The Italian Job and Other Tasks

When planning our route from Switzerland to Slovenia I had a comfortable overnight train ride in mind; you know, relax, have a couple of drinks and maybe a meal in the dining caboose, followed by a nice kip in a supine position.  Turns out we departed Lucerne at 8pm and travelled some nine hours on a bus in the style of the 703 from Blackburn and piloted by a slightly dodgy pair of Croats who treated red lights and other road rules as suggestions only. I imagine the half-litre of rakia they shared from a flask was to keep them awake and alert.  I was also prevented any sleep due to the back of the seat only extending half way up my spine; and by the thing behind me, which looked like a bean bag with eyes and lipstick, being draped across two seats and emitting bodily noises that can’t have been natural.  Somewhat miraculously we made it to Ljubljana train station at 5am the next morning, not much happening there early on a Sunday morning!  By this time I was starting to get reservations about our intended side-trip to the Lake Bled area, still some 55kms away.  After an hour and a half of standing around (no chairs provided at the station, or they forgot to bolt them down the previous evening) we catch a coach to Lake Bled – would have preferred this omnibus (though sans horses) to the previous conveyance!

At Lake Bled we take on food and water at a bar either still seeing off last night’s revellers or providing early succour for those already in dire need at 7.30am.  I decline the locally distilled offering and opt for a quantity of strong coffee with the hope it will keep me awake for the 30km journey to our hut.  We pick up a hire car from the regrettably named Hotel Krim (the local didn’t see the funny side – suspect the inference is de rigueur and taken for granted around these parts).  Accordingly we examine the jalopy closely before driving off on the wrong (right) side of the road.  Sitting in the driver’s seat whilst Julie is steering = counter-intuitive!  Lucky Julie is a dab hand at staying right and has a smattering of Slovenian so able to trade driving opinions with the locals!

Our accommodation is at another beautiful body of water, Lake Bohinj, and Julie gets us there toot-sweet; luckily the speed limits are a little rubbery and traffic enforcement hasn’t hit anyone’s to-do list yet.  We were met by a nuggety five-foot Slovenian with a hearty laugh who I suspect would be quite handy on the schnapps and other weapons if provoked.  Our barrack-style quarters are 100m from every bar in town and thus quite fit for purpose.

If Canaan was the land of milk and honey, Slovenia is the land of pivo and durry!  This is a laid back hospitable place enveloped by beautiful scenery and small villages that really try hard to accommodate the burgeoning tourist trade.  Triglav National Park is justifiably the pride and joy of the locals and is a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively.  Particular highlights were the Savica waterfall, the gorges Vintgar, Pokljuka and Mostnica, lake Bled, lake Bohinj and that pub in the middle of nowhere serving excellent meat dishes and cheap pivo.  Credit to Julie for tackling the local roads as a driver – I didn’t and as such the vehicle was returned in working order!

Interestingly, if incongruously, Lake Bled has a Rip Curl shop – I didn’t see as much as a ripple.  I decided to investigate and when I told the shop assistant Rip Curl originated in Torquay she started laughing and told me in all seriousness that the merchandise wasn’t made in Turkey but was of the highest quality.  When I stopped laughing I mentioned that whilst not 100% sure the name of a nearby beach there rang a Bell, at which point Julie hustled me out of the store to prevent the exchange deteriorating into another Slavic war.

Simply, Slovenia is fantastic – my kind of territory (until someone else forcibly takes it or re-draws the borders!)

Time to try out the Slovenian and Italian railways in parts of Europe few outsiders would have heard of, let alone been to!  The station at Lake Bled is a throwback to the forties but the train duly arrives on time (mercifully it wasn’t the log train that also turned up, albeit in better nick) to take us south-west to the border town of Nova Gorica.  For a time we follow the river Sava, a tributary of the mighty Danube; I get the impression the water quality in the Julian Alps exceeds that of the confluence at Belgrade, and indeed the Black Sea.  All hail the mighty Sava.  We sneak across the Italian border into Gorizia to catch the Venice flyer, which also (surprisingly) runs on time.

