Greetings,
I'm sitting here in the "cafe" area of our hotel here in Nice, France, checking email and updating the blog while listening to the TV behind me that seems to be tuned into a French version of Big Brother...but with a cat, some Unsolved Mysteries and lots of Beck, Gorillaz and Louis Vuitton.
While I attempt to decipher the mess, please take a look at the wicked snaps of Singapore.
More to come on Italy... before we get to Switzerland.
Transportation from Florence, Italy, to Nice, France, was in a sleeper carriage on a train. We arrived at the station, Campo di Maria, with plenty of time to spare, so we popped into the cafe across the road. The train was due to arrive at 23:20 (11:20) and depart 5 minutes later. A quick check on the board at 23:10 set us across the tracks to platform 6. So far everything was going smoothly. I was waiting for EN366 to Ventimiglia to come in, so when CM1233 to Montaciano or Mesopotamia or Montezuma, whatever it was, came in just 2 minutes before our train was due, I was alarmed.
We found another board on platform 6 that said our train had just been
moved to platform 5, across the tracks. Now, there are not overpasses or underpasses to cross the tracks, but at one end of the very, very long platform, the ground is leveled off for a safe crossing. As I glanced in that direction, I could see the two lights of an approaching train. We booked it, our wheeled luggage picking up air behind us. We crossed the tracks and continued down to platform 5. I checked my pocket for reassurance...
I should tell you that the tickets we purchased were paper and not replaceable. If lost or stolen, then the loss would be ours. Understanding the risk, I kept them in a very safe place... until we were set to board the train on platform 6. At that point, I transferred them from my backpack, next to my laptop, to my front pocket.
... so I checked my pocket, and I couldn't find the reassurance... or the tickets. I knew immediately that they must have fallen out as we were running to platform 5. I left the bags with Dana, rounded the track crossing, eyeing the approaching lights, and sprinted down platform 6. Luckily the tickets were in plain view in the ground. I nabbed them and turned around. It's the fastest I've ever ran... I felt like Apollo. As the train was a few feet in front of the crossing, I leaped over the rails and onto platform 5. We made the train. The train was a few minutes late. The train that was coming into the station actually went to track 8, so it was behind me as I crossed.
On our Big Trip, we have have overnight excursions on planes and boats, but this was, by far, the most interesting and soothing. Our cabin was understandably snug, but it had its own sink and urinal! At least I think (hope) that was a urinal. We slept in bunk beds, which was perfect for Dana because it made it extremely hard for me to flop my snoring face on her forehead. During the night, however, I somehow I managed to open the curtain repeatedly with my foot, much to the consternation of the lady on the top bunk (Dana). Before nap time we toasted with a really nice eight euro bottle of red. Dana wore half of it, but seeing as how we need to cut back on luggage, this wasn't such a bad thing.
Sleep on the train was wonderful when we were moving. It was silent but for the rumbling over the rails. It gently rocked back and forth, so head to toe we moved. The cabin was cool, but it did get a bit warm during extended stays in some of the towns, such as Genova and Ventimiglia, during which the air-conditioning ceased.
Ventimiglia was also the last name of my Spanish teacher during my first year in high school. On my first day I raised my hand and said that the bookstore had sold out of one of the textbooks, so I didn't have mine. She said she understood, but then told me to sit in the front row, in the middle column, so she could keep an eye on me. She knew immediately that I was "one of those". She was brutal but one of the best teachers I have ever had. If anyone misspelled a word on homework, he had to write the word, in a sentence in Spanish, 100 times. She took a liking to me soon after and didn't even claim to notice that my misspelled punishments were written with five pens taped together (so I only had to write them 20 times).
Apologies for the tangent, but I think it was warranted. Back to the train: we cruised along the Riviera and looked down on waterfront estates with yachts and pools snaking around their propertyt. Essentially, we were looking down on those who normally look down on the rest of us. We even enjoyed a cup of espresso and some fresh bread, sealed in plastic, before our arrival in Nice. If only for the bread and coffee, if you ever have the opportunity to take an overnight train from Italy to France, take it... but don't put your tickets in the front pocket of your pants, just in case you have to run a little.
