Italy Tre and the Eastern Alps

A couple of stops got added to my itinerary in the last week. After Rome was Florence, where I said I need not go (having been in 2008), and then I decided to throw another curveball with Slovenia too. I covered quite a bit of ground through it all:

When in Rome (this sentence won’t end how you think), I learned that more friends, Eli and Sami, had arrived in Venice. They were heading to Florence and Rome. Florence was on my way, and a nearer stop than Modena or Bologna or Verona or wherever I previously figured I’d wind up spending one night between Rome and Venice. So Danielle (My long lost college friend and recently added temporary passenger, which you’d know if you read the last post) and I headed there. Between Max, Danielle, Eli, and myself, 4 SUNY Buffalo alums in 24 hours in Italy. Pretty crazy!

This bridge was one of the features I had read about on the Spello/Spoletto detour

Our car ride was nice, and included a detour to drive between Spello and Spoletto (I had read about this stretch of road – it was pleasnat but not profound). We got fully caught up, reminisced, and discussed life along with our perspectives on it. Danielle has been abroad since college, in Israel, Nepal, China, Brazil, etc., so there was a lot of content here. We watched the sun set on the highway, then arrived in Florence to a stressful scene of narrow streets with street parking but none available. After about 20 minutes of circling I found a “spot” outside a church and we headed out to wander Florence. Eli and Sami were at dinner so we were on our own and wound up at Gusta Pizza where I had my best pizza of the trip.

After dinner we met Eli and Sami for a drink or two. Danielle was studying to become a doula and Sami is an NICU nurse so they hit it off. Eli and I mostly traded Phish references, which we could do for hours on end. We headed back to their airbnb where they graciously put us up and passed out.

Monday morning we had breakfast and said our goodbyes. Danielle had friends through capoeira in both Bologna and Modena so she reached out to see if we could double down on the kindness of others for free housing. She had a bus ticket from Bologna the next morning so we figured we’d check out Modena first and likely sleep there. We weren’t on a schedule, so we added the Tuscan town of Lucca as another stop. En route to Lucca we pulled off into Terme, known for hot springs, but it was an expensive and deserted spa town that didn’t provide the type of budget and readily accessible experience we were looking for. Lucca was nice, while similar to Siena and other Tuscan towns.

After lunch in Lucca we headed to Modena. You may recognize the name as the home of Balsamic Vinegar. The balsamic we get in the US is apparently a sham, even when it declares itself “of Modena.” We went to a balsamic tasting at the world’s only store that carried balsamic from all 20 families. I asked if a 21st family could start producing it, but the youngest family has been in the business since the 1600s, so any newcomers would be ignored/disrespected. We learned that true balsamic has to be aged for at least 12 years. During this time it thickens (as some evaporates) and takes on a tawny port flavor from the barrels its aged in (most in oak, juniper was a more exotic variety). We tasted about 5 or 6, each taste was three drops on a small spoon, all sweet and bitter and acidic and bursting with flavor. My expectations were exceeded. Everything we tasted was aged 12 or 25 years. The store sold a $25 bottle of balsamic that was not produced by one of the 20 families, but still far better than what’s available in America. The authentic bottles ranged from $60-$150 euros (or more, there was a 1859 bottle which we didn’t get a price for). We bought nothing, and thus paid for the tasting.

After the vinegar we met up with Davide, Danielle’s capoeira friend/acquaintance (they had met twice previously). Davide is an anesthesiologist finishing up his residency and was very friendly and accommodating. He walked us around the center of town and we then drove over to his apartment to relax.

We told Davide we’d take him up on his offer to house us for the night. There we met more gracious and friendly and warm and interesting young Italian guys. Lorenzo, who works for Maserati, spoke almost no English, but hung out with us for a bit while he made us coffee. Then Marco came home (in residency for infectious diseases) and chatted with us for a while and made us tea. I was blown away by their welcoming hospitality. Without much provocation I agreed to attend their capoeira class that evening (Davide and Marco both do it there, while Danielle’s a regular in Rome). Capoeira is a Brazilian Martial Art that reminded me of yoga, aerobics, breakdancing, and high school gymnastics. There is a constant rhythm to it, and people pair up as partners rather than sparring opponents. I was able to do baby versions of some of it. Of the 20 or so people in class, some were able to do walking and hopping handstands as part of their movements in addition to other impressive moves. The class ended with traditional music on primitive Brazilian instruments played by the group (I played a cowbell-like object). After we went for drinks, and then back to Davide and Marco’s to bed.