Venice is a magical place albeit with a used-by date and a love-hate relationship with tourists (love their money, hate them being here).  After watching the masses mill around the gondolas, canals, vaporettos, St Marco’s square, the Doge(y) palace, the church (including heathens), bars and beaches I get the local attitude and wonder fleetingly if I am comparable to an Asian with a selfie-stick!  These blokes understandably love (need) a boat and vessels of all shapes, sizes and seaworthiness ply the waterways en masse – at which point I was moved to wonder (as I often do) that should the boats be removed in toto might the subsequent water level drop via the displacement theory give the islands a few more years before Neptune claims the real estate for itself.  Indeed, our accommodation is in the quieter Castello area but as we sit sipping Aperol laced with Mortein the cruise ships pass by, momentarily but effectively blocking out our view of the lagoon.  One such ship is the Costa Luminosa  which I thought had come to grief a couple of years back under the con of a dipsomatic Italian master but had managed to rise like a Phoenix from its own ashes – turns out to be the unblemished sister of the ill-fated tub.

By the way, there is no canal in Venice called father.

Venice is legendary, just don’t go there in peak season (we didn’t and it was still busy) but do so before it sinks into the swamp Monty Python-style.

On to the Cinque Terre town of Monterosso by train, first to Milan and then via Genoa.  Cinque Terre is an unsold gem in the Italian treasure chest (obviously the populist Salvini hasn’t been there thus preventing it’s immediate sale for the good of all Italians who need the cash but feel that doing anything for it is banal and un-Latin).  Again, not a place to visit in peak season but our very delightful and comfortable pension afforded us full reign of the cafes, bars, walks and beaches.  Though part of the Cinque Terre coastal walk was closed (no corresponding price discount) we managed to do the other bits and some more of this great walking territory.  Given the tight spaces the locals have made traversing the coast either by train (mostly in tunnels) or boat very easy and we explored all five Cinque Terre towns, each a gem in their own right.  Loved the Cinque Terre region, except for the septics who must fear the worst from Donny’s regime and have decided the wall might in fact be a two-way barrier and are perambulating whilst they can.

From Monterosso we go via Pisa (apparently it has a tower – I thought it was the lingua franca for pizza) to Florence.  At Pisa we had to settle for the former and are genuinely glad we lugged our packs the 3km round trip from the station to see it – to me it sums up the psyche of the Italian where substance is a secondary concept and anything slightly crooked is quaint and romantic rather than just plain bent!  Notwithstanding, the tower and surrounds are impressive sights.

In my esteemed opinion Florence is the try-hard, red-headed second cousin of Venice; though if you removed the locals I reckon someone could really do something with the place.  Not sure what they are doing with the Arno River – it has heaps of potential but appears totally neglected as if it is nothing more than an effluent channel over which the Ponte Vecchio conveniently spans for the sole purpose of shallow opportunism.  I’ve read the Uffizi Gallery is very good and I blame the boy’s complete indifference to anything cultural for not getting to see it (that and it is closed on a Monday and sold out on the other day we were there).  What we did really enjoy was a walk to the south of the aforementioned river around the Piazzale Michelangelo area.  Also, to be fair, what we saw of the Tuscan countryside from the train window looked very picturesque and would be my preferred destination upon any return.  Please, Florence does not necessarily need to be mandatorily included on everyone’s bucket list; really, there is no FOMO!

By train we hit Turin/Torino and have half a day to find Ronaldo – didn’t get to every beautician so we’ll never know what might have been!  Seriously, what we saw of Torino was quality, even if (somewhat contradictorily) Fiat is headquartered there.  An impressive city on the River Po and surrounded by nice countryside Torino is well worth a longer visit.  We stay overnight in a quaint B&B that doubles as the host’s house.

We have a 7.30am appointment at Porta Susa the next morning to get the train back to the old dart.  Stay tuned because I think the previously enjoyed good weather in the UK may have departed…