I managed to get some photos up from The Great Barrier Reef and The Sydney Airport. The second one is much more impressive.
I also made a few posts earlier in the week that were not picked up by Feedblitz. I'm not sure why, but check out the earlier posts for videos of cassowaries and Dana.
Off to Nice on a sleeper train tonight! We leave at 23:25 and arrive at 9:45. Ciao for niao.
On our Big Trip, Rome is our gateway to Europe. We arrived at the airport in the morning and quickly realised that we didn't have a clue where we were, or even how to use a public telephone. After a few failed attempts to reach David at Solaroma B&B, where we were staying, I finally got through. After you put the money in the phone, you have to press "OK". Who knew?
The train to the city from the airport came 25 minutes late. We all know who was responsible for making the trains run on time, so perhaps this is the way Italians apologise. If so, I respect that, but I think all doors should be functioning, no matter what Mussolini did. While we were scrambling into a carriage that had only one door open (the others were broken), I suffered a great loss.
There I was, following Dana with my designated baggage: my backpack, camera bag, a 1L water bottle in each shorts pocket, esky (cooler) full of dirty clothes, and a massive red suitcase. The Leonardo Express, the train that runs from the Da Vinci Airport to the city, requires passengers to pull their luggage up a small, narrow flight of stairs while entering the train. There was a mad rush for the few working doors when the train pulled in, and I stayed close to Dana. She boarded successfully, with her share of the luggage, but as I hoisted our red bag up, I faltered. Time stood still for me and those below me on the platform. For a moment, those passengers joined me in my pain. My right foot was caught under my left leg, and as I struggled to free it, my thong (flip-flop, sandal, sand-shoe, whatever) came off my foot and tumbled down the steps. On the bottom step, it teetered, and a man reached for it just before it completed it's death spin onto the train tracks of Rome. Thanks Benito.
Our B&B was right next to the Vatican! Every morning we could look out our window and see the line of pilgrims waiting to get in grow and the attendant at the gas station within the Vatican grow sleepy. There were a few things I noticed early on during our stay in Rome:
- Everyone eats gelato. Not just the tourists, but middle-aged and old men stand around with a little coloured spoon in their pistachio gelato.
- The streets, stairs and squares are peppered with old women laying face-down on the pavement and praying for money with an empty tuna can or plastic cup in front of them.
- The only way to get cars to stop so you can cross the street is to step in front of them, even at pedestrian crosswalks. Sometimes they still don't stop, but they swerve to go around you, without slowing down.
- Sirens are constantly going off, with police or ambulance seemingly in constant pursuit. The sirens have that odd foreign sound that foreign sirens have. You know what I mean: the sound is actually alarming.
There was a very popular gelateria in the ground floor of our building. No matter what time of day it was, there were queues of people. Inside there were photos of the owners, or gelaterites, with famous Italian celebrities, politicians or folk heroes. I didn't recognise any of them, but I'm sure they would fall into one of those categories. On our last day, we heard one of the many sirens nearing our building. The sound stopped just below our window. We were leaving for the day at that point, so we were able to see what the commotion was... the ambulance drivers were standing around our sidewalk, eating gelato.
Of course, the sights of Rome are astounding. I can't begin to get into the history or describe the impact of the Colosseum or St. Peter's Basilica. Once I get the photos up, I will let them speak for themselves... in the way that only photos can speak... with a kind of gravelly voice and in a cockney accent.
Update: Photos have been posted.
Thursday 21 June 2007 22:44
Weary from travel from the mountains of Cortona to the city along the Arno, Firenze, my betrothed and I sink into a deep slumber. Our security is ensured by a trusted donna, our only oversight, a window left cracked to provide some fresh air. The breeze is slight, sweat beads on our motionless bodies.
