely Planet gal. And though I love a good fling with Rick Steves when he’s available, I am committed to a long-term serial relationship with a seemingly endless string of fat blue €30 books that I use, abuse and then break up with on a regular basis. I am one with the LP. However that doesn’t mean I don’t get a bit bored with things every once in a while. It’s a long-term relationship, and like all long term relationships you just can’t keep the magic going forever. So with the greatest affection, I offer you the Go See Run Eat Drink Generic Guide to Any European City, just fill in the blanks.

Information:

There can be no doubt that ___ is one of ___'s premiere destinations. Situated midway between the north / south / east / west coast and the mountains / ___ River / Industrial Heart, ___ is a vibrant city with much to offer the traveler. A large population of university students keeps ___ lively, and the city's historic centre is full of Roman ruins, medieval churches, bustling market stalls and upscale boutiques; there’s something for everyone. Truly, ___ is a city of contrasts. And don't be intimidated by the language, locals will always appreciate a hearty Bonjour! / Ola! / God Morgen! / Buon Giorno! and most young people speak excellent English.

Start your visit at ___ Square/Plaza/Campo/Piazza, ___'s spiritual and cultural centre (Metro ___, bus 17, 25, 35). The Tourist Information Office is located just a few metres off the Square, behind the statue of ___, Patron Saint / Victorious General / Founder / Most Famous Son of ___. The friendly staff at the TI can help you book a walking tour of the historic quarter (€12), or a sell you a bus ticket for one of the 156 slightly different hop-on hop-off open-topped double-decker bus tours offered (€25, good for 24 hours. €35 for 48 hours).

Winner of the 2003 "Europe's Most Livable City (Pop. 117,500 - 117,600 Category), ___ takes great pride in the ___ Festival, celebrating all things ___. Visit in July for displays / performances / competitions of the local folk dance / pastry / stringed instrument / hand crafted ___. It's all ___ all the time during ___ Days!

Dangers and Annoyances:

___ is a relatively safe city, but visitors should always be aware of pickpockets that operate in the popular tourist areas. Watch out for any commotion as it’s likely a way to distract your attention from the roving gangs of gypsy children who can strip an unwary traveler down to his or her underwear in 21.7 seconds.

Sights:

The most important site in ___ is certainly the grand Cathedral / Basilica / Eglise / Duomo / Chiesa of St. ___. (Map #235, admission free, Hours: 9:00am – 3:30pm M-Sa, Su. only open for religious services). Started in the 14th century and completed in 1987, it was built on the site of an 11th century church, that was built over the remains of the first Christian church from the 9th century, that was converted from a Roman Temple of the 4th century, that was erected at the site of a bit of flattened-down turf presumed to have been used in prehistoric fertility rites dating to 973 BC. A magnificent example of perpendicular / Gothic / Renaissance / Counter-Reformation architecture, the facade features 392 individual sculptures representing local figures of the time / apostles / saints / the Muses / the Virtues. Also be sure to visit the chapel of St. ___, where there’s a lovely fresco by ___. Visits to the crypt available by appointment only (Call ahead, admission €5.00).

While the Cathedral might reign over the historic centre of town, ___’s Castle / Chateau / Kremlin / Castello / Fortezza dominates the skyline. An easy 75 minute amble uphill will reward the visitor with a breathtaking vista of the city. Walk along the remains of the castle walls, and visit the lavishly decorated and meticulously restored upper level apartments of the ___ family (Map #294, admission €6.00/€3.00/free adults/EU citizens under 25 or over 60/children under 12, Hours: 10:00am – 6:30pm every day). There’s also a pricey café on the lower terrace that offers indifferent food, but wonderful views.

Those interested in delving deeper into the life and career of the painter / sculptor / composer / architect / designer / soldier ___ (undoubtedly ___'s most famous citizen) can find plenty to keep them busy. Real enthusiasts might want to consider buying the ___ Pass, which gives access to all of the sights surrounding ___'s life: The ___ Museum, ___'s Birthplace, the ___ Studio, #37 ___ Street (home of ___'s mistress from 18xx to 18xx), and the lesser-known café / bar / garret where ___ spent much of his time as a student.

Most visitors to ___ will also want to take in the Archeological Museum (Map #978, admission €12.00/€8.00/free adults/EU citizens under 25 or over 60/children under 12, Hours: 8:30am – 3:30pm Tu-Fri, Closed M, 12:30pm – 12:45pm Sa, 6:30am-8:00am Su). The museum displays unidentifiable potsherds and the vague traces of a ruined Roman villa (including 28 square inches of pristine mosaic floor tiles), that were unearthed during the 1997 excavation of the Via / Rue / Correia / Avenida ___ to make way for a new electronics megastore and a Spar shop.