Tuesday morning I drove Danielle to the Bologna train and I returned to my solo backpacking life. I scoped out Bologna on foot for a couple of hours and saw the oldest university in Europe? Some of the buildings were stunning. Especially the Archiginnasio Bibliotecca, built in the late 1500s. The university itself was about 500 years older, but no buildings original to that time still stood. I can’t imagine studying here, in such historic structures. I suppose it’s not too unlike Harvard. But where I’ve enrolled, old university buildings topped out a little over 100.

I was roughly a day behind where my itinerary had me (Venice) but I had one more thing to do. I wouldn’t have been comfortable leaving without having one traditional Bolognese meal. I headed to Sfoglia Rina, a restaurant and fresh pasta shop, had maybe my favorite Single dish of Italy, Lasagna Bolognese. The lasagna pasta was green and fresh and chewy and soft. What I assume was ricotta was creamy and mild. The Bolognese was meaty and rich and just the right amount of greasy with a kiss of tomatoes. I ordered a second dish, good but not as good, and didn’t regret it. However, afterwards the only thing I wanted to do was lay on my belly and groan. Instead I got an espresso and headed to Venice.

I took the bridge from the mainland onto the island of Venice, where I had to immediately park (no roads beyond that point). I arrived in a cold and rainy Venice, so I did what any weary traveller would, and napped. I was staying in a cheap hotel, where the prices weren’t much more than a hostel in the heart of the city. Cheaper options exist on the mainland, but being there for one night only I didn’t want to deal with the bus or train.

When I awoke the rain had ceased and I set out exploring Venice in the evening. I walked for a few hours and took in Venice’s dark side. I picked a dinner place. They had a wait, so I walked some more, checking out other restaurants elsewhere in the city but ultimately wound up at my well-reviewed but disappointing first choice. As a result of my waiting I walked about 10 miles in all that night, retracing my steps a few times, getting lost, and getting found. Many bridges, winding blocks, along canals, and all alongside redundant shops selling glass, art, masks, clothes, and jewelry (of course with plenty of restaurants rounding out the retail space). I got lucky with my time in Italy’s off-season down south, but Venice was colder and wetter than I would’ve preferred. At least it wasn’t too crowded. Even so, I appreciated the unique setting. What struck me most is how difficult it is to navigate. Locals seemed to all know their way around, but for me it was near impossible. there are no straight lines, many short blocks, dead ends, very few discernable landmarks, and large stretches of canals with no bridge in sight. Getting from A to B was a project, but also part of the fun of the place.

In the morning I got an early start, headed to the garage to drop my bag in my car trunk, and hopped on the #12 boat to Burano. I opted to sit outside on the ferry despite it being windy and in the low 50s. Our boat first stopped at Murano, known for it’s blown glass. Then after a big stretch of open water we found ourselves at Mazzorbo. I saw that this had a bridge to Burano, so I deboated here and proceeded on foot. Mazzorbo was pleasant but not memorable. Not like Burano. While they produce a lot of lace, Burano’s claim to fame is it’s brightly painted homes. I loved this small island town. A couple of canals and abundance of brightly colored homes made for a special setting. The gray skies didn’t limit my appreciation, but I wish I could’ve seen it in all it’s glory, with the sun shining and beneath a blue sky. I got breakfast and walked the entire island in a couple of hours. I’d love to live in a place that looks like this, but Burano is a little too sleepy and secluded for my interests. It was undoubtedly more than worth the trip from Venice. Once I returned to the iconic city some of it’s allure had faded, with it’s colors and materials seeming drab after Burano’s hues.

I didn’t make it to Pisa, but there’s a leaning tower here too

The drive out from Venice was unmemorable. I headed to Trieste for lunch (my highway exit was Prosecco but I elected not to visit a vineyard). If you have the opportunity to go, you can skip Trieste. It looked like a cross between Italy and the USSR, with the port dominating the city. The food was muddled between Italian and Austro-Hungarian influence and a step or three below the splendor of Italian cuisine I had enjoyed the last couple of weeks. After this quick stop I carried on.