Friday 22 June 2007 02:03
A noise close to my ear abruptly delivers me from the land of my pleasant dreams to that of my harsh reality. I sit up, my senses sharp. Alert, trying to locate the source of noise, but careful not to awake my partner unless necessary. Too late. She, too, rises, and soon we know our enemy: zanzaras. Scores of them. They have surrounded us. We decide to lay low and hope that they move on.
Friday 22 June 2007 02:18
It is clear that the zanzaras have visited us with bad intent. They have begun their attack. We swat: at our ankles, at our forearms, at our ears. Our attempts at defense are pathetic in the dark of night. A decision is made. We must begin an offensive.
Friday 22 June 2007 02:19
The room is bathed in light, and the zanzaras are given one last chance to escape into the open city. Few chose to flee, and the fate of the rest is sealed with the closing of the latch on the window. For 40 minutes we search an execute. None are spared. Some meet their end with a clap in my hands, their blood - our blood - covers my palms. Other sit on the wall and pray with their probiscus not to be noticed, but none pass my notices, and these are smashed to the wall with a bang. Still others need to be driven out into the open with the wave of our tovaglioli. Stirred from their hiding places, they come to death just as the others.
Friday 22 June 2007 02:59
Our simple room, meant to be a place of refuge, is speckled with the bodies of the dead. Splattered are the walls, the floors, our own selves. We are weary once more. The last of the zanzaras are found and destroyed. These were quicker than the others. Virgin zanzaras, yet to drink of the milk of humans, and so quicker in flight and much harder to secure. At last the war has ended. Once again, we take our places in the base. Sleep overwhelms us once more. But we know that this night, La Notte Delle Zanzare, will be remembered.
Ah, to spend 24 hours in Singapore... a dream. After four and a half hours delayed into our trip, we boarded and were off. Once we landed in Singapore, we jumped into a cab that smelled like a wet suit and were off to the New 7th Storey Hotel. The New 7th Storey Hotel is neither new ("it hasn't been moved in over 50 years!" boasts the propaganda), nor is it 7 stories... it has 9 stories. But it is clean and they offer you a free pair of slippers to wear in the toilet/shower. And the host had a Glamour Shot done. That had to take some effort.
When we woke at 11, we found the river and lunch: Singaporean Chili Crab. We also found a few good brewpubs, much to my pleasant surprise. A hike up the nearby hill offered some great views and warnings to trespassers that they should put their arms up in the air while being shot. A quick drop by Raffles, an old colonialist hangout, and Chinatown, which has great Buddhist temples and places to buy bags of dried sea horses, and we're all set. Until dinner.
"After work" we met Dana's high school friend Pete. She had not spoken to him in many years, but one day she bumped into him across the street from our apartment in Sydney, and he was just moving from Sydney to Singapore. Pete showed us lots of good spots before we all tumbled back into his apartment at midnight. Our flight was at 3AM, so what better pick-me-up could we find than a Whatever!?
wicked snaps
What a crazy place! Aside from the leeches we saw on Mt Sorrow, and pulled, writhing and bleeding from our ankles, we saw deadly spiders, cassowaries, walking fish, crabs and frogs. That was a bit of a sloppy sentence: the adjective "deadly" applies only to spiders, cassowaries and some frogs. For starters, please observe this cassowary:
This cassowary, a remnant from the Jurassic or Bodacious Period, walks around the beach and rainforest with raptor-like talons and a I-Just-Woke-Up-On-The-Wrong-Side-Of-The-Bed attitude. The bird wandered into a clueless couple of tourists who turned their back on the big guy. S/he charged the female and lunged with a talon out, but missed.
Walking fish are far less deadly. These dudes hold water while on land much like sea turtles hold air under water.
Lots of fantastic spiders peppered the area just above our heads, but they were not a problem. Actually, most things in this rainforest don't bother humans at all. We did an excellent walking tour at night, during which we were told about native flora and fauna... not surprisingly, much of the native plants and animals are being killed by introduced animals such as the feral pig and the cane toad. Our guide mentioned that he used to like shooting feral pigs with a machine gun and beating cane toads with golf clubs... new humanitarian movements have stopped him.