The ___ Gallery (Map #1845, admission €7.00/€3.00/free adults/EU citizens under 25 or over 60/children under 12, Hours: 9:30am – 6:30pm Tu-Su, Closed M) has a nice collection of modern art, including a lesser Warhol and the torn corner of a pencil sketch of Goya's study for the bottom left-hand corner of “___“. The ___ Gallery also includes 732 unique and delightful depictions of the Madonna and Child. (Note the ___ Gallery is undergoing renovations until 2048 and the main collection will be unavailable for viewing during this time. Visitors can take in temporary exhibits during the renovations, currently including a retrospective on the life and work of local philatelist / knitter / squid chef / balloon folder ___.)

And of course no visit to ___ would be complete without setting aside an afternoon to get lost in the winding streets of ___’s medieval quarter. Here you’ll find quaint traditional kebab shops, overpriced artisinal chocolatiers, mobile phone shops, and stalls selling charming keychains, miniature copies of the local landmark the ___, and guide books in 832 different languages. Wandering accordion players and numerous “living statue” performers complete the area’s indefinable charm.

Sleeping:

Camping L'Enfer. ($) A not unpleasant site 7.5 km from the city boasting a solid square kilometre of gravel for the hardy traveler to pitch-up. Summer months have campfire sing-alongs & night hikes to the abandoned quarry (20 km). Full washing & toilet facilities in nearby canal. No open fires.

Auberge Titanic ($$) This sprawling youth hostel on the wrong side of town has 20 & 25 bed dorms all with panoramic views over the prominent rendering plant & a scrubland of challenging ugliness. A favourite with itinerant performers & members of the Gypsy community, a lively atmosphere is guaranteed. Ask about mime evenings & peg making workshops. (Brisk 65 minute walk from the central station, or take Bus #27 and transfer to Bus #456 at the unmarked intersection of ___ Street and ___ Avenue.)

Pension Stumpy ($$$) A misguided attempt at faux deluxe with flock wallpaper reminiscent of a Turkish brothel and ill-appointed rooms designed for midgets. This is indeed the last resort should the campsite be full. s/d €45/60 Full pensione €60pppn evening, menu has the best of Albanian & Romanian cuisine.

Eating:

___ has a wide selection of restaurants ranging from the cheap and cheerful ($) to the gob-smackingly expensive ($$$$$$$$$$$$$). All restaurants close down for the afternoon between 1:15pm and 9:45pm, as locals tend not to sit down to dinner until midnight at the earliest, when toddlers and children are served. Adults tend to not to eat until 2 or 3:00am.

Zonko’s: ($) This nation-wide chain of convenience stores is open 24 hours a day and has locations approximately every 35 feet in tourist areas. They offer pre-packed sandwiches drenched in mayonnaise, cans of unrefrigerated beer, thimble-sized cups of coffee and Milka chocolate bars in abundance.

Crystal Friendship Co-op: ($$) Run by ex-pat Americans Sunflower and Gerhardt, this tiny, quirky café offers daily vegetarian and vegan specials. Try the Gruel of the Day, the Tofu Surprise and the non-dairy eggless flourless chocolate-less low fat turnip-based chokolat cake.

Trattoria Testiculo: ($$$) The best place for the local specialty ___ (a delightful concoction of lamb testicles and fig paste), this restaurant has been run by the same family since 23 BC and continues its tradition of serving both locals and tourists with equal contempt.

Chez Fi-Fi: ($$$$$$$$$$$$$) Top-quality ingredients are transformed into tiny portions of amuse-bouche served on square white plates the size of billboards artfully painted with 6 different coulis and topped with gold leaf. Specialties of the house include pure oxygen cocktails infused with saffron and panda sweat, and shaved unicorn horn quenelles topped in a reduction of Madagascar vanilla and ostrich egg foam. Starters €37-47, mains from €112, desserts €36-59. Don’t even ask about the wine list.

Getting Around:

To/from the airport: ___ Airport is 97km from the centre of the city. Taxis to the historic centre will cost approximately €117.00 (Be careful to take only the pale blue licensed taxis, and opposed to the light blue gypsy cabs). Shuttles run every 380 minutes, departing from Terminal 17a (€12.00). Public bus #39 runs on alternate Tuesdays during months ending in “R”. (€1.50, 4.5 hours).

Bus / Tram: Local buses/trams are infrequent and baffling. Tickets are available from the driver (€1.37 one-way, no change provided), or from incomprehensible and/or non-functional ticket vending machines infrequently encountered at main stops. Buses generally run from about 5:30am to 11:00pm (1/2 hour before the bars close).

