We speak Italian bad

Perhaps I should have turned left at Soave. 

We discovered that it is useful when in the wilds of Italy to be able to speak some Italian. We had assumed this would be the case but that we would muddle through. 

Gwenyth had in fact done a little bit of Italian for the purpose of the trip but proved to be - how shall we say it - not as fluent as we would have hoped.

On more than one occasion when she asked for help she was quietly taken by the elbow and ushered out of the building or place where we were. 

We think that instead of learning the Italian for 

‘I am lost can you please help me find Piazza Garibaldi’ she has in fact learned to say ‘I am deranged and dangerous - please help me find the nearest hospital’ 

In the end we had to make do with the approximately 20 words we had amongst and this proved to be entirely inadequate - leading to some truly awful displays of mime and charades - much to the amusement of the people with whom we were attempting dialogue. 

We did of course discover some people who spoke English but would not do so. In this respect they were a bit like some French. You come to my country you speak my language. 

One waiter refused to speak English but was happy to speak German. Another spoke French. 

Part of the problem - we have found in our extensive travels - is that some Europeans do not like the English or the Americans (or indeed in some cases - anyone at all). 

I hesitate to say that on this blog because it may offend some readers - but unfortunately it is true. 

Once we identify ourselves as Australia things always improve immediately. We can tell when it is necessary to say this by the flicker of the eyebrows and the twitch of the nose by the waiter or person to whom you are addressing yourself. 

There is not an Italian in Italy who does not have at least one relative in Australia.

‘Australia! My uncle Giuseppe is in Australia - you know him?

Sure I know him - we drink Grappa and watch football together - he is a good man.

Well - I think he is prick but maybe he better in Australia.’ 

Having Llama with us helped on some occasions as if there were men involved we used her as bait to lure the English out of them. 

We found the beaches from hell. They are on the Adriatic. They are stretches of grubby sand on which not a single square centimeter is left uncovered by a deck chair, an umbrella a towel or a sweaty body. If you wish to leave the grubby sand you can slosh your way through the puddles of suntan lotion and heave your greasy body into the steaming fetid soup that passes for water in this party of the world. 

Absolutely gruesome. 

On a local note - I have previously mentioned the gangs of beggars in Vienna. There have been discussions on various chat sites to which I belong about these gangs and how they are run. The question which everyone always asks is ‘why do the police not do something about them?’

Well - moving with the speed of a sloth on crack crawling through marmalade the Polizei - in conjunction with Interpol, the SAS and Mossad - have cracked down on the gangs.

Intensive global investigations by intelligence agencies and armed forces throughout the world - have culminated in a series of stunning dawn raids with SWAT teams scaling tall buildings and crashing through reinforced doors to get at these dangerous felons. 

Well - actually the report says:

“Vienna beggar gang dismantled by police: A gang of ten members who engaged in human-trafficking and forced 42 people to beg in Austrian capital Vienna has been dismantled by the police, it was announced today (Mon). Ten members of the gang were arrested, five of them in Vienna who will be extradited to Romania to stand trial.”

I imagine that what really happened was the Sergeant Plodnik of the Poliziei looked up from the sports pages of the Kronen Zeitung and said 

‘Horst - it is August - everyone is baking their asses off on the Adriatic - go and round up some beggars’

I might pop down to Westbahnhof in the next few days and watch the replacement gangs and beggars arrive. 

Cycling in Italy with three chicks

My traveling companions. They could only afford one bike so two had to run alongside while one cycled. 

Well we all thought we would lose weight on this trip. I mean - cycling at least 50 kilometers in the hot sun every day for 8 days - who would not lose weight?

Well - the people who would not lose weight would be the ones who found the best (and sometimes the only visible) Trattoria every day in a tiny town on the route and spent about two hours there for lunch - every day they were on the road.

Was necessary to eat quite so much? Apparently it was - and we certainly had a Bonzer time.

We found some truly wonderful places but there is not much point in telling you where they are because the chances of your visiting some of these towns is a bit remote unless you are on a cycling tour. 

But - generally speaking- the food was sensational and we had not one bad meal. 

