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Leaving Desenzano, and with the previously mentioned landslide that closed the road and rail line cleared, we took the train x 2 to Varenna and on arrival we’re met at the station by our hosts who kindly drove us to our apartment.
One of the many challenges of train travel in Italy when opting to prebook and reserve a seat which is usually in coach 1 or 2, or in the case of and earlier train, number 625, is guessing which end of the train the allocated coach will be found. The trains are long and don’t stay at the station for long, especially at the smaller stations that we seem to opt for. Main stations often have an electronic board displaying the train configuration but more often than not, we seemed to be reduced to approximating where the middle of the train might end up and then careering up the platform as the first coach comes past. Still, the adrenaline reabsorption adds to the serenity as we sink into the allocated seat.
As you may have noted from the fb photos, Lake Como is surrounded by mountains, in fact, very steep mountains which for some inexplicable reason, Jean seems to want to ascend as far and as often as possible.
Acknowledging that the views were always fantastic, the paths / tracks leading thereto often left much to be desired, like a bus!! But, despite these realities, we spent every day out and about in the forests that surround the lake. The upside, other than the respite afforded by the time spent on the ferries as we criss-crossed to lake, was the food at the end of the day, and sometimes during the day as well. Again, the fb photos tell the story, but the one to mention was the Buratta with anchovies, a meal in itself.
Between the hikes and eating, we did find some time to blend into the local scene, time at the laundromat is always a place to meet people, gelati in the piazza and anywhere else where there was a seat in the shade, and the occasional request for directions from geographically misplaced tourists, all made for a great holiday.
Our morning coffees in the local bar, run by a somewhat eccentric, aging ponytailed, motorbike rider who also owned the local laundromat, was a great way to start each day. Everyday the same order, 1 cappuccino, 1 double espresso and a brioche, and every day a different price. Being part of the banter and acknowledging the endless stream of locals, had we stayed another couple of days, we would have been invited home to meet the family.
With every expectation that Italy would provide us with her usual travel related challenges, this time it proved not to be the case. It all worked without a hitch, that is until we recieved an email from British Air late on Friday night, with the news that our flight from Milan to London on the following Tuesday had been cancelled and that we were being offered Milan to Madrid, with an 85 mins connection time, then Madrid to London.
With a baggage handlers 24 hr strike across all Italian airports scheduled for the same day that we were originally due to fly out, and with our flight to Aus the following day, tensions were rising.
So with the usual daredevil approach, and no other options on the table, we opted to accept the revised flight plan and check in on line, only to be refused because the minimum connection time for BA is 90 mins and what had offered us only gave us 85 mins. No compromise possible other than a flight on Monday, ie., the day before, but there was only one seat left. Having been separated some years prior on a train trip to Locarno, we decided to decline that one as well.
As my phone was slowly being drained of credit, and unable to top up the international SIM card until after the weekend, and the clocking ticking, Jean finally came through with a flight on Sunday, which meant leaving Italy 2 days earlier than planned, but better than missing the flight to Aus.
All that was left was to cancel the overnight accomodation in Milan, find an extra 2 nights in London and figure out how we might spend the extra 2 days in London. With a well developed aversion to big cities and their crowds, we might have to get our own copy of “Bradshaws” and like Michael Portillo, minus the colourful clothing, go for a train trip to the country.
It is now our last day, and with only a little more packing to do before we leave, there was time enough for one last coffee up at the bar, so imagine my reaction when, as we rounded the corner into the piazza, we were confronted with a market being set up.
Cosa posso dire. 😩😩
After a considerable amount of time spent deciding on which necklace to buy, a process not made any easier by the stall holder who kept providing a seemingly endless supply of alternative necklaces in all manner of shapes, colours and sizes from her cache under the table, to the amusement of the adjacent stall holders, a decision was finally made.
What followed was the mandatory exchange of life stories for 30 mins, with the stall holder telling us that her sister (I think) married an Australian ( I think) in Bali last year, and now lives in Melbourne.
So with the coffee consumed, final goodbyes at the bar, suitcases packed, it was off to the train station up yet another cobblestone road, all the while asking ourselves that everyone asks when in Italy, “will my suitcase wheels survive the stones”. 🙏
Train to Milan then another to Malpensa airport, VAT refunds lodged, we proceeded to the check in and were surprised to find that the bags were only a couple of kilos over what they were when we left Melb. Of course that didn’t take into account the backpack we had to buy, and the one we took that were filled with the shoes and boots we bought along the way. As for any personal weight gain, that is yet to be decided. Maybe the flight home will burn off a couple of kilos.
Finally boarding our flight to London, albeit that it was 90mins late leaving, we arrived in our hotel just after midnight.
So we came to the end of our European holiday, and what a trip it was.
Morocco was the standout surprise, Spain was equally satisfying once we came to terms with the tapas specialities, Germany and Austria for providing us with great weather to explore the mountains, and Italy for everything that we could have hoped for, and then some.
So it’s: Mae Alsalama to Morocco, Adios to Spain, Auf Weidersehen to Germany and Austria and Arrivederci to Italy.
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Edith Mayhew Phew! You ought to write a book Richard. So when do you actually get home to Melb?