Metro and Train: ___’s metro system is convenient and easy to use with stops at most major tourist attractions (except the Cathedral, Castle, ___ Museum, Archeological Museum and medieval quarter). The system map (inside back cover) resembles the electrical schematic diagram for the space shuttle but will become familiar with just 2 or 3 months of regular use. Individual metro tickets are not a good value (€2.45 each) but you can purchase a strip of 10 tickets for €24.00. Local residents can buy a lifetime metro pass for €12.50.

(Please note: The ”Sleeping” section above was written by GSRED’s first freelance contributor, a like-minded and very experienced fellow traveler who shall remain nameless. Thanks P.)

The 27th Athens Classic Marathon

I may have mentioned it once or twice in recent weeks, but I was not feeling at all prepared for this marathon. At all. I hadn’t done nearly as much running as I’d hoped while traveling, and I was sort of expecting the whole thing to be a bit of a Gong Show. Add to this the fact that it was bucketing down rain when I got up at 5:00 am and you may understand why I despaired a bit before I trudged off to the Panathenaic Stadium to get on a bus for Marathon. It really can’t be a good thing when you’re soaked to the skin before you’ve even reached the starting line.

The bus took an hour to get from downtown Athens to Marathon, which says to me that it must have been going about 42.2 km/ph, though the trip seemed to take forever. We got to the starting area by 7:30, leaving another 90 minutes of waiting in the rain before we’d be off. I had a rain jacket but eventually I had to pack that and my warm fleece away in my checked bag and make do with the standard garbage-bag-with-ripped-arm-and-head-holes that was all the rage that morning. Really, the wait was pretty grim. It was wet and cool and grey the whole time. It was bad, but luckily it turned out that the wait for the starting gun was the worst part of the day.

The inevitable, muddy wait for the porta-potty

I chose this race because it THE marathon. It’s supposed to trace - very approximately - the route Pheidippedes took from the 490 B.C. Battle of Marathon to Athens. (Apparently, I missed the big anniversary by one year. 2010 will mark the 2,500th anniversary of the first marathon!). But I have to say that it was just like every other marathon I’ve done. There was no big sense of history. No one dressed up as Pheidippedes (or dressed down more likely). Nothing special at all. Just the inevitable P.A. announcements about checking your bags and seeding yourself in the proper start corral, and the distorted rock music, and the sad attempt at creating a festive atmosphere with balloons. And of course there were the hordes of wet, frustrated, anxious runners huddled under whatever shelter was available, or jogging up and down, or smearing vaseline anywhere and everywhere. (God, I should have done a lot more of that. My somewhat expanded thighs, and my very wet and fairly short shorts made for a significant amount of chafing about which we shall not speak again.)

The starting corral

Finally we were ordered into our starting corrals and, mercifully, set off. Once I was actually running things were muuuuuuch better. I warmed up, and started to implement my extremely detailed race plan: Start slow and taper off from there. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. The first 10km or so were relatively flat, and then the elevation went up fairly steadily for the next 22km but I was surprised to find that the hills were no bother at all. So despite all my complaining at the time I really have to take a moment for this:

Thank you Cliffs of Dover. Thank you Arthur’s Seat. Thank you West Highland Trail. Thank you Giant’s Causeway Path. Also, thank you Valence and Orange and Barcelona and Granada and Lisbon and Sesimbra.

I may have bitched at the time, but every hill I ran in the last four months made this race soooo much easier. I wasn’t sprinting up the hills by any means, but I never had to walk them, and passed a lot of people, and felt surprisingly strong. There’s a lesson: hills are your friend.

I’m sorry about this, but I have no pictures of the course at all. This is partly because it was wet for so long that I was nervous about getting out my camera. But mosty it’s because there was not a single moment of scenic anything on the entire course. It was one long commercial street starting in Marathon and ending in Athens. It was disappointing. But when I thought about it later it kind of made sense. After all, Pheidippedes probably took the most direct route from Marathon to Athens – the main road. And since the area has been continuously inhabited since that time it kind of makes sense that it’s still the main road. Only now instead of being lined with, say, pastoral flocks of sheep and groves of olive trees, it’s lined with car dealerships, restaurants, pet stores and the odd Bed & Bath. It also didn’t help that every man running that day treated the course like a 42km long urinal. I don’t think there was a moment when I couldn’t glance to the right and see at least one guy…er… giving something back to the earth, shall we say.

The course support was quite good, with aid stations every 2.5 kilometers. They all had water, and some had sports drinks as well. And there was at least one stop with gels and a couple with bananas. I missed the first banana stop and only realized I’d passed it when I noticed the road ahead was littered with banana peels. Seriously? Did no one at Athens Marathon HQ pause for a moment and think, “Wait a minute… maybe it’s not such a good idea to create a situation where 3,800 people have to run along a road covered in banana peels.” I didn’t see any mishaps, but still the comedic potential was staggering.