Rather than drive straight up into the Austrian Alps, I saw that Slovenia was a short detour. I didn’t know too much about Slovenia so I did some research and educated myself on the post-Yugoslavian borders. Geopolitics that I’ve heard about over the last 20 years began to make more sense. The countryside got pretty pretty as I crossed into Slovenia.

I headed from Trieste to Postojna, known for having the largest cave in Slovenia. I took the tour which lasted about 90 minutes, included a train ride and walking in the limestone cave, and covered about 3 of the 25 kilometers. It was pretty incredible strolling through the various rooms and galleries, some the size of a high school gymnasium. Stalactites and stalagmites were everywhere, often in the forms of “curtains” and “spaghetti.” The cave was formed about 3 million years ago, and most features we saw were at least 500,000 years old.

When I emerged from the cave it was dark, so I was done sightseeing and drove about an hour to Bled, a lake town where I spent the night in a hostel. I met many great people here, and would’ve liked to stay another night, but had already booked a Salzburg hostel and needed to be in Munich the following day to return my car. I hung out with some Americans, Australians, and Germans in the hostel bar. After it closed at midnight we headed to the casino, where I made a donation.

From Lake Bled you could see the church and mountain-top-castle at night

The next day was Halloween. I wanted to hike to the overlook on Lake Bled but it was cold and raining. So instead I drove around the lake and stopped a couple of times to snap photos.

From Bled I went north into Austria, where the terrain got vertical fast. The drive was incredible. Fall colors were still very present, with green valleys scattered between mountains and behind treelines. The clouds clung to the mountains in many spots, where forests rose up hillsides into the mist. There were snowlines where heavy accumulation had occurred and other spots of light dustings on trees.

As I reached the northern side of the Alps I bypassed Salzburg for my first stop. I went to visit the Fucking Austrian town that I had read about. The Fucking drive was very pleasant, and it was far enough north that the cloud cover had ceased, so I finally got some Fucking sun. The only people I saw were all busy working on Fucking farms. Because of tourists like me, they voted whether or not to change their Fucking town name a few years ago, but Fucking wanted to keep it. There’s only about 400 Fucking people. Once I took a couple of photos of their Fucking signs I felt fulfilled, and went for a Fucking lunch. I think I beat this Fucking horse to death, so onto Salzburg.

Check out the antlers on that Fucking deer!

Like I said, if not for the town name, the Fucking drive itself was worthy.

Salzburg was smaller than I realized, it’s population is only about 150,000. It first reminded me of Montreal due to its density and the presence of a steep mountain (actually 2) in the middle of the city. Montreal’s a better place in most ways. While Salzburg’s mountains are pleasant looking, this makes for an inefficient layout. the big claim to fame in this city is Mozart’s birthplace. It’s also a big university town, however I learned that Austria recently opened a new university in Linz which took a lot of students out of Salzburg and did some damage to their nightlife. I experienced this firsthand, as there was almost nothing to do on Halloween. I opted to spend the holiday walking around the old city. The downtown, which straddled a river, had cliffs offset on the southwest, and made me wonder what Albany would have been like if the midcentury development focused on the post-industrial waterfront and Rensselaer rather than sprawling and establishing suburbs. The same is true for many American rustbelt cities, but Salzburg’s size and river and cliffs reminded me specifically of New York’s capitol.

With Salzburg in the books it was time for my last drive, back to Munich to return Cardi C (my Opel Corsa) to her home. She and I had a good run these last 3+ weeks. Together we travelled over 5,400 kilometers (I don’t know what that means, so over 3,300 miles – like driving round trip from Boston to Miami, or driving from NYC to Atlanta to LA, or NYC to southeastern Alaska). This was more than double her mileage when I got her. Despite her resistance to keeping up with the speeding luxury automobiles on the Autobahn, she was a great companion. she took care of me, hung onto my valuables, was a gracious hostess to 5 different passengers, and never let me down. While many of my goodbyes have been a “see you soon,” I fear this one is forever. I will miss her.