There were other people on the tour - 11 in fact. Two Australians, two Swedes, two very serious Germans, two Quebecois, two boring as bat shit  vegetarian English and one Italian named Leonardo who was certainly not less than 75 years old and could have been a lot older. 

The English shuddered a lot whenever they saw meat or fish. The Germans hated the French who they say all smelled bad - but we all got along reasonably well.

The Australians were a man and a woman who were - so the man said - traveling together merely as companions and indeed they had separate cabins.

Let’s call them Bert and Mabel.  

Bert had lost his wife to cancer two years ago and was happy to be on his own. Mabel was a member of the same cycling club as Bert and they had agreed to travel together on an overseas adventure.

Bert apparently discovered with some degree of surprise and horror on the first night that Mabel was expecting a bit more than just companionship and he fended her off. This caused some degree of tension on the boat as Mabel smoldered silently. 

The German couple - let’s call them Helmut and Helga - had been married for almost 25 years but I am not convinced that they were actually going to make the 25th Anniversary.

Helmut developed an interest in Llama (most men do) and this caused a degree of consternation with Helga. Helmut and Llama are both exceedingly fit so would often go like the clappers and sometimes do extra side trips. Helga was not so fit and more than a bit plump so would be pedaling furiously and  panting and puffing as she tried to keep Helmut and Llama in sight. 

She would not have worried had she known that - while Llama is a committed Bonker - she would never Bonk a married man. 

The Swedes were both women of a certain age - both very overweight - and both adorable. Their husbands worked on oil rigs and this allowed them to beetle about doing their own stuff.

I enjoyed talking about meat to the English as it made them sweat and go pale. The alternative was to let them talk to me and then I would sweat and go pale.

And - get this - 15 people on the tour - plus Dracula our guide - and not one smoker.

Unfortunately Captain Pugwash smoked cigars but he usually stayed on the bridge (or whatever it is called) barking orders to the very lovely Manuela who as well as being a sensational cook also knows a bit about boats and ropes. 

What a catch she will be for an Italian fisherman.

I survived my epic and perilous journey

We started in Bolzano

If someone had said to me a few months ago ‘Would you like to cycle in the Dolomites for 7 hours in the blinding rain and freezing cold I would  probably have said

‘Not really!’

However, that is what we did on Day 1 of our epic and perilous adventure. The countryside was - I think - glorious - but it was a bit hard to tell through the pelting rain and mist - and it was too wet to take photos.

Surprisingly -  we all enjoyed the first day it immensely even though we were cold and as wet as shags all day. 

We particularly enjoyed the stops at the little Bicycle Cafes that  popped up along the way and for lunch on day one we all had a fabulous Würstel mit Senf. 

Day 1 was an aberration and for the rest of the trip we sweltered in the blazing and merciless sun. 

The trip was just delicious and we had so much fun it was indecent. 


But - there was not a single one in our group who could read the detailed trip route instructions so we got lost often.

I have always considered myself to be the world’s worst navigator- but I met my match with Gwenyth and Llama who could easily get lost in a paper bag. 

The good ship Lollipop proved to be a grave disappointment. When the instructions said ‘close your portholes to allow the air conditioner to work effectively’ I - and a few others naturally thought that the cabins were air conditioned. Fools!

There was indeed an air conditioner wheezing away in the corridor and this was intended to cool 10 cabins if you left your doors open and portholes shut. In this endeavor it failed abysmally. 

Gwenyth achieved some relief by standing under it naked in the dead of night but the rest of us toughed it out and lay naked in our tiny hot bunks. 

The main feature of our cabin was the toilet in a small annex. It was perched on a pedestal so you climbed up to it. It had a ceiling about a meter above it. The access was so narrow that one had to insert oneself into the space backwards. The final indignity was that it was a ledge toilet. The most heinous invention in the history of Crappery.

The Internet on the boat - and indeed in most places - tended to be elusive  -but this was not the main reason for not posting. 

Normally I was so buggered after cycling in tremendous heat that I and everyone else crashed soon after dinner to the sweat boxes below decks. 

But I do have some exciting things to tell you.