It was quite a solitary race for me. I brought my iPod because I thought there was a good chance I’d need a pick-me-up, but I didn’t even turn it on, and didn’t talk to anyone until about the 20km mark when I met Dave from BC. He was there with a group of friends and was running his first marathon. I stuck with him for a while because it was nice to have someone to talk to, and now that I’ve done a few marathons I kind of feel like it’s my duty to help out people who are doing their first if I can. I tried to be encouraging, but finally I left him at about 24km when he stopped to walk and stretch a bit. His ankles were giving him trouble so I gave him some advice and some ibuprofen. He must have had a tough second half but I was pleased to check the results and see that he’d finished. Well done for gutting it out, Dave. Congratulations.

I already mentioned a bit about the elevation profile for the course; it was interesting. A bit of downhill at the start, then about 10km of relative flat. Then the climbing started and carried on pretty steadily until about 32km. That was a bit tough, but as I said earlier I was really happy with how I felt on the hills. Also, knowing exactly where they were going to end was a nice psychological boost because magically, just when you need it the most, the course dipped down. You just have to hang on until the 32km mark and it’s literally all downhill from there. I had a great last 10km – they were easily the fastest of the race, and the most fun. The rain had stopped (actually, it stopped at about 15km), and the sun was out, and I knew I was going to make it, and I felt much much much much better than I’d ever expected.

The last five kilometers were a relative breeze. I continued to pass people and enjoy the downhills and then I was just a few metres from the stadium and I knew I’d finish comfortably under 4:15 (which had emerged as a sort-of goal somewhere along the way) and I was very happy. Within sight of the stadium my right calf started to seize up, so I had a bit of a hitch in my giddy-up, but I kept it together and sailed in at 4:12:07 (Though I dispute that time. I started my watch just before the mat at the start, and forgot to turn it off until at least 50 feet past the finish, and it said 4:11:53.) And I was 27th of 94 in my age group. And I ran a 3:39 negative split. Not bad for a race in which I had no expectations.

The finish

And of course, there was some celebration once I’d cleared the finish area and retrieved my belongings.

Well-earned, I think

And that was it: a race well run, a beer hard-earned, and marathon #10 in the books. Stay tuned for some news about the sights around Athens. I’ll be here quite a bit longer than I expected, but it I kind of feel like a bit of an extended break right now. The hostel is very friendly, reasonably priced, and comfortable. There’s even a bar and a laundromat downstairs, both of which I have patronized. And they run a couple of interesting-sounding day-trips that I think I’ll do. It may mean that I don’t hit my Greek island, but I’m fine with that. The vague plan right now is to get a flight from Athens to Istanbul, maybe as early as Sunday. Or not. I’m not sure. Right now I’m just enjoying not running, not packing and unpacking, not finding the train station or the bus depot or the ferry terminal, and not navigating to another new hostel, and I think that’s just fine.

Naples, good and bad

Yes, I know. Another long lapse in blogging, with very little excuse except somewhat inconvenient internet access and lack of motivation. Though I’ve been in Greece for a week now, and you may be wondering what happened in the marathon, I’ve got a few more things to say about Italy. So here goes. (News on the marathon will follow smartly. In brief: it was fine.)

Naples is not exactly, shall we say, the Venice of the south. The chief form of outdoor decoration seems to be drying laundry, which festoons virtually every residential building in the city. And the strip between the central station and my hostel was grim. It felt like a never-ended parade of construction barriers, over-priced clothing stores and street hawkers selling purses, scarves, fishing rods, posters, pirated DVDs, sunglasses, jewelry, hats, belts, cell phones, random circuit boards, wallets, and, in one particularly memorable case, a selection of wigs hanging from a circular rack suspended from a tree. I’m sure there are perfectly lovely parts of Naples. I have to believe there must be. Either that, or everyone who lives there must have had a state-sponsored lobotomy to be able to stand the place.

Festive Naples

Still, it was a springboard to Pompeii, which was really excellent. In fact Pompeii was everything that I’d hoped the Roman Forum would be. (And it turned out that I arrived on a day when entry to the sight was free. When I asked why I was told it was a “special day” which I guess had something to do with All Saints Day (Sunday) but I never really got an explanation.). And since I was so harsh with the Forum audioguide, I have to say that the Pompeii audioguide and map was everything the Forum one wasn’t. That is to say that it was easily possible to divine your location by consulting the map, which even had little 3D images of some of the more important buildings so you could look and think, “Aha, large open space with a curved wall at the back and a little do-hickey in the middle. This must be the Sanctuario di Lari Publicci.” And you’d be right. And the streets had signs, and the important audio points were marked on the sides of the buildings. It was excellent.

The Pompeii Foro (forum), with Vesuvius cleverly framed in the background

And of course the site is brilliant – everything you think it will be, but probably bigger than you imagined. It really was a city. The site covers 66 hectares, of which 44 have been excavated, and most of that is open to the public. You wander down street after street and it’s really well-preserved and a bit ghostly and quite amazing. I think I was there for about 5 hours. There are even original frescoes still visible on some walls. There are lots more photos at Flickr.

An original fresco that was buried by the volcano in 79 A.D.

The next day I had a choice: I could either head out on the bus again for a quick trip up Vesuvius, or stay in the city and go to the Archeological Museum. I figured I wouldn’t see a lot in the museum that I hadn’t already seen at Pompeii (the constantly-repeated phrase in the Pompeii audioguide was “…the original of which is on display at the Archeological Museum in Naples…). And it’s not very often you get to climb an active volcano. So, though the trip back to Naples to catch the 16:24 train south would be a bit of a rush, I opted for Vesuvius.

It turned out to be more interesting in theory than in practice, because it's not like the crater is filled with a satisfyingly molten sea of lava spewing forth Volkswagen-sized chunks of rock. In fact the only evidence of its incendiary potential were few wisps of steam/smoke emanating from the side of the crater, and a decidedly sulfurous smell in the air. But at least it was a pleasant day out, and there are great views of the Bay of Naples from the top of the mountain, and I met a nice Canadian couple to chat with.

Me, sitting on a volcano

So Vesuvius was nice, but the connections to get back to Naples were annoying. This meant that by about 4:00pm I was racing to catch a 16:24 train south, and I mean racing. I may not have been sprinting, but I had 40+ pounds of gear on my back and I was close to a jog. And I was trying to find a replacement for my plug apaters, both of which gave up the ghost within about 20 minutes of each other. (Ok, the demise of one of them may possibly have been hastened by my forcibly jamming it into a socket it clearly did not want to go in to until something went CRACK and bits of it fell off and the remaining bits had to be removed from the socket with the aid of a crescent wrench provided by my helpful hostel roommate, Anya.) Anyways, the point is that I was in a hurry, and it was warm, and I had all my belongings on my back, and I’d hiked up a volcano earlier that day so I was a bit done in it already.

Miraculously, I got to the station in time after stopping at two different stores and finding a plug adapter for only €5.00. And then things started to go pear-shaped. I marched up to the window to buy my ticket and the woman behind the counter tried to tell me something about my train that involved the word sopresso, and I really didn’t understand, and finally she directed my over past the McDonald’s. I thought she was gesturing to the ticket machines (she wasn’t), so I went over and bought my ticket at the machine. Then I went over to the newsstand to buy a nice English newspaper, paid for the paper, and promptly left it at the newsstand.

I checked the departures board and discovered that my train was listed as “SOP”, which I guess is short for sopresso, so I figured it was time to consult the phrasebook. Obviously this was an important word in my life at the moment. The phrasebook did not list sopresso but noted, helpfully, that sopresa means surprise. This did not sound good, but I checked again and at least sopresso didn’t mean late or cancelled. It was around this time that I realized I didn’t have my newspaper, so I went back to the newsstand and the nice man there told me that sopresso does in fact mean cancelled. This definition was accompanied by the universal hand-drawn-across-the-throat gesture, so there could be no doubt. Well, at least I had the paper.

I went back to the ticket desk and asked what I was supposed to do with my €14.90 ticket for a train that was sopresso and the woman simply directed me to the Customer Service office. (Ha!). Instead I bought another ticket for the next train, spending another €15.33. Then I went to Customer Service where I found out that the first train wasn’t running but it had been replaced by a bus. And there would be no refund. Of course.

So I’d raced around to get to the station, spent a bunch of money I didn’t need to, and now had about 90 minutes to kill in the dreary and ill-appointed central station of Naples. I was very tired and drippingly sweaty and utterly fed up with Trenitalia and Naples and the country in general. So I lifted the bag again and headed back out into Piazza Garibaldi. And really, Garibaldi is (bad language coming here) a SHIT HOLE. It’s like a giant cross between a bus stop and a parking lot and a flea market and a garbage dump. I turned right and fought past the street hawkers and their knock-off sunglasses and handbags and crap, and then I saw it: the LP-recommended restaurant for trying the local pastry specialty sfoglitelle. So of course I went right in. I ordered a sfoglitelle coco (turned out to be coconut, not chocolate – of course, stupid mistake) and a café macchiato. I stood at the counter and had my coffee and pastry, and looked at the paper, and things started to be betterr. I was only out about €15 after all, and I would still get to my destination in reasonable time, and on a faster train. It wasn’t so bad.

It was when I left the café that the real magic happened. I looked up in the sky, and there was a big flock of birds whirling around. And then I remembered someone telling me about how starlings do that in huge numbers, and how it was a shame I hadn’t seen it. And there it was. The flock was big, but it kept being joined by more and more smaller flocks, and it wheeled and turned and swooped and folded back on itself and it was just fantastic. I looked around to see if any denizens of Garibaldi had noticed this and just one other older man was watching. I wandered a bit to keep them in view, dodging scooters and stray dogs, and finally sat on a cement block and just stared. Garibaldi was still being very Garibaldi, complete with a guy pissing against the opposite side of the rank of overflowing dumpsters just to enhance the ambience, but it honestly didn’t matter. I was so happy with those birds.

Really, I can’t describe to you how lovely it was. There were thousands of birds, and watching them was hypnotic. It reminded me of screensaver derived from a computer simulation of some kind of brilliant mathematical equation. It was so perfect it was hard to believe it was organic beings. And it kept going and going, and the sun was setting, and I finally got out my camera and got a bit of video, which does an ok job of showing what I mean.

It was a like a lot of Italy. It can be maddening and stupid and pointless. You can forget to carry ID with you and not be allowed internet access as a result. Or wait for half an hour at a random and unscheduled bus stop so that the woman who runs the shop there can flog her father’s book about Pompeii. Or be forced to surge into oncoming traffic like a madman just to get across the street. But then you get across the street and you’re staring at 2,000 year-old ruins. Or a nice bus driver that seemed angry and gruff drives you a couple of miles out of his way to take you back to where you should have got off in the first place. Or you get served a plate of pasta in a little restaurant and it’s a miracle on a plate. Or you see those fantastic birds.

So I suppose Naples wasn’t so bad after all. But I think someone still owes me €14.90 for that stupid train ticket. Sopresso indeed. Bah.

Random Thoughts on Italy

I planned to spend a lot of time in Italy – I wanted it to be one of the big stops of my trip. In fact when I was thinking about where I wanted to go I tried to concentrate on places that made me go “Oooooooo….” when I saw them on the map and Italy made me go “Oooooooo….” in a big way. By the time I step onto the boat for Greece I will have been in Italy for about 3 weeks so naturally there are a few things I that didn’t make it into a longer post. And here we go:

- Though it only merited a brief mention in my post on Rome, I did go to the Vatican. I even saw the Pope! I arrived (unintentionally) in time for the tail-end of his weekly Wednesday address out in St. Peter’s Square. There were about 7 zillion chairs set up in a special fenced off area, but the whole square is so huge that they only took up a small part. There were also big video screens off to the side showing his face, and he was speaking German. And despite the fact that His Holiness was so far away they could have substituted him for a talking match- head and I wouldn’t have noticed, it was still pretty cool.

See? That’s him – the infinitely tiny white smudge in the middle of the dais.

- It doesn’t have much to do with Italy in particular, but my Eurail pass expired on October 15th (the day before I got on the train from Venice to Firenze, naturally). And for future reference – it did NOT pay off having a rail pass. I bought the “15 days of travel within 3 months” version, which cost somewhere around €800.00. This means I needed to spend about €53.00 on each trip I used the pass for. Though I stopped keeping careful track, I’m pretty sure I only spent about €650 in total. This is mostly because though I did have a few very long trips, especially the overnight ones, I mostly made a lot of short hops. In fact, the same ended up being true for my Britrail pass (back a thousand years ago when I was in the UK). I’m not saying a rail pass in never a good investment, I’m just recommending you think carefully about where you’re going and how you’re planning on travelling before you invest. In Italy, for instance, the trains are quite cheap, but I hear that in Germany they can be ferociously expensive. Just think about, that’s all I’m saying.

- Here’s something I didn’t mention about the Colosseum: Lots of it looks like it’s made out of Swiss cheese. There are big holes in the stones all over, like it was attacked by giant stone-chewing gerbils or something.

See?

It turns out this is because when it was built they used iron pins to key together the big blocks of stone. When the Roman Empire fell in the 5th or 6th century (yeah… whenever…), people were understandably more concerned about defending themselves against the barbarian hordes than preserving the then-abandoned Colosseum so they chiseled into the stones along the seams, extracted the iron pins, and melted them down to make weapons. I asked my guide what holds the stones together now, since the pins are gone. She assured me that the weight of the building holds everything in place, and it’s now been standing for about 1500 years since the vandalism, so I guess I believe her.

- I’m truly sorry I did not get a picture of this, but the train police in Verona were on Segways! I saw a pair of them on the platform while waiting for the train to Padua; they were rolling along, checking in the windows of the trains. I’m not sure why, but it seemed perfectly ridiculous. I’ve got a strange love-hate thing with Segways: I think it must be fun to be on one, but I also think they look preposterous. It made the police in Padua look like they were part of an Affirmitive Action Program for Mobility-Impaired Law Enforcement Officers (AAPMILEO). And I couldn’t help but think that all a ne’er-do-well would have to do to escape their clutches would be to run up or down the nearest flight of stairs. Then again I’ve also seen quite a few companies offering city tours on Segways, and that would probably be loads of fun.

- My tour of the Vatican Museums and Sistine Chapel was thanks to a hashing friend I met the night before who actually runs a tour company! He generously set me up on one of his guided tours, so I am happy to plug him here to my 7 or 8 loyal GSRED readers: When in Rome, please go see the Vatican with Italywithus.com. And tell Adrian thanks from me. And here’s a little tidbit from my guide of that day, who was excellent: The Vatican Museums house so many pieces of art that if you were to glance for just 60 seconds at each one, it would take you twelve years to get through the whole place.

A fresco in one of the many Stanze di Rafaello

- I’ve had the chance to play a bit of pool while on this trip – in Holland, France, Portugal, and also in Italy. I am by no means a skilled pool player, but I’m also not complete rubbish. However in Italy I, and everyone I was playing with, were utterly hopeless. This is because the tables were approximately the size of a soccer pitch, and the pockets were exactly one micron wider than the diameter of the balls. It doesn’t really show in the picture, but trust me, if that table was the standard in Italy you would not want to play pool with an Italian on a standard bar-sized North American pool table.

Trust me on this one.

- Daylight Savings Time ended the Saturday night/Sunday morning that I arrived in Rome. (They still use the last-Sunday-in-October schedule over here.) This means that it starts getting dark around 5:30pm, making it almost impossible to go for a run after a day of sight-seeing and before dinner. I may be getting pretty comfortable running in new and random places every other day, but I really don’t fancy trying to run and navigate and dodge traffic in the dark. It’s a drag.

- SPQR, meaning Senatus Populusque Romanus ("The Senate and the People of Rome" or "The Senate and Roman People"). I think of it as something written on the flags of Roman Legions marching off to conquer the world a few thousand years ago. It turns out it's also the motto of the modern city of Rome. It's all over. Like, for instance, here:

- Again, it doesn't have a lot to do with Italy in particular, but I came into possession of a Lonley Planet Italian Phrasebook when I arrived, and I have to say that it’s perfectly excellent, and much more fun than the Eyewitness Russian Phrasebook I had. For instance the Eyewitness did not have a section devoted exclusively to romance, including the phrase “Neanche se to fossi l’ultima persona sulla terra!”. I’d really like to find an LP Phrasebook for Greece.

- As I mentioned, there are ruined Roman antiquities all over the place in Rome, but the thing I found surprising is that they are almost all built out of red brick. I was expecting to see a lot of big chunks of white marble, but the Romans were much too practical and tight-fisted for that. Bricks were cheap, easy to manufacture on site and (compared to solid stone) relatively lightweight. Most of the Colosseum is brick, and a lot of the ruins in the Forum are too. Often they built out of brick and then faced buildings with more expensive stone. The seats in the forum used to be covered in marble slabs, and the Pantheon used to have marble veneer panels on its pediment. (It also used to have bronze panels on the ceiling of the portico which were removed by Pope Urban VIII of the Barberini family, who had them melted down to make part of the altar at St. Peter’s, and a load of cannons. This gives rise to a saying that goes something like: “What the barbarians didn’t do to Rome, the Barberinis did”.)

Brick underneath, and stone for the fancy bits

- Finally, I have to point out that there’s a chain of grocery stores in Italy called Pam!* Look:

And now it’s on to Greece! The trip from Taranto to Athens is a long one involving trains and boats and maybe buses, and certainly lots of waiting and probably frustration and likely a sleepless night. And there will almost certainly be very little internet so don't be alarmed if there's some stoney silence ahead. But at the end there will be another new country (#11), another new language (#9) and even another new alphabet (#3). Stay tuned for news on the marathon, and the ouzo, and the baklava, and hopefully an idyllic Greek island, and a day or two of post-marathon dabbling of toes into crystal blue Mediterranean waters.

* This goes along with the manhole covers in France, which must be made by a particularly clever and talented foundry:

4 hours and 22 minutes in Cassino with Sergeant E.C. Nichol

My time in Cassino did not go precisely as planned. I wanted to arrive from Rome early in the afternoon and have a chance to freshen up and relax at my hotel before walking to the Cassino War Cemetery to pay my respects to my other great-uncle lost in the Second World War, Sergeant Everett Clinton Nichol. Then I was going to wander into town and have a nice dinner before retiring to my private hotel room for a relaxing, early night.

The first problem started when the LP turned out to be uncharacteristically silent on the entire subject of Cassino, despite the fact that there's a well known monastery at Monte Cassino right up the hill from the town. In fact, I was so surprised that there wasn’t even a listing for the city that I think I went back and checked the index three or four times before finally admitting to myself that the beloved LP had failed me.

The monastery at the top of the hill, which I did not climb (grape vines in the foreground).

So I was on my own. Undaunted, I managed to locate the cemetery on Google maps and found some information that seemed to indicate it was only about 2km from the train station. Then I hit Google again to find a hotel and ended up making a reservation at Hotel Diana (which I accomplished entirely in infant-level Italian, thank you very much.) So I arrived in Cassino on the 12:51 train from Roma Termini and set off in the direction of the hotel. I was pleased when I came upon this sign, because it all seemed to tally with my memory of the Google map.

All according to plan

And that’s when things started to go awry. It turns out that the scale of the Google map in my head was perhaps more ambitious that I realized. And the Aeronaut was a might weighty, and the sun was a touch warm, and the sidewalk was ever-so-slightly non-existent. And on I trudged, with no map, and almost no language skills, and an increasing level of frustration. I stopped several times to ask for directions and each time I was directed further and further down the road and kept hearing phrases like “autostrada” and “lontano”. It seems that Cassino has a Via Raccordo Ausonia and a Via Prov.le Ausonia and a Via Ausonia Nuova. Naturally it turned out that the hotel was on the one farthest from the station down a busy highway. Finally I gave up. I’m sorry Hotel Diana, but if you had been in the same time zone as the rest of Cassino, I would have been happy to darken your door. Then I had another trudge through the area around the station and could not find one single hotel, which is extremely bizarre. Cassino must be the only hotel in Western Europe with no hotels near the station.

So I sat down and had a calzone and a beer and regrouped. I checked the departures list at the station and determined that trains to Naples were frequent that afternoon and evening. And I phoned the hostel in Naples and moved my reservation up a night. And then I hoisted the Aeronaut once again and headed off for the cemetery, which turned out to be easy to find and actually was about 2km from the station, as advertised.

The entrance to the cemetery

In some ways it was very much like the Beny-sur-Mer cemetery in France. It was quiet and tidy and seemed to be well-tended. And there were rows and rows and rows of gravestones from all over the commonwealth. Unlike Beny-sur-Mer, though, it’s kind of smack in the middle of the city, or at least surrounded by busy roads and some businesses and some semi-rural residential stuff.

The livestock next door to the cemetery

I didn’t have as much documentation to help me find the grave I was looking for as I did in France, but the Canadian Virtual War Memorial website has an excellent search function that made it really easy to determine exactly where I needed to look. Section 5, Row B, Grave 21.

And due to the foresight of my personal assistant (Winnipeg Division), I had another Canadian flag patch to leave at the grave site. Thanks Karen. I really feel it was important to leave something tangible behind.

Unlike Beny-sur-Mer, there was no cemetery register available and no book of remembrance to sign. The website says that frequent vandalism means these are only available when the gardener is present, and those hours apparently didn’t mesh with my schedule. I think it’s disgusting that something as simple and important as a register of war dead can’t be kept out for fear or it being stolen or defaced. I mean, really.

I wandered around and took some more pictures, and enjoyed the feeling of not having a 45 pound pack on my back. And I sat near the grave and tried to think about what it must have been like to be a 35-year old Saskatchewan farm boy-turned Royal Canadian Engineer landing in Italy in 1944. In fact, Sergeant Nichol enlisted in 1939 and was shipped overseas within ten months. He served in England, Sicily and mainland Italy before he was killed in action on May 23, 1944. And now you know almost as much about him as I do, which is sad; he should have been part of my life. It wasn't as emotional as my trip to Beny-sur-Mer, but maybe that's because it wasn't all new.

At least the views from the cemetery are really lovely, with Monte Cassino in the background, and other mountains surrounding.

Also unlike the grave at Beny-sur-Mer, which was for an uncle on my grandmother’s side of the family, this was my father’s father’s brother. Consequently, that was my name on the gravestone. It was striking. I actually pulled out the copy of my passport I carry around and held it up to the stone and looked at the names. Nichol… Nichol. It felt a bit weird, but it also made me proud and really glad I’d come. It was like I could feel how we were connected.

And then I shouldered my pack again and bid farewell to Uncle Everett and turned my face towards the station and the 17:13 train to Naples. I feel badly that the trip turned out to be a more of pitstop than a pilgrimage, but I’m still glad I went. I hope it’s not important how long I was there, but that I was there at all. That someone was there.

Once again, there’s really nothing I can say to sum up except thank you. Thank you Sergeant Everett C. Nichol. You make me proud to share your name.

Rest in peace.

Sergeant Everett Clinton Nichol